My muscles tingled, as though nourished with new strength. I gasped when my hearing sharpened, my nose filtered smells that weren’t there before, and I realized through some inner voice that Goose had entered the bedroom and was coming toward the bathroom.
Although I laughed, the sound didn’t come from me. It came from her—Marigold. She lifted my arms, making fists, and inspected the weapons strapped to me before she cracked my neck and walked to the door. When she opened it and looked Goose in the eye, I felt my lips stretch into an evil sneer.
“Rhiannon?” he whispered, staring at me as though he was looking at a stranger.
“Isn’t here anymore,” Marigold replied using my voice, although it didn’t sound like me at all. I felt her intention then, her desire to grasp him by the throat and crack the bones in his neck.
“Don’t kill him!” I screamed, finding that the words didn’t escape my mouth but echoed in my mind. “He’s done nothing wrong.”
“Fine, I won’t kill him,” she said, staring into Goose’s confused face. “Since you like this one, I’ll only make him hurt a little.”
One punch, directly to the center of his chest, and Goose flew across the room. The blow was more powerful than I expected, sending him into the wall. He hit with a dull thud and fell onto the floor facedown. I wanted to go to him, to make sure he was still alive, but Marigold was already moving from the room.
“Let’s see...” She stopped in the hallway and drew a deep breath. Then I smelled it, the slightest hint of blood and a faint trace of sugar-like sweetness. Striding confidently toward the scent, she whispered, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Sirah rounded the corner, lifting her head as she saw me. The shock on her face was immediately replaced with hatred. Her blue eyes turned icy, her brow furrowed as her lips pressed together. She started to say something—perhaps to tell me to go to hell—but it was too late. I knew what Marigold intended, feeling some hatred that wasn’t entirely my own stir within me.
“Perfect,” Marigold whispered, and I felt my face stretch into a gleeful smirk. “She doesn’t like you at all.”
Mike had shown me how to land a perfect blow to the throat in order to rupture the larynx and kill someone, but I’d never tried it. You had to be fast, with a clear shot to the throat. Marigold moved so quickly—with an aim that shocked me—that technique and precision definitely weren’t an issue. She landed the blow with the side of my hand, a solid hit with impact. Sirah tried to gasp, shuffling back and reaching for her neck, but there wasn’t any sound.
“What to do with you,” Marigold said with a sigh. She glanced around and looked at a nearby door. I felt sick when I glimpsed her intention.
“You can’t.”
“Oh yes, I can.” She grabbed Sirah by the hair with her hand—my fucking hand—and dragged the squirming vampire as she crossed the distance. “I’m saving precious ammo. You can thank me later.”
Marigold opened the door, kicked Sirah’s legs from beneath her, and situated the vampire just right—so that her neck rested against the frame. I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t look away. Sirah looked at me, and for the first time the dumb bitch understood what I was capable of. What a shame that it took looking death in the eye for her to realize I wasn’t someone to fuck with.
“See you on the other side,” Marigold said in a singsong voice.
It took four slams of the door to detach Sirah’s head. Blood spattered, dotting along my pants, as the bones in her neck finally gave way. But the worst part was watching her body—her hands straining, fingers clawing the air. She kept kicking for a few seconds even when the door slammed shut, a chunk of blonde hair intermingled with wood, seeping bone, and flesh.
Jonny appeared from around the corners, a savage look on his face. “What the fuck?”
Shit. I didn’t like Sirah’s lover, but I didn’t hate him either.