Page 9 of All Your Bloody Lies

A mock gasp comes from me, “How hurtful. Talking about my cunt like that.” I move back slightly, sitting on his open wound, making him scream out in agony. I know I’m sick, because once I feel the warmth of his blood against my slit, I roll my hips instinctively. My Amoro revels in the sensation of it against my still-sensitive clit. “I will make you eat this if you don’t answer me, Miles.”

“Please, please. Just kill me, please—”

This is fun; I could do this all night. However, I know in due time the inevitable shift in the music will happen, and his screams will pierce through the once-veiled ambiance. “Open your mouth, Miles,” I demand, and without hesitation, he obliges.

I hum as I slip his cock into his mouth, making sure to deposit as much of his crimson liquid with it as I can. “Close your mouth.”

Watching him cry as he begins to choke on his own appendage makes me want to touch myself. Seeing him suffer as I have? It’s fucking beautiful.

I’m a masochist, and I’m okay with that.

“Chew, Miles.”

He vibrates under me, and I know that soon he will pass out from the blood loss. I’ve devoured a substantial amount of his lifeforce, but Shifters, like most Dylox, can feed me for days without dying if done correctly.

His blood and flesh gush in his mouth, and it makes me smile. As he chews, I lean in and hover my lips just inches from his. “Swallow, my sweet.”

As he does, he’s gagging and gurgling as though he might vomit. I can see his throat struggling, trying to both swallow the appendage and keep it there. The instinct not to want to choke fighting against the equally strong nature to not want to consume his own dick.

He won’t be alive long enough for it to come back up.

“Your father, Miles.”

“Why...”So pitiful.“What did I do to you?!” he muffles through his mouth being full of his own cock. Can’t even die with any shred of dignity, instead, he whines and moans as though this world is fair.

This is tiresome. “Revenge has no moral boundaries—it remains indifferent to good or bad. It couldn’t care less about the target it chooses; its only concern is that the outcome remains unchanged. If I have to ask again, I will feed your balls to your mother. Who does your father report to?!”

“Matteo! Matteo Castillo!” Maybe I should have started with the balls.

With a bored expression, I bring my bloody hand to my lips and lick a few fingers. “I see.”

The Mortars Syndicate.

“Thank you, Miles.”

“Let me go…” he pleads, and I’m amazed he would even want to live without his third leg.

“Oh no, my sweet. You and your little cuddle crew are dead.”

Miles chokes on a sob, “I swear, I won’t speak—”

The sound of his flesh tearing, like cutting through a ripe fruit accompanied by small pops of his tissue separating cleanly, silences him. His throat gushes with thick crimson, and I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs, the tanned bone exposed to the elements.

“You are right,” I laugh softly through my sentence. “You won’t speak of this.”

3

Kairhyse

This is a chaotic mess. I’m thankful I won’t be the one cleaning it up.

Three. Three Gods damn bodies in one night, and that made it what, fifteen just this month alone? What is going on?

Murder isn’t uncommon here, but the string of high-profile killings has everyone on edge, including those at Hause Sidence. My reaction may lean more toward annoyance than genuine concern. Nonetheless, it signals my return to the field. Whoever the bastard, or bastards are that are pulling this off, I’m itching to put a stop to it.

“Ah, Sirion Monroe.” An older man stands over a bloody, very much dead, Shifter.

I hate the title of Sirion—why Achille didn’t just call us bodyguards was beyond me.

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