18. Silas

18

SILAS

C lara is beautiful while she examines the crime scene. My masterpiece: six geese arranged just so, their necks twisted at precise angles. The memory of creating it sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

"Excuse me."

Detective James Marsden's voice breaks through my thoughts. I turn, meeting his suspicious gaze with a practiced smile.

"Can I help you?" I keep my tone pleasant, non-threatening.

"Mind telling me why you're watching our crime scene?" His hand rests near his holster, a subtle gesture most wouldn't notice.

"I'm Clara's... friend. Just waiting to drive her home." I offer him my hand.

James doesn't take my hand. "I haven't seen you around Evergreen Falls before."

"Recently moved here for work. Finance sector." I let my hand drop, maintaining eye contact. "Clara and I met at the coffee shop at the mall."

"That right?" He leans against my car door, getting too close for comfort. "And what brought you to our little town? Plenty of financial opportunities in the bigger cities."

The urge to snap his neck floods through me. Instead, I chuckle. "Sometimes smaller towns hold the most interesting opportunities."

"James!" Clara's voice cuts through the tension, approaching the car. "Are you interrogating my ride?"

I watch James straighten up, his jaw tightening. The territorial display amuses me. If only he knew what Clara and I had done last night, how she'd begged and writhed under my control.

"Just making conversation," James says, but his eyes tell a different story. “Are you finished with your observations?”

Clara nods. “Yes, I’ve gotten enough to work with for now. It’s late.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white as James hovers near Clara. The familiar rush of adrenaline courses through my veins, but this time it's different. Raw. Uncontrolled.

"Thanks for looking out for me." Clara touches James's arm. A casual gesture that makes my blood boil. "I'll see you tomorrow at the precinct?"

James's eyes flick to mine before returning to Clara. "Call me when you get home safe."

The protective tone in his voice grates against my nerves. I've studied hundreds of potential victims, categorized their sins, and justified each kill. But James? He's genuine, honest, and a good cop who actually cares about protecting people.

And I want to tear him apart.

Clara slides into my passenger seat, and James steps back. The weight of his stare burns into my skull as I pull away from the curb.

"Sorry about that." Clara fidgets with her seatbelt. "He can be a bit... overprotective."

My fingers flex around the wheel. Images flash through my mind of James's throat beneath my hands, the light fading from his eyes. Not for justice. Not for my grand design. Just because he dares to want what's mine.

"It's fine." The words taste like ash in my mouth.

This possessive rage is new. Messy. Amateur. I don't kill without purpose, without careful selection and planning. Yet here I am, fantasizing about eliminating a man whose only crime is caring about Clara.

I force myself to breathe. To focus. James Marsden doesn't fit my criteria. He's not corrupt or cruel. He doesn't deserve death.

But watching him watch Clara makes me want to break all my rules.

I force my breathing to steady, pushing thoughts of Detective Marsden from my mind. Clara's presence beside me centers my focus. The streetlights cast shadows across her face as we drive through downtown Evergreen Falls.

"You must be hungry after working." I keep my voice light and controlled. “Would you like to grab a late dinner?"

Clara's shoulders relax. "God, yes. I'm starving." She shifts in her seat, turning toward me. "There's this amazing twenty-four hour diner on Oak Street. They make these incredible milkshakes, and their burgers..." She closes her eyes and hums. "Best comfort food in town."

The simple pleasure in her expression stirs something in me—not the usual predatory thrill, but something deeper and more dangerous.

"Sounds perfect." I adjust our route, taking the next right. "Lead the way."

"It's just past the old movie theater." Her hand brushes my arm as she points. "You can't miss it—it's has vintage neon signs."

The casual touch sends electricity through my skin. I grip the wheel tighter, maintaining control. Always in control.

"I could use something sweet after today." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Their chocolate malt is to die for."

I smile at her choice of words. If she only knew the irony.

I guide Clara into the diner, my hand hovering at the small of her back. The neon lights glow pink across her skin as we slide into a worn leather booth. Her knee brushes mine under the table.

A waitress drops off menus, but I can't take my eyes off Clara. Her fingers fidget with the paper wrapper from her straw.

I lean forward, watching her face. "Did you like the gift I bought you?"

Clara's eyes go wide. "Oh shit." Her hand flies to her mouth. "The gift you gave me last night. Before you... I mean, we..." A blush creeps up her neck. "You didn't exactly give me a chance to open it."

"And this morning?" I raise an eyebrow, enjoying her squirm.

"I got that call about the crime scene and rushed out." She drops her head into her hands. "I completely forgot. God, I'm so sorry."

"I'm hurt." I press my hand to my chest in mock offense. "Here I thought you'd be thinking of me all day."

"I have been thinking about you." The words tumble out before she can stop them. Her blush deepens. "Just... not about the gift."

