Chapter 7 - Alexei
I felt anger. Burning fucking anger.
For two days I had been absent, but the moment I stepped back into Bloodburn’s halls that morning, I saw my little star walking alone down the corridor. A new notebook was clutched tightly to his chest and, to my fucking surprise, there were marks around his throat.
Someone had wrapped their fingers around that fragile neck and squeezed.
I was always empty. Always bored. The world was a gray stage of predictable weakness and fleeting entertainment.
But this… this ignited something primal and possessive.
The thing inside me twisted violently at the thought of another person marking what was mine.
I walked up to him and yanked him sideways, pulling his body into the nearest empty classroom. I released his wrist only after I had him backed up against one of the desks, and stared him down.
Marco clutched the new notebook even tighter to his small chest. He looked so fragile.
“Wh… what do you want?” he stuttered, cracking on the words the way he always did when he was near me.
It was kind of cute.
I brought one hand up and caressed the side of his neck with my fingertips.
The touch was deceptively gentle at first, tracing the skin before brushing over the bruised marks.
Marco shivered violently under my hand, shrinking further against the desk, trying to pull away even as my fingers followed.
I studied the fingerprints intently, my thumb pressing lightly into one of the darker spots. The sight of another man’s violence on his fragile throat made my jaw clench. This was my territory. My little star. No one else was allowed to leave evidence on him.
“Who did this to you?” I asked, voice low.
He looked up through dark lashes, shy and terrified, full lips trembling. “I… I don’t think that is your business…”
Wrong answer.
I wrapped my hand fully around his slender throat and yanked him forward, pulling him flush against my chest and lifting until he was forced onto his tiptoes. His notebook fell to the floor. My grip was firm but controlled. I didn’t want to actually hurt him. His feet barely touched the ground.
His hands flew up to clutch at my wrist.
“I will ask again,” I murmured, leaning down until my face was inches from his. My breath ghosted across his trembling lips. “Who did this to you?”
He gasped, eyes glassy. “Brad…”
Brad. New.
He must have been fucking new because everyone in this goddamn school knew that Marco was off-limits.
I had made sure of that since the first week he joined, when I saw some idiots planning to pick on him.
Anytime some bitch even tried to get close to him, they would end up as one of Ilya’s experiment subjects.
And that wasn’t only reserved for the bullies.
I also saw some who gave him heart eyes and tried to flirt with him; they ended up disappearing the next day.
I wonder whose fault that is? Oh, it’s mine.
My grip tightened just enough to make him gasp again, then eased so he could breathe. My thumb stroked the bruised skin in circles.
“Did he fuck you?”
Marco shook his head frantically, cheeks burning with shame. “No! It wasn’t like that… I… he… just picked on me…”
Hm. Brad was going to regret not being aborted by his mother.
I yanked him higher onto his toes, his small body fully pressed against mine now, my hand still collaring his throat. His pulse raced against my palm like a trapped bird.
“We will have to fix this,” I said.
His eyes widened, confusion and terror mixing in that delicious way only he could manage. Before he could pull away I slid my other hand up to cup the back of his neck, fingers threading into his dark curls.
I tilted his head to the side and up, exposing the entire bruised column of his throat to me. The skin was pale except for those ugly fingerprints. I lowered my head slowly, letting him feel my breath first.
“Wh… what are you doing?” he whispered. His hands tightened weakly on my wrist.
I pressed my mouth to the bruises. My lips parted and I licked a slow stripe over one of the marks, tasting his skin and the heat of the injury. Marco whimpered, body jerking.
I bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to leave my own mark, and sucked, pulling blood to the surface, overlaying Brad’s pathetic claim with something redder, permanent. I wanted him to feel this for days. I wanted him to look in the mirror and see only me.
I sucked another spot lower, tongue soothing the sting before I bit again, marking him in a trail that would bloom purple and red for weeks. My hand on his throat tightened and relaxed in rhythm with his frantic breathing, controlling the air he took, reminding him who decided when he breathed.
He whimpered again, softer, more helpless, fingers still gripping my wrist but no longer trying to push me away with any real strength. His body sagged slightly against mine.
I pulled back just enough to admire my work. A fresh trail of red-purple bruises now layered over the old ones, my mouth’s claim erasing Brad’s.
“Much better.”
I released his throat and the back of his neck at the same time. Marco stumbled back against the desk, breathing hard, one hand flying up to touch the marked skin. His eyes were glassy, lips parted, cheeks flushed. He looked ruined already. Perfect.
Then he bolted.
***
Originally, I had planned to kill Brad myself.
I wanted to watch the life drain from his eyes while he understood the mistake he had made.
But when I looked into it, Dimitri had already gotten to him.
My cousin had broken the football player’s legs and arms in a public display of violence, no doubt because of that silver-haired boy Rei.
It didn’t satisfy me. I needed to hurt him more, but killing him outright would have been too quick and I had neither the time nor the patience to play long psychological games with some brainless jock. Torture would work perfectly.
So I slipped into the hospital. Brad lay in the bed, both legs and one arm in casts. I silenced him, dragged his broken body out of the bed, and threw him into the trunk of my car like discarded meat.
I drove straight to the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts where Ilya liked to play.
Throwing him at Ilya’s feet, I watched as he looked up from his workbench of tools and chemicals. He poked the groaning body with the toe of his boot.
“What is this?” Ilya asked, tilting his head like a curious puppy.
“Your new experiment,” I replied. “Have your way with him. Make it last.”
Ilya’s face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. He bounced from one foot to the other in an almost comical little dance, hands clapping together rapidly. “Really? For me? Oh, you beautiful bastard!” He crouched down beside Brad, poking the broken leg with a finger and eliciting a cry.
Brad tried to crawl away but Ilya simply stepped on his hand, grinding his boot down until the jock screamed again.
I leaned against the wall, watching with detached interest as Ilya began his work.
He was in his element, a vicious little devil with a genius for pain.
He dragged out his favorite set of tools.
“Let us see how long you can stay conscious,” Ilya chirped happily.
“I have been dying to test this new acid mix. It eats through skin so slowly. Like a thousand little ants chewing from the inside.”
He demonstrated on Brad’s exposed arm, dripping a careful amount of the clear liquid onto the skin. The acid began to burn, bubbling and eating away at layers of flesh. Brad wasn’t having a good time. Ilya clapped again, bouncing excitedly. “Yes!”
Ilya picked up a needle, heating it over a small flame until it glowed.
“This one goes under the nails. Or maybe in the eyes? Decisions, decisions.” He settled for sliding several heated needles slowly under the fingernails of Brad’s unbroken hand, twisting them gently while describing exactly how the nerves were frying. The screams were animalistic.
Brad would suffer for days, maybe weeks if Ilya got really creative.
My little star was safe from this particular insect now.