Page 36

I peer through the crack in the closet door, waiting for the inevitable—for her to come to me. The bedroom is bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, casting long, reaching shadows that dance and shift around the room.

Yet I stay where I am.

Watching.

Waiting.

The creak of a floorboard in the hallway sends a shiver of pleasure up my spine.

So close.

Reaching into my pocket, I grab the mask and pull it out, flipping it open and yanking it on. It’s a simple black, patent leather Anubis mask I picked up at a nearby Halloween pop up shop.

The long black muzzle, the tall ears, like demonic horns.

It’s not all that special, but it’s enough. It will scare the absolute shit out of her.

Lucky for me, it’s almost Halloween.

From my other pocket, I pull out a pair of black surgical gloves. Enough to conceal my tattoos, but thin enough that I’ll still feel the heat of her skin through them.

I’ve left my leather jacket and my normal frayed blue jeans in my apartment upstairs, opting for a simple long-sleeved turtleneck and black dress pants.

It covers enough that she’ll never suspect anything.

She’ll be clueless, just like I want her.

The doorknob clicks, and the door swings open, revealing Mercy, her silhouette framed by the harsh light streaming in from the hallway.

She’s a vision, as she always is. I drink in her pillowy, plump lips, her wide, doe-like eyes, hiding behind dark-rimmed, oversized glasses, her pale, porcelain skin that’s begging me to mark it—to bite her, bruise her.

She steps inside, her movements graceful, unhurried. The soft click of the door closing behind her echoes through the apartment. She tosses her keys into the bowl on the side table, and they click and jingle like a happy lullaby.

“At least I’m home,” she mutters to herself, shrugging off her coat and throwing it onto the armchair that sits in a corner by her bed.

I watch her, my breath held, as she lifts the hand at her side to her mouth and takes a bite of the apple I hadn’t even noticed she was holding, her teeth snapping through the crisp flesh. The juice glistens on her lips, and she licks it away, a small, innocent gesture that sends a surge of heat through me.

I wonder what those perfect lips will feel like when I bite them, or when she wraps them around my cock and I fuck myself down her throat.

Come on, little lamb, I urge her silently, my eyes tracking her every movement.Come closer to the wolf.Come to me, and be devoured.

She moves with a grace that’s almost otherworldly, her bare feet padding softly on the carpet as she steps up to her bedside table and reaches up, pulling the hair band from the end of her braid and shaking her head. Her chestnut waves shake loose, cascading over her delicate, petite shoulders like a chocolate waterfall, and I long to sink my hands into it.

Soon.

Very soon.

I can see the steady pulse in a vein that runs along the side of her throat, throbbing. It calls to me. I want to wrap my fingers around her neck and squeeze until the breath leaves her, and her eyes roll up to soulless whites.

Mercy turns her back to me, her attention turning to her altar, and the crucifix that lives above it. The curve of her neck is exposed, vulnerable. It’s a sight that sends a surge of adrenaline through me, a predator’s instinct honed to a razor’s edge.

Now, I tell myself.Show her. Teach her.

In one swift movement, I step out of the closet, my footsteps soft and deliberate. The carpet muffles my steps, allowing me to close the distance between us with an eerie quietness that shakes even me. She remains blissfully unaware, her humming a soft, innocent melody that fills the air.

I almost feel bad for her.

Almost.