Devour (Twisted Metamorphosis #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

“The mind is a powerful thing; it has the power to uncover the truths that the naked eye can’t see,” I quoted my father, trying to hide my sadness.

“Your father’s words.”

I nodded and placed my picture frame down, meeting his gaze. I had to force my mind to close off. My darkness was right: I’m getting too weak.

“Yes. He was an incredible psychiatrist; I miss him dearly. It was an honor to include him in my book.”

“Thank you for sharing that treasured memory with me,” Camden said, as his thumb gently caressed my back.

I noticed him catch himself, fighting the dizziness from my addition to his drink, forcing my mind back on track.

Perfect.

Turning to face him, he kept his hand on me as if I was his anchor. I was surprised when he placed the empty glass down to hold both hands on either of my hips. He was fighting the drug, desperate to stay in the moment, but I needed to make sure I could get him where I needed him to be and control it.

Placing my palms on his chest, I gazed into his eyes.

“You really do wear Armani well, Camden,” I said in a whisper, leaning in closer to inhale his masculine scent. That did the trick; his eyes looked as if they were glazed over, and he entered that mental state where his imagination ran free.

His chest rose and fell in heavy, lustful breaths, and I couldn’t help but wonder where his mind went. Scanning his body, my eyes landed on the growing erection in his slacks. I licked my lips, and I imagined how perfect his cock would feel buried inside me, and how he would taste on my tongue.

Earth to Helena. Don’t get lost in your desire to fuck this man. We have work to do. My darkness hissed in my mind, pulling me out of my thoughts. It was hard not to go there with the way he started to grasp the fabric of my dress.

Fine.

“Camden? Are you alright? You’re sweating,” I said, a little louder and firmer than my normal speaking voice.

“I… What?” Camden stammered, fighting to grasp onto reality. Suddenly, he snapped out of it, looking around in confusion. “I, um, I’m sorry about that. I guess I, um, I guess I got lost in my thoughts again,” he said, releasing my dress, trying to smooth out the fabric.

Perfect. My touch controls when he enters his mind, and my voice controls when he exits his mind. If I say his name, he comes out of it. Good to know for tonight.

Offering him a soft smile, I tipped my chin toward the table.

“What did you bring? You didn’t have to bring anything tonight. You’re my guest.”

“Oh, yeah,” Camden said, handing me a bottle. “I know it’s not the same as the one you had in your office, but I noticed your bottle was almost empty.”

“Oh, Camden, how thoughtful,” I said with a smile.

Truly—how thoughtful. My chest tightened in… guilt?

“I’m not a wine drinker, but I hope it’s a good one.” He brushed a hand through his hair nervously.

“Tawny port is my favorite wine to pair with my favorite dessert: cheesecake.” I felt that sting of guilt building in my chest, hoping he didn’t sense it. Turning back around toward the table, he handed me an insulated coffee mug.

“I hope this helps with your lukewarm coffee curse,” he said with a shy chuckle.

“I’ll have to put it to the test. You really are the sweetest, Camden. Thank you.” This time, it was impossible to hide a genuine smile. “Come, dinner is almost ready. Let’s get you a refill on that whiskey.”

Turning to walk back into the kitchen with my gifts, Camden followed behind me with his empty glass.

“Please, sit. It will be ready shortly,” I said, motioning my hand toward the barstool my darkness was occupying earlier.

“Thank you, Helena,” Camden said, placing his empty glass down.

“Here, allow me.” I placed my gifts on the counter and reached for his empty glass. Turning my back to him, I slipped another dose into the glass before pouring another two fingers of whiskey. “Dinner will be served shortly. Feel free to make yourself at home while I finish up,” I said, handing him his glass.

“If you don't mind, I'll stay here. I'd be honored to see an artist at work,” Camden said as he brought the glass to his lips, sipping slowly this time.

“Of course. I hope it’s alright that nothing here is vegetarian.” I smirked, turning around and looping my apron back over my head, careful not to disturb my hair. Reaching around to my back to tie my apron, I was surprised to find Camden’s hands already there, tying it for me.

“Carnivore here, nothing to worry about,” he chuckled. But those words… I clenched my thighs as I imagined Camden bloody and feral, harvesting organs with me, making love to me in pools of blood…

“Thank you for tying that for me,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder with a sultry smile. Camden’s breathing hitched, and he brought his whiskey glass to his lips, trying to hide his reaction.

Turning back to the stove, I lifted the lid off one of the two pans I had covered prior to his arrival. Steam from the medallions of Connor's thigh floated into the air as I removed the lid, and Camden hummed in approval.

