Page 99 of The Blood we Crave

I nod, knowing this is all the information he is going to be able to give me. There aren’t many men who would lie while a blade was shoved into their cock, and he wasn’t one of them.

The color in his face does not exist. He is pale, ghastly and loosing blood. I’m finished with him. He has served his purpose for our agenda, and now I’m free to end him.

I reach up, grasping the handle of the knife inside of his hand and remove it swiftly. Blood leaks from the wound and coats my glove. I’m seconds from wedging this weapon into his windpipe, when I hear Lyra’s voice.

“Wait.”

I turn my head, looking at her standing in front of the barrier, walking towards me like I’m the moon and she’s gravity. Pulled to me like a magnet with no choice but to seek me out.

Alistair and Rook are staring, observing this interaction with silent eyes. Two people caught between orbiting planets that have no clue how to be in each other’s galaxy.

“I want to do it.” She mutters.

My eyebrows pull together, staring at her sharply, expectedly.

“Can you do what?”

A steady breath skates past her lips, her chin tilted up, and spine stiffening. “I want to be the one to kill him.”

Lyra is no longer the broken, mousy girl she shows to the world. She is a force, one woven together by the urge to kill and secret beauty. This dark, wicked woman who wants revenge.

A companion of the reaper, his lover and second hand.

She comes closer, her breath fanning across the plains of my face. Hunger for something entirely different pools in my stomach. Desire, white-hot and blinding sears me.

I’d never seen anyone more beautiful. Never been this attracted to another person before. So taken by her, that I’m not even the slightest bit disappointed in the fact I won’t be taking this fool’s life.

I lay my palm out, the blade hers to do as she pleases. I feel her fingers curl around the handle, taking it from me. With ease I step aside, holding my arm out, motioning her towards Michael.

I lean forward, my mouth grazing the bottom of her ear. “Make me proud, darling phantom.”

She nods, unaffected by my breath against her skin. I watch her step towards the board, the queen of death claiming her crown of bones and teeth.

It’s twisted and immoral, but I can feel my pants tighten. My cock swelling as she holds the knife in her hand, dragging the tip against his chest, drawing a harmless line to his throat.

“Look at me,” she says, staring up at him, but clearly the one in control. “I want you to look at me.”

When he doesn’t follow her instructions, she uses her other hand to grab the knife between his thighs, still plunged into his flesh. He groans as she twists, repeating herself once more before he finally opens his eyes.

My mouth waters. Seeing her accept the secret part of her she seems so afraid of. Owning every ounce of hunger, she carries within herself. When she removes the weapon completely from his groin, he chokes.

Gurgling around a scream of agony, as blood soaks the front of his jeans.

“Do I look broken to you?” She speaks, a confidence I’ve never seen before shining through.

“Please, I am sorry. God, have mercy on me.” He whimpers, pupils blown to the size of saucers. A plea of mercy on his gaze, and maybe the Lyra everyone knew would have given it to him, if the creature insider of her was not so famished.

There is a flash of pause. Only his gasps, and whines of discomfort. I watch Lyra rotate both blades in her hands, squeezing the handle into her tiny fists.

“Your god may grant you forgiveness,” she whispers, as Michael lifts his head to meet her eyes, “but you are a fool to expect the same sympathy from me.”

It’s a quick movement, so sudden I think I may have missed the impact. One second his eyes are open and the next there are twin blades logged deep inside of his sockets.

The sharp ends pierce through the squishy material of his eyeballs. The squelch of shredded tissue and the sight of projecting blood is his demise. His mouth lay open, choked words tumbling out.

She uncurls her hands, rearing back with her palms facing outward and slams both into the end of the knives, sending the weapon farther into his skull. I can hear the crunching of human bone beneath the weight of the blade as she silences the man who’d tried to take her life.

There is so much force behind it, that his head is pinned to the wooden board behind him. Blood oozes in streaks, painting messy lines down his cheeks.

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