Page 77 of Blood Lust

Good.

Her wild vampire is indeed driving, and she still hasn’t merged with her other self. Part of me is grateful that she hasn’t combined yet. Having her darker half in control gives her some measure of protection.

Wren’s eyes don’t even move to mine. She studies Emerson. She wants to kill him, and I want to let her. I just need to give her the opportunity.

Emerson keeps the gun pointed at Wren, though his eyes shift back and forth between us. I need his concentration on me. All it will take is a brief moment where he doesn’t see her as a threat, and then she can go for the throat.

“You finally did it,” I said, disappointment coloring my voice. “You killed your creator and got your revenge for him not letting you ravage and rampage like an animal. Happy?”

The scowl on his face tells me that happy isn’t the right word. No, he is proud. “We are superior to humans. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t take what we want.”

I laugh at the insanity of his logic. We come from humans, we still have humanity inside of us. Emotions, logic, love, empathy. Emerson never had empathy while he was alive, that’s his problem. “That didn’t stop you in your human life. What was your excuse then?”

That throws him off guard.

He studies me, probably curious about what and how I know the details of his life before Leland and me. Likely thinking I am bluffing, he says, “I was the perfect gentleman until the pair of you came along.”

“Is that why we found you half gutted in some back alley behind a brothel?” He blanches. I remember the way he tried to stuff his intestines back inside his body. Someone had very much wanted him dead, and I do not doubt he deserved it.

Pretty stories of heroism spoke to our naivety then. That’s why Leland agreed to turn him at my request. I saw myself in him. A man dying undeservedly, with only the blood of the immortals able to save him. I thought he was like us. I thought he was good deep down and the unfortunate victim of an evil out in the world. I thought he could join our family.

I thought wrong.

I didn’t know until after Roanoke, but Emerson had been the disinherited son of a nobleman. He lost his titles, money, and legacy when it was discovered that he was raping and mutilating the servants in his home. He’d killed a few, able to cover it up at first, but apparently, his father walked in on him in the middle of the act and refused to overlook it, so he removed him from his will and told him to leave their home. His father’s love and influence only went so far as to not have Emerson arrested immediately.

I close my eyes momentarily, trying to force the image out of my brain. The journals I found told me Emerson had become exceptionally good at skinning his victims and keeping them alive while he forced himself on them. He would even consume their innards from time to time.

Fucking cannibal.

Rumors of his next atrocities are all I have to go on after he was rejected from his home. Fortunately, his father included the rumors in his journals as well. If they were accurate, Emerson spent his time carving up prostitutes, attacking women at night, and a few break-ins where he’d assault the servants and noblewomen alike. Less mutilation, probably pressed for time. He is disgusting.

“Your family found out you were a monster and abandoned you. You got off on hurting women and girls, and one night, you messed with the wrong one. Was it her brother, father, or husband who got revenge on you? Do you even know which woman was able to identify you? Do you know how they found you? Do you still feel their blade as it ripped into your stomach?” He trains the gun on me.

Finally.

“Shut the fuck up, Oz.” He screams at me. I’ve broken through his mask, his cover. He loves doing the deed, but he hates being judged for it. “You don’t know shit. All of them deserved it. All of them as they wriggled and writhed. They were using their bodies to control men and I made them feel like the nothings they were. I was doing a service.”

“A service?” I step to the side ever so slightly, which makes him almost turn his back to Wren. She is reaching behind her. Does my lovely have a weapon he doesn’t know about? “You take your sick and twisted pleasures in any way you can because you feel entitled. When faced with the reality that you aren’t, you break down like the worthless and pathetic piece of shit you are.”

He shakes with anger.

“That’s why you ran at Roanoke. You weren’t afraid Leland would kill you. You were afraid of his judgment.”

He puts his finger on the trigger.

In a flash of movement, Wren leans forward and presses a pistol to Emerson’s knee. As she fires I jerk forward, gripping his hands and angling the gun away as a spray of bullets releases and he screams in pain. Overpowering him with my strength isn’t too difficult, but Wren wants to have all of the fun.

She latches onto his neck. Her snarls echoing in the stairwell, harmonious with the sound of her teeth clacking together and his flesh ripping apart. There is blood everywhere and I yank the gun away from him. He tries to shove her off, but it’s useless.

His hands swipe at her hair, her face, gripping and pulling but not doing a damn thing to deter her. Emerson’s scream is incredibly satisfying.

“Stop, you crazy bitch,” he yells, his eyes finally looking scared as Wren spits some of his flesh on the floor and resumes tearing into his neck.

Every single muscle in her body is focused on feeding right now. To get her to stop, I’d have to kill her and I obviously have no intention of doing that. They slide together down the wall. Whatever blood isn’t pouring out of his gaping wounds is in her mouth. I crouch beside them and watch his eyes begin to lose focus. I run my fingers through Wren’s hair, soothing her as she takes her fill.

“Please…” his voice is getting quiet now, begging.

My mate moans in pleasure at the sound, letting him go for just a second. “I told you that you would beg me.” Amusement colors her words before she latches back on. Emerson’s movements slow, and he is dead in moments.

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