“Oh, that smells delicious, Helena.”

“I've prepared two small meals for us this evening,” I said with a smile. “They will be smaller servings so you can enjoy both.”

“That sounds amazing. Did you need help with anything?” he asked. I could hear him place his whiskey glass down.

“No, please, relax. You deserve a break. Let me know if you need a refill on that whiskey,” I said with a knowing smile. “You know, Camden, I’m glad you brought me port wine. I used the rest of mine to make a red wine sauce. It will be lovely with the liver.”

“Liver? I’ve never tried liver before. Or any organ meats, actually,” Camden said as he leaned his back comfortably on the edge of the counter. He looked relaxed, comfortable; like he belonged here with me.

Helena… My darkness warned in my mind.

“My recipe is actually one that was given to me as a gift from a chef in London.” I handed him my recipe card written in Chef Louis’ handwriting, completely ignoring my darkness. “It only takes about two minutes to cook per side, so it is best cooked last.

“Liver and Mash,” Camden read out loud. “Interesting.”

“Speaking of mash, the potatoes are probably ready,” I said, lifting the lid off of the pot I also had on the stove. I could feel Camden’s eyes on me as I stood tall on my toes, stirring the potatoes, making sure they were the perfect texture. I felt my skirt ride up a bit, and heard Camden shift his position.

Dipping a spoon in the mashed potatoes, I scooped up a small bite and turned to face him. Taking slow steps toward him, I blew on the spoon to cool off the bite.

“Would you like a taste?” I nearly whispered, stopping in front of him, lifting the spoon toward his lips.

Without a word, he leaned forward and his eyes closed as he closed his lips around the spoon. I was laser focused on his lips as they molded around the spoon, making sure he got the full bite in one taste.

“Delicious,” Camden whispered. Hesitantly, I looked up to meet his hooded gaze. His eyes darkened with such intensity, it took my breath away.

“Good, I’m glad you like them. Five more minutes, then we can eat,” I said, quickly to ease the tension between us. Turning to the refrigerator to retrieve my marinating liver, I chuckled to myself.

“Are you sure I can't help? You have a lot going on here,” Camden said, setting down his now empty glass with a slight tremor in his hand.

“You can hand me your glass for another refill to enjoy with dinner,” I said with a smirk.

“If I didn’t know better, Doctor, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk.” Camden chuckled, handing me his empty glass.

Oh, Camden. You have no idea.

“Drunk, no. Relaxed, yes,” I said with a smile, as I turned on the burner to cook the liver. Camden sighed, releasing a contented breath.

Drizzling olive oil into the pan, I added the liver that was marinating in red wine overnight. I could feel Camden’s eyes on me, watching my every move. It was tempting to forget dinner and get him lost in his mind so I could have him while he’s awake.

Flipping the liver over, I looked to my side to study Camden. He was leaning his elbows on the countertop, looking out of the window that led to my dark backyard. He flexed both of his hands as if he was stiff, and trying to release some tension.

Turning off the burner, I stepped toward Camden, placing a gentle hand on his back. Immediately, he flinched as my hand met his scarred back, but stood tall, turning to face me. His sad eyes gazed into mine, and it took me aback.

“Camden, are you alright?” I asked, my hand now on his forearm.

“Yes, Helena, I-I apologize. I never wanted you to feel them… It’s just… They’re sensitive and make me remember what my father did to me. Seeing your photographs, your positive memories, the love—” He took a deep breath. “I never had that. I don’t even call him my father anymore; he’s just Franklin Sullivan to me. He left when I was thirteen, too drunk to realize what he was doing. My mother had died when I was ten unexpectedly, so I became Franklin’s way of coping with his pain.” Camden stopped talking, hanging his head. “My aunt Deborah was around also, but only when Franklin had another hit of dope for her. Some family I have, huh?”

“You are not your father. No matter how hard you try to fight it in your mind, you are nothing like him, Camden,” I said softly, bringing my hand from his arm to his cheek. “You survived, Camden. You made it out because you are strong. The power to create the life you want, the life that is best for you, is yours and not his, not your aunt’s. You don’t need anyone’s validation but your own.”

Camden leaned into my touch on his cheek, and I felt his warm tears dampen my palm.

“Come, I have a surprise for you in the dining room.”

I’m not letting his father ruin this night, or ruin my plans. He has to be dealt with. I vowed in my mind. My darkness was leaning against the wall behind Camden with her arms crossed, giving me a single nod in approval.

Franklin Sullivan will be my next victim; no, Camden’s victim.