Page 1 of The Heart of Midnight

One

Scar

Exhaling slowly, I wrap my bloodied hand around my cock and squeeze. She was so good for me even as the light left her eyes that I want her to have every fucking drop I have to give. It was a messy kill, this one, but as I watch my cum create an almost mosaic pattern with the blood covering her naked body, I realize I like it better like this. Killing without bloodshed is a lot like fucking without getting off. It feels good for a moment, sure, but it’s utterly fucking unsatisfying when it’s over.

But this... god, this. This is satisfying.

As I kneel next to her, I trace my fingers across her stomach and carve an S in the mixture with my fingertip. S for Scarcello, my name. S for the only devil this sweet little angel will ever meet. S for... ahh fuck it, who cares. She knows exactly who ended her, and she knows exactly why.

If only she hadn’t looked so innocent walking out of her office to her car. If she hadn’t looked twice, carried her key between her fingers like a weapon, and let her trimmed little eyebrows stay crooked up in fear, none of this would’ve happened. It was her fear that got me. She knew I was coming, or at least that Icould. My crimes have been all over the Saint City newspapers and interrupting broadcasts for weeks now. A real nightmare, they’re calling me. They even named me Muerte after some stupid patron saint, which pisses me off almost enough to do something about it. There are no gods here, only me.

Fuck, it makes my blood boil.

But when I saw the fear in her eyes as she walked to her car, I knew I had to have her. Taking her was easy enough and killingher was even easier. For all of her grandstanding, she didn’t have a fucking clue how to defend herself.

None of them do.

Honestly, I’m getting bored picking them off. Where are all the spitfires who want the fight? I guess I’d have to stop going after the ones who wear their terror on their sleeves if I want to find one, but I can’t help myself. The scent alone is intoxicating. And if they bear a resemblance to a certain someone... that’s their own fault, not mine.

Shaking my head, I tuck my cock away and get busy cleaning up the crime scene. It’s not hard to do since I’m covered from head to toe — all I really have to worry about is my semen. Normally I wear a condom, but something about the way she screamed for help and clenched so fucking hard while she did made me take it off. I damn near came inside her, but I reserve that for the only one of my victims who never told a soul what I did to her.

My very first victim, Avery Valentine.

Almost a full foot shorter than me with gorgeous brown hair and endless dark eyes, I knew the second she moved in next to me that I was never going to be able to keep my hands to myself with her. Years of resisting the monster inside were wasted the moment she smiled at me. It was over. Whether I ended up in jail or not, I was going to have her.

So I did.

I broke in through her bedroom window one night with the first of many masks I’d don over the last few months, tied her up, and took my fucking time with her body. She didn’t scream, she didn’t beg. Hell, I’d have let myself believe she enjoyed it if she weren’t shaking so badly. Fear comes in many forms with many different tells.

It probably didn’t help that I threatened to kill her if she fought me.

For weeks after that, I waited for the cops to show up, but they didn’t. No one came, no one called, there were no reports in the news.

So I went back again, and again, and again, each time staying a little longer, enjoying her a little more thoroughly. I know how she tastes, how she smells, how the goosebumps spread over her skin when I lick the inside of her thighs. The way her breath hitches when I drag the tip of my favorite dagger across her cheek. There isn’t a single inch of her body that I couldn’t pick out of a lineup now, it’s just a fucking shame I knew I had to stop before she really did turn me in. Her first replacement was dead by my hand before I could have any fun at all with her.

After that, after I learned what it felt like to end someone... things got out of control.

Igot out of control.

But now here I am with a fresh kill, still thinking about Avery fucking Valentine and what she’s doing tonight. Is she looking for me like she so often does when the sun goes down? Like the rest of Saint City, she lives in fear of Muerte. How she doesn’t realize he’s the one who’s been taking her for months is beyond me... but maybe it’s because she’s the only one I’ve ever let live. Or maybe it’s because she’s naive enough to ask the killer himself for protection, never knowing the demon she’s putting her trust in. Either way, I need to get home to her. She’ll be my alibi for this crime, after all.

Useful, beautiful, frustratingly out of reach Avery Valentine.

If only she knew she created the very monster she’s hiding from.

Two

Avery

Somehow, I feel it in the air.

I don’t know who, I don’t know where in Saint City she is, but somewhere in the dark... I know a woman has been killed.

It’s such a strange, eerie feeling that surrounds me like an invisible coil and has me rushing over to peek outside my window. Scar isn’t home, making the world around me feel shadowed even though I have every single light on in my three-bedroom home.

I don’t know why he brings me such comfort, but I have a feeling it has to do with his natural, commanding presence. I’ve never been known to be meek, yet lately I only feel safe when he’s around.

Scarcello Solis is ridiculously handsome, and although neither of us have made a move, he’s been the face of all my orgasms since the day I moved in. He’s tall, muscular, broody with full lips and thick eyebrows, but it’s his dark brown eyes that always seem to captivate me. They hold me hostage when he stands in front of me and tells me everything is going to be fine, when he tells me Muerte will never hurt me. Somehow, I believe him. Yet, the moment the sun sets and this ominous feeling settles over me when he isn’t home, I feel the eyes of a killer watching me.

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