Page 14 of Stalked By Seduction and Shadows

Little Flame needed help; she needed a savior, and it couldn’t be me. But it was so late, and the village was dead asleep.

Why was she walking home from a fucking tavern in the middle of the night alone, anyway? Where was that shifter mutt? Or her sister? Or anyone with half a brain and a heart that should’ve known better than to leave her this vulnerable?

The moment they grabbed her satchel and yanked, I rushed forward, the decision already made. I didn’t care about any damn vows. If the right thing to do was let her life unfold without my interference, then I no longer wanted to be right for her.

I couldn’t let them snuff out her flame. I couldn’t let them stop her from seeing the world, from hoping and believing and reaching for those damn cosmos. I couldn’t let them turn her into a monster who only felt the briefest, most fleeting moments of humanity in a sea of eternal emptiness.

When Scarlett hit the ground, I bared my fangs and gathered my shadows in a thick cloud. The sound of her screams pierced right through me like the sharpest blade, twisting and twisting until all of me was a tightly wound ball of torment. I needed to taste those men’s blood in my throat, to watch their eyes dim into total emptiness—the void they wanted to carve into Scarlett’s soul.

The second before I lunged was when I heard the unmistakable sound of shifter feet running toward us, smelled the scent I knew belonged to her friend. Thank Helia and thank Lillian too. Thank Selena most of all, the goddess of the moon and all shifters and witches.

Little Flame had a savior, and he was not me.

It took every ounce of my strained willpower to force my shadow magick back inside me, to move back and watch the men bend over Scarlett. She was helpless and frightened, still as a corpse.

She was staring up, not at them, but at the sky. Like she used to on the wooden swing near the woods, singing that solemn hymn.

They tore open her dress as the pounding of shifter feet grew louder. He was close. But they were touching her, saying such wretched things that she didn’t deserve to hear.

If that boy wasn’t here in thirty seconds, I would reveal myself to the whole damn town with my reign of fucking terror. My wrath would make Crescent Haven the site of unspeakable violence the dry lands hadn’t seen since before the war.

She wasn’t even fighting, still staring at the stars. A sick feeling turned my guts inside out. Because I knew that look. I knew what it meant. This hadn’t been the first time she’d been violated. Far from it.

My rage was growing hot and slick, radiating off my skin and screaming for spilled blood, torn limbs, and pleasing, satisfying wails for mercy that would go unanswered.

The pierce of a roar and an accompanying howl had the men scrambling. It was as though it had come from my own throat, and I watched with secondhand pleasure as the boy finally tore arms from sockets until screams went deafeningly, beautifully silent.

When Scarlett sat up, covering her exposed chest, I had to fight the urge to cover her with my jacket. I averted my eyes, and I walked away.

I might not have had the pleasure of ripping these two creeps to shreds with my teeth, but luckily for me, there were still two more out there with my bloody mark etched into the fabric of their gaudy suits.

There was a reason I had to be careful not to be seen in Crescent Haven. Everyone on this island could tell who I was with just one glance. Rune the Ruthless, head of the turned clan, and ruler of all Valentin vampires.

I almost missed the time before my unending reign, when I was still killing my way to the top. Back then, it took more than my mere presence to invoke the fear of the gods, to make men piss themselves in terror. Centuries ago, I earned their delicious, pitiful fear. One by one, annihilation by annihilation, until the whole world knew my name.

I still had a pleasant time torturing, killing, and maiming. It just wasn’t as fun. I reveled in the fight. Nothing was more satisfying than starting with a strong, confident being and breaking them down until they were a puddle of begging, pleading, pathetic weakness.

I grinned at the thought, my body flooding with pleasure as I tossed a severed finger into the woods. The one dead and one barely alive scouts lay at my feet.

“I swear,” the alive one stuttered, on the brink of unconsciousness.

I kicked him hard in the ribs to wake him up.

He grunted and coughed, a hilarious tear escaping from his eye. His flashy black and blue striped jacket was covered in dirt and blood, and that amused me greatly.

“I swear,” he tried again. “I was recruiting for Durian’s nightclubs.”

“I don’t ever have any problem finding willing Aristellen mortals for mine,” I said with a smile, cocking my head.

The man’s eyes flashed with frustration, quickly flinching when I raised my foot again to kick him.

I laughed and lowered my foot. He’d wisely removed the attitude from his features and replaced it with humility.

“He prefers them from dry lands. So do the patrons. These mortals are…”

“Easier to manipulate? More naive?” I offered. “Less willing and therefore more fun to break?”

The man shrugged. “People like what they like, my lord.”

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