Chapter 13

ChapterThirteen

Blake

Back From The Dead - Halestorm

Ileaned over Dale Rogers. The pig of a man slept like a slitherine before me and it made me curl my lip in distaste. I could still smell Ophelia. Her arousal was thick in the air and for the first time in my life—undead life—I found myself wanting to get this over with. The kill was no longer as sweet as the scent on her skin.

The scent that was one hundred percent all of her.

Tonight was supposed to be a night of mayhem and murder and all my killer heart wanted to do again was to sink balls deep inside of her smooth and tight pussy. Even if she was being bratty right now. I needed her more than I needed control. I needed her taste, her scent, the feel of her skin against mine.

After all, I assumed I never had long left.

What was normal about coming back from the dead and what rules applied?

I growled. I couldn’t think about that right now.

Right now, I needed to play.

I took my switchblade and shoved it up Dale’s nose, one nostril at a time then looked back to a heaving Ophelia who stood concealed within the shadows with eyes that watched my every move, eyes that saw everything. “The smell of you, is all mine too, Soul Raiser. All fucking mine.”

When Dale’s eyes shot open and he opened his mouth to scream, I smirked and shoved the blade down his throat and throat fucked him with it. “Hey, mate. Long time, not dead right?” I whispered in a sinister chuckle and the whites of his eyes burst, the shock-horror made his pupils shrivel. I threw my head back, and the laugh twisted as I thrived on that look. Confusion consumed him and I toyed with it, playing him like a fiddle to my blade as I painted it cherry fucking red.

“Do you remember? All of the sick things you did to me?” I asked as I hummed lowly because I sure as fuck did. My dark eyes turned toward Ophelia. “Could use a little help, love.”

She prowled from the shadows like a sultry angel of death and Dale tried to turn his head, the head burning with pain to see who I was speaking to, but I pushed the knife in harder and refused to let him utter one sick and vile word. “Hold his arms,” I demanded. Once she stood behind him, still lost to the darkness within this shittily-lit cell, I carved out his tongue and pulled it from his rotten mouth. Lifting it to eye level, I examined it. “They feel a lot rougher when cut from the mouth, Soul Raiser. Want to feel it?” I teased and I could hear her mock gag through the whispers of the cell and I chuckled even louder. “Fair enough.” Then I tossed the worthless thing behind me. He wouldn’t need it and now for anyone who woke, he would sound like a slobbering mess.

Either a cunt feeling the sorrow of his sins or in this place, more than likely a cunt that needed to cry just to finish in his palm. “Perfect,” I mused as I pulled away and got to my knees beside him. “Two pounds of flesh for every pound you took of mine?” I questioned as he shook his head frantically. Blood ran in rivers from his mouth. He now looked like a clown with a tongue of blood painted on his chin.

I dug that.

The nasal septum was gone, torn to shreds so all that remained was a huge gaping hole that looked like a gateway to a void of Hell, because you couldn’t see shit through the shadows of blood that gushed from it. Fucker should have known better than to dare smell my woman.

Asshole.

“Did it hurt?” Ophelia asked in the hush of night and I retained my attention on bringing Dale’s arm out and away from her so I could carve him up. I wasn’t interested in the poetics tonight. I just wanted blood.

Revenge.

Peace.

I didn’t look at her, didn’t need to. I knew what she was asking. “Don’t remember a thing, darling.”

Nothing more needed to be said as I dug in my knife and curved it under the surface of his flesh. He cried out, the sound nothing but a horrific, wet gurgle that bubbled from his shredded throat and splattered against my face in little speckles of his plasma. I licked my lips and pulled away the first layer of his skin.

“See, baby, see how pretty it can be?” I mused as I looked at the creamy flesh that on one side looked like it belonged to a hobo, but was still somewhat bright and smooth. Yet, on the other side, a wall of risen bumps and rotten flesh curdled.

“This shouldn’t fascinate me,” Ophelia uttered. I groaned as my eyes rolled back in my head as her breath feathered against me. “Yet it does. You’ve never looked as sexy as you do covered in red.”

“Death is life, sweetheart. We fear it without ever having understood it. We’re no different from the curious minds of a mortician. Only our subjects are alive.” I winked at her and she shook her head.

“How do you do that? How do you make murder seem so normal?”

I shrugged a smug look on my crooked lips. “It’s a gift,” I mused.

Dale’s eyes rolled back and the shift in them told me that he saw her. My woman stood above him as a veil of darkness. I slashed out and butchered his eyes in a vicious snarl that flew from me in a sprayed arch of spittle. The sound could rival any beast in the wild protecting its mate. But I was worse than a wild animal.

I was worse than the worst.

I was the unburdened.

I cared not for the atrocious acts I committed.

The only thing I would ever think twice about was the victim under my blade.

If they deserved it, I’d quite happily serve it.

With a sadist smile and a big fuck you.

I got so consumed in my bloodlust, that I hadn’t noticed the damage until it was too late. Just as I feared with the priest, the darkness stole me from the murky gray light of my senses when it came to this bastard looking at what was good and what was all fucking mine. I knew it was subjective, drastic. But she was all that I had and I wanted to keep her to myself.

I brutalized him in a way words would never describe. When I was done, heaving and thriving for every breath, I looked up to see Ophelia.

She stepped forward, mouth open as sweet, sexual pants of arousal puffed from her open mouth. Her eyes were wide and filled with the ecstasy of a woman that felt the desire and knew what it was like to feel desired. She was covered, a mirror image of myself as blood artfully painted her face. I stood to my feet, in a rush to get to her.

To feel her.

I needed her right now. More than I needed another kill.

One hand slithered between the strands of her hair, the other landed on her hip as I lifted her from the ground and hiked her thighs around my waist. As I turned, I backed us up against the cell wall and spread her thighs, I grew weak at the knees. There was no foreplay, no pretense as I removed her pants and thrust myself inside of her, sheathed to the hilt as I let out a roar that woke every prisoner within this cell block. Like a man unleashed, I rutted against her with wild abandon and strived for the end we both craved.

Fuck punishment. I needed her so fucking badly, that it would have brought a lesser man to tears.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Ophelia. So fucking perfect,” I exclaimed in a breathy whisper into her ear.

The cell block was crazed, rioting beyond their bars and shouting their jest at whatever they thought was happening within this cell. I kissed her, consumed her, and stole every purr and whimper for myself.

“You have been more than a good girl for me, my love. So fucking fuckable painted red. Come! Come, baby, fucking come and cover my cock when you do!”

Every light within the cell block flickered on and faltered. It was a mass of supercharged static electricity and short circuits.

Nobody heard her.

Nobody heard me.

In fact, nobody knew we were here at all.