Page 98 of Turn That River Red

Something shudders through me. “How’d you know that?”

“Same reason I can hunt humans so easily.” He takes another step closer and his eyes are normal again. “I hear your heartbeat, your breath. I can smell your emotions.”

He kneels down in front of me, and I feel it again, that strange surge of power. For a reason I don’t fully understand, I touch the top of his head, the way he touched mine back on the church campus. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Ambrose gazes up at me. “You can leave anytime you want.”

“I don’t want to leave.” My vehemence surprises me. “I want?—”

I cut my words off. What I want to say is too dangerous. The worst kind of sin.

But Ambrose knows anyway. His eyes glitter, and he smiles that cruel killer’s grin, and he licks his lips like he’s starving. “Just say the word, Mercy.”

I push my fingers through his hair, staring down at him. “I’m afraid. But you knew that already.”

He rises up enough to kiss me, and this time, there’s no taste of blood. “Yeah,” he murmurs into my ear. “Yeah, I did.”

Then he stands, and our positions are flipped, me gazing up at him. But I still feel that power. He may as well be kneeling. He looks down at me as if he is.

I lean forward and press my cheek against his belly, my arms wrapped around his thighs. He strokes my hair.

“I want you to do it,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. I practically have to spit the words out, but now that I’ve said them I feel lighter. I let out a long brush of air and bury my nose in Ambrose’s shirt, breathing in his scent. “I want you to kill them.”

Ambrose goes still, his hand resting on the top of my head. But I can feel the hard ridge of his cock where I couldn’t before.

And my own sex pulses.

“Names,” he says.

I take a deep, shivering breath. This will make it real, won’t it? As real as his hand combing over my hair. As real as the power he cracked open inside me.

But I still can’t quite bring myself to say their names. So I kiss him. I kiss his belly, and then I kiss a little lower, worshipping him through the fabric of his pants, trying to conjure up the strength to wield my power.

“I want you to kill them,” I whisper, my rage surging up in me, as hot and terrifying as my lust. I think I’m trying to convince myself.

“Tell me their fucking names, Mercy.” Ambrose tightens his grip on my hair. “Tell me who you want me to kill.”

I nuzzle against his erection. I don’t know why, but it soothes me, that reassuring hardness. “There are only two,” I whisper, lifting one shaking hand to undo Ambrose’s zipper. He grunts softly, presses his hand more firmly against my head.

“I want to hear you say their names.”

My heart feels like a hummingbird. “Reverend Gunner.”

“Who else?” This time, he tugs hard on my hair so I have to look up at him, at the twisted desire on his face as I pull out his cock. He bats it gently against my cheek.

“Pastor Sullivan.”

And like that, I’ve condemned them to death, and I’m free. My heart feels like it’s going to erupt out of my chest. Ambrose’s cock is a rod of fire against my face.

He smiles. “Consider it done, humanita.”

My only response is to take him into my mouth.

It’s an act of worship, not debasement. I draw him over my tongue, pulling him as deep into my mouth as I possibly can. For a moment, I just hold him there, my eyes watering as he strokes my hair. Then I pull my head back, dragging my tongue along the underside of his cock until I reach his cockhead, which I swirl and suck, lapping up the salt of his precum. Ambrose sighs, his fingers braiding through my hair. But he holds still and lets me worship him.

I bob up and down his length, fucking him with my mouth. At the same time, I grind my pussy down onto the mattress, desperate to find pressure on my clit.

“How do you want me to do it?” Ambrose asks, his voice ragged.

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