Page 20 of The Beautiful Dead

He closed the distance without hesitation, without fear, and held the knife out to me. Dark, thickened blood slicked his fingers, yet he seemed…unbothered. Almost at peace.

I took the blade, watching him closely as I wiped it on my jeans in a well-practiced motion—one I could do blindfolded.

His eyes never left mine.

Still, he remained at ease. Unflinching. Unshaken.

His fingers curled, rolling absently through the blood smeared across his skin. Testing its viscosity.

I waited for the inevitable.

The fear. The horror. The psychotic break that always came when people glimpsed the true depths of my world.

But instead, he met my stare with a cool, detached curiosity.

No fear.

Only fascination.

The silver flecks in his ice-blue eyes glowed in the dim alley light. His lips quirked at the corners, and then, with the slow confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, he raised his bloodied hand to his face and breathed in.

A deep inhale. His thick, black lashes fluttered closed as if savoring the scent.

Something dark slithered through me, coiling tight around my spine.

Possession.

Lust.

Recognition.

Before I could think, I moved. My hand shot out, wrapping around his throat, lifting him clear off the ground. He barely had time to gasp before I drove him back into the wall.

Hard.

The impact stole the breath from his lungs, but his eyes—those fucking eyes—stayed locked on mine.

Then, he did the unthinkable.

He licked his lips, the tip of his tongue toying with black snake bite piercings.

Taunting.

Tempting.

His pulse remained steady beneath my fingers. Not a single stutter of fear. My thumb stroked the column of his throat, feeling the slow, controlled bob of his Adam’s apple beneath my palm.

Still steady. Still calm.

Still fucking with me.

Heat surged through my veins, white-hot and electric. My cock pulsed, straining against the zipper of my jeans. The high of the kill burned through me, setting every nerve ending ablaze, making me feel invincible, unstoppable, untouchable—And now, this.

This fucking man.

A groan rumbled from deep in my chest. I slid the blade to his throat, pressing just hard enough for him to feel the promise of pain.

He didn’t flinch.

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