Page 231 of Coal Hearts

Never drawn another’s blood and feasted, despite my tastebuds turning every other food to ash.

But only a faint metallic flavour teased me, the wound already sealing and refusing to give me its gift.

Fine.

I still had ninety-eight more droplets to draw.

Pulling away, I studied her fear, her tension, her twitching, jerking terror.

As much as her beauty beguiled me, I saw the truth now.

She was just a girl. A toy. A belonging.

My belonging.

To do with as I please.

Painting her plump pink lips with the sharp tip of my blade, I shivered as she gasped in panic. Her body twisted in the binds, the clink of the buckles around her ankles music to my fucking ears.

“You should really thank me, you know,” I murmured, utterly entranced with the way brutal metal threatened to puncture her fragile skin. “This knife is sharp and clean. Far, far better than those disgusting ones Victor offered.”

A string of words escaped her in a language I wasn’t familiar with. Peter gasped behind me, obviously understanding her.

Breathing hard, she repeated them, over and over. A mantra.

Her pretty voice filled the room, weaving around dead animals, invoking a spell that only freed me further.

I smirked and waited for her to open her eyes.

Her voice slowly drifted off; I grinned the moment her golden gaze met mine. “No amount of prayers or chants can save you, little nightmare.”

Her lips twisted, fighting tears.

My entire body stiffened, transfixed on the glossy-wet glitter in her eyes.

With one hand, I adjusted my hard-on, just daring her to cry in my presence.

With monumental effort, she sniffed back every sorrow and trembled in her imprisonment. Bound and subservient, her forced submission seeped into my mind, adding yet another layer of freedom.

Sighing with utter relief and newfound power, I hunted for a new spot to cut.

Ily moaned in utter despair as I drew my knife across her neck, over her shoulder and down, down her arm. She flinched as I kept going, stopping on the paper-thin skin of the inside of her wrist. The golden cuff keeping her arms spread had already bruised her. Slight redness from her struggles marred the perfection of her flesh. “You know...I never intended to use this blade like this, but it’s fitting. It’s new. A virgin to blood...just like me.”

Gritting my teeth, I added pressure to the blade right over the web of veins keeping her alive.

Ily’s self-control broke.

She thrashed and fought. Jerked and jangled. The cross didn’t budge. The buckles didn’t unbind. Her collar and cuffs held, trapping her in helpless fury.

Nowhere to run and no way to hide.

I let her tire herself out.

Never lifted the knife point from her wrist.

Only once she panted and her head hung with defeat did I raise an eyebrow and push down. “That was pointless.”

She cried out as my switchblade punctured her.