Page 28 of Demise

“I hate him,” I snarl. “I put up with him for you, only for you, but fuck, I hate him!”

“Who?” she asks as I snap my hips, my eyes dropping to hers as understanding crosses her face. “Asher?”

Just hearing his name on her lips has my anger ratcheting, and I recognize that I haven’t felt this out of control in a long time. I do my best to fuck her hard, trying to chase the demons away, push the nightmares away. Nothing works, though.

“What do you need? Tell me?” Skyla begs.

“Blood. His fucking blood rolling down my knife,” I gnash.

Her voice is quiet as she speaks.

“Use me.”

“What?” I snap.

“Use me, like you did in the cabin. Use me.”

The idea is intoxicating, but I don’t enjoy hurting her, marking her. Though I won’t deny, out of all the women I’ve been with, all the ones who I’ve played with using a knife, not a single one of them made it feel like pure ecstasy.

Despite my hesitation, I lift my boot, reaching inside and grabbing the knife. I flick the blade open, and I hear Skyla’s breath intake, a nervous look passing across her face as she looks at me. My hand is digging into her fleshy thigh, and I press the silver blade against her skin, slowly dragging a line along it as a trail of blood follows in its wake. I do another and another and another until blood is covering my hand, smearing across her entire upper thigh. She whimpers softly but doesn’t ask me to stop. My cuts are shallow, so shallow they won’t even scar, but the bloodthirsty demons inside me crave more.

I move to her other leg as I draw more and more lines. More and more blood. It feels so empowering, so spiritual. Skyla Parris is my goddamn religion. From now until the end of my days, I’ll happily kneel at her altar, worship her feet and taste her blood.

Pulling out of her, I bend down, dragging my tongue along her bloody thigh. She winces at it, but I mimic the move on her other thigh, that familiar copper taste springing across my tongue as I shove my cock back into her.

My eyes practically roll into the back of my head as I fuck her faster than before, my fingers playing with her bloody thighs, a sense of calm rolling over me with it. Yes, I’m fucked up, no, there is no hope for me.

I look down into those big, beautiful eyes, and between them, her soft whimpers, her pretty blood, and her sweet, sweet cunt, I come fucking hard. My cock pulses, throbbing and jerking inside her as I push it deeper and deeper, forcing her body to take every single drop I have to give. Her pussy pulses, and her screams echo through the house as she follows right behind me.

When her orgasm has passed, my body collapses on top of her, my head tucked into the crook of her neck; the only sound to be heard is our ragged breathing. I feel her hand lift to my head, her fingers running through my black hair soothingly. I close my eyes on instinct, enjoying this moment, savoring it.

“What did Asher do, baby?” she asks softly.

My eyes spring open, but all I see is her beautiful blonde hair. The words are stuck in my throat, my own demons keeping them locked in a chokehold as I grapple with how to respond. I don’t want to respond. I don’t want to talk about it, but I know she won’t accept that. Truthfully, she deserves to hear it. Deserves to know what a monster her ‘husband’ is.

“Asher killed Nathaniel.”

The silence that follows my words is deafening, like I can hear Skyla rationalizing it in her head already. Making up every excuse in the book for him.

“What do you mean?” she asks carefully.

I can hear the doubt in her voice. Why would she take my word on this when she has Putnam whispering into her ear? The hurt consumes me, but I bury it quickly, pushing up and out of her before I stand.

I get dressed in a flash and turn to head out the door as Skyla sits up.

“Vincent, stop. Talk to me. Vincent!” she shouts as I step out of the door and slam it shut. The sound echoes through the house, and I tear down the stairs as fast as I can, heading for my bike. I need to get the fuck away from Salem for a while.

Maybe forever.

Chapter Eleven

Skyla

Iwanted to go after Vincent, but by the time I even stood up, I heard the sound of his bike firing up and taking off. Maybe I reacted poorly to what he said, but who wouldn’t ask questions? One of my boyfriends just accused my other boyfriend, husband technically, of murder.

I’d like to think I know Asher fairly well, and I’m not saying he isn’t capable of murder, as fucked up as that might sound, but killing Vincent’s bond brother? I just…wanted more information, I guess.

After I cleaned myself up, I slipped into some baggy clothes, my legs far too sensitive from the cuts. They don’t bother me, though. In the moment, I can see what a release it is for him, an escape, a solace. I love that I can give that to him, that I can be that for him.

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