Page 29 of Iblis' Affliction
I must be overthinking it,Talha thought, watching the white slit of Slater’s lips hone his features. Slater stood still, yet his body moved with every breath as if his whole being wasn’t created from mortal flesh but from wind and fire.
“I have a job for you.”
Slater didn’t reply, but his head tilted to the side, suggesting he waited for an apology or continuation, Talha couldn’t say which. Unsure how to behave, Talha stepped forward. Stretching out his hand, he offered the envelope to Slater. “Prove yourself to me, and then we will talk about what you want.”
Slater’s expression darkened, morphing into an inquisitive glare. Grabbing the envelope, he tore it open.
“What’s this?” His voice caustic, aggressive, his fingers crumpled the paper.
“The dossier and part payment. Once you are done you will receive twice as much.”
Slater’s long fingers pinched the few sheets of the dossier and pulled it out before he flipped the envelope upside down. Green notes swirled in the air and littered the marble floor; the envelope followed. Slater didn’t spare them a glance. His whole attention was on Talha.
“Slater has already said, but Master didn’t listen. Master never does. Slater doesn't need money.”
Talha scowled. Slater had said it before, but he had indeed shrugged it off. There was no reason for Slater to work for free, and he never said what exactly he wanted. Vague and obscure, Slater’s demands confused Talha.
“What do you want then? You don’t make any sense. My soul, devotion? Don’t tell me you believe you are the Devil? So sorry to break your delusion, but you have too many scars to be Iblis.”
Short, barking laughter escaped Slater’s lips as he observed Talha with shimmering curiosity.
“Master is funny. Master doesn’t understand yet, but Master will.” His chest brushed against Talha’s as he passed by. “Tonight, Slater stays in Master’s room. Master has to get used to Slater, even if Master isn’t ready.”
THE THICK SMELL OF BLOODand sweat hauled Talha out of his sleep. Hot and heavy, the air stood idle in the room. Someone’s solid weight, adding to his suffocation, straddled his hips. Awkward, impatient fingers fumbled over his chest. Wet and warm, they snatched the blanket away, then landed on his shoulders, pinning him deeper into the mattress.
His confused, messy after sleeping thoughts scattered about the room, following his jumping gaze, until they settled on the eyes glinting in the dark. Talha’s brain didn’t come around, but his body worked on instincts. Fist swishing through the air, he imprinted his knuckles in Slater’s left cheek.
For someone so deadly and unpredictable, Iblis was surprisingly easy to hit. Pushing the remaining weight off himself, Talha swatted the wall.CLICKjoined a dullBUMPand a bright light, streaming from the ceiling, illuminated the room.
“What the fuck?” Dirty red smudges marred his light gray bed sheets and his naked chest. A coat of blood crisped over Slater’s face, glinting with occasional sparks that suggested that either the blood was still fresh or Slater couldn’t stop sweating. His black combat shirt with raglan-cut sleeves sat unnaturally tight around his chest. Only when Talha squinted did he notice that it was soaking wet. Parts of his hair tangled together and stuck to his scalp in places, making Talha wonder if Slater’s head was wounded or marred with someone else’s blood.
“Time’s up, Master,” Slater growled then lurched at the man again, his knees on either side of Talha’s hips. Chest contracting, lips spat out a labored breath that washed Talha in heavy, humid air. Strong fingers dug deep into Talha’s shoulder as the blood-covered face approached. “You have to learn how to control Slater, even if you aren’t ready. Now, Master, now, or Slater will kill more. Slater is thirsty. Slater wants blood. Help Slater to stop.”
With every sentence the ripper said, Talha’s mood darkened. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Control you? How? Do you have a fucking manual?”
“Master is funny,” Slater said without a shadow of a smile.
Talha lost his composure. Hand slamming against Slater’s solar plexus, he shoved the reaper back. The younger man swayed and slanted right, palms slapping against the mattress. Pushing him away with his foot, Talha looked around, and only then noticed the severed head of Bekir Asani on the top of his nightstand in a pool of blood. His motor functions froze for a split second as his mind tried to process what was happening. Slater sat back on his heels and removed his hands from the linens, staining the sheet with dirty-red palm prints.
Rage, ripping through Talha’s core, painted everything in white.
“You… What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Talha jumped off his bed as adrenaline substituted his blood. “Why the hell did you bring it here?”
Slater didn’t flinch, but his insane gaze, fixing on Talha’s face, broke through his frenzy, stirring his self-preservation instincts.
“Master doubted Slater. Slater brought Master the proof. Your turn. Help Slater.”
“Get this out of my house! NOW!” Talha’s throat burned from the yell as he pointed his finger to the door.
“No, Master.” The jittery, bouncing urge resounded in Slater’s liquid voice, making it sound even more unstable than usual. Slater’s stance changed. His head bent forward, shoulders tensed, bulged, and every muscle in his body strained under his skin. “Master is young. Master isn’t very smart, but Slater has been patient. Slater gave Master time. The trial period is over. Do it now, or Master isn’t good for Slater.”
Talha’s jaw hurt with pressure as, step by step, he circled the bed. Fists clenched, blanching white, he stormed to the ripper. Fingers grabbing Slater’s shoulder, he shoved the man off the bed to the floor and granted him with the first kick to his solar plexus. Slater’s mouth fell open, arms clasped around his middle, but the ripper didn’t fight back.
“You want me to control you? Fine.” Talha barely heard himself through the loud drumming of his maddening heart. “The first rule is: my room is off-limits.”
Consolidating his words, Talha granted Slater with another kick, then one more. With every hit, the top of his foot darkened with fresh blood.
Slater didn’t defend himself. Instead, a sated glint touched his eyes. “Yes, Master.”
