Page 1 of Daddy’s Muse (Bloody Desires #12)

Bodin

Two Months Prior

I watched the young man sitting on the steps outside of one of the university’s student dorms. His arms were curled underneath his slim thighs, and even from this distance, I could see the trembling in his fingers as they clutched at his shorts.

His sapphire eyes were watery, but it was almost as if he were too exhausted to let his tears fall.

His unruly auburn hair was damp, droplets of wasted beer trickling down onto his t-shirt and legs from the curly strands.

He stared despondently at the concrete pavement under his feet, not making any effort to get himself cleaned up. I wasn’t sure why I was still watching him. I didn’t need to be.

I needed to continue on my way to the other side of the campus, where I knew my prey for the night waited.

Instead, I hid in the shadows of the building across the small walkway that lay in front of the boy’s dorm. With most of the university’s students home for winter break, the campus was as quiet as a ghost town. Maybe that was why I’d been drawn over here in the first place: the noise.

Usually, on a hunt, I stayed completely and utterly focused on my carefully made plans, ignoring everything else. I stayed vigilant, of course, but I never strayed from the path like this; I was never distracted like this.

His voice had called to me, drawing me closer like a bee to honey.

I crept behind two large garbage bins, keeping myself invisible as I peered through the small gap between them to watch as the scene unfolded.

There were three college-aged boys, the larger and taller two were bundled up in typical winter wear for West Virginia—thick coats, hats, boots.

But the smaller man between them, looking incredibly uncomfortable, was only clad in a thin shirt, jersey shorts, and socks.

It was as if he’d been pulled straight out of bed.

“I just want to go back in,” the little redhead had said, his arms wrapped around his thin midsection as if to shield himself from the frigid night.

The tallest among the group placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer. “Come on, we’re doing you a favor, dude. Quit whining about it and drink with us.”

“No, thank you. I wanna go back to bed, guys…”

“God, your roomie’s so fucking lame, Bryan,” the third man grumbled. “Just fucking drink with us already, man.” He shoved an open can of beer at the small one’s chest, spilling some onto his threadbare shirt.

“Stop it, David! You two can go be drunk in our room, but I don’t want to be a part of it,” the redhead said, his voice shaky as he tried to stick up for himself.

Bryan, the redhead’s apparent roommate, grunted as he was elbowed in the gut by a bony arm.

The redhead managed to squirm away from Bryan’s arm, stepping back and away from the others.

His freedom was short-lived, though, as the one named David grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back into the fray.

Bryan spoke, slurring some of his words, “Just one drink. C’mon, stop being such a fucking pussy, gay boy.”

David smirked, “I’m not convinced he even has a dick. Always acting like he’s on his damn period. Hey…” He drunkenly giggled, wrapping a hand around the redhead’s upper arm, causing him to flinch in what seemed like pain. “Have you ever actually seen his dick, Bry?”

The redhead’s already pale face became stark white as he came to the same conclusion that I did.

“Nah, why would I want to see another dude’s dick? I’m not gay, man. Don’t even joke about that,” Bryan recoiled, a sneer on his face.

“But… like… what if he’s a chick?”

The redhead went still between his two tormentors. “I’m n-not! That doesn’t even make any sense! Just let me go, please. I’ll even find some other place to crash for the night. You two can have the room to yourselves, okay?”

Bryan and David exchanged a look. Then, bursting into motion, David restrained the redhead’s arms behind his back while Bryan went to grab at the waistband of his shorts.

“What the hell, guys?! Stop!” He managed a good kick to Bryan’s shin. It wasn’t a kick that would have usually done that much, but it definitely helped that his aggressors were wasted because Bryan stumbled back, his hands slipping off the redhead’s hips.

“Fuck, that hurt. You’re so goddamn dramatic all the time. We’re just playing around,” Bryan cursed. “Can’t even take a fucking joke.”

“No, you’re drunk and just tried to strip me!”

David scoffed, “Jesus, bro. We aren’t gay.”

“Try to do one nice thing for you, and you freak out,” Bryan spat, grabbing the beer from his friend.

