The Deaths of Me (NEW ADULT REWORK)

4. Dane's Great Escape

I have never seen a greater monster or miracle than myself.

--Michael Eyquem de Montaigne

"You're late," a voice grumbled from under the shadow of a fire escape. Dane smiled apologetically, looking for the owner of the voice. It was obviously female, and even more obviously pissed off.

"Sorry. You know how buses can be."

A tiny little thing emerged from the darkness, and she became the brightest thing in the nighttime. She had ridiculously red hair, and Dane wondered how many times she'd dyed it. It was short and spiky, and he had the urge to poke it. She had green eyes, which was weird because Dane had always heard that vamp eyes were red. She was so petite she looked sickly. It didn't help that her skin was almost translucent.

"No," she hissed. "I don't. When I have a mission, I tend to be on time." She took a step back and looked at him with disgust. "You stink. More than a usual mutt."

Dane didn't take insult to her slur. He'd been called a mutt by his own brother before. Lycanthropes weren't easily offended by derogatory names. Slurs were left to the older alphas to sling around over glasses of brandy when waxing about 'the good old days'.

"You know, we prefer the term 'mixed-breed' just in case you were wondering," he tossed back, proud that his Irish accent rang out in the cramped alley.

"I wasn't. Let's get this done and over with. I'll clear the third floor first. They're holding her in some sort of office. I'll take care of the guards, doctors, and anyone else who gets in my way. You release the phoenix and meet me on the fourth floor. Going downstairs would be inordinately risky. We might be seen, and even worse, we might be outnumbered. We'll work our way up instead and jump from roof to roof until we get three buildings over. From there—" Tuning the redhead out while she talked was easy. Too many directions. She'd planned this down to the tee, but Dane tended to go on instinct, and it wasn't like she was actually holding his attention. She used her hands when she talked, though, and it was hard to get a good look at them. Her fingers were long; longer than he would have guessed, seeing as her hands were so small.

She must have finished because she got quiet and stared at him like she wanted him to answer her in some way. "I'm Dane?" he offered.

She rolled her eyes and waved him towards the building where the phoenix was held. And then she asked, "What is that supposed to be short for? Great Dane?"

"The greatest," he replied, having heard the barb countless times before.

"Look, I usually work alone. I don't like you. We will never be friends—"

"I'm pretty sure 'man's best' is supposed to go in there somewhere, partner," he interjected, leaning back against the brick wall.

"Can we just do this? If there's no way out of working with you, then I want it to be as quick and painless as possible."

Her snarl was surprisingly impressive for someone so fun-sized. If the Council had picked her for the bloody violence part of the job, then she must be fairly vicious. He kept expecting to feel a wave of resentment or a natural lycanthrope aversion to the vampire. Other than being completely unlikeable, she didn't give him the urge to cringe away from her or hold his breath to stave off her vampiric stench. She didn't smell like anything to him. Dane shrugged and decided to call a cease fire on the witty banter for now.

"You never told me yer name."

She leveled him with a deadly glare. "I'm Ivy. And I will kill you if you mess this up."