Chapter Twenty-One
Heart to Heart
It’s been months since Mastyx took the twenty-two souls at the tavern and left me in my birthday suit on the airfield. The incident not only rocked our tiny town, but it also made national news.
Since then, I’ve only given him one more soul—a man whom I witnessed kicking his son in the back because he wasn’t walking fast enough. The child’s better off without him, at least that’s what I tell myself.
Despite not getting all my questions answered, I did manage to solve one important mystery.
Mastyx can use the face of the recently departed after consuming their soul.
When he takes a soul, their likeness is absorbed into him as well, and his unearthly body can use it like a human mask or, in some cases, like an entire suit to cover his demon-like form.
The child’s father wasn’t good-looking at all. In fact, he was borderline grotesque in a meth-head sort of way. A few times when Mastyx made me look at him and the bleeding scabs on his greasy face, bile crept up in my mouth.
I really need to think carefully next time I go looking for someone to taunt into my web so Mastyx can suck the life out of them like a spider. Because let’s face it, looks do matter.
After another round of research, spending countless hours learning more about who, or should I say what, Mastyx is, taking me down a rabbit hole of knowledge and dark tales, I found some relevant information.
Knowledge is power after all, and from what I’ve learned, I can steer our erotic relationship in certain ways with how many souls I give him.
The Aztecs once performed public sacrifices to feed the sun god and maintain a cosmic balance. When I think of the sun god, I think about Mastyx. Could that be who the Aztecs really sacrificed to? The devil? A demon?
Mastyx is hot and fiery after all, and the deaths do technically maintain a cosmic balance between good and evil. By picking sinners and men who deserve it, I feel like I’m balancing the scales of society.
I don’t have to sacrifice anyone, but the fact that I can lure men to their death on purpose and let Mastyx take their souls gives a gift not only to him but to me.
I get a human or semi-human sexual being to fuck, and he gets a notch in his soul belt, so to speak.
Not only that, but I also have the power to choose who dies, giving me even more confidence.
It makes sense to me. At least, I think it does.
Keeping a lighter or matches with me is imperative. That way, if someone tries to hurt me, I can have them killed with the simple lighting of a flame, which brings a smile to my face so broad that it hurts. For the first time in a long time, I’m not afraid.
During last month’s encounter, I noticed Mastyx’s human form was starting to disintegrate. His skin was paper-thin, the flesh on his face stretched so tight it looked like thin wax, and his footsteps sounded more thunderous as if made by hooves.
Today, there’s nothing remotely human remaining. He’s back to the bloody skeleton, fiery-faced demon who wears the mask to make me more comfortable. He needs a fresh soul.
His hooves clank against my bedroom floor as he stands and gazes down at me.
Our muddy relationship is not only unnatural, but it’s also wrong on so many levels.
And yet, I look forward to our time together.
It was easier to fall into a routine than I thought.
I’d never have guessed in a million years that my future mate would be a demon from hell.
But here I am, wishing that we could talk freely like a normal couple.
I forget sometimes, when we are lying side by side, that he’s not human but a superior being who steers and bends our relationship to his will, not mine.
Although he fulfills my needs and desires, sexually, there is no emotional depth, no love or feelings that aren’t superficial.
He’ll never tell me he loves me. We will never be wed or live happily ever after.
I have so many questions and feelings that have been building up inside me that no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shake them.
I’m overwhelmed, confused, and feeling lost as of late.
It’s as though I don’t know my place in this world as the lines between good and evil blur.
I’m fighting to feel normal, to be normal, but there’s an intoxicating need that gnaws inside of me, creeping into my head and corrupting my moral compass.
I want Mastyx in human form all the time.
I crave him—the thrill of luring the sinners to their deaths, getting away with it, and the reward Mastyx gives me that follows.
I shouldn’t feel this way, and I often wonder if somehow the more I’m with him, the more his evil seeps inside of me, corrupting whatever soul I have left.
I’ve even had a crazy fantasy after watching the movie Carrie about covering my body in a thick layer of blood and letting Mastyx lick me clean. I can’t get the idea out of my head.
If Mastyx would open up to me, tell me everything about him, what he desires, what he needs, perhaps I could use this information to my advantage as well.
I stretch my arms and tuck them behind my pillow. Just ask him, Contessa. Tell him what you want.
“Ask me what?” Mastyx sits beside me and runs his calloused-feeling hand up and down my thigh.
“How often do you need a soul for your face not to fall apart?”
His clawed nail bites into the skin on my lips.
“That’s not something you want from me; that’s just a question you want answered.
” He huffs in irritation. “And it depends. The human’s age and overall health play a role.
” He slides the death mask off his face and sets it beside us. “Why did you want to know this?”
I rub my forehead and frown, trying not to look at his grotesque face. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I could help you get a new one more often. You know, so your face stays relatively human for longer.”
