Page 21 of Unholy Vows

Malachai

I liked the way Layla peeled her fruit.

Gentle. Focused. Precise.

The knife was small, but her movements were surgical. She spun the apple in her palm, the skin spiraling into a perfect ribbon that coiled like red silk on the counter.

Layla still hadn’t found the camera above her entryway, and I watched with rapt fascination as the blade shifted between her fingers.

Her hair was twisted into a lazy bun, and a few strands fell haphazardly around her face. The kitchen light was off, and she worked under the pale flicker of her refrigerator door.

This was her ritual.

Every night before bed, she’d peel herself an apple, eat half, and then return the rest to her fridge, where it would stay until she ultimately threw it out in the morning.

Why she didn’t just have dehydrated apples was beyond me. It would be cheaper and less wasteful.

But then I wouldn’t get to be a voyeur of her nightly ritual, and it was rapidly becoming my favorite pastime.

Layla bit into her apple, her tongue darting out to catch the juice before it slid down her chin. I wanted to replace her tongue with my own. I imagined lapping up the sweet liquid before sinking my teeth into her bottom lip.

My cock swelled in agreement, and I groaned at the effort it took to force it down.

Layla turned around, giving me her back. I watched as she wrapped her half-eaten apple in a paper towel before returning it to the fridge.

The light disappeared, and a wicked smile tugged up my lips.

It was almost time.

After our meet-cute at the cemetery, I’d given Layla space to process what she’d seen. After all, it was the first time she had truly met me.

The real me .

And I understood there was a lot to digest. But the lone camera that remained undiscovered in her apartment wasn’t enough anymore.

The predator inside me hungered for her, and he was done waiting.

My Little Sinner had tried her best to keep me out. The chair barricading the front door was a nice touch, yet her efforts were in vain. With all her careful planning, Layla had overlooked one tiny detail.

The fire escape.

Again.

Once she was comfortable with me using the spare key I had swiped on my first visit, I’d have to remedy the vulnerabilities in her defenses.

We couldn’t have other monsters lurking in the darkness getting the wrong idea. Layla was mine to prey on, and I’d slaughter anyone who dared to challenge my claim.

The cool metal of the fire escape chilled my palms as I climbed, but I hardly felt it. Anticipation burned hot within my chest, leaving me unaffected by the cold.

When I reached her window, I waited a moment to make sure I couldn’t hear her moving around inside.

Only silence greeted me.

I gripped the base of the window and yanked it up, but it snagged on something, remaining stubbornly in place.

I chuckled to myself when I realized Layla hadn’t overlooked the fire escape after all.

She’d installed a lock, rudimentary as it was, to protect her from the things that went bump in the night.

Then something stirred inside me. It was a feeling I didn’t quite understand. It bubbled to the surface, warming my chest before it moved down my arms, making my fingertips tingle. Pride, maybe? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that Layla was enforcing her boundaries.

How adorable.

How pointless.

I disarmed the lock and pushed the window up before slipping into Layla’s apartment. The floorboards creaked beneath me as I made my way to her bedroom. When I reached her door, I eased it open, careful not to make a sound.

And there she was.

Layla slept on her side, curled into herself as she hugged her pillow tight. This was how she always slept, a creature of habit.

I wondered if she dreamed of me. My hands tangled in her hair as my breath grazed her neck.

She looked perfect, and I had an overwhelming desire to mess her up. To tarnish her with my depravity and filth.

My dick jumped at the thought, but tonight wasn’t about indulging my urges. Tonight was about her. She needed a nudge in the right direction, and I would give it to her.

As I approached her bed, I pulled a syringe from my pocket. The clear liquid shimmered under the moonlight peeking through the curtain.

The sedative I was about to administer was a cocktail of my own creation.

I’d spent years fine-tuning the compound to maximize compliance while reducing any unpleasant side effects.

It was extremely useful when I wanted to remove an obstacle without them wondering why they felt like roadkill the next morning.

No symptoms, no suspicions. Ergo, no nosy do-gooders snooping around my business.

Unable to help myself, my hand darted forward to touch her. My fingers grazed her skin as I brushed aside the dark hair that had fallen into her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, and she murmured something incoherent in her sleep.

“Hush, Little Sinner,” I cooed. “This is for your own good.”

Layla’s habit of shutting me out every time she got spooked was an obstruction I could no longer tolerate. Not when every moment without her only fueled my obsession until I was desperate with the need to possess her completely.

I didn’t hesitate as I slid the needle into her upper arm and pressed my thumb against the plunger. The drug worked quickly, and I watched as her body relaxed, sending her into an even deeper level of unconsciousness.

I waited a while longer, ensuring she was fully under before retrieving the small device from my pocket.

The tracker was tiny.

It was also state-of-the-art technology, and I had already pre-programmed it to sync with my phone.

Wherever my Little Sinner went, I’d know.

I carefully prepared the incision site, sterilizing her skin with an alcohol swab. Then I turned my attention to the scalpel, repeating the process with the blade. She didn’t flinch or make any sound of discomfort as I made a small cut just beneath the skin of her shoulder.

The drug was doing its job.

I slipped the tracker into the opening before sealing it with surgical glue. It was unlikely that Layla would even notice the abrasion. The cut wouldn’t scar, leaving no evidence of what I’d done.

With the task complete, I cleaned up my medical supplies, wiping away any trace of blood and depositing the used materials in a snap-lock baggie I stowed in my pocket.

I took one last look at her sleeping form and clenched my fists to prevent myself from doing something stupid like climbing into bed beside her and fucking her senseless.

Only one task remained before I could leave.

I moved toward her bathroom and rummaged through her drawers. In the second drawer, I found a tube of lipstick. The shade was a deep, sultry red, the kind that begged to be smeared while doing unholy things.

The thought brought a wicked smile to my lips.

Soon.

I twisted the lid off and lifted it to my nose, inhaling the faint, waxy scent. Then I scrawled out a message in sharp, jagged strokes.

When I was done, I stepped back to admire my handiwork. The crimson letters were rough and almost appeared as if they were bleeding.

Fitting.

Before leaving, I returned to Layla’s bedroom and gazed down at her sleeping form. I lowered my lips to her skin and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“See you soon, Little Sinner.”

Sliding back through the window, I pulled it shut behind me and descended the fire escape. The night was crisp, and the fresh air filled my lungs. My blood simmered with satisfaction as I thought about the web I was weaving around my prey.

Layla didn’t know it yet, but it was too late for her to escape me.