Page 102 of Deviant

“You raped me.” She hisses, before baring her chest, baring that brand that’s still so vividly red. “You did this to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” I snarl. “You want me to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness, is that it?” Have I not shown her the kind of man I am, already? Has she not been paying attention all this time?

“No,” she gasps, and those beautiful tears start to slide down her face. “I don’t need your apologies. Not anymore. But I, I need you to promise not to do that, not to share me, not to…” Her face turns back to that awful pained one again and I realise what her true fear is now.

“He’s dead.” I say.

Her eyes dart up, she looks at me with wary eyes. “Who?”

“Issac, the man who raped you in Oblivion, the man who fisted you while…”

“While you watched.” She snaps, suddenly slamming her fists into me and God help me, I catch them in my grasp, hold them so tightly, while my head screams at me to make her pay with blood.

I can feel her body trembling against me. I can feel the way she’s teetering over the abyss. Only, I can’t figure out if it’s from the pain or just our proximity in this moment.

“Is that your price?” I ask, searching her face for the answer.

“Price?”

“For your forgiveness.” I explain. “Is that what you want? Me to have them all killed? All the men who hurt you that night?”

I’ll do it. In fact, I should have done it already. Should have had every single one of them butchered because they know what she tastes like, what she feels like. No one should have that knowledge that except me.

She gulps, visibly paling even more. And then she shakes her head. “I don’t want you to do it, I don’t want to be responsible for their deaths. I’m not like you. I don’t see killing people as an option.”

“You killed Saul.” I point out.

She shudders more, nodding. “And I don’t regret it,” she admits. “I should, I should hate myself…”

My hand presses against her lips and I silence those stupid words. “He was a threat. He was the reason we even knew about you. You were right to kill him…”

“Just as you were right to kill Issac?” She gasps, pulling her face free, cutting across me with all that anger etched into her beautiful face. “Did you not offer me up, was that not the deal? All your buddies got to fuck me. Why then did you kill him?”

“He died because of what he did to you and because of what he is.”

She frowns, clearly not understanding me, but then how could she? So much has happened while she’s been locked away for her own safety.

“The Brethren are changing. We are at War. Issac was my enemy and as such he had to die.”

“And the others, are they your enemy, too?” she whispers and I swear I hear a hint of hope in her voice. That she wants me to say that they are, that she wants me to have a cause other than just herself because she’s too cowardly to admit that she wants them dead.

“They are not.” I reply. “But I will lay their bodies before you as a wedding gift.”

It’s a hell of a risk, a hell of a sacrifice to make. One I know will have far reaching consequences moving forward but how can I let them live, how can I justify them still breathing our air, if Liliana is to be my wife? No, they have to die. And they will. It’s a sacrifice I will gladly make. A sacrifice I will carry for her. I’ll murder my friends, butcher them as I have my enemies and ensure my soon-to-be wife understands where we stand from now on.

That only I will know what her body feels like, how she tastes, only I will keep that carnal knowledge of her.

Except, that clearly doesn’t please her. Instead, she reacts like she’s going to fight me. Her hands push against me, with all the strength she can muster she tries to shove me off, and then a whimper escapes her lips because, clearly her wound is hurting her, and she’s moving too much.

“I can’t accept, I won’t let you…”

“Are you still so naïve?” I growl, finally losing some of my patience. “After all this time, are you still trying to cling onto that notion that the world can be saved with peace and cookies?”

She starts to sob, covering her face. “It’s not, it’s not, I don’t…”

I yank at her hands, growing more exasperated by her.

“I know it isn’t like that.” She snarls. “You beat that fact into me, carved it into me. I know what the world is, what hate is, what pain is. And I know what it feels like to want someone dead. How it feels to desire it.”

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