12. Jael
VILLAIN - K/DA, Madison Beer, Kim Petras
T he first thing I do when I walk out of the room I’m keeping the shadow man in is take a hot shower. The heat and steam work wonders for clearing my head. The water pours over me, relaxing my tight and aching muscles and washing away any grime from the last few days.
My eyes close and the noise in my head quiets down for the first time in… I can’t even remember.
I use some of the Klums’s shampoo and conditioner, though it’s not the best option for type four hair. But it’s what’s on hand and the conditioner feels amazing on my scalp as I work it through my zigzag of wet curls.
Once out of the shower, I towel off and then moisturize head to toe. My dark brown skin glows and there’s a lightness inside me that couldn’t be more different from the crazed, wound-up woman I’d been only moments ago.
This is exactly what I needed.
I flick the bedroom closet’s light on and explore what the Klums have hanging from their racks. Mrs. Klum is shorter and plumper than I am, but I find an oversized flannel shirt and pair of capris that will do given the situation.
No one else will see me but him…
The shadow man who has stalked me every mile I’ve traveled. The man who has spent years tormenting me, and who I now have chained to a chair.
Even in separate rooms, I can feel his presence. I can pick up on his raw energy that threatens to consume me even when I’m the one in control. I’m the one with the keys to his chains. It’s me who has the knives and guns.
I breathe through the frustration and remind myself to keep my cool.
For now, I don’t think about him.
My stomach’s growling, making me realize I haven’t had a proper meal in days. The vending machine snacks and gas station burgers hardly count. I head into the kitchen and rummage through the cupboards and pantry.
The Klums have a decent selection. Months’ worth of nonperishable items.
I reach for a can of cheddar potato soup and a box of crackers. Still not the most nutritional meal, but it’ll do for now.
The soup bubbles on the stovetop and fills the air with the smell of sharp cheddar. I pour it into a bowl and dig in with a spoon at the family table.
The first spoonful feels like heaven. Warm, creamy goodness that I savor and eat slowly like it’s my last meal.
It’s a quiet, simple moment that nourishes me in more ways than one. I’ve been operating on ten for so long that I drove myself to pass out from hysteria and exhaustion. I let the shadow man work me up and I can’t let that happen again.
Soup devoured and belly full, I set the dishes in the sink and grab the red apple I picked earlier from one of the trees behind the Klum’s cabin.
When I return to the main room, he’s exactly where I left him. Still chained, still silent and watchful. His dark green eyes immediately swing to me by the doorway and he tracks every step across the room that I take. I drag a chair from the other side of the room toward where he’s seated, stopping a few feet away to sit down in front of him.
I’m calm. I’m cold.
Round two, here we go.
“You must be hungry,” I say, snatching the hunting knife into my hand and holding up the red apple. “But you don’t strike me as the type who begs for food, right?”
Predictably, he doesn’t respond.
I spend a second studying the knife, admiring the sleek and sharp blade and how it could easily do damage. It’s so clean and perfect that it shows me my reflection in the light.
Imagine what it would look like coated in blood…
“Lucky for you, I’m a nice person,” I say, finally blinking away from the blade. I look over at him bound to the chair, adding a small smile. “How about I feed you?”
I give a second for him to answer, already aware that he won’t, and then press on.
I take the sharp knife and slice into the apple, cutting an eighth of it away. His gaze tracks my hands as I take the apple slice and pop it into my mouth.
“But first—before I share—I have a few questions you’re going to answer. It’s only fair, right?” I say, the juice from the apple slice bursting in my mouth. I lick it away, my tongue swiping at my bottom lip, and I take note how his gaze once again follows.
He zeros in on my mouth. The bead of juice that drips over the curve of my lip before I lick it off.
I return to the knife, hacking off another slice. The crisp cutting sound becomes threatening and ominous, even as I aim a smile at him.
The smile is cold and mocking. It doesn’t reach the rest of my face. It damn sure doesn’t light up my eyes.
