The night air greeted her as she stepped out of the pub, her motorcycle waiting like an anchor to something she understood. Something that belonged to her.
"God, I thought I was past this kind of thing." Lucía kicked at the dirt in frustration, still annoyed at herself for not being able to shake off what she knew would be a recurring theme in her life.
She settled into the seat, the leather gloves tightening around her fingers with a strangely comforting sensation. She stopped thinking about what had just happened. Jealousy did not suit her, especially when love had never been part of her life
Lucía would simply wait for Katherine to finish her shift. She would talk to her and ask her to come along to the place where Jonathan Blackthorn's body had been found to search for clues. Better to focus on the job than on anything unnecessary. Because at least in that, she could be consistent.
The night air was cold. The humidity clung to her clothes like a constant reminder of her surroundings. The British Isles had a particular way of enveloping people in their climate, making the cold feel heavier and more present. She would not say she disliked it, but she could not imagine living with this kind of weather most of the year.
Lucía exhaled, watching the vapor escape her lips as she leaned back against her motorcycle, slightly regretting not ordering a stronger drink before stepping outside. It would have helped with the cold.
She tried to clear her mind, but failed miserably. If it was not that unfairly beautiful redhead invading her thoughts, then it was that worn and tempered man whose rough voice she would never hear again.
"Luke gave terrible advice about women, but at least he knew how to listen."
She murmured with a faint laugh as the thought crossed her mind. Her mentor and adoptive father had been present for most of her life, so it was obvious that any advice he gave did not come from experience.
Lucía shook her head. The small flicker of humor faded as she remembered why Luke had never sought a life partner. He always said that kind of relationship was basically impossible with the life they led. That was the best he could hope for was a one-night stand with someone kind enough not to leave in a hurry the next morning.
But Lucía knew the real reason lay in how Luke had become a hunter in the first place. In his obsession with killing the beast that had taken everything from him. In how that obsession had led him down a dark path.
"Damn. And I thought there would be no more introspection tonight."
Lucía muttered with exhaustion as she realized she had once again gotten lost in her own mind. In her memories. She just wanted the air to clear her thoughts. For the cold to do its job. But then the footsteps came.
At first, it was a scattered sound. The echo of soles hitting pavement in an uneven rhythm. Then came muffled voices. When she looked up, she saw them. Sports jackets. Faces twisted with resentment aimed directly at her. Enough of them to form a team, which was probably what they were.
At the front stood a boy she vaguely recognized. One of the two who had been with Jonathan the night before at the pub. Lucía was sure someone had mentioned his name at some point, but she had not bothered to remember it.
"That's her. The bitch who hit Jonathan. She humiliated him, and it's her fault he ended up alone in the woods." The familiar boy pointed at her.
"Whatever you think you're doing, you'd better stop. I'm not in the mood to play with children." Lucía's voice was sharp. She had already had a bad night and did not need this nonsense. She was being generous by not knocking them out for the insult, and only because they were grieving.
"If you hadn't been messing with him, none of this would have happened."
The leader of the group shouted back.
The flaws in that logic were so vast they were laughable. But it did not matter. What mattered was that they had chosen someone to unload their pain, their frustration, their anger. And that someone was her. Lucía did not react immediately. She just stared at them, feeling the emotions she had been keeping buried begin to rise.
She did not respond right away. Her jaw tightened. Her fingers flexed around the motorcycle's handlebars. She had no patience for this. Not tonight. But she did not want to cause trouble either. Her list of things to deal with was already long, and these idiots were not on it. So she decided to ignore them.
"You're ignoring me, you damn whore." The leader shouted, unable to bear Lucía's indifference. In his grief-clouded mind, her silence was nothing but mockery. As if his best friend's death was so meaningless it did not deserve attention.
Lucía clenched her teeth. The muscles in her jaw visibly tensed. "These idiots don't know when to quit." She muttered under her breath. It was not just the insults. It was the attention their shouting would attract that bothered her.