His free hand shot up to harshly grip the redhead’s chin, forcing his jaw open from the pressure.

He poured the stale liquid directly into his mouth, only to be shocked when the redhead spat it back in his face.

“You little—” David sneered, jostling his hold.

“Just let me go,” the redhead pleaded, voice trembling. “Please, Bryan…”

Bryan lifted the can above the boy’s nest of curls, dumping out the rest of the beer on his head. The redhead blinked rapidly, eyes widening and mouth open, unable to form words.

“At least you smell like a man now, faggot,” Bryan seethed. “Fucking ruined my mood. If you know what’s good for you, find someplace else to sleep tonight.”

The redhead’s face creased with worry. “W-wait, but I don’t have somewhere else.”

“You literally just offered to stay out of the room for the night. Bry’s just taking you up on it,” David said, exasperated. He let go of the redhead completely, walking back towards the dorm entrance.

“Get a better attitude before you come back,” Bryan threatened before following his friend into the building.

Since then, it’d been fifteen minutes, but the boy still hadn’t moved, making no attempts to solve his problem.

He just sat there, alone and dripping wet.

Crumpled.

His arms stayed wrapped tight around himself, not for warmth anymore, but out of the sheer need to feel something holding him together. His jaw was clenched, and his legs were pulled so tightly toward his chest that his knees trembled.

I could see now the faint red imprint on his chin where Bryan had squeezed it. And his hands… his hands shook like they wanted to act, to fight or flee or at least wipe away the humiliation still dripping from his hair, but the rest of him refused to cooperate.

And for some reason, I couldn’t look away.

I’d witnessed things far more grotesque than this. I’d seen lives taken, sometimes by my hand, sometimes by fate, and rarely had I felt any pull toward the aftermath. I didn’t waste my thoughts on shattered people.

But this boy… he wasn’t like the others.

There was something raw in him—something unrefined and unguarded. His fear didn’t smell like the usual kind. It wasn’t a fear for his life, not really. It was a fear of being known, exposed like an open wound, and made to rot for someone else’s amusement.

And that stirred something unexpected in me.

Not sympathy, really, but curiosity.

Interest, too.

He was a pretty little thing. Sad. Hurting.

I waited as long as I could, still not exactly sure what made the pitiful boy so interesting to me. There was a sort of ache in my chest as I watched him shudder from the cold.

Part of me wanted to stay, if not just to see if those tears welling up in his eyes would finally fall. But I knew if I spent any longer here, I’d lose my opportunity to catch my prey before morning, so I somewhat begrudgingly rose.

Breathing in the chilly winter air, I took one last glance at the boy before deciding that I couldn’t let this distraction stop me from my hunt.

* * *

A few hours later, I carefully washed the fresh wound on my forearm, my thoughts drifting as I watched my blood drip into the sink and disappear down the drain.

I still couldn’t believe that my prey had cut me.

I’d never allowed any of my prey to wound me like this.

Sure, some of them tried to fight back, but it was never of any use.

The most I usually walked away with was some bruises or fingernail scratches.

I blamed the redheaded man from earlier, although I wasn’t sure why he’d even still been on my mind by the time I was standing over my prey, strangling the life out of him. I hadn’t noticed the switchblade.

I hissed softly as the antiseptic stung the slice across my arm. It wasn’t deep—nothing that wouldn’t heal—but it was infuriating. I should’ve seen it coming. I always saw it coming.

But tonight? Tonight, I’d been sloppy. Sloppiness had consequences. Consequences that would result in scars.

I stared into the mirror above the sink, watching the crimson snake down my skin. I wiped it away with methodical precision before bandaging the cut tightly and tugging my sleeve down over it.

A quiet laugh escaped me, humorless and bitter.

All because of him.

He’d lingered in my mind long after I’d vanished from the dorm steps. His image intruded where no one else’s ever had —interrupting the delicate rituals I performed before every kill and fracturing the usual calm that steadied my hands.

I didn’t even think about my victims this much. Sighing, I leaned into the edge of the sink and splashed some cool water on my face.

