Kai stood in the kitchen of the safehouse, refusing to think about anything. He had left the house to buy groceries, since the fridge was empty and he’d had no strength to take care of it when he’d first arrived to the place, and he was now preparing - was it breakfast? He wasn’t sure, since the sun was only rising and it was not meal time for normal people.

 

He was still breathless from running so much, but he had been afraid that the prisoner would escape if he left her out of his sight, so he had to do things as quickly as possible.

 

But he was standing in the kitchen for the past God-knew-how-long, squeezing his eyes and leaning on the sink, trying to banish all thoughts from his mind.

 

Because his brain was screaming at him to stop acting like this and call the police so that they could take her away. Or better, kill her.

 

He kept reassuring himself that he’d do exactly that once she awoke and had a proper meal, but his brain yet again screamed at him that he freaking didn’t care about whether she was hungry or stoned; all that mattered was that she was put away - forever.

 

And yes, he agreed with that, too. He was about to call his colleagues to take her to prison immediately, because she was one of the most dangerous - if not the most dangerous of them all - criminal in the world and he was aware of how much risk he was taking by remaining silent.

 

But. Holding the phone in his hand and about to press the dial button, he noticed something on the floor of the living room.

 

Bandages. First aid kit. Painkillers scattered all over the floor.

 

It was no wonder she was acting that crazy. She’d been ready to kiss him, and she was unable to protect herself at all - except for that leg kick that he still felt and that would hurt for a long, long time, he was sure.

 

The problem was, he’d never imagined for things to happen this way. He’d thought of so, so many possible scenarios.

 

Perhaps he’d start shooting at her while she was running away and a bullet would hit her.

 

She’d stop running when she reached a high cliff she could not jump from and then she’d turn towards him like a deer caught in the headlights.

 

They’d have a face-to-face fight, and he wouldn’t use the advantage in size to his favor, not if he didn’t need to. He’d punch her in the face and she’d fall, blood spurting from her nose.

 

She’d throw the gun and raise both hands, saying she surrendered. Then she’d unexpectedly take another gun out and start shooting, and then she’d get shot.

 

He’d approach her as she died and tell her who she was and what she’d done to him.

 

And then he’d finally be free.

 

None of those scenarios, not a single one, had any similarity with what was happening right now.

 

He had never thought he would see her as a human being. He didn’t, but his pride kept shaking its head and saying that this wasn’t right - he knew it wasn’t.

 

It didn’t feel like a victory when he had the help of a wound on the left leg, a graze of a bullet on the forehead and a round of painkillers together with the lack of nutrients.

 

In a morbid way, he admired her ability to come here, considering the blood loss and the amount of running she had to do in order to make such a wide turn so quickly. She’d outsmarted them all again; he was waiting for news from the infrared search, one he’d wanted to be a part of but his boss said he had to go get some sleep after four days of non-stop work, and it was something he had to respect, no matter how much he disagreed.

 

But to have her come here… It was just luck, and it made him feel so angry. He didn’t want or need the help of luck - he wanted to be the one to show her and everyone else that he was smarter, that he was stronger and that justice prevailed. Not luck.

 

He didn’t feel like it was a fair fight, that was all. Had she been in her rightful mind, things would’ve happened much differently, he knew.

 

He anticipated that moment.

 

So, as crazy as he seemed to every coherent part of himself, he made breakfast for two people instead of one. He sat by the kitchen table and ate his meal alone, knowing that she’d refuse to eat anything if he was in the room, let alone share a meal with him. Good; he felt the same way.

 

As morbid as it was, the two of them were kind of the same - he had been tracking her for seven years, and he knew her habits and mindset to the point of starting to act the same way.

 

Before he’d fallen asleep that night, he’d felt so proud of himself. For the first time ever, he’d managed to organize an action without her realizing it was a trap. He’d managed to bribe one of the higher-ups at the black market, making him accept to contact her and tell her the information about the alleged assassination she had to do.

 

It would be a tight game, he knew, because the arrangement with the exact information about time and location would seem strange to her, but he also knew she’d be reassured by the client’s credibility.

 

Maybe I’ll actually catch her this time, mom, he’d sent a message to his mother. And when he’d arrived to the safe house, he actually believed in it - that they would quickly catch her with hunting dogs and infrared sensors, since she could escape from neither.

 

And now she was sleeping in the same bed that he’d fallen asleep in just a couple hours earlier, cuffed to the headboard of the bed. He’d checked on her at least a thousand times, because she was beyond capable.

 

But as he slowly opened the door and entered the room, the first rays of the Sun revealed a completely different image.

 

This was not the woman he’d been chasing for seven years.

 

This was not the woman he wanted to catch so badly.

 

This was a pale, exhausted, bloody creature that could not even fight back.

 

That had wanted to kiss him so eagerly, with such raw passion in her eyes.

