Page 9 of Inhuman Natures #1

Shaun

Shaun was an awful person. He’d known that for a while, but it was confirmed from the moment he started following Rake and DJ’s cab as it snaked through the city.

It’d been bad enough the other night when he’d sniffed out their flat like an overzealous bloodhound.

But this was calculated. Callous. Cruel.

Shaun argued silently with himself, giving excuse after excuse as to why he didn’t run home instead.

The first reason—one he could convince himself of—was that any moment away from Lawrence was a moment well spent.

The second—this one being a clear example of his utter paranoia and deteriorating mental state—was that Lawrence and the other vampires at the club posed a danger to the couple, and that by following them home, Shaun was protecting them.

Shaun knew he was full of shit. The only reason he’d followed Rake and DJ was because he wanted to.

Shaun watched as Rake opened the door to the building whilst DJ danced on the step to the beat of a tune only he could hear. DJ’s zest for life was so infectious that Shaun found himself smiling even as he lurked alone in the darkness .

The two of them had been magnificent that night. Shaun couldn’t imagine a couple more in sync. Rake knew exactly how far to push DJ, and DJ’s responses were mesmerising in their honesty.

Shaun thought it might make him jealous, the way he sometimes got that pang in his chest when he saw embracing couples leaving bars and clubs.

He’d imagined pulling the nameless couples apart and taking the place of whichever person he considered less desirable, less deserving of lust and affection, inserting himself between them and ousting the other to take what he wrongly believed he had earned instead.

But watching Rake and DJ only made him yearn to be a part of it.

A part of them .

Shaun didn’t want to see the couple torn apart like the others he’d imagined. No, Shaun wanted to crush them together, to push them closer than ever. He wanted to be there right along with them, between them and beside them and having them surround him.

The ache Shaun felt for the couple was worse than any manic hunger pang or bloodlust. It was stronger than the intense depression he’d gone through when Lawrence took everything and everyone from him.

Deeper than the hatred that burned inside of Shaun for his creator, or that twisted part of him that was unwillingly devoted to the monster who’d stolen his life and made it his own.

But Rake and DJ were an unobtainable dream. Lawrence’s hooks were embedded deep, and he had no intention of letting Shaun go.

It didn’t matter that Rake’s dark eyes had met Shaun’s across the club floor that night, intense and deliberate, a silent invitation Shaun couldn’t accept.

It didn’t matter that DJ’s hand had enveloped Shaun’s own and, just for a moment, he’d thought DJ might hold on forever.

And it especially didn’t matter that Shaun wanted the two of them more than he’d ever wanted anything before.

Shaun moved closer to the flat, taking a cursory look around.

Gripping the stonework, he climbed up to the second floor, grabbing onto a convenient iron bracket.

He guessed it was designed to hold a hanging basket, but it also worked well as a handhold for twink vampires to dangle from whilst peeking through windows.

Like. A. Creep.

Shaun was being driven by his instincts, reduced to a primitive, inhuman desire to covet what he couldn’t have.

As an only child, he’d been given all he demanded from a young age.

He’d been a needy kid, and it hadn’t been until years later that Shaun had become used to the idea that you couldn’t always get what you wanted.

But, oh , how he found himself wanting something now.

DJ lay curled up on the sofa in the open-plan kitchen and living room.

The TV was on, but DJ’s eyes kept drooping shut.

He snuggled further under the blanket Rake had tucked around him before going to the kitchen.

The kettle began to boil, and teaspoons clattered on the countertop as Rake fetched what he needed.

Shaun shifted on the sill, spying Rake’s back as he reached up to a high shelf and pulled down a packet of biscuits.

Rake took his time to lay the biscuits out in a precise pattern on a small plate which matched the mug he made the tea in.

It appeared to be a ritual of sorts, Rake moving seamlessly through the steps.

Shaun imagined Rake did this every time they got home from the club.

Rake clearly doted on DJ, and who wouldn’t? DJ was everything someone like Shaun wanted to be: fearless in his expressions and revelling in his submission.

Rake brought the steaming mug and biscuits over to DJ, placing them on the coffee table before settling himself on the sofa. DJ made the most of his boyfriend’s presence, leaning close up against him as he cradled the mug in his hands.

It was so simple, so domestic, so perfect.

And so out of reach.

Shaun pushed off the wall and dropped to the ground on silent feet. Luckily, the couple lived on a short, quiet road. It made it easy to avoid prying eyes as he strolled back to Lawrence’s.

The longer Shaun took, the more trouble he’d be in, but he didn’t mind. The sun would be up soon and, this time, Shaun had no desire to meet it. He wanted to hold that last image of Rake and DJ in his head for as long as possible.

He took the collar off the second he got in the door, hanging it on the hook as usual. He’d left it looser that night than how Lawrence would fasten it, but it wasn’t until his throat was bare that he felt the lack of constriction.

“Where have you been?” Lawrence’s question wasn’t surprising.

What did surprise Shaun, however, was his own response. “I went hunting in the park,” he said. A bare-faced lie.

Lawrence appeared on the stairs. “If you were hunting, then why did you not bring me back any food?”

