And then Roman pushes him away. He stumbles back over the corner of the bench and crashes to the ground, gasping and pulling at his shirt.

I take a step forward. I want to see it happen.

Roman grabs my shoulder and spins me to face him. I try to turn my head away, back toward whatever he’s just done to that creature, but Roman grabs my chin and forces me to look up at him.

“Ava.” He says my name a few more times, but all I can think about is my need to watch that creature die. “Ava.”

I finally focus on his face.

“Have you ever seen a vampire die?”

I try to shake my head, but his hand’s holding me too tightly.

“Don’t watch, then,” he says.

“I want to see him suffer,” I say. I think I shock him. I shock myself a little.

His brows draw together for a split second, and his hand loosens, and I jerk my head from his grip, but the vampire I thought he killed is gone.

Then I spot the short vamp running in the other direction.

I move to dart after him, but Roman grabs my arm, and it’s like trying to run while shackled to a wall. My feet skid against the wooden planks, and I don’t make it another inch.

“He’s getting away.” I yank harder and get absolutely nowhere.

Roman glances after him. Then down at my bleeding hand.

“You need to fix that.”

“I can fix it after he’s dead. Give me the stake. You let them both get away.”

We both stare at the stake still in his hand and watch the blood on it flake away into ash until it’s perfectly clean, like nothing happened. Roman tucks it back into his jacket without letting go of my arm. “Not both of them,” he says, pointing to where the other vampire fell.

I walk over and stare at the pile of gray ash blending with the worn wood.

“So that’s what happens to them.” I’ve pictured the way they might die a thousand times, and turning to dust was definitely one of the ways I imagined.

“It’s a little more violent than that.”

“I wanted to watch,” I say, moving back toward him so I can look him in the eyes, so he can know just how much I mean that. I want to shock him again, but he studies me with the same impassive expression as always.

“You lost someone,” he says.

My mouth clamps shut.