Page 32 of These Hallowed Bones (Bloody Desires #3)

Ezra

I surveyed the studio once more, appreciating how each element contributed to the tableau I'd created for Micah's first independent project.

The polished concrete floor gleamed under specialized lighting.

Plastic sheeting covered strategic areas, arranged to contain the mess while preserving aesthetic integrity.

My tools—cleaned, sharpened, and organized by purpose—awaited.

And in the center of it all, Daniel Harlow lay secured to the reinforced medical table, consciousness slowly returning as the sedatives wore off.

I checked my watch. Micah would arrive with Reverend Morris in about twenty minutes, assuming he followed the schedule we'd established. My boy valued punctuality, another quality I'd carefully cultivated in him.

My fingertips traced the edge of the tray holding specialized cutting implements.

Each represented a different possibility for Micah's artistic expression.

Would he choose the delicate paring knife for precision work?

The larger blade for bold strokes? His selection would reveal so much about his development.

Daniel's eyes fluttered open and darted around the room.

"Welcome back," I said, moving into his field of vision. "Your timing is impeccable."

He struggled against his restraints. His mouth worked soundlessly behind the gag, eyes wide with animal panic.

"Don't exert yourself," I advised, checking the restraints at his wrists. "You're merely early for your appointment with my protégé."

His eyes widened.

"You were partially correct," I told him. "Micah does harbor darkness within him. But rather than representing danger, it makes him uniquely qualified for our work together."

I checked my phone. No messages from Micah, which suggested everything proceeded according to plan.

He would arrive with Reverend Morris, expecting to begin his transformation of the man who had tormented his adolescence.

Instead, he would find I'd prepared a second subject, proof of my protection, my devotion to nurturing his potential.

I imagined his arrival, pictured his expression when discovering my gift. My cock hardened at the thought of his gratitude, the perfect offering to cement his devotion. Perhaps tonight he would kneel before me, his mouth seeking comfort at my chest as he processed the significance of my protection.

Footsteps on the stairs interrupted my thoughts. Firm, steady steps, unlike the hesitant approach of previous weeks. My boy was growing into his power beautifully.

I positioned myself beside Daniel, wanting to observe Micah's reaction fully when he entered. The door opened, and he appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the hallway light.

"Daddy," he greeted me, voice warm with affection despite his formal posture.

The soft glow of his moth toy illuminated his face from below, clutched against his chest with his maimed hand.

The stump of his amputated finger pressed protectively against the plush creature's wing. "I've brought our guest."

He stepped aside, revealing what he pulled behind him: a collapsible wheelchair occupied by Reverend Morris.

The clergyman sat slumped in the chair, head lolling to one side, clearly heavily sedated.

A thin line of drool traced from the corner of his mouth down his chin.

Where his eyes had been, only hollow, bandaged sockets remained.

"I see you've started without me," I observed, trying not to panic. Why had he done that? Did he think I didn’t want him here? Had I been too harsh? Too demanding?

Micah wheeled Reverend Morris into the studio, carefully navigating the steps to position him near the worktable. "I thought it would please you," Micah said, removing his jacket. "I wanted to take initiative, to show you what I’ve learned."

He hung his jacket carefully on the hook by the door, then rolled up his sleeves. The movements displayed the lean muscle definition of his forearms, the beautiful contrast of his pale skin against the dark fabric.

"I wanted everything prepared perfectly for tonight," he continued, moving toward me for a greeting kiss. His lips brushed mine, warm and slightly eager.

When he stepped back, he finally noticed Daniel secured to the table. His eyes widened, body freezing mid-motion. The moth's glow intensified against his chest, reflecting his sudden spike of emotion. "Who is this?"

"A gift," I replied, watching his reaction carefully. "Someone who presented a potential threat to our work."

Micah approached the table slowly, studying Daniel. "The photographer from the exhibition," he said quietly. "The one who kept studying your paintings."

"Daniel Harlow," I confirmed. "Photography professor. He's been investigating the materials used in my work."

Micah's eyes returned to mine, questioning. "And?"

"And he's been following you," I said, my voice dropping to a growl.

