Chapter 13

Pierce

"Which do I speak to this morning?" she asks again, and my smirk fades from my face. She's beautiful in the early morning light. Her glowing red hair shimmers against the rising sun. The very one that'll melt some of the godforsaken snow outside and allow me to wander out of the confines of this fucking house. It'll allow me to do what needs to be done.

I'm very aware of everything going on around me when I'm in the shadows. Aware of how she was brutalized by one who was supposed to be loving towards her. And my blood has been boiling since I became aware. Right along with him.

He's taken us to doctor after doctor since the split. And each gave him the same answer. One he didn't like.

Borderline Personality Disorder.

I roll my eyes inwardly. Borderline, my ass. Because when I'm in the here and now, like I am currently, with my hand flexing over the bloody neck of a beautiful woman, I don't feel like I'm on the border of anything. Other than the edge of sanity. Her beauty knows no bounds. Her chin is tipped up in confidence, even while her blood tries to clot, and her mind tries to riddle me out.

She's someone who has seen both sides of Pierce, her stalker, and the shadow within, and hasn't turned her eyes away. That's rare for us.

"I'm the one bred from his agony, little ember. The one who calls him to do things he can't explain. The one who takes over when his lighter sensibilities can't handle the task," I finally answer.

"You're the Watcher," she says, and my smile broadens again.

"So, you knew I was here all along, hmm?"

She licks her lips, and my hand flexes over her neck. "I saw you; I think. There was a moment when he still had the mask on that his eyes were dead and soulless. When they looked like the eyes of..."

"A killer?" I lean in, asking my question from only inches away from her mouth.

She nods. Her lips open, and the slightest breath passes between them. She has the sweetest scent. Like flowers on the first morning of spring. But there's something else... Something heady and sexual, lurking just beneath the surface. I wonder if she's willing to acknowledge that side of her. The dark shadow living within herself.

"And were you afraid?" I ask, skimming my lips over the shell of her ear.

She turns her head, letting it fall to the other side, giving me more room to tease her supple flesh.

"No," she says. "I've never felt afraid of you."

It topples me off-kilter, her mentioning us as one. Instead of two separate entities, like the doctors choose to. Because we're both Pierce. I am just as much a part of him as he is me. But a split happened the night he watched Cynthia die. One where we became two people under one flesh.

When he feels things that are too big for him, I come out to pick up the weapon in our honor. I do what needs to be done.

"You're our brave girl, are you?" I taunt, straightening up and letting her throat go, only to slip my fingers through her blood and paint her face with it.

"Brave, or just as fucked up as you," she mutters. Her pupils are blown. Her chest heaves in shallow breaths. And her thighs are pressing together in the most delicious show of arousal I've ever beheld.

"We're not fucked up. We are coping," I correct. "And everyone copes differently."

She nods, but I know she's not listening. How can she? She's on another plane with each of my touches. Each swipe of my fingers through her clotted blood.

"You look so good in red, little ember. Makes me want to reopen this wound to watch more stain your body," I admit near breathlessly, and a small whimper comes from her.

Lifting the knife in my right hand, I place the tip in between her breasts, letting it rest there and cause a mouthwatering fear in her. Because she doesn't know when I'll move it. Anticipation is the best toy.

Quickly, I lift it and slice down the front of her nightshirt. The material gives way with a scintillating ripping sound that bounces off the walls of the kitchen.

My left hand reaches up and opens the material on both sides. Her breasts pop free one at a time, the cold air skimming over her nipples. They rise. Their peach color almost turns to a dusky rose as they lift for me.

"And how could we not watch you?" I breathe, letting the tip of the knife pinch over each nipple, dragging across her breastbone in passing.

"What's wrong with me?" she asks, opening her eyes from where they'd been closed. She'd been enjoying the bite of my blade.

"There's nothing wrong with you." I smirk. "Humanity has a darkness within. Some are just more in tuned with theirs. Some pretend they're above it and turn a blind eye. You're simply embracing what feels good, little ember. Nothing to be ashamed of."

She reaches up as the tip of the kitchen knife meets her right nipple again, wrapping her hand around mine on the hilt as she'd done before. She presses forward slightly and hisses when it breaks her beautiful skin.

Blood wells and travels over the mound of her breast, seeming to connect the small dots of her freckled flesh like a painting.

"How did that feel?" I ask.

My cock is throbbing behind my sleep pants, begging to be free. Begging to be coated in her blood before ripping through her body like a ravenous animal.

Shame fades into her eyes, and she bites her lip. Tears are on the edges of her orbs, and I shake my head, tsking three times at her.

"We don't do that here. We don't let the world's judgments dictate how we think of ourselves. Now, how did it feel when my blade sank into your beautiful skin?"

