Kissed by the Killer

Chapter Nine: Flames of Fate. Vincent Virenson. The second rattle of the window wasn't a warning-it was a promise. I shoved Violet behind me, gun raised, every muscle strung tight. My pulse thundered like a war drum. The silence shattered as the glass gave way. The first intruder dropped inside-mask, blade, all black. Not a thief. A killer. He lunged. I slammed the butt of my gun into his jaw. Bone cracked. He staggered, but didn't fall. Persistent bastard. Another shadow slipped through the window. Then another. "Three?" I muttered. "What is this-a party?" Violet gasped behind me, sharp and terrified. My jaw clenched. Not for me-for her. Two shots dropped the second man before his boots touched the floor. The third dove for her. Wrong move. My bullet tore through his skull before he could take a second breath. He collapsed at her feet, blood soaking the rug. Silence. Three bodies. Shattered glass. Violet trembling, clutching her arm where he'd touched her. "You okay?" My voice came out rough. She swallowed. "Define... okay." I almost smiled. Even now. "Still breathing counts." But my instincts screamed. This wasn't it. They never send three to kill a dragon. "There'll be more," I muttered, reloading. Her breath hitched. "More? How many?" Boots thundered outside the door before I could answer. Showtime. --- Five this time. Bullets tore through the walls, the loft exploding in plaster and smoke. I dragged Violet down behind the couch. "Stay down!" I barked, firing back. "I hate this!" she screamed. "You and me both." I rolled out, three shots, two men down. Her hand clutched my sleeve. "Vincent, stop! Please!" For one second I looked at her. Her eyes weren't begging me to stop fighting. They were begging me to come back alive. And the fire in my chest wasn't just rage anymore. It was her. --- The last of them fell. Blood. Smoke. Silence. She stared at me like I was something less than human. "You... you're not human." I gave a dark laugh. "Told you I was the devil." "No," she whispered. "You're worse. You burn everything. Everyone. You'll burn me too." That shouldn't have hurt. But it did. I stepped closer. "Then maybe I will. But you'll burn with me." Her lip trembled. "And if I don't want to?" "Too late," I murmured, brushing her cheek with bloodstained fingers. "You already do." She slapped my hand away. "You're insane." "Probably." I smirked, though my chest ached. "But you're alive. You're welcome." Her whisper cut through me. "Flames of fate, Vincent. You'll be the death of me." I leaned in, voice low. "No, Violet. I'll be the reason you live." --- By dawn, the bodies were gone, but ghosts lingered. Whiskey burned my throat as I stared at my reflection in the glass wall-blood, bruises, fire still in my eyes. Her voice was soft behind me. "How many more, Vincent? How many until it ends?" I didn't turn. "Until they stop coming." "They won't, will they?" "No." Her exhale cracked. "Then what am I doing here?" I turned finally, eyes locking on hers. "Surviving." She laughed bitterly. "Surviving with you isn't surviving. It's waiting to die." The words gutted me. I closed the distance, grabbed her wrist, pulled her against me. "You're alive because of me. Hate me, curse me, fight me-but don't you dare walk away. Because the second you do, they'll rip you apart. And I..." My voice broke. "I can't watch that happen." Her eyes widened. "Why?" Because I'm already burning for you. But I swallowed it. Masked it. Smirked. "Because you're more trouble alive than dead, princess. And I like trouble." She stared at me, shaking, torn between fear and something else. Finally, she whispered, "Flames of fate, Vincent. You'll destroy me." I leaned in, my breath hot against her ear. "Or save you." And just as the first rays of dawn lit the blood-stained skyline- A second rattle shook the window. Deeper. Louder. Stronger. I froze, gun in hand, heart hammering. If I killed eight men tonight, who the hell was waiting next? How many more would come? And this time-could I keep her alive?