Page 10 of Unleashing Mayhem (Demon Bound #4)

Nightmare

N ightmare let his shadows dance and play over his talons as he watched his summoner sleep.

Matteo was active in rest, both in body and mind.

It was a constant snag on Nightmare’s attention, to keep his little human’s dreams from trailing into the darker reaches of his psyche.

It was as if Matteo’s mind yearned to slip back into terror, to visualize the horrors that chased him.

As if it kept running straight toward his fear, the exact opposite of what Matteo did during the day.

During the day, Matteo hid.

Nightmare had tried several more times to name the man who haunted Matteo. The man Nightmare intended to rip apart from sternum to pelvis. The man whose organs he would give to his dear shadows as playthings as soon as they found him.

But each time Nightmare had attempted it, Matteo had shied away, changing the subject without an ounce of shame. Bold even in his timidity.

It was making Nightmare restless, this blind spot Matteo insisted on. He itched to work around the impediment, to catch a glimpse of the face Matteo so feared. But that would require allowing Matteo to slip into a nightmare—allowing him to suffer —and that Nightmare would not do.

Now Matteo’s brow furrowed as he mumbled something about “sugar toads” and rolled onto his stomach, his arms and legs sprawled out to the four corners of his bed.

Yes, very active in his rest.

He’d been much more docile when Nightmare had been lying beside him, the little human’s limbs reaching only to wrap around Nightmare before settling contentedly for the night. But repeating that closeness did not seem wise at this juncture.

Of course, Nightmare had given in to Matteo’s subtle pout at the beginning of the night, sitting with his back to Matteo’s headboard until his summoner fell into slumber.

But then Nightmare had returned to his corner, choosing the embrace of his shadows over the sweet torture of Matteo’s clinging form.

Things were progressing much more quickly than Nightmare had anticipated.

He’d been prepared to go years—perhaps forever—without a physical side to their relationship. He was aware he was not the type of demon humans were drawn to, especially tender young men afraid of the dark. Nightmare had been prepared to possess but not to claim. To covet but not to grasp.

But his sweet was full of surprises.

Even now, Matteo’s arm shifted again, reaching across the bed as if searching for Nightmare in his sleep.

Nightmare could wake him with soft touches this very moment, could slip Matteo onto his back without a word, could hold back his sharp teeth and taste his summoner’s sleep-soaked skin.

Nightmare could go further, even. He could slide into him with fingers or tongue or cock, take what he wanted while his little human’s body was still lax and unassuming from his recent slumber.

Matteo would let him; Nightmare was sure of it.

But Nightmare could do more damage than good, pressing too soon. Matteo seemed unsure of his own attraction. He’d likely been suppressing that side of himself his entire life, judging from the innocence that glowed from his soul piece like moonstone.

So Nightmare would be patient. He would help Matteo coax it out, this sensuality brimming inside him, just waiting for an outlet.

Nightmare would even enjoy himself in the process.

He thought of the little breathless gasp Matteo had made that morning, when he’d realized Nightmare was aroused. When he’d thought it was a mindless physical response and not a direct consequence of Matteo’s small, soft body rubbing against Nightmare in his sleep.

Nightmare’s lips curled into a smile, and his shadows trailed out from him, reaching back to Matteo in turn.

Yes, Nightmare would enjoy himself.

He was no mindless brute. He could be kind and soft and sweet with his summoner, for as long as he needed to be. For all of eternity, if that was what was required.

Gentle touches in exchange for pretty, wide-eyed looks. Soft kisses given for breathless, tender smiles.

And when Matteo finally blossomed into who he should have been all along—who he might have been if cruel men hadn’t taken him in hand…

A sweet, tender being with teeth as sharp as jagged knives.

Then Nightmare would devour him whole.

Nightmare was still staring at his summoner—on his back now, one slender arm thrown over his face—when he heard the noise.

Something on the house’s porch. Something trying its best to be quiet in the dark. It could have been a prey animal, perhaps, trying to escape a mortal predator.

But there was a scent in the air: the acrid taste of ill intent.

Nightmare sent his shadows out to investigate, and they returned quickly with their findings: an image of a human man, of average height and muscular build, dressed in dark clothing.

He was attempting to open a downstairs window; he had a tool to aid him and a human weapon tucked into the back of his jeans.

How interesting.

Nightmare approached Matteo’s bed. He lifted Matteo’s arm away from his face and stroked his summoner’s cheek with his talons. “Wake, my sweet.”

Matteo blinked awake slowly. And though Nightmare was in demon form, looming over him like a ghoul, he woke with a smile. “Is it morning?” His brow furrowed immediately, and he shook his head. “No, it’s still dark. Was I—was I snoring?”

Nightmare’s lips twitched at the corners. “No, little human. But there’s a man breaking into the house.”

Matteo immediately tried to jolt up and out of bed with a strangled cry, and Nightmare pressed a hand to his chest, holding him down.

“Hush, sweet. It’s all right. No one will harm you.

” He took a seat on the bed, brushing Matteo’s hair from his face.

Nightmare’s shadows were keeping an eye on the would-be intruder; they were in no hurry.

“Tell me why you summoned me now, Matteo. At this time. What prompted it?”

Matteo’s large eyes were still wide with shock, but he lay there docilely enough, with Nightmare’s hand on his chest. “I thought—thought I saw someone.” He swallowed, loudly enough to be heard in the quiet of the night.

“In town. One of his men, maybe. But I was just imagining it, I think. I—I thought.”

