Alamort

40. Malice

T he room has an off-putting smell that lingers in the air. The fragrance of wildflowers has faded, now overpowered by the fresh scent of new furniture and clothes she purchased to replace the belongings destroyed in her room. Another one of Bennett’s “great ideas” that fell flat. Sometimes, I wonder if she experiences emotions differently, like I do. Her reactions to most of the things happening around her are subtle, almost nonexistent.

The resistance of the hardwood floor makes the new sitting chair scrape against it, creating an unpleasant noise while I position it across from her bed, near the vent. Opening effortlessly, the vent reveals the carefully hidden camera I placed before her arrival at Cox, remaining untouched. Good girl. Curiosity killed the cat. As unaffected as she seems with the Demons’ scheming, I don’t think she’d be too pleased with my cameras. It’s keeping her safe.

Well, her finding out would be fun. When anger consumes her, she transforms into a fiery kitten, spitting and hissing. There’s always been an unexplainable tension between me and animals, as if they could perceive something about me that others couldn’t. But she’d be my favorite animal. A sudden low thump echoes once in my chest, soon giving way to a serene, steady beat.

The cameras have a few blind spots, but not in areas that raise concern. One points at her bed. The camera abruptly cuts off, leaving the kitchenette hidden from view. In the loo, an additional camera was installed, aimed at the shower and vanity area, intentionally excluding the toilet to ensure privacy. To monitor any movement near the front door of her room, I positioned the last camera above the closet. It would be crazy to not know who’s coming and going while she’s away.

My teeth grind at the thought of the mysterious man dressed in black who’s been leaving her cryptic letters. Deep down, I have a feeling of who is sending the messages, but the identity of the messenger remains unknown. Once I capture him, I’ll be able to extract more information about his location. He’s my lead. The moment the Demons uncover what I know, it will feel like stepping into one of those scandalous novellas that Bennett is so fond of. Dramatic.

With a grating sound, the chair slides back across the floor as I return it to its rightful position. To hide the tainted mess, the decorators set out to rearrange the room, their goal being to convince others it was now completely “new and improved”. I did Priya a favor by putting it back to the way it was when we first met. Everything else was in my control, except for the frustratingly unchangeable colors. The new down comforter has a soft, off-white color rather than the cream color I had grown accustomed to. The designers stuck to a selection of neutrals.

On the bright side, when I rip her virginity away, these sheets will be a perfect souvenir. Where would I display it? The living room for the rest of the Demons to see? Just thinking about their reactions brings a smile of satisfaction to my face. Who will be lost in the plot first?

With a click, I shut the blinds using the controller, plunging the room into complete darkness. The door creaks open. A thin beam of light from the hallway slices across the floor, illuminating the bed in the center of the room. Her silhouette engulfs the doorway before enveloping us in a suffocating darkness. Can’t chance ruining the surprise of who I am. This makes it more fun, the guessing and wondering. There’s a part of her that isn’t curious about my identity. She likes the anonymity.

My superior scotopic vision is a skill that sets me apart from the basic human. It doesn’t make me inhuman, but it makes me better. I find it simple to transmit sensory signals that create real visual perceptions. After spending all my life in darkness, I adapted.

Like a hunter stalking its prey, I keep quiet. I walk with a gentle tread, my steps almost weightless for a man of my size, deliberately hugging the edges of the room where the darkness offers the most concealment.

She uses her cellphone as a makeshift flashlight, searching for her bed in the center of the room. Her movements are hesitant and strained. The light casts eerie shadows on the walls, but never shining directly on me. As I approach her from behind, she freezes in place. Ahh, she’s aware someone is here.

I pounce, using her fear to my advantage. Even though I consider her to be different, I still expect her behavior when I cover her mouth with my hand. The other dips under her black hoodie, pressing her warm body close to mine. I bury my nose into her hair, hoping to catch a sweet dose of my childhood, a simpler time in my twenty-eight years of life. What I smell causes me to pause. There’s a faint hint of flowers and coconut underneath the powerful scent of smoke and lighter fluid. The aroma reaches my nostrils, a wicked smile stretches across my face.

