Blood of Gato

The girl didn't hear his words. Panic clamped down inside her like iron jaws. With a hoarse cry of rage and despair, she snatched the glass vase from the table and hurled it against the wall. It shattered with a deafening crash, shards spraying across the floor—some embedding in the carpet, catching the dim lamplight like cold, glittering tears.

"You ruined my life, you bastard!" Her whole body trembled, stretched taut like a string about to snap, her voice tearing through the air with her sobs. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do now! I'm branded by fire! For me—living is worse than dying!"

Her fists clenched so tight the knuckles went white. William instinctively stepped back. His own heart stumbled unevenly in his chest as he felt the storm of her fury and terror, yet no words came.

"I'm sorry…" he swallowed the heavy knot in his throat, then suddenly snapped, his voice raw and defensive: "Sorry, I didn't mean to… But for God's sake, why did you try to kill me? Rip me apart?! Do you think I enjoyed it?! If you hadn't sunk your claws into me, I never would've fought back! I was defending myself—it wasn't on purpose!"

The girl suddenly stilled. Then, to his shock, she laughed. A brittle, broken sound, jagged with hysteria. Her laughter tore through her sobbing, half-choke, half-cackle, as if her pain itself had found a voice. She looked at him through blurred tears like he was nothing more than a pitiful child, and her laughter rose louder, sharper.

"Ha… ha-ha—ha!" Her shoulders shook violently. "Oh gods, don't tell me… you've only just awakened?"

She stepped toward him, her gaze sharpening into something feral, though touched with madness. "This is the law of nature in our world: the strong devour the weak. Always. It's the air we breathe. You were trembling—pathetic—when I first sensed you. I already saw you collapsing at my feet, your flesh becoming mine. But…" her voice cracked, turned wet and venomous, "you turned out stronger. Stronger than I imagined. And you did the one thing you should never have done…"

Her last words dripped with venom, with such bitter loathing it was as if she saw not a man before her, but Judas himself with the kiss of betrayal still burning.

"Your rules are twisted as hell," William spat, tension grinding in his throat though he tried forcing his voice steady. "So, tearing into an innocent—that's fine. But what really offends you is that I let you live? Are you even listening to yourself?"

"Yes!" she roared back, her voice crashing like a wave. "That's exactly what enrages me! By the laws of our world, you did the worst thing imaginable. You let your prey escape. You prolonged my suffering. That is shame! Dishonor! An unforgivable violation! You should have finished me—you know you should have!"

She swayed as she came closer, her breath hot and ragged. And then—unexpectedly—her fingers slid over his hand, guiding it up, pressing his palm gently against her throat. Her skin burned beneath his touch, her pulse hammering wildly.

"But you know…" she whispered, suddenly soft, almost tender—mockingly tender. "There's still time to fix this. You can still become the hunter you're meant to be. Just end it now. One squeeze… and it's over."

William froze. Against his palm, he could feel the frantic beating beneath her fragile throat. It would be so easy. His animal self urged him on, whispering that it was natural. Quick. Clean.

But the longer he stared into her eyes—eyes flickering between pale ice and wet anguish—the more he felt: this wasn't just prey before him. This was a person. Shattered, scarred, broken by a world that demanded she devour to exist.

She was fragile, like the first ice on a river. One touch of a finger, and he would shatter her. And in that moment, he would become the very thing he feared most—

a monster.

No.

He wouldn't.

Shutting his eyes, jerking his head as if to shake out the alien thoughts clawing at him, William pulled his hand away.

"No," he breathed. "I won't. I'm sorry… but I don't believe killing ever truly solves anything."

He paused, struggling for words, then added quietly:

"Get dressed. After that… we'll go to someone I know. A woman. She can help you. Maybe she won't restore your damned bond… but she can give you a chance."

When he looked at her again, it was straight on—honest, sharp, but without malice.

Her eyes widened as his hand left her throat. For a heartbeat she looked at him as if he'd just broken the very laws of nature. Then a harsh laugh tore out of her—dry, discordant, like rust scraping glass.

