Page 84 of He Sees You
"How many?"
"Including Jake? Sixteen over five years. Not counting my parents."
"All predators?"
"Every single one."
I trace the entries with my finger, feeling the indentations his pen made. "This is your real art. Not the taxidermy or the violin. This."
"You're not disgusted?"
"I'm aroused."
He takes the journal from me, sets it aside. "You're extraordinary."
"I'm yours."
"Yes," he agrees, backing me against the wall. "You are."
His mouth finds my throat, teeth grazing where Jake grabbed me.
I can feel the bruises bloom under his attention, new marks over old.
Claiming me, erasing Jake's touch with his own.
"I can still taste his blood," I whisper.
"Good. Remember that taste. That's the taste of justice."
His hands are under my shirt now, tracing each bruise, each cut.
I have a map of violence on my skin, and he's reading it like braille.
"I wanted to make him suffer longer for these."
"We made him suffer enough. Together."
The word 'together' shifts something between us.
We're no longer killer and writer, protector and protected.
We're equals now, bonded by blood and choice.
"Bedroom," I gasp as his teeth find my collarbone.
"No." He lifts me, carries me to the bear skin rug in front of the fire. "Here. Where I first imagined having you."
The rug is soft under my back, the fire warm on my skin.
He undresses me slowly, reverently, like unwrapping a gift he's waited years to open.
Each new inch of skin is kissed, worshipped, claimed.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my hip. "Even more beautiful with his blood under your nails."
I am.
I can see it in the mirror across the room—my pale skin marked with bruises like abstract art, my dark hair spread across white fur, my eyes reflecting the fire.