 

That had nothing but a towel wrapped around her in those sheets.

 

He let her sleep, banishing the treacherous thoughts in his mind. He was just tired himself, that was it - when he got some sleep, too, he would stop thinking about the way her body pressed against his before the painkillers got the better of her.

 

He’d wanted to call the police, because he was disappointed. He had been chasing a drug addict, one so much like all the other criminals, and there would be no nobility in telling her there was more to the chase than mere sense of duty.

 

But she was not a junkie. He’d inspected her arms and found no needle traces. For some reason, he’d felt relieved, because it seemed like she was everything he’d imagined her to be.

 

They’d never seen each other before, at least not face-to-face. He’d caught a glimpse of red curly hair once, but it was a couple of years back, and she’d changed many colors since then. The blonde suited her, and he felt as if some puzzle pieces had slid into place, bringing him a couple of steps closer to his revenge.

 

His brain had screamed at him to at least answer the question what he’d do when she woke up.

 

He would tell her his story.

 

Then he would laugh at her face and tell her it was over.

 

Would he kill her? No, the things he’d told her were very true - she did not deserve death. She did not deserve to say goodbye to the world so quickly, without paying for her sins earnestly, or at least partly. But he would not let her go either - it went against his sense of nobility, and it made no sense either. If he let her go, what would prevent him from doing the same thing the next time, and then the time after that, and every time he caught her?

 

No, as disappointing as it was, it was going to end after he told her everything. It was not the ending that mattered - the journey was important. Just her scared voice mentioning that dog hunt and how hard it had been for her was enough to make him feel satisfied. He wished for her to suffer for a long, long time, just like he did. Just like he always would.

 

It was time to come home, he knew. So he stood in the office room, a cup of coffee in his hands, staring at the sun shining over the world. He’d gotten a call 15 minutes earlier, saying they hadn’t managed to track her down with IR tech, but that they had found something else - six dead hunting dogs, four of them shot and two of them stabbed with some kind of knife.

 

He just said okay, without saying totally unimportant stuff, like, for example, that he knew exactly what kind of knife they’d been stabbed with, or that he’d almost been stabbed with the same knife, too, or that its owner was sleeping in his bedroom down the hallway.

 

Totally unimportant stuff indeed.

 

When the sun was high up in the sky, he decided he’d had enough. He’d been having some dreadful feeling that made his chest constrict for a while now, and it didn’t matter how she was feeling anyway - he would wake her up, let her eat in peace, laugh in her face and watch the police haul her away. And he would be perfectly content with that - he had been more than humane with her anyway. His parents would be proud of him, and… he would, too, wherever he was now.

 

He put the cup of coffee down on the table, having taken merely a sip or two, for the sake of caffeine. He didn’t feel hungry or thirsty anymore, only nervous - as if he was going to perform the stage of his lifetime, and stage fright was taking hold of him. He knew he had to act as soon as possible in order to make it dissipate.

 

He got the charismatic black blade out of his pocket, instantly being reminded that Hella wasn’t someone who deserved any compassion. Yes, facing her was hard, especially when she was so pretty - he’d call her beautiful if it wasn’t for the fact that she was a ruthless murderer who’d cold-bloodedly ended the lives of hundreds of innocent people - but the black blade was her favorite weapon, one she’d used to stab dogs less than a day ago, and such a messed-up person needed to be put to jail.

 

He returned the blade to his pocket, where it’d be safe from Hella’s reach - he still needed to be wary of her, even with her being cuffed to the bed.

 

He opened the door of the office room, got out and approached the room which held the blonde his whole life had been revolving around for the past seven years - and four years before he’d become a cop.

 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was it - he would now get into this room and face his destiny, and return home to take care of his - their parents.

 

Are you watching, brother? I hope you can see this. I hope you are proud of me.

 

Before he could reach the handle, though, the feeling of cold metal on his nape stopped him in his tracks.

 

“I’m not kidding this time, cop,” a voice that his ears were becoming familiar with hissed from behind him, “You move, you die.”

 

He knew she was completely serious, especially judging by the fact that she was sounding a lot more sober than last night. But how had she managed to free herself from the cuffs?

 

No matter how good of a lockpicker she was, she couldn’t have possibly found a way to pick locks with . And she was too weak to make any superhuman effort, having lost so much blood and having been exhausted and drugged by taking too many painkillers.

 

But apparently she had some way to find her way out of everything, which was kind of the reason why he had been hunting her for so long, and why he had been doing it so diligently. Against his will, his stomach twisted in excitement, and the treacherous part of his mind whispered, Maybe this isn’t the end, after all in excitement.

 

“Thanks for the breakfast and everything, but I don’t intend to stay at this hellhole any longer. I got work to do, and you’ve been a pain in the for far too long.”

 

She pushed him forward by hitting him in the back not at all gently, and hissed, “Get going, cop!”