"Ha… ha-ha…" Her shoulders quivered. "You really mean it? You actually refuse? You think that makes you better than us? You think you're some kind of saint?"

She stumbled a step closer and jabbed her finger hard against his chest, fury flashing in her eyes.

"No. You're just a coward. A pathetic little boy too scared to finish what he started. You're no hero—you're a mistake!"

That last word tore out of her throat so violently that it rang in William's skull. His jaw locked as he forced himself to meet her gaze, to stand firm, not back down.

"Maybe I am," he said flatly, holding back his own rage. "Maybe I'm a mistake. But at least I'm not a monster who rejoices at devouring the first soul they come across."

They stood face to face, their stares clashing like drawn blades.

And then… the mask cracked. Her snarl faltered. A fissure opened in her voice.

She stumbled back a step, dropped her head, and her shoulders shook again—but now from tears, not rage.

"You stupid… stupid fool," she whispered, her voice muffled, as though she were confessing only to herself. "It's not pleasure. It's law. Ours. Without it, we're nothing. Without it we lose our purpose… we lose ourselves. I've already lost Edward. Lost his voice in here…" She struck her hand against her chest, hard, almost painfully. "And now I'm empty."

William stood there, watching her trembling fingers, her broken frame barely holding together. That choking heaviness rose in him again. All her cruelty, all the vicious bravado—mere armor over a hollow wound.

He drew in a long, steadying breath.

"Then all the more reason," he said softly, but with iron beneath the words, "that you can't die now. You're not empty. You're just lost."

She jerked at that, as if struck. Her lips parted like she wanted to spit another insult, to claw back her rage—but the words caught in her throat. She stared at him with a kind of wild confusion, as though she were hearing something that had no place in her world at all.

"…Why are you helping me?" she breathed at last. "I tried to kill you. I would've devoured you without a second thought. Why?!"

William hesitated. He had no clean answer. Still, the words came:

"Because… if I kill you, then I'll give in to the part of me I hate most. And I don't want that. I'm fighting myself, not you."

Silence fell between them. Her eyes still burned with hostility, but deep, deep inside their storm, something faint flickered. A tiny spark. Not trust, not yet—but the thinnest thread of fragile hope. It almost scared her more than hate.

She turned away from him, staggering back to sit on the edge of the bed. Tears still shone on her cheeks, but when she spoke again, her voice no longer tore the air. It had gone low, flat, weary—cracked beyond repair.

"You're insane." She rubbed at her face with her hand. "Fine… Let's see where your idiotic little world without monsters takes us."

******

She sat at the edge of the bed, pale-faced and silent, as if for the first time in all this turmoil she allowed herself to exhale. For a fleeting moment, the room steadied into a strange, brittle calm: the cheap wall clock ticking away, the muffled hum of the city outside, and the heavy breathing of two beings who still hadn't decided whether they were enemies or allies.

William was about to say something—something ordinary, almost trivial—when his nostrils flared.

Metal. Sharp, foreign, cutting through the stale motel air.

Then his ears caught it: the faint scrape of boots on asphalt, the metallic rasp of gear shifting, a muffled voice whispering through a radio just beneath the window.

The realization hit like ice.

Shit. We're not alone.

His words died on his lips as he went still, listening. His heartbeat climbed, thudding against his ribs. Beyond the wall came the deliberate rhythm of steps. Two… no, three. Moving in sync. Breathing hard. Trained. Coordinated.

The girl shot to her feet, staggering before the feral sharpness swept back over her face. Her lips peeled, voice a whip of venom:

"They're here for me…" she hissed. "The hunters' dogs."

"Or for us," William cut in, harsher than he intended. Swiftly he slid into the corner near the window, every nerve alert. His eyes darted across the dim parking lot outside. The glint of a riflescope caught for a heartbeat in the sodium glow of the streetlight—and in that instant, he knew.

They were surrounded.

The motel was no longer just a room. It was a trap.