Page 29 of Fangs & Freaks
The pull of sleep is undeniable. My body succumbs, and I let myself drift off, my thoughts spinning like a broken record.
I wake to a presence in the room. A heavy, suffocating energy fills the air, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I freeze, knowing without looking that she’s here.
“Warrick,” she purrs, her voice a silky whisper that sends a shiver through my body. I open my eyes, and there she is, standing in the shadows: Bloody Mary. Her pale face is framed by snow colored hair that seems to move with a life of its own, her eyes gleaming with that familiar malicious glint. She steps closer, her steps silent, as if she’s gliding through the air.
I can’t move. I can’t speak. Her presence is suffocating.
“You look so tired,” she teases, her voice like poison coated in honey. “Maybe you should rest.”
She steps forward again, and before I can react, her cold fingers touch my neck. Her lips brush my ear as she whispers, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I stiffen, but it’s too late. Her fangs sink into my neck, and the sharp pain causes me to gasp. She drinks deeply, her cold mouth a stark contrast to the heat of my own skin. The sensation is both excruciating and maddeningly pleasurable, a combination that leaves me disoriented and vulnerable.
Before I can even think to fight back, she pulls away, leaving me breathless.
“You’re delicious,” she murmurs, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk. “But I want more.”
I don’t have time to react before I feel her hand at my waist, pushing my boxers down just enough to free my cock. She moves quickly, with practiced grace, and before I can push her away, her fangs sink into the middle of my hardening shaft.
The pain and pleasure blur together, and I gasp, helpless against her. It’s like a drug—addictive and violent. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
Then, just as quickly she withdraws, leaving me gasping, my heart racing in ways I can’t control.
I sit up straight, jolting awake. The cold sweat on my skin tells me it was no mere dream.
“Damn it,” I mutter, furious. She’s gotten to me. She’s won. She’s played me like a fool.
Chapter Fifteen
Blackwell
While Warrick pouredhimself into scouring the books, trying to dig up anything he could about Bloody Mary and the Obsidian Circle, I opted for a different route. I know without a shadow of a doubt we only have one true enemy here and it isn’t the beauty who hides in the shadows, coming to you when you call her name in the mirror. No, it’s the evil bastards who barter in the supernatural, more specifically, the rarities found within it. Right now I can’t think of anything more rare than Varys. It’s only a matter of time before they come to take him back, and I’d rather be ahead of the game.
It’s why I decided to go out on a different type of hunt. One that would yield different answers than Warrick’s and, if I’m lucky, all my hard work will reward me with another visit from the sultry vixen. Hopefully, this time, it won’t end with a massive case of blue balls. It didn’t take much work, not when you know where the fuckers like to drink. Then it just takes being able to read people, knowing what they desire the most and tempting it from them like candy to a kid.
For him, it was the lure of cock. Mine is infamous and well, he prefers blondes. I was happy to dangle myself in front of him, not that he’d ever get to taste the sweet nectar held within. But in war, we do what we have to. And this is a war, whether the world knows it or not.
The bloody, crying, gagged bastard strapped to the chair in front of me is one of those easily pliable members of the Obsidian Circle. He’s bound to a steel chair that’s bolted to the floor. No possibility for it to tip over, allowing him an opportunity to escape. I have his wrists and ankles bound with cruel precision, the buckles pulled so tightly that blood is dripping from where they are cutting into his skin. Not even the lure of the crimson fluid excites me, not when it’s from the likes of him.
The dim light of my work chamber flickers, casting a harsh shadow across the room. The air is stale, thick with the metallic tang of fear, sweat and the Obsidian member’s repulsive odor. It is so pungent it makes me want to hurl, and I’m basically a walking corpse.
My eyes trail along his disgusting form as I contemplate how best to get the information I need from him. He’s dressed in a black uniform; to most, it looks like a jumpsuit of sorts with the Obsidian insignia across the breast pocket. How he thought his superiors would approve of him wearing that into a bar escapes my logic.
He glares back at me the best he can through two swollen, blackened eyes. Blood trickles from the corners of his mouth around the gag that’s firmly tied in place. But I can still see the smirk he’s attempting to give me. He still thinks he has the upper hand here. That the Obsidian will somehow storm in here and save him.
How wrong he is. He’s a nobody to them, indispensable. While he is slightly higher up in their food chain, the top brassonly care about themselves. Yet these mindless fools still follow after them like little puppy dogs.
It’s time for answers. I pull my knife from the sheath on my leg and slip it underneath the fabric of the gag, the blade sliding along the flesh of his cheek. My eyes light with joy at the flow of blood, and I take pride in knowing I made his face just a little bit prettier.
“You fucked up. Do you know who I am?” he sneers, his voice hoarse but laced with venom.
I lean back against the counter, crossing my legs as I pick at the imaginary grime beneath my nail and laugh.
“Well? Are you dumb or something? I asked a question."
“Nope. My partner had me tested. Turns out I’m just a certified psychopath. But as for knowing who you are, I do. It’s why I sent you a gift that I knew would snag you.”
“You’re fucking dead,” he growls as he fights a losing battle, struggling against the securely placed restraints.
