“Not gonna..fight back?”

Vi is floored at how limp you are once her hand wraps around your throat, forcing you back against the wall whisky you sputter and pant. You usually weren’t this frail, in her previous encounters with you.

No tricks up your sleeve this time.

“The hell?” grunts the vampire hunter, nose scrunched in disappointment as cerulean eyes trail over you bruised and battered body. Wounds that would usually seal in milliseconds oozing with thick, rich, burgundy liquid.

Her thumbs digs into your nape, forcing a garbled gasp from your lips as you’re made to look up at her. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion and something else.

“Fuck is wrong with you?”