“You’ve been busy, love.” At my voice, her body relaxes. Her trust is dangerous for both of us. I’ll only be her damnation. “Fuck, you’ve got me bloody hard as a rock. You smell like sin and bad choices, Little Monster.” I push my hardness into her. The friction of the jeans creates a pleasurable pain, making me groan into her hair and her breathing speeds up. Fear and arousal can often be confused with each other. I hope it’s a combination of both.

Her self-preservation pleases me, she should fear me. But a darker part of me, needs her to need me. Crave me like the very air she breathes. I want to be so deep in her mind that there isn’t a second she doesn’t think about me the way I’ve been obsessed with her.

“Tell me what you did.” She won’t yell for help. She wants me here. I quench the loneliness she hides so well. We can both be lonely and misunderstood together. She’s mine.

My hand moves down to cup her throat. I want to feel her pulse quicken when she tells me. My fingers skim on her new necklace of ownership.

“The diamonds suit you.” She leans into me.

“I-I burned down one of the Demon’s cars.” The admission catches me off guard, and I burst into a full belly laugh.

“Which one?”

“Um,” she shifts her weight from foot to foot. “I think it’s safe to say it was Bennett’s.”

Oh, this is too good. I can only imagine his face. He always assumes he’s untouchable. Even the cockiest people need to be humbled. Ben honestly thought she’d sit there and take it?

“Do you know why I’m here?” She hesitatingly nods.

“You owe me something.” She nods again. There’s nothing more refreshing than not having to repeat myself. I warned her what would happen if she cried for anyone but me. “Strip.”

She stumbles a bit when I release her from my grasp. When she gets her balance, she stands there for a second. I can physically see her weighing her options. Priya doesn’t enjoy being told what to do, but she will listen. Or I’ll make her. The Demons aren’t the only scary thing in the dark. I am. Their blood thirsty chained dog, thanks to Saint.

The gentle sound of the zipper interrupts my spiraling thoughts. Her black jeans slowly coming undone, her thumbs deftly sliding into the belt loops as she lowers them down her curvaceous thighs, revealing her voluptuous, round arse adorned in a black thong. She slips them down further before stepping out of them completely. In her actions, there was an unintentional sensuality that made her vulnerable. She’s still facing forwards, refusing to acknowledge my presence. I’ve noticed her do that a lot, zoning out when she’s somewhere she doesn’t want to be.

I step up behind her, lining up our bodies together. My hands trace the path from the “M” I left on her skin, applying added pressure to the spot I plan to mark. The raised texture of her old scars, remnants of her secret battles, has become a personal comfort of mine. When I touch her, her shoulders slump slightly, revealing her insecurities. My hands move to the next area, palming her ass, my grip bordering on painful. She stays silent. Scars or not, her body is like running my fingers through still water, smooth and silky.

I want to be the one to mar the smoothness of her beautiful skin. My name all over it, ruin the perfect little doll she pretends she is. Bring out the monster that she hides so well.

“Bloody hell, you’re perfect.” Perfect to ruin. To cut and bleed. Her body curls in on itself, seeking protection from the world, from me. Irritation pricks at me when she ignores my compliment. My hand leaves her body and plants itself into her hair, ripping her back into a confident posture while resting her head against my shoulder. Rarely do I offer praise, but the relentless disrespect aggravates my already frayed nerves. She yelps and tries to pull away, but I hold tight, rubbing the sticky strands that are usually soft between my fingers. I’d know the feeling anywhere. Blood.

“Bennett,” she whispers. I hum. Grabbing her by the hair, slamming her face first onto the bed, leaving her legs suspended over the edge, ready to obey my every command. Last time I let her face me, she thought she’d be clever and bite me hard enough to scar. I tattooed it, the outline of her teeth indents. Secretly pleased with her returned affections. But she won’t get that chance again.

I yank her down to the edge of the bed by her hips.

“Don’t. Move.” I snarl. Allowing a little bit of my inner demon out. She lies motionless, a rag doll waiting to be played with. Her long legs snatch my attention. I trace the curve of her body as she’s bent over. Her panties hug her swollen pussy lips. I’ve barely touched her and she’s wet. But how wet?