"Oh?" I reach across the table, running my finger along her wrist. "And what exactly have you been thinking about?"

I watch Clara fidget in her seat, her cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink. The sight stirs something primal in me.

"Don't go there right now," she whispers, glancing around the diner.

I lean back, giving her space even as every fiber of my being wants to press forward, to make her admit her desires here in this public space. But patience has always been my greatest ally.

"Tell me something," I say, picking up a fry. "Does it scare you that I stalked you?"

Clara's eyes meet mine, steady and clear. "No."

"No?"

"I feel safe with you." She takes a bite of her burger, considering her words. . As she does, her scarf slips, and I see the marks I left on her neck. The sight tilts me off my axis. My heart pounding erratically. "Maybe I shouldn't, but I do."

The irony of her statement hits me like a physical blow. If she knew the truth, she'd run screaming into the night. Yet here she sits, completely at ease.

The strangest part? She is safe with me. I've killed ten people in the past week alone, but I would never hurt Clara. She's different. Special.

"You’re safe with me," I say, and I'm telling the absolute truth for once.

Clara's smile hits me like a physical blow. It is not the coy smiles she gives to hide her darkness or the polite ones she offers strangers. This one reaches her eyes and transforms her entire face. It is earnest and beautiful.

My chest tightens. The sensation is foreign and unwelcome. I've studied human emotions and learned to mimic them perfectly, but this... this feels different.

I grip my glass harder, trying to ground myself. The cold condensation against my palm should help me focus, but her smile lingers in my mind.

"What?" she asks, tilting her head.

I force my features to remain neutral despite the storm raging inside me. "Nothing."

But it's not nothing. That smile awakens something I thought was long dead or perhaps never existed; an echo of warmth, a crack in my carefully constructed walls.

I've killed without remorse. Planned each death with clinical precision. Emotions are tools I use to manipulate others, nothing more. Yet here I sit, undone by the curve of her lips, the light in her eyes.

The urge to flee wars with the desire to draw closer. I want to possess that smile, keep it locked away where only I can see it. But I also want to destroy it before it destroys me.

This wasn't part of the plan. Clara was supposed to be my masterpiece. Not this... this weakness spreading through my chest like poison.

I guide my car down the winding country roads, glancing at Clara's profile in the darkness. The heater hums, keeping us warm against the winter chill outside.

"Mind if we take a quick detour?" I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. "There's something I want to show you."

Clara shifts in her seat. "Sure, I'm not ready for the night to end yet."

I turn onto a gravel road, tires crunching through patches of snow. The old dairy farm emerges from the darkness, its weathered buildings stark against the night sky.

"A farm?" Clara's voice carries a hint of uncertainty.

"Trust me." I park near the milking barn, killing the engine. "I found this place earlier. It's... interesting."

We step out into the crisp air. Clara wraps her coat tighter around herself as I lead her to the barn door. It swings open with a low creak, revealing empty stalls and gleaming metal equipment.

"Why the hell are we here?" Clara's eyes dart around the space, her breath visible in the cold air.

I flick on a single light, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. "I saw this place and thought it would be perfect." My hand finds the small of her back. "Private. A bit dangerous. The kind of place where anything could happen."

The milking stalls' metal bars glint in the dim light. Everything smells of hay, metal, and possibility. Clara takes a few steps inside.

"No one's here this time of night," I say, closing the door behind us. "Just the machines. And us."

Clara runs her finger along one of the stainless steel pipes. "This is where they milk the cows?"

"Mmhmm." I move closer, watching her explore. "But they're all in the other barn now. We have this space all to ourselves."

Her breath catches as I press against her back. "Silas..."

"Scared?" I whisper against her ear.

"No." But her pulse jumps under my touch. "Just... surprised."

I watch Clara's face in the dim light, catching the subtle shift in her expression. Her forensic mind is working, connecting dots. Months of surveillance have taught me every nuance of her stress—that delicate line between her eyebrows, the unconscious grip of teeth on flesh—like reading a book I’ve memorized cover to cover.

"What's up?" I ask casually, maintaining the perfect balance of concern and curiosity.

Clara's fingers still on the metal pipe. "It's just... tomorrow, according to the pattern..." She turns to face me, those green eyes searching mine. "The eighth day of Christmas is eight maids a-milking. And you brought me to a milking shed?"

My heart races with excitement, but I force my features into a mask of confusion. "What? Oh shit." I step back, running a hand through my hair. "I didn't even think. I mean, I didn't realize."

"Really?" Her voice carries a hint of suspicion.

"Clara, come on." I laugh, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. "I saw this place on my drive home yesterday. Thought it might be... exciting." I move closer again, trailing my fingers down her arm. "Somewhere different. Private. I'm not exactly following the local news about some psycho's murder spree."