I stare at him as unblinkingly as he’s stared at me and bite into the second slice with a sharp crunch.
“What’s your name?” I ask. “Tell me now.”
He sticks it out. He gives no answer.
I tighten my grip on the knife. “How old are you?”
Still nothing.
“Where are you from?”
More silence.
This is the part where I normally would’ve lost my cool. I flipped my shit earlier as the more questions I asked, the more he defiantly refused to give so much as a yes or no.
But this time, it merely makes my smile spread.
I lean back in the chair and study him some more. “Why do you watch me? Does it excite you? Do you want me?”
Silence remains his language, though for the first time, he gives a reaction. It’s the subtlest, vaguest, quickest reaction possible, but it’s something—the muscles of his thick throat work over in a swallow.
That’s a yes.
I snicker and cut off yet another apple slice. “Men are all alike, aren’t they? They always want one thing from a woman. You know what? Here, as a token of good will, I’ll play nice with the man who’s made my life a living hell.”
I rise from the chair, holding his gaze as I approach, the knife in one hand, the apple in the other.
“But first,” I say, swapping the apple to the same hand as the knife. I use my now free hand to reach up for his mask. “We have to get rid of this.”
He tenses up in the chair, his muscles straining and veins protruding in his skin. Another reaction, which means another chink in his armor.
I giggle. “What’s the matter? Don’t worry, I won’t take it off. You wouldn’t want that, right? You wouldn’t want me to see your beautiful face?”
His jaw clenches under the mask.
I grip the edges of the hideous thing and lift it slightly, just enough to reveal his mouth. It’s as I thought—more scars decorate his jawline. He must hide behind the mask because he’s covered in them.
“Here,” I say, pressing the half-eaten apple to his chapped lips. “Bite.”
He refuses until I forcefully prod his lips open with the apple and push it up against his teeth. They’re surprisingly white and straight, even in better shape than mine. He does as he’s told, finally biting into the apple with a sharp crunch.
“Good boy. You do listen.”
I step back, suddenly snatching the apple away. At the same time, I drag the blade across his shoulder, slicing through the fabric of his shirt and cutting open his skin. Blood beads to the surface immediately, crimson and beautiful.
It shines on the knife just like I imagined, making my pulse race.
“Oops,” I say, my tone sweeter. “It slipped.”
His jaw tightens. His gaze bores into mine. There’s a fire burning in them now, like I’ve finally gotten to him on some level. I don’t need to see the rest of his face to know what he’s thinking—he’s pissed and wants a little payback.
Too fucking bad.
He’s bound and chained and I have all night.
I drag my finger across the flat side of the blade ’til I’ve collected a single bead of blood. Slowly, I bring it to my lips, making him watch as I taste him.
“Do you want more?” I ask. “I think I do.”
An hour later, the shadow man—who I’ve nicknamed Bull for fun—sits as bound and restrained as ever, still silent, but now dripping blood.
I’m strolling back and forth in front of him, basking in how the knife gleams with the dark crimson evidence of him.
His broad shoulders are a tapestry of fresh gashes and cuts, deep lines crisscrossing his skin, joining the dozens of healed ones. The metallic stench of blood lives in the air, the heady scent making my head swim.
It fuels me, setting off my adrenaline.
I stop in front of Bull and bite my bottom lip. “I’m running out of space. Time to shed some layers.”
Fisting the front of his shirt, I slice through the fabric with the knife. It falls open the rest of the way, revealing the wide, chiseled chest I’ve suspected was underneath.
His body bears more scars than I even imagined—it’s a road map of pain etched into his flesh. Old scars connect with even older scars. Some discolored, others irritated and red, a few ghostly and raised.
I forget about my glee for a second, swallowing down the natural revulsion I feel. My mind goes to what kinds of things he must’ve endured to have this many scars. What kind of fucked up things have happened to him?