My boots echo in the room, letting her hear my approach. I shove her hoodie all the way up under her arms, baring her hourglass figure. My hands meet her hips and my grip turns painful enough to leave marks on them while I yank her into me. A gasp leaves her at the feel of my erection nudging into her heat that seeps into my jeans, a zip away from plunging into her.

Not yet. She’s not ready. My jaw locks at imagining her bouncing on my dick, her ass jiggling at the impact of my hips colliding with hers with every stroke. Her moans and whimpers as she begs me to keep going. She’d feel me for days afterward. I wouldn’t be gentle with her. I guide her hips, angling them up so her back is arched, and that sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to me.

I assumed, but I need confirmation. “Are you a virgin?” I make sure each word hits her clit. Her breaths become rapid, her legs shift impatiently.

“Does i-it matter?”

Yes, it matters. Every person who’s seen her body or has had her compliance in the bedroom matter. I’d slice away the part of them that believed they were entitled to touch her. What gave her the right to allow them the invitation to her body? My hands trace up her spine to thread into her hair, ensuring I grab where her wound is and pull, snapping her head backwards.

“Ow!” Despite her obvious pain, she’s cheeky enough to say it through her sniffles. I purse my lips. The desire to inflict pain on her simmers below the surface, tempered by a sense of restraint. That’s unusual for me. An idea strikes me. One I’ve never done it before, but if it doesn’t work … No, it will.

In one fluid movement, I stand and rip the belt out of my dark jeans with practiced ease. I pause to feel the smooth texture of the worn leather against my fingertips. The fact she can’t see what I’m doing causes her to shake. She instinctively pulls away at the sound. Interesting.

“Tell me.” I say with a calm that belies the bloodlust raging inside me.

She averts her eyes with a slight turn of her head and focuses on the way she came through.

“Whether or not I am is none of your concern.” She snaps.

Playing hard to get? Let’s see how far that gets her. She tenses as I remain silent, but I swiftly loop the belt around and deliver a firm, balanced swat. A warning, because it can always get worse. With a mixture of shock and fear, she unleashes a startled shriek and desperately tries to crawl towards the headboard to create more space between us.

“What the fuck?” She yells, while rubbing the pink welt on her ass. It’s barely anything. Trust me, I’ve committed worse deeds than this.

“Tell me to stop.” I say. She remains silent, refusing to admit defeat. I would stop, only for her. When she doesn’t answer, we continue. “Hands down, lay down.”

“No.”

No? She’s really taking the piss tonight.

“Lay down or I’ll fuck you with my knife before I finish carving you for everyone to see who you belong to.” The threat gets her compliance. Her hand drops from her arse, resting next to her head.

“Answer me.” No response.

This time I pull the belt back farther. The sound of it slicing through the air. Three more swats that land perfectly across her rounded cheeks. They jiggle on impact, making me bite my knuckles, holding back a groan. I don’t want her to know the sight turns me on. Is this what’s considered an “apple bottom?” Shaped and colored like an apple? Bloody hell, this is a sight. One more wouldn’t hurt… me.

The metal of the belt jingles when I raise it again. Her knuckles turn white as she fists them into the blanket, readying herself for the next blow.

“Virgin.” She pants. “I’ve never been with anyone.” Good to know.

It whooshes through the air. The impact causing her to let out a squeal and sink her teeth into the bed. Dropping down to my knees, my hands gravitate toward the curve of her arse. While it may seem like I’m trying to comfort the hurt I’ve caused to some, my indifference remains unchanged. It’s because I want to feel my marks on her. I’m curious to know if my actions can help me understand and share her relief at receiving pain. It’s like a constant need, an addict looking for their next fix.

With every strike, her skin got hotter and transformed into a unique shade, creating a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors. Each welt has its own distinct color–the first a soft, rosy pink, the second set a rich, dark red, and the last one a bold scarlet hue. The strikes were fast and continuous, each one blending seamlessly into the next. It’ll bruise. Every time she moves or sits, she’ll remember me. That’s exactly what I asked for.