The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, but I can still see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She wants to believe me. Needs to believe me. The alternative is too terrifying to contemplate.

"God, I'm sorry." She shakes her head. "This case has me seeing patterns everywhere. I'm turning into one of those crazy conspiracy theorists."

I cup her face in my hands, savoring how small she feels against my palms. "You're not crazy. You're brilliant."

"I shouldn't have brought you here." My voice a study in pretend concern. I step back carefully, allowing her the space to protest, to feel bad for suspecting me. I let my hands fall to my sides. "I just thought it would be?—"

"No, don't apologize." Clara shakes her head, right on cue. Her voice is frustrated, apologetic. "It's been a long day. My mind is everywhere."

I lean against one of the metal pipes, watching her. Wanting her. The light casts shadows on her face, highlighting the delicate curves of her cheeks and jawline. She shivers, arms wrapping around herself.

"You're cold." I shrug out of my jacket, draping it over her shoulders.

She pulls it tighter, the fabric hanging loose around her body. "Thanks."

The idea hits me. An impulse. A need I can't ignore. "I have an idea."

"What's that?" She arches an eyebrow, a hint of suspicion creeping back into her eyes.

"Wait here." I head for the door.

"Where are you going?" She takes a step toward me.

I smile, keeping my voice light. "I'll be right back. Need to grab something from the car."

The night air is biting as I step outside. Mist rises from my mouth in cloudy puffs as I draw in sharp breaths of the frigid air to calm my excitement. Excitement I rarely feel anymore.

The barn door creaks as it swings shut behind me, leaving Clara alone in the dim light. I jog to my car, my heart pounding for a different reason. In and out of the trunk in a flash, I grab what I need: the mask.

Masks have always fascinated me, but this one holds particular significance. It's the key to my true self, an anchor to the darkness that fuels me. The mask represents a part of me that only a select few have ever seen, and I want Clara to see it, too.

I pull the mask over my face, the familiar fabric settling against my skin. The scent of leather and desire surrounds me, pushing me further into the abyss that calls to me. My pulse races as I imagine her reaction, the fear mixed with desire I know she'll feel.

I pause outside the barn door, my palm resting on the worn wood. Inside, her breath comes in shallow pants. She tries to hide it, but I hear the subtle hitch in her breathing, smell the scent of her arousal that cuts through the musty air of the barn.

She knows what's coming, and she wants it. Just like I do.

I push open the door, the hinges squealing in protest. Clara's eyes widen when she sees me, the mask transforming my presence.

I say nothing, simply watching her. The mask gives me power, a sense of being untouchable. I own the darkness within and without, letting it consume me.

She inches away like a cornered animal, her gaze bound to mine in a dance of terror and fascination. "Silas... what are you doing?"

My actions will speak louder than words ever could. I stalk forward, relishing how she scurries backward.

"No," she whispers, but it lacks conviction. Her eyes dart around the barn, searching for an escape route. "Please... don't."

But the plea isn't genuine.

I sense her plan a moment before she acts. Her eyes flicker to the left, toward an open stall. She spins, ducking into the shadows. Her movements are clumsy, hampered by her heels.

I chuckle. "You can't hide from me."

The stall gives her nowhere to run, but she refuses to come out. I step forward, anticipation building inside me like a coiled spring ready to snap.

Her rapid breaths echo off the walls, a metronome counting down to our inevitable confrontation. Her heartbeat matches the rhythm, a pulse visible in her neck. Arousal, fear—or both. I inhale, letting the scent of her fill me. She's close. My fingers twitch, yearning to wrap around that tender throat.

I take a deliberate step forward, the hay matted on the floor crunching under my feet. In the dim light, I spot her shoulder pressed against the wall. Her chest rises and falls, rapid and shallow.

With two long strides, I'm upon her. I slam her against the wall, my forearm pressing into her collarbone. She gasps, eyes flaring wide. Her breaths puff against my mask, fogging the air between us.

"Hey there, beautiful." I lean in, pressing myself against her.

Her scream fills the barn, piercing through the silence. Arousal pulses through me like an electric shock. I slam my hand over her mouth, muffling the sound.

God, I love this. The fight in her, the fire. It stokes my hunger, sending sparks of desire straight to my cock.

Clara thrashes, her fists beating against my chest. The impact does nothing to deter me; I welcome the wildness, the struggle. Her mouth opens wide, teeth biting down on my palm. I tense, relishing the rush of pain. This close, I can feel her breath against my skin, her lips warm against my flesh.

Let her bite. Let her fight. It will make her surrender that much sweeter.

Her eyes, wide and terrified, plead with me to stop. But I know she doesn't truly want that. Not yet.

"Please." The word is little more than a breath against my hand.