But Lucía could not just knock them out in the middle of the street without drawing unwanted eyes. "Why don't you just admit you want to beat me up and were too much of a coward to come alone." She provoked them. At the same time, she left her motorcycle behind and headed toward the alley behind the pub.
"Don't waste my time. Come on already."
Just as Lucía had expected, the group of teenagers followed her immediately. Some stared at her with barely restrained anger, others with unease, and a few with lust. She didn't care. Not really. These people had become a nuisance, and now she would unleash the beast inside her.
There were no warnings. No clever lines from either side. As soon as half the boys stepped into the alley, Lucía lunged at the one closest to her. Her fist connected with the boy's side, knocking the air from his lungs. The surprise on his face lasted barely a second before the others reacted. A small smile flickered across Lucía's lips for an instant as she knocked him out with a punch to the side of his face.
Chaos erupted immediately. One of the boys charged at her, only to be met with a front kick that drove Lucía's boot into his stomach and sent him flying backward. She blocked a kick with her forearm, then grabbed the attacker's leg with both arms and threw him onto another pair of boys. Another hand tried to grab her by the neck, but Lucía spun and slammed her elbow into the attacker's face.
Unlike technical fighters, Lucía didn't waste time on flourishes. Every strike had a purpose. Every movement was designed to maximize damage. Brutal. Efficient. Unadorned. A direct elbow to one jaw sent a boy crashing into the wall. Her knee smashed into another stomach, folding him over with a dry grunt.
Lucía was fierce. Brutal. But still just one person against many, and the injuries piled up. One punch landed squarely on her cheekbone, making her stagger for a moment. But her response was immediate; she grabbed the one who hit her and slammed him into the ground with a violence that made it clear she was in a different league.
By the time the group finally scattered, Lucía wasn't unscathed. Her knuckles burned. A cut on her cheek bled slowly. Her breathing was heavy. But she was still standing.
She brushed off the dust. The metallic taste of blood in her mouth reminded her she was alive. That she was still moving forward.
Her heart pounded fiercely, pumping boiling blood through her veins. It was exhilarating. Pleasurable. Dangerous. Her amber eyes glowed faintly for a second before returning to normal as she managed to control her breathing. The poison she had ingested at the morgue still flowed within her, helping to tame her most savage instincts.
Steel glinted in the dark. The leader of the group had reached his limit. His wounded pride, the fury building in his chest, the fear disguised as courage, all of it led him to pull the knife from his pocket with trembling hands.
Lucía didn't blink. She only sighed, tired. Then she slid her hand into her jacket and, with a precise motion, the collapsible baton snapped open with a dry sound, a crack that echoed through the alley like a final judgment.
The boy moved first. The blade gleamed in his grip as he lunged at her, clumsy but desperate. Lucía didn't dodge. She preferred to strike. The impact was immediate. The baton met flesh and bone. It sank into his forearm with a dull thud, forcing him to drop the knife with a grunt of pain.
But she didn't stop. The baton came down again, this time against his knee, making him collapse with a muffled scream. Lucía exhaled, her breath still heavy as she holstered the baton in the hidden sheath inside her jacket. The alley was silent, save for the ragged gasps of those still able to stand. But the leader was still there, kneeling.
Lucía looked at him for a moment. Her amber eyes, seen only by the boy in front of her, glowed dangerously. A cruel smile crossed her face, but it faded a moment later. She had enjoyed this. And she hated herself for it.
Then, without hurry, Lucía took a breath, shed the unnecessary thoughts, and stepped forward. Her knee rose with ruthless precision, connecting directly with the boy's face in a dry, brutal impact. His head snapped back, and his body lost all intention of staying upright.
Lucía adjusted her jacket and looked around at the wounded bodies lying on the ground, staring at her in fear. She kept her expression unreadable. It was over. And without looking back, she walked out of the alley, still struggling to suppress a heart thirsty for violence.