Page 8 of Lovesick

He saw to that when he turned upin Italy. When he ripped open a live woman, removed a bone from her throat with his teeth. Tore the beating organ from her chest with his bare hands. Fucked me in a baptismal pool covered in blood, and thenfedme a piece of her heart.

He said he’d keep me safe.

That this is the only way.

He read the rites.

‘Do you willingly give The Obsidian your blood, your body, your womb?’

Even if I didn’t understand them, I took them as a vow.

‘I do.’

I swallow, my mouth so dry, my throat aching from his harsh grip only moments ago, “Are you going to make me do those things again?” It comes out soft, shy, something I never was before, when we first met.

I don’t need to specify what I mean, he knows all of the things I’m thinking about in this moment, because we did them together.

The ceremony.

Ritual.

Blood and bone and death.

Rebirth.

“No,” he breathes, lowering his mouth back to mine, brushing my lips with a whispered kiss. “No, Nellie. No, I’m not.”

Billy Blackwell has always been the most beautiful liar.

Chapter 3

BILLY

It’s easy to spill lies when my mouth is pressed to her pretty red lips, a natural tint to them like she’s spent her life kissing crimson roses.

The things that are to come are far worse than what we’ve already been through. And I don’t think Milus is going to take it easy on her.

Because of me.

My insubordination.

All of the girls I’ve killed.

Good girls really, but none of them a replacement for my Little Lamb.

No one could ever come close.

And as I watch her appear in the doorway between the sitting room and bedroom, me in the former, relaxed back in an armchair turned to face the bedroom door in wait. Whiskey glass in hand, fingers curled overtop as the ice bleeds into the liquor, crystal base of it resting on my slack covered thigh.

And her, a tight, pale pink, floor length, silk gown moulded to her small curves. Immaculately pulled across her splayed hips, thin spaghetti straps over her shoulders the only thing holding it up. Long dark hair sitting like curled ribbons over her shoulders, revealing what I know to be a provocatively low scoop in the back. I know I was right.

Nellie bites the inside of her lower lip as I stare at her, my eyes roving from the circle of pink fabric touching the floor, hiding her feet, up the sculpting of her thighs, over the dip of her belly, lingering on the rapid rise and fall of her chest. To the puckering of her nipples, no bra beneath the delicate material to keep them hidden from my view. And then, right there, the centrepiece of it all, is my locket. The little gold heart pendant hanging low between her breasts.

It makes my teeth ache just looking at her. Knowing that my blood is in that piece of jewellery, some of it inside of her too. My hand itches with the slice through my palm, across the inside of my fingers, a wound that matches hers. My tongue, too, throbs a little, thinking of that tiny torn piece of me inside of her belly, the piece of me she ripped away with her teeth and ingested.

Fuck,it only makes me want her more.

Love her more.