Page 24 of My Bloody Valentine

ADRIAN

Icollapse beside Maya, my chest heaving, sweat cooling on my skin. The sheets beneath us are damp and mangled. My muscles ache most deliciously—three times. I've never lost control like this before. Her taste was intoxicating, a cocktail that rivals my finest creations.

"I need some water." Maya's voice is hoarse, raw from screaming my name. "I'll grab it from the kitchen."

I wave my hand in acknowledgment, too spent to form words. My mind floats in a pleasant haze as I hear her feet pad across the hardwood floor. The mattress still holds her warmth, and I inhale deeply, catching traces of jasmine and sex.

This wasn't part of my plan. I meant to take my time, to savor her slowly like a perfectly tempered chocolate. Instead, I devoured her whole, unable to resist the sweet submission in her eyes. How she yielded to me and trusted me despite knowing the wickedness that lives within awakens something in me.

The sheets still hold spots of blood where my teeth broke her skin. I trace one with my finger, remembering how she arched into the bite instead of away. My little critic continues to surprise me.

A strange emptiness settles in my chest as her footsteps fade down the hallway. I've never felt this untethered after being with someone, this vulnerability. It's unsettling.

I stare at the ceiling, trying to regain my composure. Control has always been my anchor, my art form. But Maya strips it away with a single taste, a single touch. She makes me ravenous in ways I never expected.

My contentment shatters as reality crashes back.

The blood. My collection. In the kitchen.

I bolt upright, nearly tripping over the tangled sheets in my haste. My bare feet slap against the floor as I race down the hallway, my heart thundering in my chest.

Too late.

Maya stands before my open refrigerator, holding one of the glass quarts up to the light. The deep crimson liquid catches the glow from above, casting red shadows across her face. She's thrown on my discarded dress shirt, the white fabric making her look ethereal and dangerous.

"Adrian?" Her voice is steady, but I notice the tremor in her hands. "Why do you have blood in your fridge?"

My mind races. I've never had to explain this before. My victims never lived long enough to ask questions.

"It's pig blood... for a new recipe." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. "A molecular gastronomy experiment."

Maya's eyes narrow. She brings the bottle closer to her nose, inhaling deeply. Her synesthesia—the gift that drew me to her—now threatens to expose everything.

"You're lying." She sets the bottle on the counter with a soft clink. "I can sense the deception in your voice." Her fingers trail along the glass. "This is human blood, isn't it?"

The kitchen suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. I take a step forward, then stop as she tenses. For the first time in years, I don't know what my next move should be.

"Maya..." Her name comes out as a whisper, a plea, though for what, I'm not sure.

My muscles coil, hunting instincts rising to the surface. The kitchen light casts shadows across Maya's face as she stares at me, waiting. At this moment, I could snap her delicate neck or tell her the truth of my depravity, giving her the chance to accept everything that I am. I've killed countless times before. The urge pulses through my veins—to silence her, to keep my secrets buried.

But the thought of her blood coating my hands makes my stomach turn. Not Maya, who tastes emotions and understands the wickedness inside me.

"Yes." The truth slips out before I can control myself. "It's human blood."

Maya's fingers tighten around the bottle. "From who?"

"People who deserved it." I step closer, my bare feet silent on the tile. "The hollow ones. The ones who contribute nothing but mediocrity to this world."

"And you're what? Judge, jury, and executioner?" Her voice holds more curiosity than fear.

"I'm an artist." My hand slides up her arm, feeling her pulse race. "Their blood gives my creations depth. Emotion. Life." I lean in, breathing in her scent. "But you already knew that, didn't you? You tasted it in my chocolates."

Maya tenses but doesn't pull away. "The void I sensed... it wasn't emptiness at all. It was death."

"Death gives flavor to life." I take the bottle from her hands, setting it aside. "You understand that better than anyone."

"Are you going to kill me too?"

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