"Documenting your movements, researching your background, obtaining sealed medical records.

" I moved behind Micah, hands settling on his shoulders, fingers digging slightly into the muscle.

"He believes you pose a threat to me. He came to my office to warn me about you. "

I anticipated gratitude, submission, perhaps even arousal at my protective gesture. Instead, Micah stiffened under my touch.

"When did he approach you?" he asked, voice suddenly cooler.

"This afternoon."

He turned to face me, shrugging off my hands. "And you didn't immediately tell me?"

"I wanted to surprise you."

"You should have told me immediately!" The moth's glow pulsed brighter against his chest. "These decisions affect both of us now."

My chest constricted. I couldn't breathe. I stepped back, blinking rapidly as the floor seemed to tilt beneath me. This wasn't the grateful submission I had anticipated. This was something new, something I hadn't planned or cultivated.

"I was protecting you," I said, voice hardening slightly.

"I understand that," Micah replied, bringing his sleeve to his mouth for a moment before catching himself and lowering his hand. The gesture betrayed his agitation. "But we're supposed to be partners now. You made that clear when you gave me my first independent project."

He gestured toward Daniel. "What if he wasn't working alone? What if someone notices his disappearance and connects it to us? These are variables I should have been informed about immediately."

The challenge hung between us, electric and unexpected. My instinct urged me to reassert dominance, to remind him of his place. But something about his stance made me pause. Had he overstepped? Not yet. The discourse had remained respectful, despite his agitation.

I took in the tension around his eyes, in his shoulders, the slight trembling in his hands. My boy was afraid I’d reject him for speaking out of turn. But that wasn’t what was happening here. There had been no disrespect, no breach of protocol except for the one I had made.

"You're right," I conceded, the words feeling strange on my tongue. "I should have consulted you. I apologize for the undue anxiety. How can I make it right?”

His shoulders relaxed. He stepped forward and planted a gentle kiss on my cheek. “You just did. But if you insist on making it up to me later…” He ran his fingertips lightly over my nipples. “I’d never stop you.”

I caught his hands and brought them to my lips, kissing his wrists one at a time. “Of course, sweet boy. I’m here to take care of you. I’ll maintain better contact with you in the future if plans change.”

Micah sighed and closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He approached the table, examining the photographer. "What has he discovered about the materials?"

"He recognized bone ash components," I explained, moving to stand beside Micah. "Nothing conclusive, but his curiosity was becoming problematic."

Micah nodded, fingers hovering just above Daniel's terrified face without touching. "His bone structure is interesting. Strong zygomatic arches, pronounced supraorbital ridge. Thank you, Daddy. I’ll put him to good use."

I was surprised at the pride that blossomed in my chest. My boy was developing opinions, boundaries, expectations. Not rebellion exactly, but evolution beyond my careful design.

"I thought we'd work with him together," I suggested. "After you complete your planned project with Reverend Morris."

Micah glanced toward the wheelchair, where the clergyman remained slumped.

"I have extensive plans for him beyond what I've already done.

" He carefully placed his moth on the shelf space I had cleared for him and retrieved a small Styrofoam cooler from the pocket in the back of the wheelchair.

Opening it revealed two glass containers carefully packed in ice.

Inside each floated a human eye, preserved in a clear solution.

"I harvested these," Micah explained, pride evident in his voice.

“How did the paralytic I gave you work?”

“Beautifully,” he beamed.

"Very impressive. And the reverend remained conscious during the procedure?"

"Completely aware," Micah confirmed, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. His thumb unconsciously stroked the stump of his amputated finger against the moth's velvet wing. "I wanted him to experience the transformation fully, as you taught me."

“You’ve done an excellent job of extracting your chosen materials.”

His smile was practically radiant. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He placed the containers carefully on the worktable, arranging them precisely.

"I've designed a triptych incorporating his eyes as central elements.

They'll be embedded in a mixed-media piece exploring religious hypocrisy and spiritual blindness.

" He moved to the slumped figure in the wheelchair, checking the reverend’s pulse.

"The sedative is wearing off according to schedule.

He'll be fully conscious but still immobilized in about fifteen minutes. "