Page 14 of His to Ruin

“Sam, are you okay?” I ask him, leaning a hand against his back and rubbing gently.

“Yeah,” he says through clenched teeth. “It just felt like something punched me in the balls.”

I watch as shadows slink down his legs before coming up to mine and rubbing against my feet. Their movement reminds me of a black cat. But that’s ridiculous, shadows can’t move or punch anything. My eyes are playing tricks on me again. With a deep breath, Sam finally stands up, pushing back the hairs that have come loose in an attempt to regain his composure.

“You okay?” I ask him as he adjusts his sweater and glasses.

“Yes, of course. But I’m worried about you, Christian. Last night, when I called you, you said?—”

He’s interrupted yet again as a book comes soaring across the store. The heavy hardcover flies through the air before hitting him square in the face. Blood immediately starts gushing from between his fingers as he cradles his face. I turn swiftly, looking for whoever threw the book but there’s no one there—just smoke and shadows. From the shadows, a voice seems to slither. I glance behind me but Sam is too busy moaning in pain and grasping his bleeding face to hear.

“No one touches what belongs to me.”

A shiver caresses my skin as the voice speaks again. I can feel the sensation of someone watching me, just like back at my apartment.

“What the hell is going on here?” Sam asks between choked sobs. His voice snaps me out of my trance. His cream sweater is covered in splatters of red blood.

“Sam, are you okay?” I ask again as I go to him, placing my hand on his shoulder and trying to look at his injured face.

“Christian, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m out of here. I care about you, but I just can’t deal with this.” When he finally meets my gaze his face is full of hurt.

Without a glance behind him, he runs from the store. Where he stood is a pile of shattered glass—what was his glasses are smashed and scattered across the weathered wood flooring. Deep red droplets are splattered across the shards. Staring down at the evidence of violence I swear I can hear the same whispering voice emanating from the shadows.

“You’re mine, Little Nightmare.”

10

KALLUM

Christian still smells like me.

Even with the daylight stretching its filthy hands over everything, trying to scrub me away, I could feel myself on him. Inside him. His lips were still swollen from my kisses; his body still ached where I held him too tight. He might not remember all of it, not yet, but his soul did.

And then that four-eyed fucker Sam had to go and ruin it.

I knew he’d come sniffing around. I made sure Christian’s phone was missing, tucked away where he wouldn’t think to look. No calls. No texts. No lifeline. But of course, the persistent little shit had to show up in person, acting like he had any right to worry—any right to touch what’s mine.

I crouch in the shadows just outside the bookstore, watching as Sam stumbles out, shaking his head and muttering to himself. His bloodied sweater looks pathetic, and I smirk at the memory of his pained little whimpers. Not so brave now, are you, Sammy?

I should break him. Snap his pretty little fingers so he never touches Christian again. Rip his tongue out for every word he’sever spoken to my human. But the sun is too high, and I’ve already pushed too hard. Patience.

That doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun.

I follow. Silent. Watching. Close enough to him to hear the tremble in his breath. I let my shadow slither ahead of me, stretching long and swallowing the space around him as he fumbles for his keys. His hands shake as he unlocks his car, muttering under his breath, something about Christian, about me. Well not me exactly, but something about spirits or whatever. It’s a creepy little old bookstore. Of course there are things lurking around every corner.

But that’s semantics. Let him fear me.

He climbs into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. Like that will stop me. Too bad for him that he chose to park in the shade today. I press a clawed hand to the back windshield, just lightly enough that the glass doesn’t shatter. Sam doesn’t see me yet; he’s too busy cursing as blood still drips between his fingers.

Then I let him see me.

My true form. The monster.

The shadows coil around me like living things, eyes burning red, my mouth stretching into something wide and wrong. My horns cast long, jagged silhouettes across the dashboard. The air freezes. The moment his gaze lifts to the mirror…

He screams.

A strangled, desperate, horrified sound. The kind of scream that doesn’t come from the throat, but from the soul. And it would make my dick hard, if not for the fact that the only thing making my dick hard lately was a little blonde guy with a delicious cock. I wonder for a moment if Christian would let me suck him off again, would he like my forked tongue slidingdown his length? He loved when it ate his ass last night. Moaned so perfectly for me.