Page 2 of Cold-Blooded Creatures

His aquiline nose was fractured right above the curve but was no longer bleeding. The bags under his eyes had faded from red to purple, the swelling having decreased enough for him to open his gray-blue eyes. Their shade was like the ocean I’d visited often in childhood, when the water changed color right before a storm, a nature’s announcement of the viciousness about to be unleashed.

“Your eyes are so ethereal,” I murmured, thinking about the way I would devour him if he wasn’t from the city of Ilasall, part of their security force, protecting their methods of enslaving half the population to bolster the power of those at the top of the food chain.

Maybe that was why I viewed him and the others as my personal canvases, blank sheets to draw on, to paint, to color in. In shades of red, of course.

“Why don’t we play a game?” I strolled toward the small utility table sparkling from the harsh light overhead, illuminating only a small part of the underground sprawling underneath our central building. The expanse produced a constant chill clinging to your skin and coaxing your most sinful instincts out. It inspired me to come up with endless creative ways to have fun with people I’d tie up to that worktable, a single light bulb above it—perfect for one-on-one games.

The scent of bleach curled the hairs inside my nostrils. Cleaners had a hell of a job the last time I’d brought a plaything down here. Enough blood had splattered everywhere that I wondered how it all had fit inside that tiny body to this day.

As the drawer scraped and squeaked, it dragged me out of my dreamy state. I had to get some oil on these hinges. I was theone supposed to do the torturing, not the other way around, and especially not by a metal drawer being my torturer.

I picked out a sterile syringe, its package crinkling as I inspected it. I might have been a butcher, but hygiene remained a priority for me.

“What— What is that?”

That was all he’d managed to get out.

How cute.

“Something fun. Well, for me.” I selected a tiny clear glass vial—a new toy I got delivered this morning. So many ideas on how to use it for morelovelypurposes swirled inside me that I had to consciously will them to simmer down. What could I do? I had an active imagination.

Dismay latching onto him drowned his muscles in convulsions, and he yanked on the restraints with renewed energy, but I paid no heed to him. There was no way he could escape—I’d tested the restraints myself. Well, I’d used them for other purposes. But a wriggling body was a wriggling body.

“Calm down or it’s going to hurt.” I drew up the transparent liquid into the syringe, disregarding his attempts at freedom. I had to get the dosage right—I couldn’t kill him without getting answers. Gedeon wouldn’t let me live it down. Which also limited my options in methods of information extraction. They had to follow a single rule: leave him alive.

Unfortunately.

“No, don’t, please,please.” He yanked and yanked on his shackled wrists and ankles.

A few air bubbles floated at the top of the syringe, and I pushed the plunger. A tiny squirt of medicine—technically, it was medicine. I just wasn’t planning on using it for its intended purpose—misted the air at the tip of the needle.

“Come on, man. I like my playthings obedient,” I drawled. “I don’t have much patience left, and when the last drop runs out, I won’t play nice anymore.”

He froze with a bewildered look, chewing at the thought that what I’d been doing to him for the past few hours was nice.

I was nice. He still had most of his blood inside his body.

I took my opportunity and stabbed his upper arm, quickly injecting him. He tugged the chains in a futile attempt to break out, and clinks and clangs of metal clashing against metal caused my eyes to roll back.

Truly, the zipper in my jeans was maddening. I considered getting a quick release here and now—finishing on his face would be extremely fun—but it wouldn’t satisfy me.

It never did.

“See this?” I lifted a miniature bottle with plenty of liquid left inside. “It’s a neuromuscular blocking agent. A short-acting paralytic that relaxes your muscles and prevents any further tension in them. It’s quick-acting, so you should already feel it working,” I said as his jerks grew sluggish, terror warping his features as random syllables left his mouth instead of coherent words and sentences. “The thing is, despite your muscles becoming immobilized, you won’t lose consciousness. It also doesn’t affect your pain receptors.”

I wished I could see the realization dawn on him, but his facial muscles had sagged beneath his bruised skin. Crouching down, I brushed his unmoving chest. No more heaving, no more panting.

“Oh, and I might have forgotten to mention one more thing. You see, the human body needs muscles to breathe. Your diaphragm is the pump that sucks the air in and pushes it out. But if you order it to relax, it does. In other words, your lungs will beg for air, but your body will not do anything to aid them.”

I went off circling him, needing him to come up to the surface before I could proceed with my plan. A twinkle caught my attention—the blade of my favorite knife compelling me to come closer.

Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

Gasps filled the air, followed by rough coughs. “Pl— Please. Please.”

“It took you a few minutes. I thought I might have killed you.” I winked at him. “It’s a good thing the drug doesn’t work for long.”

“I don’t know anything,” he cried out. “You’re torturing an innocent person.”