Chapter 12 Kallum
KALLUM
The first thing I register is Christian’s erratic heartbeat.
Not the kind I pull from him when he’s writhing under me making all those sweet little noises.
No, that rhythm, I know like the back of my hand.
The sharp little hitch when I press my lips to his throat.
The unsteady stutter when I drag my tongue over his pulse.
It’s as close to Heaven as a demon like me will ever get.
This isn’t that, though. This is different. This is wrong. This is fucking terror. My human is in trouble.
The second thing I register is the voices. Not his. Not mine. Wrong fucking voices.
I lift my head as reality bleeds back in. I’d been lounging, half-dozing in the back of the library, surrounded by the scent of old paper and dust, the past bleeding into the present. When your life stretches for damn near eternity, sometimes timelines get tangled.
Christian’s heartbeat. Voices. My eyes fly open and I see it. Christian.
My Christian, backed against a wall.
Kaleb, bleeding into the pavement.
And one soon-to-be dead bastard standing over them.
The shadows coil beneath my skin, thick and seething, crawling through my veins like a second pulse.
Hunger hums in my bones, curling through my fingers and sharpening my teeth.
The bookstore lights flicker, the buzzing of electricity stuttering as I rise to my full height.
My limbs stretch, tension rolling through them like a predator shaking off sleep.
I’m outside before my mind can even register that my body is moving.
The first hit is pure, unfiltered rage. A vicious, unholy thing that tears through me like wildfire. My fist slams into his ribs. Something cracks. He wheezes as his mouth flounders open like a fish gasping for air. But I don’t let him fall. I grab him by the collar, twisting, snapping.
A sickening pop. A final, ragged breath. No, not yet. His head lolls, but I hold him upright and tighten my grip. Not done. Not nearly done. He chokes on something wet, his free hand fumbling for the knife at his side.
Stupid.
Slow.
Human.
How fucking weak.
I let him brandish it. Let him think, for one brief, useless second, that it will help.
The blade flashes between us, but I catch his wrist mid-air, my grip crushing his.
Bones shatter like dry twigs. The sound is sharp, violent, and delicious.
He screams, a broken, mangled thing, but I don’t give him time to wallow in it.
I twist, tearing muscle from bone, splintering his arm at an angle it was never meant to bend.
He collapses, wailing.
Pathetic.
I crouch, watching the agony sink its claws into him. He’s trying to crawl, breathing raggedly as he cradles his arm. His movements are sluggish. His pupils are blown wide, the fear cracking through every inch of him.
I drop my shadows. He sees me now. He sees true evil, not the bullshit bigotry he claims is evil, but the true darkness from the pits of Hell.
I let him watch as dark smoke bleeds from my skin, stretching, twisting, unraveling into something monstrous. The street lights dim and flicker, choking beneath the weight of me. My form wavers, jagged and taller, shifting between what he thinks he knows and what lurks underneath.
His breath stutters. His broken arm curls inward, useless. “W-what the fuck?”
I laugh. Low. Sharp. Something inhuman.
“Oh, you fucked up.”
Then I move.
I don’t fight fair. Not when my human’s safety is involved.
My hand slams through his chest. Not piercing skin, no. I don’t need to. The shadows do it for me, burrowing beneath the surface, coiling through his ribs, and wrapping around his lungs in a vice grip.
I lean in, close enough to watch the horror unfurl behind his eyes.
“Did you think that you could touch what’s mine and walk away?”
Christian is watching. I feel his gaze like a brand against my skin, burning and unwavering.
But it’s not fear. It’s not shock. He picks up the switchblade lying discarded beside us and my grip loosens as he moves closer.
The steel gleams under the dim, flickering light, and for a moment, I just watch.
Because this isn’t mine to finish. This is his.
My shadows slither across the pavement, drinking in the fear rolling off this pathetic bastard in waves. They coil around Christian’s ankles, testing, tasting, hungry to see what he’ll do next. He finally crouches down beside me and the pathetic excuse of a man.
Christian stops just inches from his attacker with the knife in his grip. Slowly, he lifts the weapon, dragging the flat side of the blade along the bastard’s cheek. A slow, taunting scrape. Just enough to tease and make his breath hitch. My cock hardens as I watch him take his power.
The bastard’s breath comes in frantic bursts. His eyes dart between Christian and me, wide, wild—searching for something that isn’t there. Mercy. He doesn’t know who to be more afraid of.
“You liked using this on me, didn’t you?” Christian exhales, slow and measured. His fingers flex on the handle, testing the weight. His lips part, just slightly, and I see it, the curl of something dark.