 

All he wanted to do was turn and take the gun out of her hands - where had she even found one, for God’s sake? He’d searched the house when he arrived and found no weapons at all. But at such a close proximity, with hatred dripping from her voice, he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him if he made a single wrong move.

 

So he decided to ask the questions that he couldn’t help but want to know the answers to, as a detective and as someone who’d been studying her a large portion of his life. “So how did you free yourself? And where on Earth did you find a gun?”

 

She pressed the barrel of the gun to his nape, reminding him of who was in charge and how she wouldn’t fall for the whole conversation-focus-shifting tactic he was using, though she already knew all of that.

 

“This house is more American than you think,” was her only explanation as she made him open the bedroom door.

 

She made him lie down on the bed and then cuffed him with the same cuffs he’d used on her a couple of moments ago - he tried to find a moment of insecurity, a shaking hand or a shift in focus, but she was cold and ruthless as he secured the cuffs around his wrists - and then they were in the opposite position of the one from a couple of hours back, when she was sleeping and he trying not to take advantage of her or at least take a peek at her body while he carried her to the bed and restrained her.

 

He noticed that the plate he’d left with her breakfast was empty, and for some reason, it made him feel good in a morbid way. Everything that she made him feel was twisted in one way or another - whether it was hatred or attraction, both feelings were thick, dark and murky, and left him feeling confused and breathless.

 

Even now, he could barely focus on anything but the towel that was still around her body as she so-professionally searched through his pockets and took her blade back, together with his wallet, gun and mobile phone.

 

She took the phone’s battery out and threw it against the wall, breaking it in the process. Then she stepped on it just for good measure. There went his chance of calling his colleagues. The house had no landline, so he would have to contact them in some other way.

 

But he would worry about it later, when he found a way to break free of his restraints. If she could do it, then he must’ve been able to do it, too, right?

 

Then he noticed the red marks on her wrists. He realized that it was blood, and that she hadn’t used any kind of magic to set herself free at all.

 

No, instead she’d done it by force, and judging by the dark marks on her skin, it must’ve hurt, a lot.

 

Yet he hadn’t heard a sound.

 

He slowly began realizing what a mistake it was to give her these few precious hours. She was Hella, an assassin all messed-up people looked up to, strived to become like, one legends revolved around, one that was always described as ruthless and ready to do anything to finish a job successfully.

 

He knew that she would do anything to save her own life; what did the life of a meaningless detective mean to her? He was just an obstacle, one she would gladly put a couple dozen bullets in without blinking.

 

And he had prepared her food and put her to bed, and saw her as a rogue dog in his mind, one that could be tamed. Perhaps even saved someday.

 

He tried to break free by force, pulling his hands towards himself and testing the headboard, but Hella stopped inspecting his gun immediately and turned the other, much more old-fashioned Colt 2000 he could now identify towards him, releasing the safety trigger warningly. “You try that again, and I’ll shoot you.”

 

“I see you’ve eaten the food,” he said, trying to make conversation that would eventually make her put her guard down - though he doubted it. His only chance was the towel, which she would have to change out of in order to be able to get out of the house, and that would take some time.

 

Would it be enough for him to break free? He hoped it would, though a part of him wished the hunt would continue, even if just for a little while longer.

 

She ignored him, sorting through his wallet with two guns in one hand, and he would’ve described her as a makeshift heroine if not for the fact that she was evil to her very core.

 

“Listen, cop,” she started, throwing his wallet away after taking what little cash was in it, “I appreciate your whole enslaving thing, but as much as you’ll hate to hear it, you’re messed up. So just stop following me already, and go to a mental hospital or something.”

 

Kai furrowed his eyebrows. “Enslaving?” he echoed in disbelief. “You think I was going to enslave you? Are you crazy or something?”

 

She made a step towards him and then leaned until their noses were almost touching, raising an eyebrow at him. “Then tell me,” she said in a low voice, “Why hadn’t you called them to haul me away yet?”

 

For the first time in his working career, Kai started stumbling for words. “I- That’s not what you think- It is actually-”

 

Her raised eyebrow remained, but she made a sound that indicated he was amusing her, so he closed his mouth. She waved his colt in the air, sitting next to him on the bed. “Go on, go on, maniac. I want to hear your petty excuse. Am I too pretty for you to be able to resist or something like that? Or am I just your type?”

 

With that, her eyes seemed to darken, as if her mind was going to the exact same places his was, too. He couldn’t understand what was going on - she was his worst enemy. He despised her, and wanted to do nothing but see her scream in pain and get payback for all of her sins.

 

But she was hot, and she was tracing a path on his chest with the pistol in her other hand, and it was distracting him. It must’ve been the lack of sleep that was clouding his judgement - she was playing with him, and instead of trying to find a way to get out from this situation and restrain her again, he was too busy admiring her instead.

