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I quickly turn over to face him. "Where's Luca? Is he—"

"He's fine," he says. "He's back, and he's sleeping. He's going to have to have his arm in a sling whenever he's out of the public eye—and wear a fucking shirt on stage—but he'll be fine."

"River thinks I'm a freak," I tell him. "She doesn't like me anymore."

"No, that's not true," he says. He twirls one of my curls around his finger. "She was just scared—that's all."

"Itistrue," I cry. "Iama freak. I'm fucked up. I…I need help. I murdered someone."

"Hey. Look at me right now, Teagan."

I wipe the tears away from my eyes and look into his.

"Are you looking?"

Sniffling, I nod. "Yes."

"See the way I see you, Teagan. You are not a freak—you are fucking perfect and exactly the way you are supposed to be, do you hear me? You are not fucked up. You did what you had to do in that moment, and then you did what you couldjust becauseyou could do it and no one could stop you. And there isn't a damn thing wrong with that.Thatis fucking beautiful. It's fucking poetry."

"It is?"

"Of course it is," he says. "You know it is." He moves on top of me, brushing my curls away from my wet cheeks. "It's okay that you liked it—and from the looks of it, you really liked it."

"I didn't…I don't…"

"You're supposed to like it, Teagan. The power…all that blood…" He shifts between my legs, and I feel him rock hard against me. "I'm going to tell you a secret," he says. "I killed my stepmom for what she did to Luca. I cut her up just like you did to that girl—until her torso looked like ground beef. And I loved every fucking second of it. I loved it so much that I knew I could never do it again because if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop. I knew there was power in the blood; I was raised in this. But I didn't really understand it until that moment. And I think you know that, too, now, don't you?"

"I think I've known for a while," I say.

"The closest I've ever gotten to that feeling is when Layla slit her throat…" He pauses, and, sitting up on his knees, pulls that ridiculous fucking t-shirt over my head, then places his hand over the 'D' on my chest. "And this. You can't do it again, though, Teagan—not unless you have to—or you'll lose yourself. And you're going to want to."

"You're wrong. I don't want to, Declan. I don't want to hurt people."

"But it feels good when you do, doesn't it? Especially when they deserve it—when it's revenge."

I almost argue that I don't know what he's talking about, but then I think about the girls who tormented me in school and the way I got them back. I think about how much I enjoyed it—how I'd laugh. Ididfeel powerful. I'd do it again and again if I could.

I felt powerful when I killed Heidi's sister, too.

"Yes." It comes out barely a whisper. "It does."

He pulls my shorts down my legs and tosses them onto the floor before leaning over and grabbing something from the bedside table. Even in the dark, I can see his thick cock straining against his boxer briefs.

Given the circumstances, maybe I shouldn't want it so badly right now. But if I'm completely honest, my pussy has been soaked since he told me he stabbed his stepmom until she looked like ground beef.

Declan flips open my knife, turning it in the moonlight. "See? Good as new. Do you trust me now, Teagan?"

"Yes," I tell him.

He presses the flat side of the blade against my chest, slowly trailing it along my collarbone, then between and under my breasts and down below my waist, leaving paper-thin cuts along the way.

"You're so pretty, Teagan; you're so perfect," he says, pushing his boxers down his thighs. "I've looked everywhere for someone exactly like you."

He brings my legs over his shoulders and, bracing himself with his forearms, slowly pushes his cock into me, stretching me as he feeds it to me inch by inch until he's buried to the hilt.

And then he pulls out just as slowly—all the way out—before pushing into me again.

Arching my back and squirming beneath him, desperate for more, I moan. "Declan…please…"