roundness of a handle. He would have sighed in relief if he could.
His arm felt like putty as he lifted it over his shoulder, knife in hand. Unsure of where he would hit, he drove the small blade down into vampire flesh. Desmond, having been distracted by the delicious smelling blood scrawled across the floor didn’t sense the attack in time. The blade sunk deep into the crook of his neck, cut the nerves of the arm he had at Tristan’s throat. The useless limb let go of the American and Tristan gasped in his first breath of fresh air.
Desmond wouldn’t give him time to recover though and he knew the vampire wouldn’t. Desmond reached for him with his good arm, the other unable to repair itself fully with the knife cutting off his nerves. Tristan smacked his palm hard on the end of the knife and drove it in deep to the hilt. Desmond’s expression went as angry as Tristan’d ever seen the man as he screamed in a language that wasn’t English.
Tristan kicked out with both legs, landing a solid, hard blow to Desmond’s chest. The big guy rocked back on his knees and Tristan lunged forward, tackling the vampire. He drove a knee into Desmond’s stomach, pulling a low grunt from him as he grabbed the knife and yanked it out, sending a stream of blood arcing to splatter the kitchen ceiling with red. Desmond groaned and reached for him again, going for his neck. The vampire wasn’t fast enough for once as Tristan dominated him. With his legs trapped under him at a bad angle, even with vampiric speed, Desmond couldn’t move away fast enough and Tristan pinned him, the bloody knife pressed to the front of his exposed throat.
“Tag motherfucker,” Tristan said, his voice low and scratchy from being squeezed on. Desmond glared up at him, angry as shit as he started to wiggle his good arm out from under Tristan. He’d had enough though and pushed on the knife, drawing blood. “Back the fuck down already or I’ll fucking kill you just like I killed Malik—chopped his fucking head right off.” Granted, that was a joint effort, but Desmond didn’t need to know that.
Desmond froze, blinking green eyes up at him as he processed his words. Finally, he grinned, his normal carefree amusement filling his expression. “Aye. Yew did guid… fur a human.”
“That’s Uruwashi to you, pal.” He regretted saying it the moment it left his tongue.
Desmond’s expression screwed up. “ Whut ?”
There was a small noise to his right and the two flinched, looking up. Ash was standing inside the front door, watching wide-eyed. She was still in the clothes she had on yesterday. Tristan couldn’t believe she was there, he didn’t think she’d be coming back.
“How long have you been watching?”
She opened her mouth and took a step back. “I—well, only a moment.”
Desmond laughed under him. Tristan looked down, giving him his own dirty look and the vampire roared louder. Pissed the fuck off, Tristan dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor and swung a fist into Desmond’s face. The vampire didn’t even bother trying to turn away, taking the blow to his nose. Even as his own blood poured into his mouth, Desmond continued laughed.
“Dick,” Tristan hissed, shaking his hand. That really fucking hurt, but it was so worth it. The thought to kill the McBastard anyway, despite what the Snow Princess thought of it, had occurred to him. “Hey and thanks,” he said, looking to Ash as he stood. “You could have helped, just a little.”
Feeling the sting of his snide words, Ash crossed her arms under her chest and gave him a dirty look. “You appeared to be doing just fine from what I saw.”
“Aye,” Desmond drawled as he shifted to sit. “That he did. Goin’ against us, hand-tae-hand.” The vampire’s expression darkened and when he spoke again, his accent had softened to something considerably more understandable. “No human could have lasted that long against me.”
Tristan had to stifle a sudden
His arm felt like putty as he lifted it over his shoulder, knife in hand. Unsure of where he would hit, he drove the small blade down into vampire flesh. Desmond, having been distracted by the delicious smelling blood scrawled across the floor didn’t sense the attack in time. The blade sunk deep into the crook of his neck, cut the nerves of the arm he had at Tristan’s throat. The useless limb let go of the American and Tristan gasped in his first breath of fresh air.
Desmond wouldn’t give him time to recover though and he knew the vampire wouldn’t. Desmond reached for him with his good arm, the other unable to repair itself fully with the knife cutting off his nerves. Tristan smacked his palm hard on the end of the knife and drove it in deep to the hilt. Desmond’s expression went as angry as Tristan’d ever seen the man as he screamed in a language that wasn’t English.
Tristan kicked out with both legs, landing a solid, hard blow to Desmond’s chest. The big guy rocked back on his knees and Tristan lunged forward, tackling the vampire. He drove a knee into Desmond’s stomach, pulling a low grunt from him as he grabbed the knife and yanked it out, sending a stream of blood arcing to splatter the kitchen ceiling with red. Desmond groaned and reached for him again, going for his neck. The vampire wasn’t fast enough for once as Tristan dominated him. With his legs trapped under him at a bad angle, even with vampiric speed, Desmond couldn’t move away fast enough and Tristan pinned him, the bloody knife pressed to the front of his exposed throat.
“Tag motherfucker,” Tristan said, his voice low and scratchy from being squeezed on. Desmond glared up at him, angry as shit as he started to wiggle his good arm out from under Tristan. He’d had enough though and pushed on the knife, drawing blood. “Back the fuck down already or I’ll fucking kill you just like I killed Malik—chopped his fucking head right off.” Granted, that was a joint effort, but Desmond didn’t need to know that.
Desmond froze, blinking green eyes up at him as he processed his words. Finally, he grinned, his normal carefree amusement filling his expression. “Aye. Yew did guid… fur a human.”
“That’s Uruwashi to you, pal.” He regretted saying it the moment it left his tongue.
Desmond’s expression screwed up. “ Whut ?”
There was a small noise to his right and the two flinched, looking up. Ash was standing inside the front door, watching wide-eyed. She was still in the clothes she had on yesterday. Tristan couldn’t believe she was there, he didn’t think she’d be coming back.
“How long have you been watching?”
She opened her mouth and took a step back. “I—well, only a moment.”
Desmond laughed under him. Tristan looked down, giving him his own dirty look and the vampire roared louder. Pissed the fuck off, Tristan dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor and swung a fist into Desmond’s face. The vampire didn’t even bother trying to turn away, taking the blow to his nose. Even as his own blood poured into his mouth, Desmond continued laughed.
“Dick,” Tristan hissed, shaking his hand. That really fucking hurt, but it was so worth it. The thought to kill the McBastard anyway, despite what the Snow Princess thought of it, had occurred to him. “Hey and thanks,” he said, looking to Ash as he stood. “You could have helped, just a little.”
Feeling the sting of his snide words, Ash crossed her arms under her chest and gave him a dirty look. “You appeared to be doing just fine from what I saw.”
“Aye,” Desmond drawled as he shifted to sit. “That he did. Goin’ against us, hand-tae-hand.” The vampire’s expression darkened and when he spoke again, his accent had softened to something considerably more understandable. “No human could have lasted that long against me.”
Tristan had to stifle a sudden
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