Chapter 192: Vampire Luna

Ava’s eyes widened in panic as she stuffed a large piece of bread into her mouth, chewing as fast as her jaw could physically manage. She clearly didn't want to keep me waiting even for a second, practically trying to swallow her food whole so she could jump up from the table.

I ignored her completely, keeping my dark pupils locked onto the old hunter sitting across from me. A sharp, mocking grin slowly spread across my face as I leaned forward, resting my palms flat against the wooden table. The rich hybrid blood running through my veins made my muscles throb with renewed energy, and the sudden surge of strength was exhilarating.

"Wow," I purred, my voice dripping with cold confidence. "I think I'm completely back to full strength now. In fact, I'm pretty sure I could kill you right here where you sit."

The Butcher didn't even stop chewing, but his dark eyes flicked up to meet mine.

"You haven't had a single drop of fresh blood in over a week," I continued, tilting my head slightly as my grin widened. "According to what you told me earlier, your body is starving and running on pure fumes. That means in terms of raw physical power, I should easily be able to beat you to a pulp right now."

I took a slow step toward his side of the table, letting my hands slide along the back of a heavy wooden chair. "You see, you might have decades of hunting experience under your belt, but let me give you a free pro tip: never lend a helping hand to your enemy. They will only take that hand and use it to tear your throat out."

The old man let out a deep, booming laugh that echoed off the stone walls, shaking his broad chest. He casually picked up a wooden toothpick from the tray and began picking at his back teeth.

"Funny," he grunted, a lazy smirk pulling at his rugged mouth. "That is not totally true, girl. But nevertheless, you are not my enemy."

A sharp scoff tore from my throat as I folded my arms tightly across my chest. "Well, says who? A person who hates your guts is your enemy. You don't get to sit there and decide whether I like you or hate you. I am the only one who gets to make that choice, and right now, I despise you."

The Butcher’s amused expression vanished, replaced by a sudden, deadpan calm. He set his fork down with a loud clatter and shifted his heavy chair back, opening his broad arms wide as if inviting a attack.

"Fine," he said quietly, his dark eyes locking onto mine without a single trace of fear. "Kill me then. I am vulnerable, weak, and starving, just like you said. In fact, to be completely honest with you, I am looking forward to dying soon anyway."

He reached over to the breakfast board, picked up a long, razor-sharp hunting knife used for slicing tough meat, and slid the wooden handle directly toward my hand.

"Kill me right now," he challenged, his voice dropping into a dangerous, steady whisper. "Take my head clean off my shoulders. You can have your sweet revenge right here in this kitchen."

My fingers closed around the cold bone handle of the blade. I lifted it off the table, the steel gleaming under the dim light of the parlor.

The old hunter instantly raised both of his hands into the air, leaning his head back to expose the thick skin of his throat. "Don't hesitate for a single second, my 'enemy.' You can have it completely your way. But remember... take me out in one clean strike. Don't miss your shot now that you are so much stronger."

I stepped in close, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped war drum. I lifted the heavy blade and pressed the sharp edge lightly against the front of his neck—just enough to pinch the skin.

Ava froze completely in her chair, a half-eaten piece of bread slipping right out of her trembling fingers and dropping onto her plate. Her eyes went wide as saucers, her mouth hanging open in absolute terror as she stared at the sharp steel resting against the hunter's throat. She looked like she was about to faint on the spot.

"Do it now!" the Butcher suddenly roared, his loud voice booming through the room so hard it made the glass bottles on the table rattle.

I didn't flinch, but my hand remained completely still.

"What on earth are you waiting for?" he taunted, his dark eyes flashing with fierce intensity. "Or are you scared? I thought you said you were my enemy! If you truly hate me so much, then kill me right now! I dare you! Do it!"

The thick silence of the parlor returned, heavy and suffocating. The blade didn't move an inch. I stood there, frozen, my knuckles white around the hilt, but my hand refused to slice through his flesh.

In a split second, before my brain could even register the movement, the Butcher’s massive, scarred hand blurred through the air. He slapped my wrist aside with terrifying speed and snatched the hunting knife completely out of my grip before I could even tighten my fingers.

He nonchalantly flipped the knife in his palm and stuck the blade deep into the wooden table with a sharp THUCK!

"See that right there?" he said softly, leaning back into his chair with a triumphant look on his rugged face. "Like I told you... you are not my enemy."

He rested his large hands on his knees, his expression softening into something almost gentle, though his eyes remained sharp as flint.

"You are just a scared little girl," he stated plainly, his voice cutting straight through my pride. "You are terrified of the cold world outside, even when you are walking around carrying so much raw power in your blood. Well... whether you like it or not, you are like a daughter to me, Amanda. And I am going to treat you like one."

The second the word daughter hit my ears, something wild and uncontrollable snapped deep inside my chest. Hot, blinding rage flooded my brain, destroying every single shred of restraint I had left.

"Don't you ever call me that!" I screamed.

Before he could even draw another breath, I pulled my fist back and drove a brutal, power-infused punch straight

into the side of his cheek.