My fingertips delicately glide along the seam of her thong, caressing the most sensitive part of her. Her body writhing to get away, clearly uncomfortable with my touch. From this angle, the black fabric soaked, its color deepening to an even darker black. I take a chance testing the boundaries by pulling her panties to the side exposing the glistening lips that are no longer hidden by flimsy fabric. My middle finger touches her stiffened bud before dragging down to the opening of her pussy, sticking in only the fingertip she clenches around nothing. Her pussy weeping for more. There is no way she’s as turned on as me. Just a taste?

No. I said she wasn’t ready, and she’s not. Not yet, anyway. I pull out my push dagger, the one that has been with me through all of my kills. Always cleaned after each one, letting me bask in the memories of each drop of blood spilt. Recently, it’s only been hers. She’s been able to stave off the constant need of death.

I’d like to think I’m helping her. A therapist to talk through problems with. A diary to pour her heart out to. Or maybe even a God who answers her prayers. The knife’s sharp point connects with her skin, making an indent before I pull it down. She sucks in a breath between her teeth and forces her body to relax. It’s no easy feat. A strange man comes into her room to cut her when she fucks up. I’d like to think we’re closer than that. Then her thinking I’m just some weirdo who breaks into her room at night.

She… makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things I was never given the opportunity to feel. I’m not sure if that means anything because I’ve never really had anyone. Saint, Crew and Bennett are all BFFs. The way they interact with each other, the way Saint talks about the twins, isn’t something I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never really thought about it like that, so it’s never bothered me how alone I am. It’s possible she helps fight off my newfound loneliness.

“Do you think we’re strangers, Little Monster?” I whisper into her soft skin. She makes a strangled noise. “I’d like to think we’re more than that.” My unoccupied hands trace the belt marks, hoping she’ll move, and my dagger will go deeper. She doesn’t. “I’d like to think we have a connection.” The knife sinks into her flesh at an angle, cutting down, opening beautifully under my direction. “That what this is, is deeper than the surface level shit you feed everyone else.”

I ready the blade again, making an upside-down V. It slices through like butter. The last line goes in the center of the V, completing the letter. My breath catches at the sight in front of me. It’s hard to control myself around her. Everything about her is so inviting. I place my face down at her knee level, the drops of blood racing each other down her pale freshly shaved legs.

“I think you were made for me.” My tongue touches the drops of blood, her skin sweet as the flowers she smells like, and lick a strip up to her new mark. My mark. I suction my lips over the wound, sucking at her like a vampire starved of blood for the last century.

“You’re so sweet.” I say, licking the blood from my lips and sucking her wetness off my middle finger. The combination is deadly.

She’s not as broken as she was the last time in the shower, begging to die. Don’t get me wrong, she’ll always be broken in the way that attracts darkness to her. But she won’t always want to die. I don’t think she knows what she wants. She lays stock still, no answer, no movement.

“Stay here.”

“Okay.” Her voice comes out breathless and husky. Should I kiss her? Isn’t that what people do after first or second dates? My mind is whirring with questions of what the “right thing” to do is. This is new to me. I need to research “How to take care of a pet”. Yeah, I’ll do that.

I keep the lights off when I go to get her supplies ready on the counter that she uses to clean herself up. Then I remember the head wound I viciously pulled on when she wasn’t listening. An ice pack is my next step.

After I’m done with my bathroom task. I stop to admire her in the same position I left her in. Bent over the bed, bloody and bruised. The image brings a smile to my face. She does listen. Every pet needs guidance, and that’s what she’ll get. The freezer suctions closed after I grab the ice pack. I place it gently on the bed next to her right hand, letting the coolness seep into her skin.

“Make sure you ice your head. That’s going to be a nasty headache.” I stroke her hair twice, pushing it away from her face. “Sweet nightmares, Little Monster, dream of me.” I decide against the kiss. That’s a pretty big step for us. It should come naturally.

When the door softly shuts behind me, I think of everything we still have to do together. The tension I’ve been carrying during our separation is fully gone. My thoughts are clearer than they have been in days, all thanks to her. Now to the more pressing matters at hand. The guys are getting suspicious. Saint more than the others. The twins think that Saint has just been shut in his room finding helpful information.

The truth is, I’ve been a bit of a naughty boy lately, fronting more than usual. Saint is the one who is asking more questions. Eventually, I’ll have to tell them the truth.