Page 80 of Bird on a Blade

And then I realize what he’s doing to her, and my blood turns to fire.

But I wasn’t quiet in my entrance, and he whirls around to face me before I launch myself at him. His dick’s out, shiny from raping my Edie’s mouth. Behind him, Edie retches like she’s trying to spit out his poison.

“What the—” He stumbles backward, taking me in. I know what he sees. I’m drenched in the blood of his soldiers. I’m hiding my face behind a rubber mask.

I’m not what he expects at all.

He stammers out a string of frightened expletives, fumbling at his cock with one hand, so concerned about his vulnerability he forgets the gun in the other. Makes it easier for me. I clear the room in three steps and slide the knife into his side. He doesn’teven know what hit him, given the way he looks up at me in surprise.

It takes every ounce of willpower not to keep going until he’s dead.

I yank out the knife along with a spray of blood. The gun clatters to the ground. I leave it where it is. Let Edie’s ex have that little glimmer of hope so I can snatch it away from him later.

“Edie, who the fuck is this?” He clutches at the knife wound I gave him, his eyes staring at me in confusion. “This is who you?—”

I slam my foot into his knee so it cracks backward. He howls and collapses to the floor, screaming and sobbing and writhing around.

I look over at my Edie.

She’s sobbing, tear tracks streaked over her cheeks, but she looks at me with pure relief. No one’s ever done that before, especially not when I’m in my mask and covered with blood.

I go over to her and cut the plastic ties around her wrists. As soon as she’s free, she collapses forward, grabbing at my shoulders to hug me. I take her arm, maybe a little too roughly, and pull her to her feet. Press my mask against her temple. Hold her close. She’s real. She’s alive.

“He forced me to— to—” She can’t get the words out, but she doesn’t need to.

“I know,” I tell her, my rage flaring. “And he’s going to pay for that.”

I look over at him, my next victim, clutching at his malformed knee. He shakes his head. “She begged me for it!” he screams. “She’s a fat fucking slut! You think I need to force someone like her to?—”

I kick the gun so it goes skittering across the room and under the dining room table. What little hope is in his eyes dies out, and god does that make me hard.

I kick him in the chest, send him sprawling on his back. His dick’s gone flaccid and it flops against his thigh. I can’t helpmyself, having it out like that. I crouch down, grab it with one hand, and start sawing the thing off.

He screams. It’s the kind of scream I like to savor, a long and miserable wail. I yank hard on his cock to detach it from his body, the tissue snapping, and stand up. Blood pours out of his crotch, and he keeps screaming in disbelief. I turn to Edie.

She stares at me, eyes glossy with tears. But she’s not afraid. Not anymore.

Her ex is still screaming.

I offer his dick to her like a flower, but she just shakes her head no. I smile inside my mask. My perfect prey. She’s not a sadist.

I am, though.

I throw the dick against the wall. It splats like spaghetti and slides down, leaving a snail’s trail of blood behind it. Edie’s ex stares at it in horror, wailing wordlessly. I glance over at Edie again. There’s a part of me that expects her to ask me to stop. That this, what I do, is too much for her. And I’m prepared to reel myself in if that’s what she wants.

But she doesn’t.

I stalk over to her ex, my fingers flexing. He tries to scramble away from me, dragging his broken leg with him, but of course he doesn’t get far. His hair’s just long enough that I can grab it and jerk him around and drag him out onto the porch.

It’s been a long time since I’ve set a proper scene, but I think Edie’s worth it.

The storm is here, swirls of snow glinting in the pale boundary of the porch light. Edie’s ex screams and kicks with his good leg and tries to grab at my hand. I ignore him and throw him hard against the porch railing. For a moment, I remember the first gift I gave Edie, that severed head. And the bird skull, too. That’s tucked away in my truck, wrapped in a little scrap of fabric. Edie made sure I didn’t forget it.

“Why are you doing this?” The ex’s pained scream cutsthrough my thoughts. I look over at him, and he recoils from my mask. His face is turning ashy and pale from blood loss. But I still have time to play.

I wrench one of his arms up and press his blood-soaked hand against the railing. Then I pull the knife from Edie’s kitchen off my belt. We need to return it to the cabin before we leave, after all.

I slam it through her ex’s hand, making him scream in agony as I pin him against the banister. He twists toward it, reaching with his other hand to try and pull it out. I stop him and slam that hand up against the railing, too. He tries to fight against me, but he’s not strong enough. Even if he wasn’t dying, he wouldn’t be strong enough. All the gym-cultivated muscles in the world can’t match a Hunter’s strength.

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