He tosses his head back and belts out a diabolical roar of laughter. “Little Sinner, someone must die so I can take their soul for me to get a new face. I thought by now you would know that.”
What the fuck are you doing, Tessa? Are you really offering to help him get more souls for your own benefit?
A sinister glow lights up in his eyes, and a Cheshire Cat smile spreads across his face. “You want to deliver more lost souls to me to make our encounters more tolerable?”
“Maybe?”
Dammit, Tessa. Shut up.
He leans forward, cupping my face with both hands, his eyes drilling holes through me, a smile curling on his lips. “No, don’t shut up, my naughty Little Sinner. Tell me your terms.”
Why is he so excited about this idea? I wonder what’s in it for him.
“I get their souls, and a new face for a while, but what do you want in exchange?”
He’s reading my mind again. What do I want? He’s letting me have what I want. Something doesn’t feel right about all this.
Still, I do often worry that if I have an unclean thought about another man or think about fucking them, he’ll react and hurt me, so it only seems like the most logical choice to consider as part of this agreement.
My palms sweat, and I rub them together, pursing my lips as I calculate my words carefully.
“I choose all the marks, fuck them if I want, before I set them up for you. You know, make them sin or reveal their dark side or taunt them or whatever.” I clench my jaw and raise my eyebrows.
Even as the words leave my lips, I feel my confidence fading, so I explain further.
“I mean…it’s not like I want to fuck them, it’s just, I may want to or need to convince the person to come with me or at least say I’m going to or… ”
“Silence,” he says, raising his hand, before leaning away, his eyes darkening, the flames in them growing dim briefly before rising again. “And how often would that be?” He grits his teeth, his jaw shifting as it clenches, his jealous side showing.
He didn’t say no right away, so that’s a good sign. I need to make it more about my need for him than my need to lure a man to his death.
I take a deep breath and bat my eyelashes, a cocky confidence beaming off of me before saying, “Only when my loins long for your burning cock.”
My breath remains trapped inside me, waiting for him to respond, a part of me regretting not only making such a bold request but also manipulating the terms in my favor.
He chuckles at first, but it grows louder and louder. “Oh, Little Sinner, we have a deal.”
That was too easy. He’s way too willing to share me with another man so he can have their soul. They must be of great value to him to allow that to happen.
“But…” He lifts me from the bed and sets me on top of his abdomen.
“…you will no longer just lure them. You will need to get your hands dirty as well, Little Sinner.” A flaming piece of paper appears in his hand from seemingly nowhere, the edges blackened and red embers floating off from it, landing on his chest. He extinguishes its flames with a quick blow from his lips and places it before me. “Sign.”
“But I don’t have a pen,” I say, furrowing my brows. “And what do you mean, get my hands dirty?”
He grips my hand and holds one of my fingers tight between his. With his other hand, he pricks the tip of my finger with his claw, making me scowl. “I mean, you need to draw blood. You need to be somewhat responsible for your own rescue.”
“Meaning?”
The bead of blood triggers a heated gaze in his eyes, before he looks up at me with an amused intensity that makes me tremor. “Meaning, you must kill too.”
Kill? He wants me to kill men, not just lure them to their deaths. Fuck. That’s not really what I wanted to do. I know I’ve been entertaining the idea that sacrificing to him may be a way for me to gain power and control, but I didn’t plan on diving right in to doing it.
“Sign,” he repeats as his sharp teeth grow longer—sharper. He places my bloody finger on the old, tattered paper and forces my initials onto the page.
Before I can object, he rolls the page in his hand, lifts me off him, and stands, towering over me. There’s an awkward silence between us as his lips curl and he flicks his fingers, the scroll vanishing in a puff of smoke and flames.
Even though the uncomfortable moment only lasted a few seconds, it was enough for doubt to creep across my neck like a crawling spider.
I thought I was in control right up until he smiled at me with that devilish grin and pressed my fingertip against the page. I mean, it’s possible he tricked me into thinking I was in charge of this encounter, to get what he wanted, making me feel I was getting something for myself.
His hooves clunk heavily across the floor as he disappears around the corner. I smile, wondering if he’s going to grab a Bomb Pop from the freezer to fuck me with. After several minutes, I call out his name.
“Mastyx?”
No reply.
Damnit, I hate when he does that.
No goodbye, no see you later, no thanks for riding me like a bull at a rodeo. Just poof, he ghosts me.
It doesn’t matter. I got what I wanted.
Sorta.
I mean, I’ve never actually killed anyone, and I don’t know if I’ll have the stones to do it, but we have an updated contract, so I have no choice in the matter. Do I?
I mean, what if I chicken out and can’t do it? Will Mastyx step in and finish the job so I don’t get myself killed? I bury my face in my hands.
What the fuck have I done?