2. FAMILIAR ANIMALS

2

FAMILIAR ANIMALS

YARA

D arkness is a familiar feeling, like an old friend with whom you’re comfortable sharing even the nastiest parts of yourself. It’s like a book you read repeatedly until your skin is tattooed with words, until your memory bleeds with the lives between the pages.

It was the only constant in my life.

I loved the place because of how dark it always was. Down On Luck was an Irish pub full of drunk, loud people who wouldn’t look twice at you—it was exactly what I needed to stalk Victor Bane, my next sacrificial lamb bleating to be butchered.

“Your whiskey, ma’am.” The bartender slid the cold glass of Jameson toward me. I took a sip of the smooth drink, my eyes scanning the crowd for my target. Victor would be here every night with one of his many women at eight o’clock on the dot, but he was missing tonight. “Do you need anything else?” the bartender asked as I played with my blonde wig.

“No,” I replied, settling onto the stool, mingling with the shadows. This part of the bar was the darkest, lit only by a dim yellow light, and I preferred it that way.

My phone vibrated with a text message. Pulling it out of my purse, I read the text with an indulgent smile.

Detective R: U r a lifesaver, Dr. West. I want to send you 100 scalpels.

Me: I’ve got enough scalpels. How about u get me a new bone saw? The old one makes this weird chewing noise when I cut through corpses.

Detective R: I got you! 1 new bone saw coming right up :)

Smiling and wondering what the good detective would say about my nighttime activities, I switched off my phone and put it back inside my purse.

An erotic song filled the air, and bodies moved together, drawn in by the voice. I was singing under my breath when a man slid onto a stool a couple of spots away from mine. He was wearing a dark shirt and a cap pulled low over his brows, covering half of his face. His voice was a hoarse command when he ordered a whiskey.

His shirt, casually rolled above the elbow, showed off his toned muscles. My eyes lingered on the tattoo of two intertwined snakes on his hand, starting from his wrist and disappearing into his shirt sleeve.

He raised the whiskey glass to his lips. “You’ve been staring.” His voice was deeper than the fucking Pacific Ocean, and my body trembled.

“I-I didn’t—” I stammered, caught off-guard. My stomach tilted uneasily. It almost felt like nervousness. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. The snakes are fascinating.”

“You’re still staring,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m not someone you want to bring home from a pub. I wouldn’t be good company.”

Oh, that smug son of a bitch.

“Thanks for the unsolicited advice, but did I miss the part where I invited you into my bed?” I retorted, my voice sharper, my pulse stronger. Frowning, I slammed my empty glass on the counter and ordered another round of whiskey. I needed more to survive this madman.

He shrugged, leaning over the counter, his shirt tightening over his muscles and my throat went dry. My eyes lazily traced his big hand—I wanted his hand around my fucking throat. Just the thought of it made me breathless.

Fuck, Yara, that’s insane! Kat sounded so close as if she were right next to me. I wished she was.

I am insane. The proof’s right here, Kat. You’re still talking to me. You’ve been dead for four years.

“Well, I guessed because you keep staring,” he said, his voice tinged with laughter.

“Next time, don’t. You’re not good at guessing,” I snapped, while my intestines performed a pas de bourrée followed by a jeté to the strange beat of my heart.

“Well, I think I’m quite good at that,” he said, emptying his drink. “I’ve never—”

“Fuck you, you little whore.” A voice cut through the beat of the music.

I scanned around for the owner of the voice until my eyes landed on a stocky, blistering man. My fingers tightened around the glass, already itching to cut him into pieces.

Control. It’s all about control. Kat whispered. Remember how the animals hunt?

Kat had taught me how to be patient and to hide in plain sight until it was time. We used to watch the Discovery Channel together, watching how the animals stalked and hunted. Waiting was the first step of a good hunt.

“I said no, Phil. Are you deaf? No,” the woman in front of Phil said, struggling to pull away from his hold. Her chair fell, breaking the night air. Heads turned, but nobody moved.

The man next to me let out a low growl, his hands tightening into fists. “Excuse me.” Without another look at me, he walked away.

Pulling my scarf up to my chin, I walked toward where Phil was. He was screaming at the woman, drunk from alcohol and rejection. But assholes are assholes drunk or sober, and that was one thing that’d never change.

“If you didn’t want it, why did you come here, you little slut?”

It was unfortunate Phil chose this pub, this time—but this was what I called destiny. The stars had aligned. It was time for a story, a kill.

“You cunt…” Phil howled.

If women didn’t give men what they wanted, they were whores, cunts. Men like Phil… they were the best fodder for my demons.

“What did you call me, Phil? You fucking—” The woman took in a deep breath and threw her beer at him. Seething, he gripped her shoulder, making her wince.

My nostrils flared with distaste. I took a step toward him and stopped when I saw the snake tattoo walking toward Phil; his movements exuded a predatory grace. I recognized the animal within him. The violent screams ripping out of his soul—I heard it like it was in my head. An icy shiver ran down my spine. It wasn’t fear—it was desire.

