Page 55 of Claiming Her Vampire

“To show you we can be put down like animals. Or by leaving them like this, she’s showing you how abnormal it is to be half a person.” He steps close. “I don’t want it to be true, but we don’t have any other leads right now.”

I stare at him, seeing the torment from having to say what deep down I have been thinking. I tease the end of his hair with my fingers. “We can’t ignore the possibility, but I still don’t think it’s her.” I sigh.

Ryker enjoys my touch, closing his eyes for a moment until Bash clears his throat. “Get rid of it,” Ryker demands, nodding at the body. “We’re going home.”

Ryker leaves me to my thoughts on the drive home. I hope my mom isn’t capable of doing such demented things, but to be honest, I don’t know what she is willing to do to help her cause. My mind wants to ignore the things that are happening and get lost in my mate. I haven’t had the time to dwell on all the changes with me or my overwhelming thirst for blood and Ryker.

We remain quiet after he insists we get some rest. I go through my nightly routine on autopilot. The only change in my routine is putting on Ryker’s shirt. Oh, and going to bed with a vampire. It’s odd to stand at the double sink in the bathroom, brushing my teeth with my vampire mate. It’s so human. I don’t share my thoughts out loud, but his eyes crinkle in amusement when I glance at him.

“Do you have a favorite side?” I ask, standing by the bed.

“No, baby. You pick.” He chuckles.

I crawl in and settle on my side, facing him. He lays on his back with his hands resting casually on his chest. He came to bed wearing nothing but dark blue pajama pants. He did take his knives off and laid them on the bedside table, within easy reach. His chest is a feast for my eyes. He has no hair, just ridges of muscle and one tattoo. It’s a large dagger with the roots of a tree wrapped around the handle. The tip of the blade stabs through an old clock. It’s beautiful.

I run my fingertip down its center along his ribs and side. “What does this represent?” I whisper. The dark room wrapped us in a safe bubble.

“Knives are my weapon of choice. This particular one is modeled after a knife I lost years ago. I used it to kill a man. He was raping young girls. He was a good-looking guy. Young and charming. He convinced them he was a photographer looking for models for his agency. This was before the internet and social media had advanced to what it is today. They believed him, unfortunately. He took them to his apartment and violated them in the most demeaning way. He would dump the bodies in an area that I frequented. I saw him on a regular basis. At first, I thought nothing of it. I wasn’t paying enough attention. Then one night, I saw him, like usual, dressed in his suit, and something clicked with me. I followed him and discovered what he was doing. I watched him dump a woman’s body. He watched with such glee on his face. I remember seeing it and thinking, this is the worst of humanity.”

His voice is detached, stuck in the past; he stared at the ceiling. “I followed him to his house. I studied his patterns and habits. I stalked him. I made it so he couldn’t pick up a woman while I was doing it. When I had seen all I needed to know, I made my move. I knew the spots he liked to find them. He picked ones that looked desperate, young, and foolish. I paid a twenty-three-year-old woman, who looked like she was seventeen, to be the bait. He took it. When he took her home, I broke in. I sent her away with a fist full of money for a job well done and had some fun with him.

“I tortured him. I used my knife. I can admit I can be a bit bloodthirsty at the best of times. I enjoyed it. I relished it. Causing him pain for inflicting so much himself was addicting. He cried and begged for mercy. I did it for all the innocent women that probably begged him repeatedly. After I disposed of the body the same way he did to his victims, I went to get a tattoo to mark the occasion.

“I wanted the knife wrapped in the vines to symbolize how society is tied to their rules and laws and the pursuit of their belief in the justice system. Their hands are tied, whereas mine are not. The clock is a reminder that time escapes us. Even though I have the advantage of endless amounts of it, it still moves quickly.

“Those women had their time cut short. Imagine the things they could have accomplished in their world if some sick asshole didn’t use them to get joy from their pain and suffering. I am not a good man. I have done terrible things. But I have never abused a woman that did nothing but live life. Maybe I am trying to make up for the things that rode the line between good and bad.”

He stops speaking. He hasn't moved. He didn’t raise his voice, speaking softly and matter-of-factly.

I stare at his hard profile. He stated it as if it meant nothing to him to help those women. He believes he is bad. I have seen bad, and he has just talked about a man that was very, very bad. He doesn’t realize what he did when he killed that man.

“I’m glad you killed him. He deserved your blade,” I say. His head swivels to mine. “I bet it felt amazing to get the revenge those girls desperately wanted.”

“I loved hearing him scream. Doesn’t that scare you?” he asks, frowning.

“Not at all. It tells me you stand up for those that can’t. It tells me you will protect me with a vengeance. It tells me I am lucky to have found you.” I caress his side again. I watch my hand glide over the ink and his body shudders with pleasure.

“If you don’t want to get fucked, get out of this bed and go downstairs,” he says, his voice lethal, his eyes boring into mine.

I don’t move. I dare him. I’m trembling with the need for him to claim me.

Ryker turns to his side, facing me, and slowly moves the covers to the bottom of the bed. He gently separates my legs to make room for his big body. His hair is brushing his face, bringing my attention to his dangerous eyes filled with heat.

He holds up a wicked knife, turning it side to side and showing off the long, leather-bound handle. The silver of the blade shines through the darkness.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

I take my eyes off the knife and back to his face. “Yes,” I whisper.

He looks at the bottom of my shirt lying on my thighs. He licks his lips and then uses the knife to cut through all the buttons. The edge of it stops right before it nicks my neck. I gasp, not in fear but from excitement. He would never hurt me.

He stares at me, his breath harsh in the quiet room. He brings his hand down again, slipping the edge under the side of my panties. The cold is startling against my skin.

He cuts the sides and uncovers me, showing him the proof of my desire for him.

“Are you scared yet?” he asks harshly.

“No,” I say firmly.

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