Christian presses the blade a little harder, just enough to draw a thin, crimson line. The bastard jerks, but Christian is already on him, fisting his collar and forcing him still.
“Not so fun when it’s you on the other side of someone's rage, huh?” Christian breathes.
I feel something. Something new. Something fucking beautiful. And I realize that I might actually be in love with this man. With this human.
Then, he slashes.
It’s clean. Precise.
The knife carves through flesh, parting it like paper, and the moment steel meets artery, the fucker lets out a wet, choking gasp.
His hands fly to his throat, scrambling, desperate, like he thinks he can hold it all in, like he can stop what’s already spilling and drowning him in his own fucking mess.
Christian just stands there, staring down at what he’s done.
His chest rises and falls, slow, even. No shaking.
No panic. Just quiet, eerie fucking calm.
I flick out my forked tongue to taste the air around my human.
The man’s body convulses as he tries to hold on to the last vestiges of his soul.
But I can see the angry red remnants of his shitty soul fizzling out of his body.
The asshole twitches for a few more agonizing seconds. Then—nothing. He folds forward onto the pavement, blood seeping into the cracks, dark and glistening, spreading outward like ink spilled across a page.
Christian’s fingers loosen. The knife clatters to the ground. He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t flinch. He just stays there. Staring. Then—finally—he exhales and lifts his gaze to meet mine.
I can see it in his face. The final, beautiful break from the chains of what he thought he was.
Oh, my beautiful human.
Christian blinks slowly, like waking up from something deep and dark. His fingers twitch at his sides. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and then he speaks, “I thought it would feel different.”
I grin. He’s was fucking made for me.
Christian glances back down at the body and the blood pooling around his sneakers. He flexes his fingers, like he’s committing the sensation to memory.
I move closer until I can smell the blood on him. My shadows slither up his wrist, curling around his pulse like a shackle.
I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“Oh, my Little Nightmare. You’ve never been more beautiful.”
Christian doesn’t answer right away. He brings his hands up to my chest as if he’ll push me away, but instead he pulls me closer.
His fingers tighten in the fabric of my shirt, knuckles pale beneath the smears of blood. The man’s life dripping away in sluggish, thick pulses. The scent is heady, metallic and raw, curling through the air like incense, but it’s not the death that has my attention.
It’s him.
He’s processing. Holding on to me as if I’m his life preserver in a sea of uncertainty.
And I let him.
Let the silence stretch. Let it sink in. Let him cling to me.
Christian finally exhales through his nose. “Kallum.”
I tilt my head. “Yes, baby?”
His gaze flicks to the writhing body, then back to me.
Christian moves first. He steps into my space, close enough that I can taste the sweat on his skin, close enough that the warmth of his body seeps into mine.
He reeks of blood and adrenaline. My favorite meal.
Our lips meet in a soft caress as he kisses me.
It’s tender, almost timid, as if he’s still uncertain.
I don’t pull back, I let him simply test the waters.
When he pulls back, I let the shadows pull back as well, just enough to give him a moment of control. A moment to breathe in what he’s done. His free hand lifts, hesitant, then firm as his fingers graze my jawline.
A small touch. But it seals everything.
I lower my head, using my pointed nail to pull his chin up to meet my gaze. “Feels different, doesn’t it?”
His breath hitches. He doesn’t pull away. But he doesn’t answer either. Not with words.
The street lights flicker, barely holding against the thick, suffocating dark pressing in from all sides. Kaleb groans from the ground, a weak, painful sound that reminds me he’s still here … right.
Not everyone here is dead. Fuck, Kaleb. His wound isn’t fatal.
We can call the police, and I can possess them for a few hours, having them help Kaleb while also not pursuing charges against Christian.
Even if it is self defense, I don’t want my human getting caught up in bureaucracy.
He needs to be writhing beneath me, not locked up behind bars.
I lean back just enough to meet Christian’s gaze, brushing my thumb along his lower lip. His skin is warm, alive, and flushed with thrill. I hum, slow and pleased. “Time to clean up, Little Nightmare.”
But before I can pull away, he yanks me down, crashing his mouth against mine.
It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s heat and hunger and something far more dangerous. His teeth scrape, his lips part, and I let him devour me. Shadows curl around us, drawn to the pulse of something dark, something alive between us. His fingers tighten in my shirt, desperate, claiming, mine.
And when he finally pulls back, breathless, eyes burning—
I know he is mine now. Forever.