Page 70 of Muerte

"And you can’t keep denying that I already have," he said simply, with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. “You're home now. All that’s left for you to do is find yourself. I’m going to help you do just that."

His beautiful eyes held a raw honesty that was as surprising as it was unnerving. This wasn’t a game to him. There was no doubt in his mind that we belonged together. My heart twisted painfully.

This scared me far more than his promise to kill in my honor did. Those were strangers’ lives. This life was supposed to be mine, but then he looked at me as if I were the very center of his universe. He did everything in his power to know me inside out, down to the most trivial detail, and I knew if I asked, he’d say my life was his.

I panicked.

"Did you do these things for the wife you sent to the butcher?" The words tumbled out to serve as both a sword and a shield.

His reaction didn't betray any surprise, as if he had expected me to stumble upon such dark secrets. Instead of answering, he leaned closer, his lips meeting mine in a soft, lingering kiss. His hand slid down, coming to rest right above the branded name on my thigh, a tangible reminder of what he’d done.

"I've never dealt with a woman who didn't understand her place. That alone should tell you how much I adore you.”

“Your naivety, Lolita, is truly endearing, luckily for you." A hint of something more serious laced his voice as he continued, "I’m not ashamed of what happened with my first marriage. It isn’t a secret. I did the right thing and allowed Melanie to give back to the Isle, to depart with grace at the end of a blade. It was a fitting end."

So, it was true. He’d sentenced her to death like some medieval dictator. He noted my shock with an amused grin. "Don’t look at me like that, you’ll hurt my feelings. Did you expect me to lie to you? Deny it?" he asked, his tone teasing.

He suddenly reached around me, his movements forceful yet controlled. He cleared the table, sending dishes clattering to the floor to shatter apart. I flinched, my arms automatically winding around his neck as he stood up.

He held me effortlessly, gently placing me amidst the scattered remains of our dinner.

“Alex—”

He silenced me with a soft, chaste kiss, his fingers tenderly caressing my face. “You're the most stunning thing I've ever seen. That's been true since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

“And when was that?”

“Why don’t you try and figure it out?”

He stepped between my legs and ran his hand through my hair, fisting a handful of it, tilting my head back and ensuring I couldn’t look anywhere but at him. There was a sting of pain, but it didn’t hurt. I knew that could change in an instant. I remained still, as if caught by a predator any movement would provoke, my heart beating so fast I feared it was seconds away from falling out of my chest.

"I'm going to share something with you, something most people don’t know.” He paused as if to make sure I was paying attention despite my inability to move.

"My relationship with Melanie didn't end at the butcher's block. It ended a few hours before that."

“W-what do you mean?”

He pretended to think about his answer, marginally tightening the grip he had on my hair. “I sliced her open while I was buried inside her. I started at her belly button and stopped at the center of her throat.” He gave me another light kiss. “I was determined to remove all the pieces of her I didn’t like, but after I took out what bothered me the most, I realized I wouldn’t be satisfied until I’d made her an empty sack of flesh.”

My heart stuttered. I gave up trying to form words after my fourth attempt. His admission hung in the air, heavy and undeniable and voiced without shame.

“You killed her,” I breathed.

He gave me a hooded, almost boyish smile. “‘Killed’ is a rather tame word for it, but yes.”

He regarded me for a moment and whatever he saw on my face had him slightly softening, warm assurances infusing his words as he began to massage the back of my head soothingly. “Don’t cry, deliciae. I won’t ever do that to you. I found her naivety to be fucking pathetic. I adore yours. Why do you think I’m sharing something so personal? It’s so you know how much you mean to me.”

I shook my head and tried to put some distance between us. “Stop saying that.”

“I won’t stop. You are pulcherrimum thesaurum. I’m going to love you madly.” His declaration, spoken with such conviction, left a tumult of emotions swirling within me, an unsettling blend of fear, disbelief, and a dangerous flicker of a desire that sickened me to my core after his confession.

It shouldn’t have been in the realm of possibilities. His arms caged me in, his dominant nature an overwhelming force as he drew my body against his. "It’s your turn now. Tell me, what's your type?"

His sudden shift in topic caught me off guard. I stammered, taken aback. "I... I don't have a type."

His smile widened, a dangerous, mesmerizing curve that sent a chilling sensation racing down my spine. "Wrong answer, deliciae. I'm your type," he stated firmly, a smoldering intensity in his eyes. "For transparency’s sake, the only thing sparing Nicolette is that she stopped you from making a grievous mistake."

More confusion clouded my thoughts and I shook my head, struggling to follow his meaning or the rapid pivots of his conversation. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin.

---