But I'm far from finished.

I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. "Use your safe word and I'll stop," I whisper. "But if you don't..." I increase the pressure on her wrists, pinning them above her head. "I'll take what I want."

She doesn't use it. Her chest rises and falls rapidly beneath my touch, her pulse thrumming with desire. She growls, a feral sound that ignites every nerve ending in my body. Our eyes lock, and in that moment, I see the truth she's been hiding—her desire for this—for me.

"That's what I thought." I smile, baring my teeth behind the mask. "You're mine now, Clara, all mine.”

She struggles against me, but her attempts to escape are futile. I've got her trapped, right where I want her. Her wrists are pinned above her head, secured by one of my hands, while the other grips her throat, just tight enough to let her know who's in control. Her eyes dart around, searching for a way out, but finding none. Not this time.

"Please, stop," she whispers. But I know her well enough to hear the desire lurking beneath the fear.

I lean in, my breath hot against her ear. "Never."

Her body tenses as she finally accepts the truth. This isn't a game. Not anymore.

Her soft, delectable body writhes under me, panic and desire swimming in her eyes. Her struggles only excite me more, fueling the fire that rages within.

"Get off me!" Her voice cracks as she tries to push me away. "I mean it, Silas!"

With a swift motion, Ibpull her from the wall and flip her onto her back, the straw scratching against her bare legs. She squirms, trying to find purchase, but I'm already upon her, my body covering hers. I move one hand to her marked throat, squeezing gently as a reminder of my power.

"Stop fighting it." My mouth hovers over hers, waiting for her to surrender. "You want this."

She strains against me, her protests muffled by my hand. "You're sick! Let me go!"

The pressure of my hand increases with methodical purpose, stealing her breath just long enough to remind her who owns her. "You don't make the rules here."

Her eyes bulge, panic flashing across her face as she tries to suck in a breath. I hold her like that momentarily, enjoying the feeling of power. Then, I slowly loosen my grip, watching the color return to her cheeks as she gasps for air.

"Please..." Her voice trembles.

That's better.

I nuzzle her throat, inhaling her sweet scent. "Please what?" I murmur.

She remains silent, but her eyes burn with a desperate plea. I know what she wants. She wants me to take away her control—to push her beyond her limits.

My thumb strokes her soft skin as I lean down, my lips ghosting over hers. "Say it, Clara."

She shakes her head, her chest heaving.

"You won't say it?" I release her throat and slide my hand down her body, resting it on her inner thigh. "Then I guess I'll just have to take what I want."

A whimper escapes her lips as I slowly push her thighs apart, exposing her soaking wet panties to me. Desperate to see her cunt, I tear them from her in a feral movements. She's wet, aching for my touch. I slide my finger along her slit, collecting her juices.

"Please, no," she moans, closing her eyes. "I'll do anything, just don't?—"

Her words are cut off as I plunge two fingers inside her, relishing the way she clenches around me. I thrust slowly at first, watching her face, then gradually increase my pace. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her body bucking against mine.

But I'm not done with her yet. Withdrawing my fingers, I bring them to her mouth. She hesitates for a moment, then sucks them greedily into her mouth, moaning at the taste of herself.

"That's it." I stroke her hair, my voice a hoarse whisper. "Suck them like you mean it."

Her eyes, heavy-lidded with desire, meet mine as she obediently licks and sucks my fingers clean. The sight sends a spike of pleasure straight to my cock.

I tug my fingers from her mouth, tracing a path down her body until I reach her core once more. With my other hand, I lift the bottom of the mask away from my mouth, freeing my tongue.

I pause, savoring the moment. This will be the first time I taste her.

She whimpers, trying to squirm away, but I hold her firm, my mouth hovering over her center. She smells incredible, musky and sweet. I inhale her scent, letting it flood my senses.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I press my tongue against her clit, savoring the way she jerks. I lap at her slowly, torturously, tasting every inch of her. Her hips buck, but I hold her still, refusing to let her move.

"Please," she whimpers, "I can't take much more."

Her plea sends a surge of power through me. I suck her clit into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, delighting in the sounds she makes. Her body arches off the ground, her inner walls contracting around my fingers as she teeters on the edge. With a final lick, I push her over the edge, her cry of release muffled by the sounds of our passion.

"That wasn't so bad, now, was it?" My voice is little more than a whisper.

She trembles beneath me, her hands curling into the straw. I wait, giving her time to catch her breath, to gather her shattered senses.

"Talk to me, Clara." I nuzzle her hair, breathing in her scent. "What do you want?"

She remains silent for a moment, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "I want you," she finally whispers. "I want all of you."

I simply press a soft kiss to her temple, relishing the feeling of her body beneath mine.

Oh, you have no idea what you are inviting in, my beautiful goddess.