Page 35 of Nightshades

Taking a massive, deep breath, I let the fear of children and parents seep into my lungs. There’s so much. I’m drowning in terror, and it feels so fucking good.

“It doesn’t matter what I want from you. It’s what I need from you. And you have the attention of someone who is mine. I can’t have that,” I growl, taking a step forward to entice her violence.

When I was human, not many had enough hate within themselves to pull the trigger.

“Do it,” I beg her. “Fucking do it and then? It’s my turn.” My voice deepens, the monsters inside me trying to break free.

“La-lala-la-la-laa.”

“What the hell was that?” she shouts, waving the gun at me. “Stop messing with my head.”

“I can’t help it. Heads are my favorite place to be.” I take another step, and Fireopal pulls the trigger. The loud crack of the bullet leaving the chamber has the black veins all over my body rippling in pleasure as if I’ve been stroked.

The first bullet rips into my chest, piercing my heart. I’m impressed with her aim. Black blood oozes from the wound, sliding down the front of my chest. Fireopal gasps in shock, firing the gun again.

Again.

Again.

I take the bullets in my chest, the piercing, stinging pain ripping my flesh has my cock leaking, forming a wet spot on my jeans.

One last bullet lands between my eyes, my head jerking back from the force.

“Why won’t you die?” I’m able to hear whispered from her small, shaking frame.

I roll my head over my shoulders, the wounds healing as I pull the bullets from my chest and head, guiding them to my mouth. The gunpowder is still warm in my stomach while the gun smoke drifts in my lungs. I blow the gun smoke out through my nose, the bullets clinking between my teeth.

“What the fuck are you?” She drops the gun onto the sidewalk just as I hear sirens in the distance.

The cops are on their way.

“I’m your worst fucking nightmare, Fireopal.” Inhaling as deeply as I can, I lean back and launch a bullet from my mouth.

The ammo rips through her thigh, blood shooting from the wound and painting the pavement. I remember the time when I’d want to drink her until her body would be withered to nothing, but her blood smells rotten—something I couldn’t dare possibly stomach.

No one’s blood compares to my mate’s.

“You’re insane.” Fireopal grabs her thigh and runs across the street to the house she has been eyeing since I confronted her.

I chew the metal projectiles and swallow. “You have no fucking clue,” I growl.

She runs the best she can, crossing the road with a limp as she does her best to keep herself from bleeding out.

“I can’t wait to see what you fear. I can almost tasttte it,” the nightmare grips hold of my words again, a slight hiss escaping.

I cross my arms in boredom as I wait for her to get to the house she thinks she will find solitude in. A car skids to a stop to avoid hitting her, and Fireopal slaps her bloody hands on the hood, staring at the driver in panic.

“Help me! Please, help me! He’s coming after me. He’s trying to kill me. Call for help! What are you doing? Why are you just staring at me!” she screams, slamming her palms on the hood of the car so hard, the metal dents.

The driver rolls down the window, stretching his arm outside. “What the fuck are you doing? Get out of the road!”

Fireopal’s blood oozes from her wound in thick rivulets over her fingers and drips onto her shoe. She whimpers, pushing herself off the red sedan, hobbling to the other side of the road at last.

Frantic, she bangs on the door, turning to see if I’ve followed her.

I haven’t.

I’m having too much fun watching her panic.