Page 18 of Burn for Her

Drenched from the rain, all he could do was shrink into his shell and wait for it to be over. He couldn’t cover his ears to muffle the screams. He couldn’t close his eyes, or his father would likely cut his eyelids off if he did. He couldn’t budge or run and hide because that would make things a thousand times worse for everyone in the room.

“Watch carefully, son.” His father pulled a blade from his belt and ran his thumb across the dulled edge.

His victim screamed as she tried to yank free from her restraints where she lay on the dirt covered floor. The human was no match for a fully matured vampire like Dorian’s father. She was no match for a scrawny malnourished child like Dorian, either. Especially with how starved he’d been lately.

The woman cried out again. It was shrill and icy, filled with terror. Dorian’s panic set in. He hated screaming. Hated what his father did to make screams come out of the mouths of his victims too. Never once did he show mercy because in his opinion, fear made the blood sweeter. More powerful.

Dorian thought it ruined the blood.

Their one, small taper candle flickered, causing dim light to dance around the room. The movement of shadows and light only made the act of violence worse. As if the flame itself struggled to escape the fate awaiting that human woman, it trembled and flickered and made Dorian dizzy.

This woman hadn’t been given the chance others had to escape. His father brought her home naught more than an hour ago and did unspeakable things to her.

Dorian swayed when he heard a gurgling sound. His cheeks tingled when he smelled fresh blood permeate the air. Outside, the rain pelted the roof, and sounded like an applause all around them. Dorian focused on that sound. The rain.

Wash it away. Wash it away. Wash it away.

If he had the strength to destroy the walls and roof of this house, Dorian would do it in a heartbeat. He’d welcome the thunder and lightning to crash down upon him and his father if only to put them out of the misery they were stuck in. He’d beg for the rain to rise, flood, and sweep them away so they may drown.

“Dorian, get over here.”

Trembling more with anger than fear, he obeyed his father. Stepping up to the female, he first noticed a wetness between his toes. He didn’t need to look down to know that he’d stepped in her blood, so he kept his gaze on her eyes. They were kind eyes. Round like a doe. Scared like a doe, too.

“Get on your knees like the animal you are.”

Dorian’s knees buckled and down he went. Years of this made the act automatic.

“Drink, son.” His father grabbed him by the nape of the neck and forced Dorian to bend over. He shoved Dorian’s face into her mangled neck. “I said drink.”

The woman didn’t move, using all her might to hang onto her last breath, she didn’t even blink. His father took everything from her—had done so much carnage to her body, blood drained from various wounds, leaving nothing but a small sip for Dorian to take.

But he didn’t even want that. He’d rather starve than take that woman’s last drop.

He hated this. Hated what he was. Hated what he’d mature into. Hated his father. Hated his house. Hated his life.

“Drink,” his father commanded.

Dorian knew if he didn’t obey, his father would go out and find another victim and waste her life too, if only to force Dorian down on his knees, yet again, and make him take the last of their life.

It wasn’t fair. Why was he left being the one to clean up his father’s mess? Why was he the one who had to be the final act that would ultimately snuff out an innocent life?

His hesitation earned him another crack upside his head. Dorian lost balance and threw his hands out to catch himself before falling face-first into the woman’s stomach cavity.

“DRINK!”

With a furious hiss, Dorian opened his mouth wide and attacked the woman’s throat. Instead of nourishment and strength, he pulled malice from her vein and swallowed it with all the fervor a starved wolf would its hard-earned meal…

The water ran cold as Dorian remained braced against the shower wall, struggling to yank himself out of his past. Once he succeeded, he swiftly dried off and froze in front of the mirror again. It had fogged over, making him look like a faded blur. Unwrapping the towel from his waist, Dorian used it to clean the mirror in order to see the reflection, uncompromised.

What a beast Dorian had turned into. His hair dripped onto his shoulders, already curling into tight coils. His eyes were darker than they’d been a week ago—a sign of starvation and other things he refused to acknowledge. He ran a hand across his chest. He worked out every day and his constant dedication paid off. Sometimes he forgot he was a vampire and not something else. He wasn’t built to impress. He was built to kill.

Kill.

Dorian leaned over the sink and gripped the counter. “I’m built to kill.”

Not love. Not protect. Kill.

Running his fingers through his hair angrily, he slicked it back, shut his eyes and let the truth sink in. How was he going to be a good mate to a woman when all he could bring to the table was death and torture? He was a monster. No matter how far he’d come in life, at the core, he was still his father’s son. Dorian didn’t deserve sweet, pretty, innocent things. He’d ruin them. Break and destroy them. Tear them apart, chew them up, and spit them out.

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