Page 16 of The Hellkeeper

My angel is perched on the bed I left her, breath ragged, eyes wide and wild. A knife trembles in her grip, her fingers locked so tight around the handle they’ve gone white.

That won’t do.

I take a slow step inside, drinking in the sight of her fear. Beautiful. Fragile.Mine.

“Now, now, Amelia,” I murmur. “What are you going to do with that?”

I crawl onto the soft bed like a predator savoring the chase.

“Stay back,” she breathes, pressing herself against the headboard.

She could scream, fight, beg; and I would still come to her. I was made for this. For her.

I grab her wrist and guide the blade forward, pressing it to my throat just enough to split the skin. A warm trickle of blood slides down my neck.

“Do it,” I whisper with a Cheshire smile. “Cut me open, angel. Spill my blood. Make me yours.”

Fire flashes in her eyes, the first flicker of real defiance, and she shoves the blade deeper.

Yes.

For a moment, I think she might actually do it. I almost want her to. But then her body sags, and the fight drains from her bones.

Weak, sweet thing.

I rip the knife from her grip and fling it across the room.

"All I want is to talk," I tell her, my voice dripping with mock patience. I reach for her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She flinches. The reaction slams through me like a bullet to the skull. I want to rip her fear out of her, carve it away with my teeth.

"Talk? You brought me a severed tongue," she screeches. "You sleep under my bed, you maniac."

A grin I can’t help splits my lips.

"I do," I say simply.

She recoils as I pull a rope from my waistband and hold it out to her. Her face drains of color.

"If you’re so scared," I sigh, "tie me up."

Her throat bobs as she swallows.

"Go on," I press. "Make the knots tight. Unforgiving." I coax her. "If it makes you feel safe, I’ll let you."

She thinks it’s a trap of some kind; it isn’t. She takes the rope with shaking hands. I let her. For her, I’d endure anything. She binds my wrists together tightly so the rope bites into my flesh. The pain is exquisite. She’s touching me. That’s all that matters.

She steps back to study her work. "That was stupid."

"Was it?" I tilt my head.

"How do you know I won’t hurt you?" Her voice gains strength. "Call the police? Run?"

A laugh rips from my throat, low, dark, unhinged.

I lean forward, even with my hands bound, and she stiffens.

"You underestimate me, angel," I say. "Hurt me?" I shake my head. "You don’t have it in you."

If looks could kill, my little flower would have successfully killed me.

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