Page 30 of Reflections of Silence

The monster in me craved the fear and self-loathing I’d become accustomed to coming my way whenever I ventured into society. But this was different. This time, I cared, and I wasn’t prepared for the dose of the first from her, and the second from myself.

I deserve every inch of her hatred.

“I don’t hate you. I’m just scared of you. Right now, anyway.”

I blinked at her whispered admission that was meant for me alone, hissed into her lace handkerchief away from Charleton’s shivering form.

Such a brave little prey,I mocked her, digging the dose of self-hatred deeper.Did you think I was the tame sort of monster created to warm your mortal bed and slink away with the sunrise?

Don’t do that.

Her reply seared directly into my mind.

I jerked back mentally with an oath, and closed the connection, blocking her out, if only for a short period. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away from her for long. Ironic that she’d become the addiction I craved, and now she’d etched herself into my blood, an intangible brand that claimed me as much as I claimed her.

Only I was the monster within, not her.

Are we not the same?

Her voice floated through my consciousness, but I wasn’t certain if this version was my imagination. But the sense of persistence, of not giving up that swept over me sure as fuck wasn’t from me. The dead part of me wanted to smile as I envisioned her giving Charleton a talking to, while the other part of me found decrepit ways to punish my little wife for her transgressions.

The longer I remained motionless, the worse my retribution became in my head, though I doubted I would do little more than turn her pretty, pale behind pink before I fucked us both into the sort of oblivion I enjoyed. The sort with no other voice in my head.

Won’t you let me play with her?

The ghost of my sins followed me from place to place, haunting my death as she ruined my life. In no way would I let her stain the burgeoning emotion I discovered with my new wife.

In such a short time I’d found a human with whom I could co-exist, who stayed with me not because of a skewed sense of loyalty, like Charleton did, or the payment the servants took for their families, or a reminder, a remnant of their homeland. No, Gisella seemed to actually like me forme.

Until now.

I groaned in my head and wondered if she heard that too, experienced my consternation alongside me. Or, if like all the others, she only discovered the void of the soul I no longerpossessed, frittered away on beauty that was skin deep, at absolute best.

My ruminations turned inward, as always. What was one to spend their deathly hours upon, if not a little self-sabotage? The soulless, like myself, never had the perfect nothingness of sleep. Even dreams would be better than the endless hours of memories of too many years. A man was never designed to live an eternal life, and for good reason.

A sleepless life of eternal memory and less forgiveness drove a mind to madness.

And now that Gisella had seen that part of me, would she forgive my monster? Certainly, she’d seen me take from her, had experienced it herself. But the evil I held within…she saw it displayed, flayed and raw and born again like a twisted branch of a cultish religion and her the altar I worshipped at.

If she didn’t run during the daylight hours, perhaps she would at night. A smile teased the corners of my dead lips. It had been so long since I hunted. And tasting her fear…

A snarl ripped at my mind inside.Not her.

She tasted too fucking good. I’d never stop, ripping her apart until, even if her body survived by some miracle, her mind I’d shatter with the pure force of my own.

And some decrepit, monstrous part of me craved her submission in every way, wondering just how much of my pain and hatred my pretty little wife would endure for me.

The hours before sunset melded my hunger and arousal into a hideous thing until even death struggled to contain me.

And when I couldn’t be contained any longer, I’d come for her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

GISELLA

Charleton escorted me along the hall, jacket still smoldering on the gallery’s carpet. He drew the heavy drapes with disdain, as though he couldn't have cared less if the entire gallery went up in flames.

So much forprotect the portraits.

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