Chapter 8
EIGHT
LEVIATHAN
This isn’t like me.
I’ve been wearing the collar for twenty-four hours now, the longest it’s ever been on, and it digs into my skin until it’s raw. I hope it leaves scars. Proof of how I’ve fallen—deep and allusive—into Aiden Walker.
I tug at it, hidden beneath my thick black scarf, and I barely feel the bite of cold that hits my cheeks as I watch my prey. Aiden’s not doing anything interesting, just sitting underneath a tree fucking with some yarn. He’s bundled up, covered in many layers to keep the chill of late fall away, and I hate it. I more than hate it… I loathe it. Why I want to rip off each layer until he’s bare to me and press his firm body against the moist earth is beyond me.
The other urges I’m experiencing concern me as well. I want to rut against him, unleash all the darkness and depravity on his unwilling body. I need to feel him squirm under my touch, yell as I stroke his cock, pinching it to the point of pain as he cries out for me. Begging me to stop, begging me to keep going, begging me for?—
Careful, Leviathan .
I think about Master’s last private words to me. He doesn’t speak to any of the Princes besides Mammon, but he called me in one night. He heard tales from Mammon about me not being able to control myself, so close to snapping, and he wanted to make sure I remembered something.
I may be a prince. I may be one of the five. But even I’m expendable.
Careful, Leviathan.
I suck in a deep breath and settle myself. I am in charge of my body, and I refuse to be a slave to these disgusting thoughts. My cock thickens. Stupid thing doesn’t understand the objective. Stalk, hunt, kill. That’s it. I can have my fun playing with my food but at the end it’s just a meal meant to be devoured.
But as Aiden looks up from his yarn, smiling at the sky as a snowflake falls on his cheek, I want to lick it off.
I have the urge to walk up to him, just to hear his voice, thinking it might knock me out of this hell I’ve found myself in. I wouldn’t know what to say or how to act. I’d have to put on another type of mask, one of someone normal, one who doesn’t suffer and relish in the demons I hide. I’ve tried it before—faking being average—and it nearly killed me.
Something that might resemble shame hits me and my skin starts to itch. I shove my hand under my shirt, scratching at my stomach, feeling the raised scars there. I dig my nails into them, feeling blood on my fingers, and my mind goes blank. I bring the tips to my lips and suck the metallic tang off. I can do this. I just need to say… hello?
Fuck it. I’ll figure it out as I go.
I make sure my collar is hidden as I approach him, keeping my steps even and steady, even though I want to charge at him in full force. He doesn’t look up from his project, and I’m once again reminded of what an innocent little lamb he is. All plump and happy and ready for the slaughter.
He’d taste so good .
I’m almost to him and my heart starts to race. He’s captivating out in the sunlight, basked in nature’s glow, so fucking ethereal it rips my heart out. It actually causes my lungs and my steps to stutter. I can’t just approach him. Who the fuck does that? I shove my hands back into my pockets because they’re tempted to reach out and wrap around his neck, watching his face grow beautifully pink.
I turn quickly, muttering curses after curse to myself as my nails bite into the palm of my hands. So stupid. Stupid thoughts, stupid draw, why am I even?—
“Hi. I think you dropped this.”
I freeze, my back straightening so quickly I can feel each pop of my vertebrae. I take in a slow breath, that voice falling over me. It drags me somewhere I’ve never been, somewhere murky and hazy, like drowning in a swampy oasis. All clarity is gone, and I’m surrounded only by filthy water that tunnels down my throat until I can’t breathe.
It’s overwhelming, hypnotic, and just plain wrong.
I don’t feel things like this. I don’t feel anything but the desire to maim and kill and?—
“I’m sorry. Did you hear me?”
How polite.
I turn slowly, hoping that my face is masked into something resembling pleasant, but I’m not currently in charge of my faculties. Because he’s talking to me. He approached me . He’s holding my house key in his outstretched hand, a bright smile on his face that’s slowly morphing into confusion.
“Thank you,” I say, but it’s a broken whisper that sounds more like a grunt. I’m coming off like a creep, but I don’t care. “You’re… very kind.”
“It’s no problem.” He shrugs, a fluffy scarf brushing against his red cheeks. “You have a good day.”
Then he turns and walks away from me as if the Earth hasn’t shifted on its axis. He goes back to his tree and his yarn and his day without realizing that his life has changed. If it wasn’t written in stone before, it is now.
Aiden Walker was meant to be mine, and I won’t stop until he is.
Whether he likes it or not.