Hot for Slayer

by Ali Hazelwood

I constantly wished for things that weren’t compatible with my destiny. I wished to travel. I wished to laugh. I wished for ballads and dances and tales. I wished for a life that I couldn’t have, which was, apparently, my greatest flaw.

And because the abbess, the nunnery, and the fortnightly mandatory vows of fasting didn’t raise a quitter—nor did they manage to beat the stubbornness out of me—even thirteen centuries into my vampiric tenure, I have yet to accept my new circumstances. That, I fear, will be my demise.

“Hey,” I told him with a small, amused smile. “Couldn’t bear to let someone else butcher me, huh?” “I know what’s mine,” he muttered in his usual clipped tone.

OH??

I was busy dealing with my own pickle—more precisely, the fact that before Lazlo had gotten to him, Teenage Dirtbag had managed to tackle me and break my legs, my hip bone, and my left 16shoulder, making it impossible for me to move.

UM OUCHHH

That’s when Enyedi sprinted to bodily push me out of the light, hit his head on a collapsing ceiling beam, and fell unconscious on top of me. Which would be where we are at, right now.

WAIT SO HE SAVED YOU BEFORE LOSING HIS MEMORIES?? Hmm very interesting, indeed

“I’m serious. We are nemeses.” “No, we are not.” I frown. “Why don’t you believe me? We deeply dislike each other.” “Maybe you don’t like me, because I clearly . . .” He stops. Shakes his head.

OH HE KNOWS HE LIKES HERR

At least you still have a home, I tell myself, hoping for a positive spin. Teenage Dirtbag burst into flames when Lazlo shoved him into the sun, which means that I won’t have to move out of my beloved apartment.

i need me a man that turns someone into ashes <3

I run back to my apartment, and step inside just as he walks out of the bathroom. Naked.

LMAO he didn't use the towel??

I guess Lazlo is wearing a towel around his hips.

THEN HE IS NOT NAKED LMAO

It’s a truly terrible idea, but my thumb and forefinger are already inside my mouth, licked clean, before I’m even aware of it.

BITCH DID HE SEE THAT????

“It was one-sided,” he tells me after he’s done chewing. “From you.” “What?” “The dislike.” “I assure you, it was not.” “And I assure you, when I look at you, I feel anything but that.”

OHH REALLY??

Sometimes I’m lonely. Sometimes I want more—whatever that means. Not everything is ideal. But I’m capable of finding my own meaning.

My train of thought stops, and my head explodes into a panic. “You okay?” he asks, still drying the plates we used as though he heard my entire brain detonate.

CAN HE READ HE MIND OR SOMETHING

An impatient sigh interrupts me, and he crowds me even more against the cushions, which presses him close enough to me that . . . Oh my God. Is that a stake in his pocket, or is he just glad to see me?

LMAO

“I might not remember my name, or anything about who I am. But I could never be near you and not know exactly what you are to me.”

I AM SCREAMING

“I like your costumes,” I tell them. “Thank you,” the girl says solemnly. “I’m going to be a vampire when I grow up.” “And I’m going to be a vampire hunter,” says the boy. “And we’re going to get married.”

OH MY GOD

I throw an apple in his direction—which turns out to be a mistake when, in the blink of an eye, Lazlo grabs a knife from the wooden block and uses it to slash the fruit into four pieces. While it’s still in the air.

LMAOOOO hows she gonna explain THAT

“What kind of dream?” “I don’t know. Maybe it was a memory. You were there, though.” 54 My stomach sinks. “Were you chopping me into four pieces with a kitchen knife?” “We were dancing.” I slump, relieved. “Dancing . . . in a club?” He shoots me a dirty look like he knows what a club is and wouldn’t be caught dead inside one. “More formal than that.” He chews some more. “I liked your dress.” A smile starts. Turns into a private thing—between Lazlo and his own thoughts. “A lot.”

OH?

I drift off, because he’s taking a strand of my hair between his fingers and rubbing it gently, watching the flow of light orange across his own pale skin. His mouth murmurs a few words in another language—one that I speak, but I pretend not to, because this is not— It shouldn’t— What is even— It’s casual, the way he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. His touch is at once new and familiar, scorching and gentle. “Strawberry blond,” he says to himself. Then asks me, “We rarely what?”

OH MY GOD

And when I can no longer stand the tension of it, I ask him, “Do you, um, maybe wanna play cards?” He immediately puts the blade away, like sharing an activity with me is the only thing he has ever desired, and it’s . . . Nice, kind of. Shared. Pleasant.

STOP THEYRE TOO CUTE

he grabs my hand to pull me closer, and doesn’t let go, not even when a fortune teller tries to sell us a couple’s reading. 59 “We’re not a couple,” I explain just as he loftily proclaims, “I am a man, and I make my own fortune.”

LMAO

The teller’s eyes fall pointedly to where his fingers are closed around mine. “No matter,” she says. “Your fates are already intertwined.”

AHHHH

“I like it,” he says when we dip into a narrow, semi-deserted alleyway to avoid the throng. “We’ll do this often.”

LMAO HES CUTE

“I told you, Ethel. I know how I feel about you. And I know how you feel, too.” “And what would that—” He bends toward me slowly enough that I could conceivably stop him, but I don’t care to conceive of it—before his lips touch mine, or after.

OH MY GODDDDDD

“There is nothing that I could discover about you, or about myself, that would make me want to do this any less.” His tone is arrogant and self-assured, and brooks no argument. I hate it. Sadly, I could see myself loving it.

He steps closer once again. “I know we have done this before, Ethel.” “No. No, we haven’t. How do you even . . . ?” “I know your smell. I know your skin. Your hair. It’s all familiar. I have it all memorized. And I dream of you—of this. So many dreams, all so different, we must have done it a million times, in a million different ways. Tell me what you’re hiding from me, let’s get this over with, and then let’s do it a million more times.”

OH MY GOODDDDDDD

His voice is the same as it was before the attack, and yet completely different. He is the man who saved my life two days ago, the man who kissed me, the man who cleaned up the mess I made in my kitchen, but also something more.

“I have a place.” “Here? In New York?” He nods. “Where?” His smile is small and wistful. “Across from yours, actually.”

OH MY GOD

He clears his throat. “Aethelthryth, nothing would make me happier than having you with me here, or in any other place that I will call home, for as long as I live. Please, come in.” I try not to gasp, but it’s a blanket invitation—incredibly difficult to take back, and therefore stupid to extend. He must know that.

SCREAMING

I can’t wrap my head around it. “So, we talked about the meaning of life or some shit at a dance, and you had fun, and you changed your mind about killing vampires because . . .” I swallow. “Because you suddenly found me cute or something?” “I didn’t suddenly find you anything. I always knew you were . . . cute.” His lips curl as though it’s the first time he’s used the word in all his eons, and it tastes too saccharine in his mouth.