Unbalanced

I

Nicoleta

"Neeko... letta?" The barista made her name sound like a question as he carefully worked through the sounds, trying not to screw it up.

"Niko-leeta," she said absently as she accepted the steaming, chocolatey goodness. Letting her eyes wander among the oversized chairs and sofas, taking in the mismatched atmosphere of the café, it was cozy. It was also empty minus one couple in the corner with their heads bent toward each other. A glance at the clock behind the register explained that it was four o'clock in the morning. She guessed it made sense that not many people were still wandering the streets at this hour. Unsurprisingly, she saw no sign of her prey, either. She sighed and headed for the door, stepping into the humid night air.

Within minutes the leather of her jacket was sticking to her skin, the front of her tank top was damp with sweat, and her legs were itching under her jeans. The ground was still wet from the earlier rain, which left the air almost too thick to breathe, and her boots splashed along the pavement as she walked. Why anyone would choose to live here, she would never understand. In the days since she had arrived, it had been suffocatingly hot with just enough rain to make it worse. She had never been anywhere before that couldn’t be cooled by an afternoon rain. It was almost as if the moisture left the air too heavy to muster up a breeze.

She couldn’t wait to be done with this, so she could go home to her tiny, bare room in Romania. She would’ve given up and reported the mission a bust after last night if she wasn’t determined to put an end to this. It was bad enough that this monster had put down every Sora that had that been sent to kill him, but his transgressions were far more personal than that. She doubted he'd even remember them; remember what he did. But if she ever found him, she intended to remind him. Right before she cut his heart out.

"Only Hell could be this damn hot at four A.M.," she grumbled as she headed toward the run-down motel. She was in an uncharacteristically bad mood as she walked through the empty streets. She should have been able to track him by now and her frustration was mounting. The elders said he was here, but there was no trail to follow. No bodies piling up in the morgue and no horror stories of demons or possessed strangers. The completely black eyes and feeding habits among the wraith usually made them pretty easy to track. She was beginning to wonder if the information had been wrong when a shiver running down her spine stopped her in her tracks. He was here.

Eyes scanning the street, she turned in place to find the source of the terror crawling through her body. She saw nothing to suggest she wasn’t alone. The bars and cafes were empty. Even the fountain in the public square was still and quiet. He was here, though. Somewhere. She could feel it in the hairs standing up on the back of her neck, the goosebumps rising on her skin, the adrenaline coursing through her system, and the way her heartbeat was quickly gaining speed.

Noticing a narrow alley to her right, she turned and felt the preternatural power slamming against her in waves, pushing at her psyche. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to turn back, her muscles twitching as they prepared to fight or flee. Gods, he was strong, but she had put stronger wraiths down in the past and had no doubts in her ability to do so again. Deciding she probably didn’t have time to enjoy her latte before he sprang, she placed it on a chipped blue newspaper box. She stared at it wistfully for another moment before she released the snap on her wrist sheath. “Fucking assholes never show up when it’s convenient.” She groused to the cup as the cold and comforting steel of her stiletto slid into her palm. Taking a deep breath to ground herself, she crept into the alley, staying close to the wall and focusing her senses on the space in front of her.

She had only taken a few steps when a figure emerged from the shadows and stood, facing her. The Surori Războinice had phenomenal eyesight and Nicolita's was better than most, but from this distance and with no lighting, she couldn’t see much more than a dark silhouette. She paused, waiting for him to move, but he just stood there. Watching her. She rolled her eyes at the mind games he was trying to play. Then she straightened her spine and moved further into the darkness. She didn’t wait for him to make a move; he’d already proven himself more than capable. She may be the best warrior the Surori had ever seen, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

As soon as she got close enough, she lunged at him, leaning in so her shoulder would connect with his midsection. She intended to lift as she made contact and knock him off balance, but that’s not what happened. Instead, he stepped out of her path, quicker than she could blink, and with a small push, he let her own momentum take her down. She landed hard on her knees and pain ricocheted up her legs. She twisted back, locking her jaw to keep herself from wincing at the pain, to see him standing above her, watching her as if he were watching a cat play with string. The bastard was amused.

She lunged again, this time going for his knees, but the wraith twisted to avoid the slash of her blade. She let the swing continue, twisting slightly as her arm arched out behind her and sliced into his calves, just below the hollows of his knees. As he slid to the ground, she lurched upward, grabbing him from behind and pressing the tip of her knife to his throat before he could recover. She’d have to angle the blade lower to kill him, and she would kill him, but not yet. Despite the elders order to kill him quickly, saying if she even hesitated for a second she would be another dead warrior in his wake, she paused. She wanted him to know who she was. She wanted him to know that it was her that ended his pathetic existence and why. Before she even realized she had slipped, she felt him spin and white stars exploded behind her eyelids. Then everything went dark.

Lucian

Lucian lifted the girl off the street and carried her back to his apartment. He had already been here longer than he should have, but he had to wait for her. As the famed “queen of warriors,” he knew they would send her eventually. She never failed a mission, or so he had heard, and none of the others that came for him had returned home. Not that the ancient and crumbling monastery the Surori operated out of was much of a home in his opinion.

Laying her down across his king size bed, he checked her wrists, ankles, thighs, and hips for more weapons. He found less than he expected. “Maybe you are as good as they stay, little one,” he murmured as he set the knife she used in the alley on the stand beside the bed. He tucked the other into his pocket. Then, realizing that she might wake up with a headache from the blow, he retrieved a bottle of aspirin from the restroom medicine cabinet and placed that on the stand as well, with a glass of water. He left her then and retrieved the shoebox he kept on top of the refrigerator.

It had been a while since the last time he looked inside, and the pang in his heart when saw the photograph on top was the reason he avoided it. He ran his fingers over the polished steel of the split chakram in the box and wondered if she might like to keep them. They were her mothers. He spent another moment letting the memories wash over him before he took a few things from the box and put the rest away.

Nicoleta

Nicoleta slowly cast her gaze around the unfamiliar room, taking in her surroundings. Confused by the deep green walls, dark trim, and oak furniture, she had to admit it wasn’t a horrible place to wake up. Better than a dungeon at least. When she was confident that she was alone, she sat up and continued to inspect her surroundings. She needed to see if there was anything in here that could be used to her advantage. The pounding in her skull, making it hard to concentrate, was the only remanence of the night before. She found herself in the middle of a large oak bed with soft green blankets and thick pillows. "Weird," she mumbled. To her right, her wrist sheath and stiletto rested upon a small table next to a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. “What the fuck is going on here?” She whispered as she reached for the knife and slid off the bed. This had to be the weirdest abduction, ever; the door wasn’t even closed all the way.

She padded over, silently, and peeked through the opening. The rest of the dwelling appeared sparsely furnished. A dark leather sofa was positioned in front of a large, wall-mounted television that hung between two large, full bookcases. An exit was just on the other side of that couch and it was secured with nothing more than a deadbolt, locked from the inside. Pushing the door wider, she stepped out.

“Good morning,” said a deep, raspy voice.

She spun, expecting to see a monster, but instead she was met with dirty blond curls falling over eyes the color of a storm ravaged sea. He sat at a small, mahogany dining table, with an open, handwritten book and a few scattered photographs in front of him, as well as her other stiletto.

“Who the fuck are you?” She asked.