I couldn’t stop looking. The way he carried himself mesmerized me—he walked like the world belonged to him. A strange mix of anticipation and excitement pulsed through my veins, and my heart pounded in sync with the unfolding drama.

“She said no, didn’t she? Let her go. NOW,” he snarled, and I staggered back from the force of malice in his voice. I could only see his back, but I could feel how angry he was.

Phil looked unbothered by the warning. A simple fool was what he was. A simple, dick-less fool who used women to make himself feel more masculine, more powerful, but he’d never feel actual power.

“I said, fucking let her go,” the snake tattoo growled, ripping Phil’s hand away from the woman’s shoulder.

His voice was dark and hoarse like he was singing a rhapsody about bloody death, and it stirred something primal within me.

I had this urge to take this man to my house and have my way with him. Usually, having my way would be murder. But this time, I wanted more. I wanted his cock inside me, his lean body moving above me, his teeth marking my naked flesh. Taking me. Branding me. Ruining me.

I wanted his animal to please me. I wanted to please the animal.

Bloodlust was familiar. This raw, naked desire… strange.

“Who’s she? Your fuckin’ wife? Get the hell away, you motherfucker.”

Phil was bigger, but I knew he wouldn’t win against tall, dark, and tatted. He radiated a savage power that seemed to crackle around him like electricity.

“Do not test my patience. I’m not a patient man,” the velvety voice warned.

I had a feeling that I had stumbled upon another like me—someone who harbored the same dark impulses as me, whose monsters woke up with a slight misstep.

“What are you going to do? Huh? You motherfucking—” A punch stopped him. He stumbled back, bleeding from his nose, wailing in pain. I watched with satisfaction as Phil’s eyes filled with tears, but he wasn’t done yet. His venomous eyes met the woman because he was too much of a coward to face the man who just humiliated him.

“I’ll come for you, you bitch, and you’ll regret this night for the rest of your life. How dare you play me! You-you—”

“I didn’t play you. This was supposed to be a date and—” The woman stopped with a shuddering breath.

The snake tattoo gripped Phil by his hair, pulling him closer. “If you don’t walk away now, you’ll regret ever crossing paths with me.” It wasn’t merely a threat; it was a promise. “GO.”

My heart jumped when I heard his voice screaming with hidden violence. I felt his anger as if it were a tangible creature, with claws, fangs, and red eyes.

“What’s your problem, you asshole?” Phil scowled. “Why don’t you go find someone else to fuck and leave her the fuck alone? She came with me.” He whirled around to glare at the woman. “Stop pretending like you aren’t a whore. I bought you a thirty-dollar dinner.”

The man with the snake tattoo growled as he moved the girl behind him. He threw a hundred dollars at Phil. “Here’s your thirty. I added another seventy to keep your mouth shut,” he said before turning to the woman. She was looking at him like he had saved her from between a shark’s teeth. He might very well have. “Do you want to leave?”

“Yes,” she said and wiped her tears.

“Come on, I’ll take you home. And you… don’t even think about going anywhere near her.”

Take her home? No .

My body went rigid. Was I wrong? How could I be so wrong?

I thought Phil was his target, but maybe it was the girl. Some predators hunted only the weak. Gritting my teeth, I strolled out, following the snake tattoo and the woman he so gallantly saved. The chilly night wind quickly embraced me with frozen fingers. I pulled my coat tighter, searching for him through the drapes of darkness.

The girl shivered; he removed his jacket and handed it to her. With a smile, she put it on, looking comfortable in his presence.

“Thank you. You saved me. I don’t know what I would have…” Her voice broke.

She didn’t deserve to be lured by another man who was giving her a false sense of security, only to have the safety net yanked from beneath her.

Fuckwad .

“It’s alright,” he said as they walked toward the almost deserted road.

“You’re a godsend. You truly are.” Her voice was so certain. He laughed.

“It’s something anyone would have done.” He was good at this.

How many times had he played the hero to lure some unsuspecting prey? This might not be the first time.

“Nobody else did. I’m Isabella Ross.”

He stopped when they reached the side of the road. I grabbed the small knife I always carried inside my purse, thumbing the hilt, waiting for him to make a move. The moment he did, he’d find that knife stuck in his spine.

Two cabs passed. He let them go. He whistled for the third one—an accomplice?—and the cab came to a halt in front of him.

I wanted to scream at Isabella to run, but I watched. It wasn’t time yet.

“Take her home,” he said to the cab driver. The driver was a woman.

Handing a few dollars to the driver, he motioned Isabella to get in. With a smile, she entered the cab and waved at him.

“Good night,” she said, and he nodded.

“Good night, Isabella. Don’t worry about Phil.”

With his hands buried in his pockets, he stood there watching as the cab disappeared into darkness. Then he turned back toward the pub.

I trailed behind him, smiling now, wondering what he might do next. For the first time in my life, I was excited about something other than my own kill.

Who in the hell are you?