Page 36 of These Hallowed Bones (Bloody Desires #3)

"Relax, professor. Your boy’s safe and sound. For now." Julian's chuckle held no warmth. "Such a devoted boy you've trained. So eager to please, so concerned about disappointing his Daddy. It's almost touching."

Trained . As if Micah was some obedient pet rather than a partner who'd evolved beyond my wildest expectations.

Julian's fundamental misunderstanding would be his downfall.

And his use of that sacred word, that title Micah whispered against my skin while nursing at my chest, while offering himself completely to me.

.. Hearing it from Julian's mouth was sacrilege.

"You’ve made a grave mistake."

"Now, now. No need for threats between civilized men. Though I must say, your training methods are quite... thorough. The things he's willing to do for Daddy's approval are fascinating to observe."

Rage boiled behind my eyes, white-hot and consuming.

The thought of Julian's pathetic hands touching what was mine, of this crude imposter putting his fingers on skin I had marked, claimed, worshipped.

.. My vision went red around the edges. How dare this bottom-feeding collector think he could handle my masterpiece?

How dare he touch what he was too stupid to understand?

But beneath the fury, dark satisfaction bloomed.

Julian had no idea what he was observing.

He thought he'd captured some broken boy desperate for validation when he'd actually grabbed a predator who'd learned to hunt from me.

Micah's submission wasn't weakness but choice, his devotion earned through recognition rather than manipulation.

The finger joint he'd sacrificed to our art proved his commitment more eloquently than any words.

This amateur had stolen a masterpiece and was treating it like a trinket.

Worse still, he was wasting Micah's potential, reducing art to a commodity.

The thought made my jaw clench. Micah would offer himself to me willingly, would let me transform him into something transcendent because I understood his true nature.

But Julian? Julian would squander everything beautiful about him, use him like any common victim.

I hope you try to break him , I thought viciously. I hope you push him just far enough to see what lives beneath that beautiful face. And when he shows you his claws, I'll be there to help dispose of what's left.

"What do you want?" The words emerged as a growl.

"A trade. Your techniques, your materials, your contacts.

In exchange for your precious protégé." Julian paused, letting the threat sink in.

"You see, I've been studying your work for quite some time.

Those luminous qualities in your paintings don't come from conventional sources, do they?

And young Micah has learned your methods so well. "

"You have no idea what you're dealing with," I said quietly.

"I know exactly what you are, Ezra. And what you've made him into. And if you want him back, you’ll be at my house on Chesapeake Street in one hour.”

The phone went dead.

I stared at the silent device, mind racing through possibilities and plans. Julian thought he held leverage, but he'd miscalculated completely. Soon he'd discover exactly what kind of mistake he'd made.

But Micah would need support. Cleanup. Someone to help dispose of whatever remained of Julian Frost after my boy finished with him, and comfort once it was done.

I opened a locked drawer in my desk, retrieving items I kept for special occasions. Untraceable tools. Chemical compounds that left no forensic evidence. Contact information for people who asked no questions if the price was right.

Julian Frost had committed two cardinal sins. First, he'd assumed Micah was helpless prey rather than an apex predator. Second, he'd underestimated what I was willing to do to support my boy's inevitable retaliation.

My phone buzzed with a text message:

Your boy says hello. Such pretty eyes when he cries.

The attached image showed Micah restrained to a chair, tear tracks visible on his pale cheeks, terror stark in his dark eyes.

But I knew that face too well to be fooled.

The slight tension around his eyes, the set of his mouth.

More telling was the specific crease at the corner of his left eye, the same one that appeared when he concentrated on particularly delicate incisions.

This was performance. My beautiful, brilliant boy was giving Julian exactly what the amateur expected to see while undoubtedly planning his captor's destruction.

I picked up the moth toy, its velvet wings soft against the stump where Micah's finger had been, the amputation site he'd offered willingly to our art. The sacrifice that sealed our covenant. The moth's glow strengthened against my palm, as if responding to my determination.

Shed those crocodile tears, sweet boy. Make him think you're broken while you consider which of his bones would create the most beautiful pigment. Daddy's coming to help you clean up the mess.

I gathered my materials and headed for the parking lot, Micah's moth secured safely in my arms. My student had become my equal; my prey had become my partner. Julian Frost thought he was hunting, but he'd stumbled into a den of hungry predators.

Time to help my boy clean up whatever mess he was about to make.