Page 36 of Soul of a Psycho

“H-e had kni-ves,” she says, her voice small and scared.

It takes everything in me, but I shove down my anger and find her hands.

“You’re with me now, and you’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” I’m trying to use a gentle tone, but it comes out more firmly than I want.

“But kn-ives.”

“I have knives too.” I pull a switchblade from my pocket. “See?”

She doesn’t look convinced, and I have to wonder what kind of knife the guy had. They can’t be any scarier than the ones I have, though.

With a sigh, I toss the puny switchblade aside and lean over. I open the old set of drawers that came with the shack and scramble around blindly, like I’m digging for the perfect handful of chips. I pull out three sheathed daggers and one more switchblade.

Her eyes widen, and I can’t help but smirk. Yeah, I have knives too, and I dare the fucker to try me.

“Here, take one.” I push the one with a snake carved into the hilt into her hand. “It’ll make you feel better.” I know having a knife always makes me feel better.

I drop the others into the drawer and slam it shut. When I look back to Sky, she’s furrowing her brows as she tries to examine the design on the hilt, but she’s shaking too much.

I push off the floor and rummage around for the space heater. I never use it, so it must still have a charge. When I find it, I drag it right up next to her and set it at max. Within seconds, warmth starts to flow, and I sigh in relief.

The thing is… I can’t treat hypothermia, and I can’t have her going to the infirmary. If she tells anyone that a skull with knives chased her through the woods, there would be police and dogs and mayhem. This shed has my DNA and fingerprints all over it. No doubt a canine will easily sniff it out, and then everything I’ve worked toward goes out the window.

I let Sky warm her hands while I light the lantern and the few candles I have lying around. When I’m finished, the place has turned surprisingly warm—given the hole in the ceiling—and there’s a warm glow flickering around us. It’s not much, but it’s better.

I kneel back at her feet with a cloth in hand, and grimace. It’s going to take more than a dry cloth to get the dirt off her face. Without a second thought, I spit to moisten it, and reach for her face.

She flinches away, but I narrow my eyes at her, daring her to stop me. I can’t look at her like this any longer, it’s breaking my black heart.

After a second, she sighs, and I bring the cloth to her cheek. I make soft swipes across her skin, aware of her watching me. I try to tamp down the fervor it brings me to cover her in my saliva, and mask my pleasure with a scowl. If she only knew, I would lick every inch of her body if given the chance. I wouldn’t care if she was covered in mud, or even blood. I would lick her clean and then some.

“How did you end up in the woods?” I ask, distracting myself from the urge to lean in and run my tongue along her jaw.

Her pouty lips open and then close, her cheeks turning pink underneath my touch.

“What?” I smirk, something about her wriggling inside making my skin heat.

“I was hoping to bump into you,” she finally says, looking away.

My hand falters for a second, and it takes real effort to continue wiping her cheek. What would she want with me? Does she know I’ve been following her? I’ve been so careful, making sure I stick to the shadows, and even avoiding her so called ‘friends’ as to not alert her.

“Well, here I am,” I say coolly, despite my nerves.

I move the cloth down to her neck, giving special attention to her pulse, and trying to decipher if her heart is beating as erratically as mine. I find it’s a wild pump against her delicate skin, like a hummingbird trying to break free, and I take comfort in knowing I’m not the only one that has something throbbing.

“Why did you switch social studies?” she asks.

Her question catches me off guard. That was weeks ago. The headmistress wasn’t happy to change my schedule, but she relented for a trade. A trade, I realize, I still haven’t held up my side of. Fuck.

“Change of scenery,” I say, knowing full well that Sky was the only scenery in that class, and the view of her has only gotten bigger with the loss of that seat.

She nods, and I switch from the cloth to a comb I keep in my drawer of knives. My fingers tingle with the chance to touch her golden hair, and I barely give her the option to say no.

“You mind?” I ask, sitting down beside her.

She doesn’t say anything, and I gather her hair behind her shoulders. I bite my lip to stop the groan that wants to escape me. Her hair feels like silk, heavier than I thought too. I pluck a couple of leaves free and fight the urge to wrap her length around my fist. Jesus, it still smells good too, like sunshine and tart berries.

My dick firms, and I pierce my lip with my teeth, drawing blood. The coppery tang coats my tongue but does nothing to calm down the need. I’m a live wire as I run the comb through her tresses, ready to electrocute her.

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