Shaun still reeled from his successful lie, yet managed to scrounge up another. “I didn’t find anyone to your taste.”

Lawrence harrumphed, but seemed to accept the excuse. “You’re still late. I don’t recall permitting you to leave the house at all. Belt, cane or whip?”

Shaun followed Lawrence as he moved into the living room. “Whatever you think I deserve, Master,” he replied with only the slightest hint of reluctance. It was the tightrope he balanced on every time he spoke with Lawrence.

Too much unwillingness, and Lawrence would punish him harder for it. Too much enthusiasm, and Lawrence would double down on the pain to make sure his message sunk in.

“We haven’t had the cane out for a while, have we, pet?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Shaun replied anyway.

“No, Master.” It had been, perhaps, a week.

Not long at all in the lives of immortal beings, and especially not when Shaun still felt the phantom sting of the wood against his feet as he walked.

Even with his vampiric healing, it’d been hard to stand for the rest of that night.

So, naturally, Lawrence had forbidden him from sitting or lying down until the daytime hours.

“Trousers down. Bend over the back of the sofa,” Lawrence commanded before practically prancing back out of the room.

Shaun slid his jeans down, baring himself. His cock had been hard all evening watching Rake and DJ, but now it hung flaccid and untouched. He thought about what was happening to him now, and what Rake had done with DJ at the club. The two scenes couldn’t have been more different.

Lawrence only wanted to hurt Shaun .

Rake wanted DJ to fly.

“Pet, what did I tell you to do?”

Shaun jumped at Lawrence’s voice. He must have sprinted back from the bedroom. “Bend over the sofa, Master,” Shaun supplied.

“Might I ask why you didn’t follow my instruction?” Lawrence’s tone held a deceptive calm.

“I have no excuse.”

Lawrence loomed over him, catching Shaun’s face between his fingers and squeezing. “Bend over the sofa,” he said, voice layered with compulsion.

Shaun resisted. For a moment, he actually resisted. He hadn’t known it was possible until that very moment. Lawrence didn’t often compel him anymore; Shaun followed every command, regardless.

Lawrence’s eyes widened, flashing with that dangerous tint that signalled the predator rising. But Shaun turned and draped himself over the back of the sofa. If he pretended well enough, he might get away with it.

“You’re shaking, pet,” Lawrence observed, a hand trailing down Shaun’s back as he bent. “It’s not because you’re cold.”

Shaun’s eyes shuttered. “It’s the anticipation, Master.” He didn’t need to breathe, but he inhaled anyway. In through his nose, out through his mouth. The sound of the cane swishing through the air had him tensing up, despite knowing better.

He wasn’t able to stifle his yelp as the wood connected with the backs of his thighs. It set his skin alight in a way that not much else did, the cane so thin that it slashed like a knife.

Lawrence repeated the movement. Thwack . Thwack . Thwack . He rained down blows on each of Shaun’s naked thighs, then moved upwards to his backside.

Lawrence laid down stripe after stripe in horizontal lines.

It burned—a deep physical burn that made Shaun feel like his skin had been exposed to the sun.

It took significantly more hits to mark a vampire than it did a human.

He never bothered counting how many Lawrence doled out.

He’d tried once, in the early days, and had lost focus somewhere around the thirty mark.

There was a reprieve from the onslaught when Lawrence stepped back. Shaun stretched his fingers out for a few seconds. His hands had been pressed into fists to stop his talons from ruining the upholstery.

The first time he’d damaged the sofa, Lawrence had gleefully ripped each of his nails out with pliers. Shaun had, of course, never so much as dirtied the furniture since.

“There, pet. You’re all warmed up. Your punishment can begin.”

Shaun usually began to cry at this point. Only the knowledge that he had resisted Lawrence’s compulsion kept the tears at bay. He didn’t want to give Lawrence the satisfaction of breaking too soon.

The next blows were harder, each one cutting clean into Shaun’s skin. Blood dribbled down his legs. Lawrence would be angry if he stained the wooden floor, no matter whose fault the spilled blood was.

Shaun’s fangs cut into his lips over and over again as his body fought to heal itself. This was what Lawrence craved with Shaun; the ability to hurt him repeatedly and without limits .

A self-repairing sex doll that lasted forever.

Shaun cried out when Lawrence caught him right at the crease where his arse met his leg. It was only his enhanced senses that allowed him to hear the huff of amusement that Lawrence let out as he found that spot twice more, eliciting the same cries from Shaun each time.

The cane fell to the floor. Shaun sensed Lawrence crouching behind him, so kept still. But when Lawrence raked his talons down Shaun’s arse cheeks and over every cut he’d scored into his skin, he jerked forward with a scream.

“Hush, pet.” Lawrence gave a self-satisfied chuckle. “I could play noughts and crosses on your skin when it looks like this.” Lawrence lapped at his fingers, making wet popping sounds as he sucked them clean of Shaun’s blood.

Shaun wasn’t able to stop a wet sob from escaping at the utter humiliation of it all.

“What do you say, pet?”

“Thank you, Master,” Shaun whispered through his tears.