I stared at my face in the mirror, but saw him instead.

Odin, Allfather, grant me wisdom. Freyja, lend me understanding.

Why does this boy not leave me?

Was he still sitting out there? What if he froze to death?

I glanced at my phone. It was 4:12 a.m.

Which meant it’d been a little over five hours since I left him on those steps.

I drummed my fingers against the porcelain basin, a frown plastered on my face. Maybe I could go check?

I pushed off the sink and walked to the front door, quickly putting on some shoes and grabbing my keys.

I only lived about twenty minutes away from the university, and it wasn’t like there would be much traffic at this time of night.

I knew it was reckless for me to return so soon after a successful hunt, but there was just something in me that needed to see if the boy was okay or not. I’d never been one to ignore my urges.

I stopped at a gas station on the edge of campus before parking in the lot closest to his dorm. The walk to the steps I’d last seen him was relatively short. My fist clenched the plastic shopping bag I held as I approached.

He wasn’t there.

Which meant he’d either gone off somewhere or was suffering through the company of those drunken bastards from before. I wavered, unsure of how to proceed. I shuffled along the snow-covered walkway, now intent on searching the dimly lit campus grounds for him.

I walked the perimeter of building after building. I told myself that if I didn’t run into him, he was most likely inside somewhere, safe from the freezing temperatures.

Just as I was starting to think coming back here had been a waste of time, I spotted a glimpse of his red hair.

I’d almost missed him, tucked into a small alcove outside the library. Cautiously, I approached him, relieved to see that he was not only asleep but also still breathing. I crouched beside him, taking in his little form curled up against the brick wall at his back.

He looked even smaller than I remembered.

His knees were drawn up tight to his chest again, arms wrapped around them as if trying to hold himself together in sleep just as he had while awake.

His head rested on the curve of his shoulder, lips parted, breath ghosting out in slow, visible puffs.

The same threadbare t-shirt clung to his body, still damp in spots and stained from beer, and his bare legs were flushed pink from the cold.

The tip of his nose and his cheeks were flushed as well.

He’d made no genuine attempt to protect himself from the weather. Just raw, pitiful defiance, like he’d tried to outlast the night on sheer stubbornness alone. A smile tugged at my lips.

I stared at him for a long time, listening to the quiet clicks of the heating units on the building wall and the distant creak of frozen branches. My body was still thrumming from the high of my earlier kill, and yet none of that electricity touched me here. Not while I was watching him.

It felt like I could watch him forever.

There was something sacred about the silence surrounding him. Like he’d carved a tiny world of stillness into the cold, and even the wind didn’t dare disturb it.

Gently, I set the plastic bag down beside him.

Inside was a small bottle of orange juice, a granola bar, and hand warmers. I pulled one of the packets out, squeezing it in my hands to activate the chemicals inside. I carefully dropped it into the tight space between his chest and thighs.

He stirred slightly, shifting in his sleep, causing me to freeze.

When he didn’t wake, I hesitated, then slowly slid off my coat.

It was expensive, lined, tailored, and exactly my fit. I’d worn it during more than one kill. But I draped it over his body anyway, hoping that he wouldn’t turn it over to police. I didn’t think he would, but people could be unpredictable.

There wasn’t any visible blood on it, at least.

Hopefully, he’d take it as a gift from a concerned passerby, not at all connecting it to the soon-to-be-on-the-news disappearance of one of the university’s tenured professors.

He murmured something unintelligible, barely audible, but still didn’t wake.

I crouched there another moment, unsure of myself in a way I hadn’t been in years. My fingers hovered near his freckled cheek, but didn’t touch. I couldn’t touch such a perfect being. I wasn’t worthy of that.

Then, finally, I stood.

I didn’t leave right away. I stood a little ways off, in the dark, watching the way he breathed—slow and shallow, a bit uneven.

It was bothering me that I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was just something about him that made me think we were fated to meet. He wasn’t prey, I was entirely sure of that now after seeing him up close, but what part did he play?

I needed to think.