“Mm.” Nightmare considered, then stood. “Stay in bed. I’ll call you when he’s subdued, and you may come see if it’s the man you thought you saw.”

Matteo’s hand shot out to grab Nightmare’s wrist, his grip desperately tight. “No! No . Don’t leave me alone. Please.”

“You want to come with me, sweet?”

Matteo nodded frantically. “Yes.”

“I’m going to hurt him,” Nightmare warned.

“Good. If—if it’s him. Then good .”

Nightmare leaned down to press a kiss to Matteo’s hair, a small reward for them both for this little glimpse of viciousness. Matteo gave him a shy smile—its own reward, that—and Nightmare held out his hand. “Come.”

Matteo jumped up, clinging onto Nightmare’s hand like a lifeline as Nightmare led him down the stairs in the dark. They made their way to the foyer, where they could hear the gentle scratching sound of a man still trying to open the window.

Nightmare let him through.

He did not open the window first.

Glass sprayed, and wood splintered, and Nightmare sheltered Matteo with his shadows, his little darlings whisking away anything sharp that dared head in their direction.

The stranger ended up on the hardwood floor, bloody and groaning. “What the f-fuck?”

He gathered his senses fairly quickly—Nightmare had to give him credit for that—and his eyes gleamed as he caught sight of Matteo, Nightmare too shrouded in shadow to be visible to the human eye.

“It’s you.” The intruder started laughing, blood gleaming on his teeth.

“I knew it. Everyone thought there was no way you were hiding out with Dimitri Kozlov’s boy, but Dominico knew.

” His laugh turned into a sneer. “He knows you, Matteo. He’s coming for you.

What happened to Luca, huh? Dominico’s going to take it out on your skin, pretty b—”

That was enough of that. This was obviously the man Matteo had thought he’d seen, and Matteo was shaking with fear now.

Nightmare released his shadows, wrapping them over Matteo’s form to warm him.

He hadn’t given Matteo enough time to slip on his hoodie over his thin shirt, an error he would not be making again.

Matteo’s human body was fragile and in need of more particular care than Nightmare was used to, but he would adapt.

Nightmare stepped into the moonlit patch of floor in front of the stranger, and the man’s eyes widened as he tried to scramble back, his retreat halted by the wall behind him. “What the— What are —?”

Nightmare grabbed his skull mask from the ether, pulling it into place with his shadows. He let his limbs thin and stretch.

The man’s face contorted into pure, unadulterated terror. “What the fuck ?” he whimpered.

Nightmare crouched, his limbs bending and twisting to accommodate. The man stared, almost seeming to hold his breath, perhaps waiting for Nightmare to say something. He smelled suddenly of urine.

But Nightmare had no speech for him, no message for this unwanted intruder to send back to his master. This man had signed his life away the moment he’d approached this house, disturbing Matteo’s precious slumber.

Nightmare struck, clawing his talons into the man’s chest, letting his venom seep out as the man screamed. He watched the paralysis take over, stilling the human’s clawing hands and freezing his vocal cords, silencing him forever.

Nightmare’s magic allowed only the smallest hint of movement, the barest inflation of the human’s lungs. Just enough to keep the man sufficiently alive to feel the agony of his own slow suffocation.

Nightmare let his shadows enter the man’s mind next. They wriggled into his darkest corners and found every fear, every inner horror, every twisted thought. They brought them out into the light, amplifying and contorting and displaying them back to him.

The man couldn’t scream as he lost his senses, not with the paralysis working through him. The best he managed was a strangled garbling.

But it was a delicious meal all the same, his terror. Full-bodied. He’d seen much to corrupt him, and Nightmare’s shadows had their fill to work with.

Sometime later—when he’d plundered everything there was to take—Nightmare slipped his talons back into the man’s chest and pulled out his heart before dropping the bloody mass onto the floor.

Nightmare stood and turned as his skull mask dropped back into the ether and his demonic visage slipped back into place, his limbs shrinking back to their usual size.

Matteo was there, still draped in Nightmare’s spare shadows, no longer shaking now. He was standing straight-backed and motionless, his eyes locked onto the dead man slumped onto the floor.

“Do you wish me to erase this from your mind, sweet?” Nightmare asked. “You need not live with it.”

Nightmare would never have let Matteo see such horrors if he didn’t have a way to clear them from his memory.

“You tortured him,” Matteo said softly, his eyes still on the corpse in front of him. “Inside his head.”

“Yes.”

“And killed him.”

“Yes.”

Matteo took a deep breath, then clutched the edges of Nightmare’s shadows to his chest like the clasp of a cloak. He slowly walked over, looking much too soft to survive in this world, with his short, mussed hair and his giant, tired eyes.

Matteo tugged gently at Nightmare’s shirt. “Bend down for me, please.”

Nightmare lowered his head, and his sweet, tender summoner pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” Matteo murmured.

“Again and again and again,” Nightmare promised. “As many times as needs to be done.”

Matteo kept hold of Nightmare’s shirt as he said, slowly and clearly, “When it’s Dominico’s turn, I want it to last longer. I want it to hurt .”

Bright, acidic lemon filled the air. Tart and perfect.

“Yes, sweet,” Nightmare vowed. “I swear.”

And then Matteo was throwing himself into Nightmare’s arms, clutching at his waist with surprising strength. “Thank you.” He peered up at him, blinking up at him through thick, sooty lashes. “Can we watch a movie now? I’m not tired anymore.”