 

Perhaps he was a lunatic for real.

 

“I was just being humane,” he tried, blinking rapidly to make himself focus. “Guess I shouldn’t have made that mistake.”

 

“Of course you shouldn’t have,” she said seductively, batting her eyelashes at him as the gun reached his neck, stopping there. The metal was cold, but instead of making him snap to his senses, it seemed to only be making things worse.

 

“But you know what else you shouldn’t have done?” she whispered, throwing the gun away as reached his ear, making him shiver. He wanted for his hands to be free. He wanted to grab the gun and kill her.

 

Ah, who was he kidding? Before grabbing the gun and killing her, he wanted to touch her. And not stop until the fire that was burning inside of him incinerated every treacherous part that actually liked her and wanted to be with her.

 

“You shouldn’t have denied me that kiss,” she said as her head hovered above his, and this time he could do nothing but turn his head from her in order to show defiance.

 

He didn’t turn it.

 

His mind screamed at him to stop acting like this, but he just wanted to see what she would do. Whether she would actually try it. Whether she was that low to actually want her enemy.

 

He’d thought she’d done the things she’d done last night because she’d been influenced by the painkillers.

 

But as she moved on top of him and he heard the sound of the other gun hitting the wall, he knew that she was completely in the right mind, this molten fire that had the eyes of molten ice.

 

“Detective,” she breathed, both of her hands on his cheeks as he waited for their mouth to brush against each other, “Why aren’t you moving your head away?”

 

He could take no more.

 

No more of this game, of this sick push-and-pull she was playing. Not just her, both of them.

 

Last night, she had done something to him. She had thrown some kind of spell, or put some kind of drug in his food or… something, it must’ve been something.

 

Because he’d lost his mind.

 

He was burning like a torch.

 

And he was the one to cross the distance between them until their lips were touching.

 

And the puzzle pieces finally fit together, if only for a second.

 

He forgot about his past and future. There was nothing in his head except for the present moment, in which they were kissing as if it was their last day on this Earth. Perhaps it was, who knew?

 

He did not know who she was, or what she was supposed to mean to him. He only knew that he wanted for his hands to be free so that he could bring her closer to him, so that he could wind his hands through her hair and not let her go until she silenced the voices inside of his head. Until nothing was left except for the ice of her eyes.

 

“Detective,” she breathed again when their lips parted, but he didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want for this moment to end, because he would keep punishing himself for having allowed for it to happen for the rest of his waking days, he knew. “Why are you crying?”

 

Was he? He did not know, and he did not want to think about it. He just wanted for her to do as she pleased with him, at least for a little while longer, so he shook his head at her while her fingers brushed the salt away.

 

It must’ve bothered her, the emotion. She was probably unable of feeling anything for anyone, and he was reminding her of it.

 

She put a hand in his hair and pulled, making him open his eyes with a growl. “That’s more like it,” she whispered, and he pulled at the headboard again, hating the cuffs with his whole being now. She wouldn’t have been this playful had they been equals.

 

But she did nothing but raise an eyebrow as she went for his neck, whispering, “You are mine, detective, remember that well. And by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be crying for me to let you go.”

 

He snorted. As if. She was a seductive woman, sure, but the only reason why he was this easy to seduce was because he was tired and unable to think with a straight head, not because she was irresistible.

 

He planned to tell her just that, but then he felt the tip of a knife on his chest. She just gave him a wicked smile and kissed him again, making him struggle for air as the blade went down and down, destroying his shirt in the process.

 

“Don’t you ever,” she said, kissing him roughly before he had a chance to take a gulp of air.

 

“Ever,” she said again, and moved to kiss his neck while her hand found his stomach.

 

“Take my blade again,” she finished, her hand pulling his hair again as her other hand started dancing on his chest. He was drowning, his mind murky and unable to comprehend anything that was happening, unable to focus on a single out of the things that she was doing to him.

 

Then she dove for his mouth again, and he whined, wanting to do things to her too instead of just lying there like a doll. He pushed at the cuffs again, but damn it, why had they made them so impenetrable?

 

She laughed then, giving him a peck and getting up.

 

“I sure hope we’ll see each other again,” she sang while he struggled to open his eyes, unable to focus on her form as it disappeared from sight. “But I hope it won’t happen for a while. Happy hunt, detective.”

 

With that, she slammed the door of the room and disappeared, leaving him hot and bothered, not knowing how he’d survive the next couple of minutes, let alone manage to free himself from the cuffs and call the police to notify them about the fugitive’s whereabouts.

 

And oh, he’d have some explaining to do.

 

But she’d taken his gun with her.

 

It was a mistake she’d pay for, but in a different fashion than how she’d made him pay for having taken her black blade from him.

 

Oh, he would get his revenge.

 

And the next time, he would not make the same mistake.