But then I remind myself who he is. I remember the agony he’s put me through over the years, stalking me, watching me, making everyone believe I was crazy.
I think about my sister and how he could be the reason she’s gone.
My thirst for blood, for his pain in exchange for what I need, returns, more consuming than ever.
I press the knife to his stomach and slash away at the skin, creating yet another fresh gash.
“Tell me where my sister is,” I say.
And when he still doesn’t answer, I run the blade back over the open gash to double his agony. Blood drips everywhere.
On me. On him.
On the floor.
Clinging to the beautiful knife.
“Clumsy me. I just can’t help myself,” I say, smirking. I bring the blade up to my lips and swipe my tongue along its length, licking up more of his blood. I let the taste linger on my tongue for a second, watching him watch me do so. “You know what? I’m in the mood for something else. I know how to get you to talk. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
Before he can figure out what I mean, I slide into his lap, straddling him. His body tenses beneath mine, a ripple of hard muscle against metal chains. I press the knife to his thick, scarred throat and rip the minotaur mask clean off in one brisk motion.
His reaction is immediate and intense—a thunderous growl rumbles from deep within his chest. His head jerks back like he’s pained by what I’ve done, but it’s too late. The part of him he clearly didn’t want me to see is exposed.
His face is a mess of scars. There’s too many to count. Long, jagged marks that cut across cheekbones and twist along the seam of his mouth. Even his lips have a slash mark that tells me they were once split all the way open.
But what’s worse is the fact that his features are distorted. They’re as beastly as the mask he’s been wearing. His nose permanently broken. One eyelid irreversibly thicker and lower, more swollen than the other. The scars carry on into his hairline, eventually disappearing into his head of unkempt, dark hair.
He releases another savage howl and his body surges forward. The chains creak under the strain, barely withstanding his efforts. His fists clench tighter than ever, two huge instruments that can easily be weapons of their own.
I lean back slightly in his lap and smirk tauntingly at him. “Well… it’s a little anticlimactic. I was expecting you to be hideous. I would’ve been more surprised if you weren’t.”
He turns his head to the side, away from me, for the first time avoiding my gaze.
Finally.
Now we’re cooking.
“Does it bother you?” I ask. “That I’ve seen what you look like?”
He refuses to respond.
“The mask can go back on… if you answer my questions.” When several more seconds pass and still nothing, I grab him by the face and force his head to turn toward me. I press the blade against his mangled cheek and say, “Do you want more scars? I can always add some.”
I drag the blade across the ruined flesh, watching the line of blood emerge. His gaze links with mine as I do, the rage that was possessing him gone. He’s back to silent restraint as I cut his cheek open and let the blood dribble to the edge of his jaw.
Leaning forward, I lick that up too. Taunting him. Showing him who’s in control and that I can do whatever the fuck I want.
I will until he tells me where my sister is.
But as the flat side of my tongue runs across his severed cheek and more of his sweet blood explodes on my taste buds, a strange sensation hits me.
The adrenaline that’s driven me unleashes a wave of heat that travels somewhere new. It shoots straight through me, burning a path to my pussy.
My pussy that clenches as my tongue licks up his blood.
I snap back like I’ve been electrocuted, blinking dazedly at him.
The tension is thick. It’s fucking unbearable as I look him in his disfigured face and become aware of the pull between us.
This dark, twisted energy that poisons the air we breathe yet has us coming back for more. It’s what’s drawn him to me. It’s what’s drawing me to him right now.
Even as the epiphany crashes over me, I crave him. My tongue tingles for another taste. My beating pulse begs for more torment.
More fucked up game play between us.
I swallow with difficulty as his eyes pierce mine, and I know he knows. He feels it too.
So I do the only thing a woman like me could do in this situation—I scream in frustration and jam the knife’s blade into his shoulder, making the deepest stab wound yet.
The knife clatters to the floor as I jump off him and rush for the door, fleeing the room.