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A h, nothing like a little torture to brighten your day—well, night. With a small grin, Jayden brought his foot down on Richard Prayton’s knee. His smile only widened as the man’s inner screams reverberated in his head.

The audible snap when his heel came down echoed through the wide abandoned space of the warehouse. Yet only he had heard it—the spells ensured that. Not that there was anyone else around.

Call him crazy, but there was just something so satisfying about the sound of bones breaking. Crazy, hah, that didn’t even begin to describe him.

Jayden slowly tilted his head, examining the piece of shit sitting in front of him.

Richard wasn’t doing well. The vampire’s medium-length mousy-brown hair was sticking up everywhere, clumped together with dry blood. His beige dress slacks and white dress shirt were both shredded. Blood had seeped through and stained the light fabrics. Richard’s shoes and socks were missing, as Jayden had removed them earlier—so many fun nerve endings in the feet.

The dull green eyes staring up at him were so normal. As Jayden peered into them, he searched for something, anything that would hint at the evil inside. There was nothing, absolutely fucking nothing. Not even a single clue to the horrible things the man had done.

But shouldn’t there be? Shouldn’t they show at least a warning of some kind? Weren’t eyes supposed to be the window to your soul, or some bullshit like that?

Jayden’s eyes, for instance, showed everyone exactly what he was—a monster. His empty black eyes told the whole world how fucked up he was.

They hadn’t always been that way. No, back when he was ‘young’, Jayden’s eyes had been cornflower blue.

Yeah, the color hadn’t lasted long. Now at the ripe old age of fifteen, they were like two bottomless pits. One day his iris’ had just been swallowed up—indistinguishable from the black surrounding them. Empty, dead, and soulless were all great ways to describe them.

Considering his homicidal tendencies, he personally thought they fit. They were just proof of what he had done. And he didn’t have a single regret. In fact, Jayden saw nothing wrong with what he was doing, or with what he had already done.

Others would—they’d probably even call him evil. But he’d seen evil up close, and Jayden didn’t feel the word fit him. So, monster, yes—evil, no.

He would never deny what he was. Jayden had embraced his monster years ago. He had accepted it. So, if his eyes reflected that, what did he care?

But wouldn’t it only be fair that the eyes of others would do the same? Of course, from what he had experienced so far, nothing in life was fair—oh well.

Jayden often wondered what his life would be like if everything hadn’t gone to shit. You know, if he’d actually had a loving family, instead of the conniving, murderous child-sellers who’d brought him into this world.

Jayden snickered—probably wouldn’t be torturing and murdering people, that’s for sure.

Hobbies aside—parents aside—Jayden had been born a freak. There were too many voices in his head for him to ever be normal. It was like a radio with no off button. Vampire or not, at his age, he shouldn’t be hearing the thoughts of those around him—especially when he wasn't even trying. Jayden sure as hell shouldn’t be able to control someone from a distance.

Not that normal vampires didn’t have those abilities. They just needed to be actually touching the person for it to work—unless they were super old, which last time Jayden checked, he wasn’t.

There were a few other things that made him a bit abnormal. For instance, his ability to pull memories inside himself and make them his own. Doing so erased them permanently from the other person’s mind.

Not that he couldn’t ‘erase’ someone’s mind the way normal vampires did. Though, honestly, Jayden didn’t understand why they called it ‘erasing’. Really, all they did was veil the memories, hiding them away. They were still there, just harder to find.

So yeah, Jayden was pretty fucking ‘special’—yippee for him.

According to the library books he read—well, from what Jayden had been able to understand—much of what he could do shouldn’t be possible. Or was it just extremely rare? Hell if Jayden knew. He was sure he’d missed a lot during his sad attempts at reading. His poor literacy skills were as a result of Jayden having to teach himself.

His reading abilities were a bit pathetic. But hey, at least they weren’t as bad as his writing skills—his nonexistent writing skills.

An illiterate monster—gee, who would have thunk it.

His thoughts shifted from his lack of education, back to the other monster in the room.

Richard was also a monster. Not illiterate, but still definitely a monster. A different kind, though—one who pretended he was a good person. Someone who had managed to continue his daily life without anyone ever finding out about the horrible things he’d done.

As no one even knew a crime had been committed, it had been easy for him to hide. No bodies, no crime. His victims were from the streets, and no one cared about them—hell, no one even knew they existed. The world was too selfish to notice them. So the man had gotten away with everything—until now, that is.

Now, Jayden knew. He knew everything Richard Prayton had done—he had heard everything, and had seen all the memories. They’d flashed in his mind the minute Jayden crossed the man’s path, standing out from all the other thoughts around him.

Violent thoughts weren’t easily ignored. Dripping in brutality, they were stronger and farther reaching. They always found ways to burrow in and push through the rest, screaming for his attention. Some had such strength that when they touched him, his whole body ached .

Richard’s thoughts had been obnoxiously loud. The man had hurt and killed a lot of people—children, actually.

Jayden’s grip tightened on the knife he was holding. Individuals who hurt children were always on his kill list. The fact he made them just as helpless as their victims, was, he supposed, some sort of karma.

Because Richard was awake, and perfectly aware of what was going on around him. He was not tied down, so the man constantly struggled, trying to move a body that refused to listen. Jayden had taken complete control the minute he’d gotten to ‘know’ Richard. He found the action as easy as breathing.

That the man had no way of protecting himself—no way of even voicing his pain—didn’t bother him. He cared nothing for him.

Of course, that could’ve been because Jayden was a bit lacking in the emotions department. To be honest, he was a tad angry, just a little hateful, and somewhat vindictive. Though, most of the time, he just felt empty.

Oh, but he did have a ‘killer’ sense of humor. Ha…killer.

Jayden supposed there were also a few emotions that snuck up on him every now and then. For instance, he may have felt some pleasure in the pain he was inflicting on Richard.

The thought had his lip curling in disgust. ‘Pleasure’ was the wrong word—too associated with sex. And none of what he felt was sexual. Jayden wouldn’t call it happiness though. Maybe fleeting joy?

With a cold smile, he slid the edge of the blade along the inside of Richard’s leg. Ripping through fabric, his knife sliced cleanly into the skin underneath.

Jayden’s gaze followed the drops of blood as they trailed down and dripped onto the cracked concrete floor. He inhaled deeply, his fangs throbbing at the thickening smell of copper in the air.

Jayden doubled over with a hiss as his hunger assailed him—his stomach cramping from need. That on top of his hunger for solid food made it agonizing. He would need to satisfy one or the other soon.

His need for blood aside, he wouldn’t take any from this man. Just the thought of it had him gagging. Breathing through the pain, Jayden straightened and continued with his task.

With each cut, Richard’s inner screams of terror increased. However, a noise in the distance stilled his knife. Cocking his head, he closed his eyes and listened.

All Jayden should’ve heard were the typical sounds of an abandoned warehouse—the scattering of rodents, the buzzing of flies, and the random creaking of old rusty metal shifting under its own weight. But something was there that didn’t belong. The clicking of shoes on concrete—oh joy, someone was here.