1. Draven

Denver, Colorado

T hey understand what they sign up for, so I'm not entirely sure why he looks at me this way, as though I'm the Devil himself. If I ever meet the man, I have no doubt he'll bow to me, just like this pathetic fool is doing now.

"I said the safe word—" His tone has the cadence of a mouse.

"You also broke the rule. The only rule," I say, knowing my voice scares him. The moment I speak, I see the ripples of bumps down his arm, his long blonde hair stands at attention as if they could safeguard him from his punishment.

Why do these pathetic excuses come to us, as if a regular carnival would not suit their small dick needs. Cocks nearly as tiny as the tears on this boy's cheek, still bruised from Po's punch just ten minutes ago.

"I didn't know!"

I cock an eyebrow, fascinated by his plea. Curious enough to ask, "Do you think I give a shit?" There's no part of me that's excited about this moment. I'm not into cleaning up after Jarvus and his messes.

"I've been drinking, I'm terrified, I'm—"

The contact with my fist to his jaw silences him, and the pop when it dislocates sends a vibration right to my groin. Fucking beautiful. I enjoy the sound of bones breaking, like walking through a forest, branches under my feet snapping. Such a crisp sound, nearly as euphoric as fucking a delectable cunt.

The whimper that mumbles through his offset lips makes me roll my head around my shoulders. He isn't knocked unconscious, which would have been disappointing, so I'm pleased he manages to stay awake.

"Honestly, if ending my hunt was your only offense—" he sobs through a please , as if I gave a fuck. "—you are interrupting me."

I don't have the best hearing in my left, so as much as I hate it, I kneel down and turn so my right side faces him. "Go ahead, since you already fucking stopped me once."

"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I'm—please…"

"If ending my hunt," I continue, standing above him, "was your only offense, I wouldn't care. Even if she was a nice little blonde, who finally found her way into the tunnel of love. But you had to pull out that fucking gun."

I'm angry but my therapist tells me I should take a few breaths before doing something stupid. Killing him too quickly will only piss me off more, and in this case, this is the stupid she is referring to.

He murmurs something unintelligible, and I'm too fed up to lean in and listen. I run my hand down my hip, my hunting knife strapped tightly to my belt loop. My other resting against the tucked pistol at my waistband.

"You killed one of us," my voice deepens, the anger seething through my teeth as I grit them.

You know what, fuck this guy—Pissing me off.

My foot makes contact with his shoulder, and I roll him onto his back. His jaw lazily drooping off to the side, which makes him wince and bring his hands up to try and cradle it.

"You should be protecting something else."

The sound isn't what I love about popping a sack, it's the absolute devastation in their faces that does it for me. If I weren't so pissed off, there would be a contest between my zipper and cock, the latter would win.

What makes it even better are the calls of pure agony. They sound like something more than a moose; guttural, deep groans echo through the air, begging for salvation.

I grind the heel of my boot downward, feeling him squirm beneath me in a feeble attempt to get away. As our eyes meet, I slowly tilt my head, noticing the tear-filled, shit brown of his gaze, yet I feel no sympathy for him.

"You signed the waiver," I remind him. "If you were so fucking scared, you should have gone to the ticket counter like the instructions said." I'm so bored of this that the twitch in my lip makes me instinctively clench my jaw. "There your safe word means something. Not here. Not with me."

I do enjoy making men cry. Women, sure, but I prefer to do that through pleasure. I don't shy away from torturing and killing them, I just prefer the former. One less competitive cock. A single, insignificant excuse for breathing stolen from me .

"Please—"

My blink is slow. "Please what?"

"Don't…"

"Don't… What?" I was meant for this life because the games I play are unwinnable. No one will ever see the prize at the end of my torment. Not because they always die, but because I'm a goddamn maniac that will do anything to get what I want.

What I want right now, is to feed Shade this pathetic excuse of a human.

"Kill—me…"

"Kill you?" A rumble of a laugh rolls from my throat. "Such a simple request. Don't mind if I do."

My hand is around the grip of his own pistol, my thumb popping the safety because the last thing I want to do is shoot my dick off. I aim it down at his head his eyes widening in fear as he protests.

"No—No—No!"

One singular bullet between his eyes silences him and any other word that could come from his mouth. My shoulders twitch as I lean my head back. As much as I want to find a lingering body in the parking lot to fuck until I black out, my frustration is far more powerful.

Tonight was the last night the Midnight Menagerie would be here in Colorado. Three weeks flew by, and I have to admit, the women here are too straight-laced for my taste. For a place that is perpetually higher than Mount Everest, they crack so easily. I barely got a hand around a single throat before they ran and used that damn amulet.

I felt good about the blonde, but maybe California will give me something interesting to fill.

Possibly, I've become too soft. I love the hunt, and the kill, but I'm no rapist. Though I'm sure some would question where my line is drawn, especially with—

"Draven."

Satan almighty, just fuck off!

"You do love making a scene," Jarvus, a clown of a man himself, says. I draw my gaze lazily to him, a scowl written in my downturned lips. "Jun has cleaned up his mess, please do the same with yours. Then make sure the parking lot is cleared."

A resounding howl reverberates through the air, bouncing off the silent carnival attractions. The only illumination amidst the torn grass beneath our feet, casting eerie shadows, emanates from the crimson glow of the "Midnight Menagerie" sign.

I don't respond to Jarvus, instead, I lean forward and grab ahold of the dirty blonde roots from my first kill in what feels like months and begin dragging him away.

Unfortunately, I won't have time to shave the body for Shade, he'll have to make do and leave the rest for cleanup in the morning. I'll task one of the kiddos to discard the hair, teeth, and bones elsewhere.

The sound of metallic clangs of poles being disassembled rings in my ear, the whirs and whines of machinery folding up rides and attractions works alongside it. The attendees are hushed, having worked to move this beast of a place more than a few hundred times. They were coordinated in their packing process, leaving the stains of blood, piss and semen for cleanup at the next location.

The rustling of tarps being folded sounded nearly identical to me dragging the dead weight of this man. I must admit, he's heavier than I anticipated. His hair starts to pull from his scalp, and I swear I'll find Ashley to hex him if he makes me bend my ass over and have to pick him up.

A loud, punctuating bang rings through; heavy metal clanging against the solid ground its cause. An attendee that was tying up a banner jumps and turns toward me. She gazes down at my hand, seeing the body, and then without so much as a change in expression, she turns back. My staff respect me, and the one's that deserve mine in return, will get it.

They keep me around for more than my ability to hunt down my prey. My reputation is nearly as strong as the one that comes along with this carnival.

I'm the hunter sought out by the guests, but never one they get because I loathe a willing guest.

I pick my prey.

Just like Shade, when I feast, I want no limitations to what I can give and get in return.

As I round the ticket booth near the entrance, I hear heavy panting.

The throaty growl of my Northwestern wolf has me shifting my gaze. This beast weighs nearly two-hundred pounds, and while I know he could kill me in a heartbeat if I step out of line, he is as essential to me as my cock.

"Enjoy your dinner," I croon, tossing the body with callous measure. "We leave in the morning." His yellow eyes shift from me toward the man, and I cross my arms.

Hopefully, the redwoods will entertain me.