"It felt exhilarating. Like a rush of something left me as soon as it did. Like I needed it," she admits, her chocolate eyes locked on mine.

"And so what if you did?"

She bites her lip, and I nearly groan. "I only... I just didn't know I liked these things. Why do I like these things? It's fucked up."

I ignore the sting of her words, and drop the knife to the floor, cupping her breast in my hand, and letting the blood well against it. "Maybe you only like these things with me."

When my lips find hers, it's different from anything I've felt before. There's an unfettered wickedness loose in the kitchen this morning, and we're both lost in its grasp. Her tongue slips into my mouth, and I groan, which spurs her on. One of her legs comes up and wraps around the back of mine, anchoring her to me.

I lean back, panting with murky intention rushing through my veins. I swipe my fingers through the blood on her breast, slipping my hand down under her sleep shorts, using it has lubricant that I now know I don't need. But the idea of my blood-red fingers slipping over her wet cunt makes us both moan.

"So wet for me, little ember. I like that. Don't deny what I can plainly feel. You like the shadows. And I'll move through them with you."

"Pierce, oh my God!" she pants when I circle her clit a few times, drawing the moment out longer. I never want to stop touching her. Never want to feel what the world is like without her near. And that's scary for us, and it's why I'm here.

Anything that overwhelms him is something I handle.

And she's the most succulent delivery he's let me handle yet.

"I'm not your God, little ember. More like your demon."

Her eyes darken to near black, and I growl before capturing her lips again. Punishing her with a rough kiss, I then slip my finger inside her wet heat.

She flexes and flutters around me, moaning into my kiss as I swallow each one like a payment. Evil always has a payment that comes due. And she's willing to pay.

Her arms come up around my neck. Her back arches off the cabinets, opening her cunt like a flower for me.

"You're so tight, little ember. So ready to be filled and punished," I grunt, adding a second finger inside her.

"Please," she begs. "Pierce, please!"

She's getting close to release, close to when she'll clamp down on my fingers, and I'll have to fight for them back. Fight to move within her sinful channel.

And I can't fucking wait to watch her fall apart because of us.

"I wish I could see your pussy covered in blood. See it begging for more. Such a greedy little whore, aren't you?"

She swallows a moan as her eyes fill with shame again.

My other hand finds her throat. "What did I tell you? You don't dance with a demon and feel bad for it. Let go!" I snarl, and she drops her head back. Her eyes are clear of emotion, other than untethered lust as I feel her groan get stuck under my hand. I tighten it, stealing her air as she nears the precipice of coming for me.

"You are our greedy little whore, aren't you?" I taunt, biting her chin between my teeth, adding a nip of pain to her pleasure. I need her to see who we are. Because he hadn't. He hadn't shown her this side of us.

She doesn't know.

She needs to know.

Her walls begin to twitch around my fingers, and I grind my palm against her clit. Her mouth opens and gapes for what I won't give her. Air.

"You'll get air when you come for me," I tell her.

Her eyes flick to mine in a panic. She's spiraling inside. Worry beats her chest as she can't breathe, but I fuck her rougher with my hand, and it grows dimmer in her eyes, like a forgotten prayer.

"That's it, my dark girl. Let go. Come for me. Be my good little whore." My words seem to be what throws her over the edge, and inwardly, I hope it's because she wants to be mine. Because after touching her in this way, she'll never be another's.

If she ever touches another, they'll die.

She is ours!

Her body breaks, her cunt gripping my fingers in the final fight, and I tighten my hold on her neck. Her mouth opens and closes in waves, begging for air.

"Good fucking girl," I growl.

Petechiae have risen around her eyes sinfully, lack of air painting her freckled flesh in small red dots. She'll wear my marks for days after this. Her cuts. Her broken blood vessels.

Her broken body.

When her walls stop dancing, I slip out of her.

"I'm going to give you air back. Small breaths, alright?"

She nods in understanding as I let the slightest pressure off her neck.

I hold her under one arm as she comes back to herself.

I expect fallout from this. You don't take one such as Hazel to the brink of death without her being anxious about it afterward. We've just shown her a side of herself she didn't know existed, and she's going to worry about it. Worry she's fucked up, like we are.

But what I don't expect is her kiss.

She steps on my feet, using them to lift and crash her lips to mine. Our mouths fight for dominance in the most heated embrace I've ever encountered. Our tangled moans become the ambiance of the room, and I slip my hand in her hair and tug her head back.

Looking her over, I let curiosity build in my chest.

"That was amazing," she says, and can't help myself. I lean forward and bite her lip between my teeth. Her wicked blood slips into my mouth before I pull back.

"And you've seen nothing yet."