Starcrossed

Moonlight Massacre

I don't recall falling asleep.

But my trip back into the world of the conscious is an unpleasant one. A solid force has slammed into my body and is pressing me down into the mattress.

My eyes spring open, blurry from sleep, unable to focus on the face hovering above mine. Before I have the conscious thought to reach for my weapon, my hand has already moved to it—a trained reaction.

Almost as if expecting that, my attacker catches my hand, securing it to the handle of the dagger and making any movement impossible. The touch of skin to skin causes me to go rigid.

I squint in the darkness, forcing my eyes to focus. Slowly, a familiar face comes into view. The carefree expression he wore on his departure is no longer present. His gaze is cold and unwavering. Goosebumps rush up my arms and send a violent chill down my spine. My earlier suspicions are being confirmed and I know that this is Ace's true face—he's dangerous.

I suck in a sharp breath and before I can speak he covers my mouth with his free hand.

He tightens his grip on my other hand, crushing my fingers into the hard bone hilt. I grit my teeth and glare back at him. Ace brings his face down closer to mine and my heart stutters.

What the hell is he playing at? A low growl rumbles through my chest, a warning. I buck my hips and jerk my head to the side, all in an attempt to free myself.

"There's someone at the window," he whispers into my ear, the breath tickling my skin.

I freeze once more at his words, going still and quiet. My eyes shift from his face to the window. Sure, enough there is a figure illuminated by moonlight. Ace eases the pressure of the hand clenching my dagger, fiddling with my fingers—prying them away from the hilt.

Irritation sings through my veins as I meet Ace's gaze. The gentle slide of the window opening echoes through the quiet of our room. He removes his hand from my mouth, lifting a finger to his lips.

It's not the right time, but my eyes focus there; on the way they plump and press to the slender, scarred digit. A strange hunger stirs in my stomach at the sight. The corner of his mouth quirks up and I snap back to reality, biting into the soft flesh of my cheek. There are a slew of curses building a home in my throat, but again, it's not the right time.

I narrow my gaze, and pinch the skin on his hand. My impatience must be understood because he gets off me, taking my dagger with him. I watch every soundless step he takes toward the window. Ace remains at the edge of the shadows, only the reflection of the moonlight in his eyes giving away his location.

The intruder spills into the room through the window. They're no amateur. I can read it from the movement of their body and the soft, even breath filling the quiet. My heart speeds up at the realization—it's not my first time facing death, my siblings and their mothers have made a game of my life. My body is littered with scars to make sure I never forget.

Ace reacts like a viper, striking with deadly precision. The interloper goes rigid, my iron dagger sticking out of their neck. A moment later Ace rips it free and the body drops to the floor with a sickening, wet thud.

I rise off the mattress and approach the body.

"Why did you kill them? We could have questioned them, at least."

"They wouldn't have told us anything we can't discover from their body." 

I shoot a hard look in Ace's direction, gaze lingering on my dagger in his hand. He steps out of the shadows with ease, legs eating the distance between our bodies. With a fluid, graceful motion he flips my dagger in his hand and holds the hilt toward me. I stare down at the curved blade, still wet with the blood from our intruder.