Page 19 of Dark Lover

This was his revenge.

Alive and enraged, John blasted him again.

It hurt. The pain engulfed him and infuriated him even more, and he tackled the demon and wrestled him to the floor. He seized the dagger, jerked it free of flesh and bone, and sent it back into the bloody heart again. The demon’s red eyes blazed and rolled backward, becoming lifeless.

Ian knew it and didn’t care. He stabbed him again…and again. He would never hide under his bed again, never hide in the closet, never feel pain or fear or shame…John deserved to die for all that he had done, for all those days, weeks, months and years of shocks and cords and prods and the ripping apart and the final submission. Now he recalled every atrocious act. Now he recalled the fear and the pain, merely repressed and buried deep. For fear and pain were who and what he was. But most of all, he recalled the loss of his humanity and sanity, which he would never have again. Sweat and tears blinded him as he raised the knife again.

“He’s dead.”

He heard her but couldn’t stop, even though he realized that the demon was dead, his eyes entirely sightless now, his bloody and mangled body unmoving and still. He buried the knife to the hilt and it quivered in John’s chest.

“Ian. He’s dead.” She clasped his shoulders from behind but merely held him that way, instead of attempting to pull him off.

He became vaguely aware of her grasp. He let go of the knife. Slick with blood, it stood up gruesomely in John’s chest.

“Ian?” she asked very cautiously.

He was panting uncontrollably, straddling the corpse, wiping the moisture from his face, too late realizing it was tears, not sweat, and his hands were covered with blood. He remembered it all.

The pain threatened to kill him.

He turned away and vomited violently.

He didn’t know how long he remained there, on his hands and knees, the tears sliding helplessly down his face. But by the time he sat up, the demon was half gone, his physical presence rapidly disintegrating, leaving a glowing wake of what looked like embers behind. And a terrible silence filled the library.

Comprehension began. Sam Rose had just witnessed his insanity.

He inhaled, seeking composure. Aghast, he launched himself to his feet. To his surprise and relief, she was gone.

He reeled and used a bookcase to steady himself. The relief vanished. She’d been present and had seen what no one had ever seen, except for Gerard. And she might even be smart enough to figure out the truth…

At the wet bar, he washed his hands, wiped the last drops of moisture from his face, dried his hands. As he poured a huge scotch, he heard her returning to the room. Tensing—wishing she’d gone home—he looked up.

She stood in the doorway in her bloody red dress, her expression somber. Her blue eyes were wide and trained on him.

He did not see pity or compassion on her face, for which he was thankful. He’d kill her if she dared to pity him.

He was so tired. He hated this fucking miserable life. “Leave.”

She started.

He slowly smiled, hoping she would stay so he could take his rage out on her. He’d do to her what they’d done to him and enjoy it. “Ye really should take warning. My mood is foul.”

She didn’t move. “No kidding.”

She wasn’t afraid; she was being sarcastic. Briefly he was amazed.

She glanced at the mostly disintegrated corpse. “Remind me not to piss you off too much.”

There was more control. Not a lot of it, but more. He didn’t want to hurt her or torture her—he wanted her in his bed, catering to his every damnable desire. But he did not trust himself.

When he felt like this, he was careful to stay away from women, from humans, from the Innocent. “Go away. Before I do what I want to do.”

“If you think that tantrum scared me, you’re wrong.” But she wasn’t mocking now. Her tone was thoughtful. “You could give lessons in payback.” She slowly approached.

He jumped into her mind. She wanted to comprehend him. She wanted to know why he had acted as he had, why he had mauled the demon to death. She wanted to know if he was okay?

He was fine. He might be crazy, but he had the bank accounts, cars and homes to prove he was okay. This was his life! And none of it was her affair or anyone else’s! His secrets were just that. His life was just that—a dirty, dark secret.