Page 5 of Deranged and Obsessed Omnibus: Vol 1

His death was slow, and I knew it was pretty fucking painful.

I loved it. God, I felt good.

A slow smile covered my face as adrenaline and endorphins moved through me even faster. I still held his knife and wiped the blood from the blade on his jacket. I pulled it back and held it up, letting the light glint off the metal.

I was keeping this as a trophy. It was a little reminder of this special time we’d shared together.

When he took one last, struggling breath, my eyes focused back on his, and I knew he was done. I saw the exact moment his wretched soul left body. His eyelids slid to half-mast when I let go of them and stood. I stared down at him for long seconds, letting that last rush of adrenaline course through my system. I reached down and adjusted my hard cock, flipping it up and tucking it behind my waistband so my pants weren’t tented.

With one last look at the corpse, I put his knife in my pocket, grabbed the rag I brought with me out of my pocket, and wiped my face and neck clean.

And then I went to the little diner I’d seen down the street, needing to relieve my hard cock but first wanting to eat and satiate a different kind of hunger.

Chapter Two

Roman

The air outside was sharp, like the blade I just used to kill Brandon. My dick still throbbed. It would stay that way for hours to come, until I jerked off and relieved myself.

The rush of the kill still hummed through me, like I’d grabbed a live wire and let the electricity course through my veins.

The small, greasy-spoon diner was just a few blocks from where I fed my beast. Even though the rush of murdering a man still claimed me, I’d revisit the place once this feeling left me and I needed a jolt of remembrance, a rush of energy, to remind me of how I felt in this exact moment.

The old diner on the corner beckoned, its fluorescent lights flickering like a heartbeat.

The metallic stench of blood still clung to my hands, a permanent mark of who I was and what I’d done. I looked down at them to make sure I’d gotten it all off but saw some splatters along my wrist and my exposed forearm.

Oh well.

Although there was a chill in the air, my temple was damp with sweat. I entered the restaurant, and the door swung shut behind me with jangle of bells. I stood still for a moment, my body buzzing, my skin prickling, but not from the temperature inside.

It was because of the aftermath.

My boots thudded against the cracked and discolored tile floor, each step measured, controlled. The place was nearly empty, just a few rough-looking souls scattered about. Formany, this place was a place to spend the night, to sip on fifty-cent coffee with free refills, and eat day-old apple pie.

I took a seat at the counter, barely aware of my own movements as the adrenaline from the kill lessened. But that rush would hold me over for a while—until the beast set his sights on someone else, and the urge to rid them from this plane of existence built all over again.

The sound of pots and pans clanging together coming from the kitchen broke up the few conversations filling the diner. I stared at my hands, at the spray of blood from Brandon’s jugular, and smirked as my cock throbbed, because my dark beast got what he wanted tonight.

A coffee cup was placed in front of me, the ceramic making a dull thud on the chipped and yellowed counter. I wasn’t asked what I wanted to drink, but coffee was poured into the cup and a menu set in front of me.

I stared at the menu. It was one-sided and laminated, with greasy fingerprints smeared over the plastic. There were only four entrees and the same number of desserts.

I looked up, but the waitress had her back to me as she grabbed plates off the warmer.

And then she turned around.

My pulse began to hammer in my ears, louder than it ever had, even after taking a life. She moved out from behind the counter and delivered the plates to a table. I tracked her with my gaze, never taking my eyes off of her, because truthfully… I couldn’t.

I felt my muscles clench, tightening like those of a predator about to pounce on his prey. She wiped off empty tables before coming back to stand behind the counter and in front of me, her pad and pen in hand as she waited to take my order.

Her scent hit me like an inhaled drug, and it made me more curious and confused than anything else. Because it was… new.

I froze. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She smelled like hyacinth and something else, something that made me clench my hands into fists beneath the counter. The beast inside me stirred. But I didn’t feel the usual itch for violence, the gnawing hunger for death that always clawed at my insides. This was different. It was something primal, raw, and far more dangerous.

And I wanted even fucking more.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy knot, but the strands were short, so little pieces escaped her bun, framing her face.

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