Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Hidden behind the wide trunk of an oak, the elegantly dressed man stopped, his clothes in disarray, the finely woven fabrics smeared in gore.
He held his breath, stilled his trembling hands, and hoped the thudding of his heart wasn’t as loud as it seemed.
He cursed silently. He’d never been careless before, never allowed anyone to get close to him as he practiced his art.
Running his sticky fingers through his hair, he held back an angry bellow, disappointed in his own lack of attentiveness. This could spell disaster for him and his plans. Crouching low, he hurried into the shadows and focused on the commotion that had caught him unaware.
The unmistakable sounds of a carriage coming to a stop. Angry voices.
His curiosity hounded him.
He placed his back against a tree, making his tall, wiry frame flat. He sucked in a deep breath and peered around the trunk into the clearing only a stone’s throw away.
At the sight of a black-haired goddess, his heart, which only moments before beat excitedly from the thrill of his glorious purpose, thudded erratically at the promise of delights to come.
He had to have her, this ravishing beauty with an unearthly spirit of brilliance, this luscious and delectable piece of human imperfection.
The imperfect fleshy canvas on which he could carve a masterpiece.
He trembled, excitement and anticipation careening through his blood.
Tearing his gaze from the stunning female, he cast a glance at her companion.
His blood cooled. Since birth, his Heavenly Sire had favored him, providing him with beauty, wealth, and splendid purpose.
God’s Sovereign Will always made a way for him to perfect his art, his passion.
Even now, His Sire gifted him with something extraordinary.
As God’s adored son, he knew the pompous, elitist waste of human skin standing before his female would be helpless to deny him what he desired.
No. No one ever denied him. Though some tried, they were easily persuaded with the deft use of his blades. Their once unmarred skin turned to shredded threads of flesh beneath the brutality of his knife.
He loved knives. They were useful and artful tools. He owned thirty of them; each one a different size, blade length and width, and each beautifully handcrafted with a wicked edge.
Visions of his glimmering knife collection flickered through his mind, and he barely kept from stepping from behind the tree to claim his prize.
Looking down, he sneered at his appearance.
His clothes were in disarray, filthy from his activities, and smelled of livestock.
His newest favorite knife held tight in his hand, was sticky with blood.
He wiped the blade against the once white wool of his latest non-human canvas, sheathed it, and slipped it into his pocket.
This wouldn’t do. He couldn’t have that ethereal and gorgeous creature see him as he was now. No, he would wait for the perfect time.
She wouldn’t stand a chance. None of them did.
He turned to leave, sticking to the shadows. Narrowing his gaze at the mess near his gory boots, he shrugged and smiled, knowing his mediocre life had been bestowed with something indescribable.
Looking heavenward, he thanked the Lord.
Finally, his prayers were answered, and he could fulfill his commission.