Page 7 of Unholy Vows

Malachai

L ayla was pacing her apartment like a caged animal.

A smirk pulled up the corner of my mouth at the thought of my Little Sinner impatient for my cock.

I’d installed more than a dozen cameras inside her home on my last visit, and I watched with rapt fascination as she took three steps, stopped, checked her phone, took three more steps, and then repeated the process over again.

Seeing her fucking unravel was almost as thrilling as the prospect of the hunt.

I watched her until unease shadowed her every move before sending her my location pin.

Her fear would only make the chase more exhilarating.

A low chuckle escaped my chest when Layla jumped and dropped her phone.

My message had arrived.

She took a fortifying breath before she retrieved the device with trembling hands. Her brow furrowed in confusion. I gave her nothing in the text — no information, no explanation, just my location.

“That wasn’t ominous or anything.”

My grin widened. She was right to be afraid.

Crescent Moon Cemetery lay stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Once, it had been a thriving burial ground, marked by grand headstones and family catacombs.

Mourners had walked its paths daily, leaving flowers and whispered prayers.

However, as the city expanded, the cemetery was abandoned, its location too remote for modern convenience.

New cemeteries appeared, closer to the urban sprawl, and Crescent Moon gradually fell into disuse.

Now, the graves stood in forgotten rows, their inscriptions faded, and their caretakers long since gone.

It was the perfect hunting ground.

No traffic, no sirens, no interruptions. Just me, the darkness, and my willing prey.

While Layla found the unknown exciting, I wanted her to hesitate. I needed her to feel that creeping, delicious dread as her rational mind fought against the temptation of stepping into my world.

The promise of what was to come stoked my impatience as I watched Layla’s instincts go to war with her desires. Then her brown eyes shot up, locking onto the hidden camera above the door.

As though she could see it.

See me .

Some expression passed over her face, and then she grabbed her keys, her decision made.

Layla was coming.

Crescent Moon Cemetery was a place I was intimately familiar with. I had chosen it for a reason. It pulsed with an otherworldly aura — a thin veil between life and death, past and present, the real world and a nightmare.

The cemetery would work to twist Layla’s mind, amplifying her fear and distorting her reality. The shadows slithering between the headstones, the wind that seemed to hiss warnings in your ear, and the uneven terrain that would play cruel tricks on her already fragile nerves.

Here, her senses would betray her.

Her eyes would deceive her, showing her things that weren’t there. Her own heartbeat would become the enemy, drowning out the sounds of my approach. Even her sense of smell would work against her.

Decay lingered in the air, and with each ragged inhale, she would be reminded that she could be next.

It was fucking perfect.

I had mapped every inch, and I knew every possible route she could take. I knew where to hide. Where to lure her. I knew exactly where I’d corner her when the time came.

Fuck, I’d even tested the soil when I’d first arrived. I’d found the softest patches of earth where her steps would sink beneath the ground, slowing her down and making escape impossible.

She would run.

She would fight.

And in the end, she would lose.

I ran a calloused palm over the handle of my knife. Layla thought she knew what she was walking into, but she had no idea. She’d read about primal play, fantasized about it in the safety of her mind, but I was going to show her what it meant to be prey.

I wasn’t going to chase her. I was going to hunt her.

And when I caught her, I was going to devour her.

Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours as I waited. I was practically vibrating with pent-up energy when a flicker of light in the distance drew my attention. Headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the iron gates that marked the entrance to the cemetery.

My mouth curved into a wicked grin. She was here.

I picked up my devil mask, the irony not lost on me, and slid it over my face as I melted into the shadows. My heartbeat was slow, steady, controlled.

I was ready.

The second she crossed through those gates, the hunt would begin. There was no turning back.

Layla’s car door creaked open, and she hesitated before stepping out and scanning her surroundings.

Her unease rolled off her in waves, and I inhaled deeply, savoring her discomfort.

My focus was razor-sharp as I watched her every move.

Her footsteps were uncertain, and she shivered when a gust of wind blew her long chocolate strands about her face.

She tightened her jacket around her as if the leather could protect her from the unknown.

“Savage Hunter,” she called out and then cringed.

I swallowed the chuckle that fought to burst free. It had only just occurred to her that she knew absolutely nothing about me.

But I knew everything about her.

I’d spent the last few nights imagining this moment, running through every scenario until I was satisfied. Every element of this game was curated for a single purpose.

Her surrender.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay still as I watched her from the shadows. She was beautiful in the moonlight, her dark hair catching the silver glow, her leather jacket pulled tight around her body. She scanned the cemetery, her eyes darting between the gravestones as she searched for me.

But I wouldn’t make it easy for her.

She took a step forward, then another, her boots crunching against the gravel path.

She exhaled a shaky breath, and I could almost taste her fear in the air.

Her fingers twitched at her sides as if she wanted to reach for something.

Something to protect herself with, perhaps.

But nothing would stop me from claiming her.

I let her walk deeper.

Let her feel the heaviness of the silence pressing in around her.

Let her feel alone.

I shifted my weight, and my shoulders brushed against the low-hanging branches of the tree I leaned against.

The movement was barely audible, but it was enough.

Layla’s gaze swung in my direction as she searched the shadows. And then she froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes widened in alarm, yet a flicker of excitement remained.

I said nothing as I watched her, and Layla took a hesitant step toward me.

A slow smile curved my lips.

The hunt had begun.