Page 32 of Shadows in Bloom

While I lie on the ground, gasping for air and begging my body to move, Salem approaches with the paramedic who drops to his knees beside me.

Salem drops down beside him, his hands cover his mouth as he forces out pained sobs, complete with hiccupping cries of “Please help him, he’s all I have in the world.”

His eyes burn into the depths of my soul, though, and light up with what can only be described as sick satisfaction when he glances at my burning house. The flames of my home reflect in those dark eyes as though Salem’s entire soul is consumed by fire.

And maybe it is. Maybe demons are real, and Salem is their master. Nothing would surprise me anymore. “Not real. Not real,” I repeat the words in my head. “Demons aren’t real.”

“Will he be okay?” Salem asks the paramedic, “he’s not making any sense. Does he need to be sedated?”

“Let’s give him a few minutes, he’s lucky you got to him in time. You were brave running into a burning house like that.” The paramedic pats a hand on Salem’s back then squeezes his shoulder.

Salem smiles shyly and shakes his head. “I’d do the same for anyone.”

I know this is a lie.

Salem would never save the life of a stranger. Of anyone for that matter.

I know this because Salem Frost is responsible for killing my entire family. And I don’t mean my parents and siblings. Salem has wiped out my entire bloodline, and all but one of my friends.

There’s no remorse, no guilt, no empathy. Salem doesn’t feel those emotions, he feeds off them, and relishes in pain. My pain is his favourite. My scars are a map of his journey through my life. My mind, body, and soul belong to him.

In this bleak darkness, there’s a spark of clarity.

I know with certainty Salem won’t kill me. There is only one thing Salem loves more than fire and blood and the screams of his unwilling victims as they burn to ashes in the flames of his creation.

That “thing” is me.

CHAPTER 4

SALEM

30 years old

Red satin sheets are the perfect backdrop for the beauty that is Justice Bane. His limbs, long and lean, appear as though he’s been carved from priceless marble. A relic of time long gone, formed into a human by the hands of ancient gods.

Justice is a masterpiece. His skin, a patchwork of dips and crevasses, of smooth, silken flesh and rough, silvery scars.

The feelings I have for Justice far surpass that of simple love and adoration. If I am poison, Justice is the only antidote. He is my reason for breathing. Without him, I am nothing but a lost soul wandering the barren earth, searching for meaning in the abyss of my depravities.

His soft snores drag my attention away from my meandering thoughts.

After being checked at the hospital and treated for minor smoke inhalation, Justice was released into my care. He didn’t argue, fight, or attempt to make an escape without me. He knows it would be a futile endeavour.

He knows I will find him. I always find him.

My little firebird may relish in his release and find joy in freedom, but it never lasts long. I love nothing more than capturing him and reminding him of all the reasons why I am the only person he needs in his life.

After cleaning the remaining soot off his body, I apply a fresh layer of medicated lotion to the minor burns on his hands, knees, and feet. I move on to cleaning his face with a warm washcloth. His lips twitch and his eyelids flutter as the sedatives wear off and consciousness returns.

Reluctantly, I get up and go back to the bathroom to clear away the detritus and wash my hands. When I return to the bedroom, I swipe his thick, brown hair back off his forehead before I go back to refilling jars of medications and salves at the antique armoire.

A tug on the chains catches my attention as Justice stirs. At my hands, he always comes alive. The chains pulling against the iron bedhead are music to my ears, and I wait with bated breath as Justice finally awakens and recognises this room.

His room. His home I purchased for him.

I don’t live here, no one does. It’s merely a familiar place for Justice to stay when my need to sate my sick and twisted desires consumes me.

“No.” He tugs on the chains again, each steel cuff digs into his precious flesh as he pulls on them. “No, no. Please no.”

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