Page 7 of Song of Tenebrae

“Yeah,” I thumb over my shoulder, “they went that way.”

He staggers by me and opens the metal door, his intake of air making me smile. “Will?” he calls out and I snort.

I come up behind him and grab his hair, forcing him out the door. “You fucked with the wrong girl.”

“Which one?” He's so drunk that he doesn’t realize the danger he’s in, his pulse staying slow and even.

“The witch.”

“Tempest Verona?” The fact that he knows her name pisses me off more and I snap his face off the brick wall. His wail of pain makes me chuckle, “don’t say her name.”

He turns to face me and he has bright red blood pouring out of his very broken nose, the color making me stare transfixed. I used to have an obsession with a person’s blood and sometimes I still feel the call of it, the tug on my soul. His blood looks a little too light and it smells of decay. It’s nothing like the bright red blood I’ve had, the vibrant color that called to me the very first time I spilled it. No other blood will ever compare to hers.

I stifle a yawn into my hand and decide to end this quickly. I stab my blade into his eye and shove him against the wall, watching as he slides down it, the screams permeating the air. I crouch down and yank out my knife.

“I have to get this done quickly,” I explain to him as I run the knife over his jugular and bite my lip as the blood sprays out, “I missed dinner and all this red is making me famished.”

He begins to convulse as I let his blood pour into the palm of my hand and stand to apply it to the wall. It’s not going to be perfect tonight because I need to get some sleep. Once I’m done, I take a few photos and send it off to the one number I’ve been waiting to use.

Incognitus

I stand about ten feet away, watching as the three bodies are defiled, and a blood pentagram is painted into the brick. I clench my teeth at his casual use of such a sacred symbol. I know he killed the men from his jealousy and need to protect what he believes is his, but this is too much. They weren’t sacrifices, they weren’t to appease the great one, and they weren’t sanctioned.

The blood drips down the wall as he takes a series of photos. It’s poor practice using a sacred ritual to show devotion. It’s disgusting and yet I’m intrigued. I’ve dealt with obsession my whole life and I can see it in another as easily as I feel it inside myself. He’s obsessed with the one he claimed as his own.

That’s not how love is supposed to work, Raiden James. You shouldn’t feel consumed to the point of insanity. It shouldn’t be a one-sided longing, each breath inhaled is one of greed, and greed is a terrible sin, Raiden James.

He stalks out of the alley and I creep forward, withdrawing my phone out of my pocket. I need some evidence, and well, I need to make sure someone sees the effort of his obsession.

Tempest

I can’t sleep, I keep seeing that figure in the hallway and flashes of Raiden in the same style hood assaults my thoughts. His strong chiseled jaw and full lips. The longer goatee and double nose piercings. It happens on nights I’m agitated or stressed, he appears, and I’m tempted to make myself bleed, knowing he loved when I did. It’ll always be there, the want inside me, and I’ve come to accept it, but I will never admit it to anyone, not even Sky.

I will never forget his scent; musk and earth, and I’ll never forget his voice and its effect on me. My brain hates him and everything he’s done, but my heart is fond of him, forcing me to remember how Ifeltwhenever he was near. Most people would say they feel safe around their person and they feel loved, that’s not how I felt. I was petrified and constantly aroused, a tantalizing mix.

My phone’s chirp pulls me out of my reverie and I stare at its illuminated face shining to the ceiling. Sky and Tiny are in their rooms asleep and I don’t know anyone else. It’s sad but it’s the truth. The phone chirps again and I grab it, ready to snap at the wrong number. I open my messages and a scream gets lodged in my throat, no sound making it to the surface. On the screen are two photos. One is of a group of men, bleeding out over pavement, and looking extremely similar to the douchebags at my club tonight. And the second is a large blood pentagram painted into the brick wall above their heads.

I fight my black satin sheets and jump out of bed, my heart up in my throat. I throw a robe over my naked body and rush out of my room, into Sky’s. She’s laying in bed with her phone illuminating her angry looking face as she pounds her thumbs to the screen.

“Did you get one too?” I rush forward.

“What?” She startles and drops her phone to her chest, hiding the screen. “Get what?”

“Text messages,” my words are strained and speaking is so fucking hard around the lump in my throat, “from them, Sky.”

“From whom?” She sits up and stares at me wide eyed.

“Them.” I nod, knowing she’ll know exactly who I mean.

“No,” she shakes her head and visibly swallows. “What does it say?”

I hold my phone out to her and watch as her eyes quickly scan over the screen, her throat working hard to swallow. I don’t know if it’s as triggering for her as it is for me, but seeing that pentagram, and the blood, transported me right back into my worst fears. My darkest nightmares are beginning to resurface and I can’t seem to muster the strength to fight off the pure terror I’m feeling.

“Maybe you should reply to it?” her voice hitches on the last syllable.

“Saying what?”

“I don’t know, Temp.” She glares at me, “isn’t this what you wanted? You didn’t change your name nor did you go into hiding, you propelled yourself into the open and basically begged for this. So, you need to deal with it.” She reaches her arm out and hands me back my phone.

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