Page 29 of Fragile Facade
“Your blood belongs to me,” he seethes before ripping the dagger out, fingers coming away from my neck coated in red. He drags them over his lips, leaving three slashes ofmeover the lower half of his face. My eyes focus on those three lines, my exhale coming out long and hard. I lick my lips while staring at his, salivating for something that doesn’t make sense.
Pain radiates, but anticipation is worse. I’m on the precipice of snapping instead of dying, but I don’t understand what my breaking point is. Him. Riot. Killian. He’s my fucking breaking point, and I don’t know how he gained that power. I bled for someone other than him, and now he’s here, taking it back, consuming me because he owns some sick part of me.
We’re not rivals because we’re not competing for the same goal.
We’re not enemies because we’re on the same team.
We’re not friends because friendships don’t make sense.
We’re not strangers or brothers or lovers.
We’re something morphed by his masks and my cracks, forced together out of some obligation to have a sinister partner in a dire game that pushes death upon the victor.
When he licks my blood off his lips, mine part on a shaky breath. I’m humming with energy that has no point, lost in a vortex of blood and lust and darkness. Unable to move, locked in place because of three slashes of blood on his lips and a stiffness in my pants that proves I like it.
“Who do you bleed for, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice so daunting it makes me shake.
I don’t want to submit. I don’t want to say him. But because I don’t want to, it makes me need to. To defy myself while toying with him. My nostrils flare with the strength of my demise, loving how it feels to break away from myself for him. Power thrums inside me, pushing out my chest to match his. I still have a blade in my hand, and I bring it up between our bodies, pressing the flat of it to his lips.
“Who doyoubleed for?” I twist it, and when the sharp edge slices into his bottom lip, his blood trickles down to join mine.
Riot grabs my wrist, throws the knife, and licks his lips.
I try to stop myself. I really do. But my body vibrates and my mind snaps, and when his tongue swipes his lip again, I growl loudly as I press forward to taste the combination of us. Drawn to the way our blood mingles, enticed by the way we taste, enraptured in this game we play, and addicted to the way he chases me exactly where I want to go.
My lips slam against his, drawing more blood. Riot’s grunt is savage, his hand grabbing the back of my neck to imprison me exactly where I am. The metallic taste of his blood mingled with mine assaults my taste buds and hardens my cock further. Teeth clack and tongues fight, our mouths not even kissing, but consuming. His breath goes down my throat, reminding me of the night he drowned me, but this time, I’m not refusing his air. I’m inhaling him like he’s the sole thing glueing me together, holding me whole. He bites down on my lip, making me wince and moan simultaneously.
I don’t need him to squeeze my neck to get a blood rush because it’s happening all on its own. I’m bleeding out onto the floor of Misfit Hall, but I’ve never felt more alive. And angry about it.
“Fuck.” I grab his hair and yank his head back, watching spit and blood glisten on his lips. His eyes are two storms, warring with each other, but warring with me most of all.
“You fucking bleed for me, Soren.”
Soren.
Our chests heave together, breath fighting for space between our lips, hips pressed so close I can feel all of him.All. Of. Him.Hard and honed, aroused and toned. Bloody and warm. As affected by me as I am by him.
“This is never happening again,” I snarl at him, firming my grip in his hair. “If you ever fucking?—”
Riot takes control, slamming my back against the hallway wall. His mouth devours mine, and I fight it, but not to rid myself of it—to get more of it. His cock grinds against the stab wound in my thigh, sparking pain that makes my cock leak. My fingers weave into his hair and his wrap around my throat. Our bodies bump and grind, our mouths bleed, our souls fight for dominance, and the world as I know it tilts.
While locked in some purgatory with Killian Hallows, something shifts inside me. Because chasing a curse and a death wish no longer seems as appealing as taunting this exact devil. This one, right here—the version of him that snaps so easily but still somehow remains in control. The bloody, broken, layered man who kills easier than he feels and masks everything from the way he looks to the way he understands his surroundings. The charming bullshit is gone, and in its place is the raw, ravaged, bare Killian who hates himself but regards himself as a god. It’s the confliction of him that makes him so turbulent and addicting.
Because I’m just as conflicted.
“Fuck,” he groans, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. “Fuck, I knew you’d beg.”
“Beg?” I bite him and then shove him back, glaring at him. “You think this is begging?”
The tension deepens into something so dark I don’t even know how to cope with the light of the hallway. He glares, but there’s a smile on his face while he does it. Angry and charming and disgusting because he can morph the two together so seamlessly. He runs his fingers through the blood and saliva coating his chin, sucking them into his mouth. He hums in agonized pleasure, and I push off the wall, ready to fucking do something about it.
The front door of Misfit Hall bangs open, and Krypt’s purple mask walks inside, looking for both of us. His shoulders relax a bit when he finds us whole, but he shakes his head at whatever else he sees between us.
“Let’s go. You need Medic, Ghost.”
Riot licks his lips again, grinning at me like he’s won something. I’m so out of sorts that I push by him and limp down the stairs, unsure of everything because it really does feel like he’s won. I just don’t know what.
When I step outside, Kyd’s lion roars in the distance, the lunatic in pink roars back, and I finally feel pain.
