Chapter 14
Him
Sitting in the quiet of my flat, Mercy is coiled loosely around my forearm, her scales cool against my skin as her tongue flicks out to taste the air. I stroke her head slowly, the motion calming the restless itch under my ribs.
Boredom has settled in heavy today, a dull gray fog that makes everything feel flat and pointless. The usual routines. Cooking, cleaning, watching the news aren’t cutting through it. Nothing has since I last saw her.
“I’m going to see her again.” I say to Mercy, my voice low enough that it barely disturbs the stillness.
“My prey. She’s out there, probably thinking she’s safe.
But I need to test something. I’m bored right now, but when I see her, I’m sure that high will come rushing back.
That rush from just watching her last time.
It was different. I want to know if it’s real, if only seeing her does it again, or if it was a one-time fluke.
What do you think? Worth the drive?” Mercy’s head tilts slightly, as if she understands.
“Yeah, me too.” I smile at her, the corner of my mouth lifting.
“You get it, don’t you? The wait is starting to grate. I’m bored. But when I see her, I’m sure it’ll come back. That electric hum. That promise of something worth the chase. She makes me feel alive without me even having to touch her yet.”
I place Mercy back in her terrarium, secure the lid, and grab my keys. The drive to the area where her friend dropped her last time took more than an hour.
I park a block away, scanning the street for her. Not long. There she is, stepping out onto the cracked pavement, hailing a cab. My pulse ticks up, not the full high yet, but a spark.
I follow the cab, keeping distance, curiosity building as it heads to another flat in the same rundown neighborhood.
She steps out of the car, pays the driver, and disappears inside the house.
I wait. A few seconds pass. Then a minute. I park a little farther down the street and get out, choosing my position carefully. I lean against the streetlamp, casual to anyone who might glance my way, watching the flat like it might confess something if I stare long enough.
Voices drift out soon after. At first, they’re muffled. Indistinct. Then sharper.
A man’s voice cuts through the quiet. Tight, accusing, edged with anger. Hers follows. My jaw tightens. I move closer, staying in the shadows, until I can see through the window.
He’s towering over her.
His hand clamps around her arm, fingers digging in as he yanks her back toward him. He’s shouting now, words spilling fast and loud, invading her space. She tries to pull away, eyes darting, shoulders drawn inward like she’s bracing for something worse.
My stomach knots. This isn’t an argument. This is control.
He slaps her hard, her head snapping to the side. She looks out the window for a split second and our eyes meet. She's sure she saw me, that flash of fear in her eyes.
Rage explodes in me, a burning need to claim what's mine.
How dare he touch her? She's for me to hunt, me to break. No one else gets to lay a hand on her.
The rush I came here to test blooms fast, stronger than I expected, unfurling through me with dangerous clarity. It confirms everything I suspected.
But it’s different now, threaded with something intimate, something absolute. Possession settles into my bones, heavy and certain.
I hadn’t planned to see her today. I hadn’t planned for this. But plans are meaningless once fate rearranges itself. This changes everything.
Some things are not taken. They are chosen. And the feeling that grips me now, unyielding, unwavering, tells me one thing with perfect certainty.
She belongs to me.
I turn back to my car. The street is quiet, unaware. I open the trunk and curl my fingers around the hammer. Its weight settles into my palm like it belongs there, familiar and reassuring, as if it’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have.
I close the trunk and walk back toward the house.
Each step sharpens my focus. The world narrows to the door in front of me, to the certainty blooming in my chest.
When I swing, it isn’t wild. It’s deliberate. The impact shudders through the frame. Wood gives way with a dry crack, resisting just long enough to make the next blow feel inevitable. It doesn’t take much. The door finally collapses inward, broken and useless.
I step inside. His voice carries from upstairs, loud and furious, filling the house like poison. I move toward the stairs, unhurried. The hammer trails behind me, striking each step as I climb. Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound echoes, rhythmic and deliberate, feeding the hum beneath my skin. The higher I go, the stronger it grows. Electric, steady, undeniable.
"I said, who is it? Answer me, asshole!" He shouts. Pathetic, scared piece of shit.
I reached the door, my fingers curling around the cold knob as I rattled it softly. A surge of exhilaration peaked within me, the kind that made my blood sing, because finally, she would see me.
Truly see me. It was the same intoxicating rush I'd felt the first time I spotted her, that magnetic pull that had sealed her fate as mine.
I opened the door, and there they were. He charged at me, his voice a frantic bellow. "Get the hell out of here! Who the fuck are you?"
I tilted my head, observing him with detached curiosity, marveling at how pathetic humans became when fear gripped them.
They turned wild, unfocused, their instincts reduced to primal chaos. I didn't even need to raise the hammer high. A precise swing to his kneecap was enough.
The satisfying crack echoed through the room as he crumpled to the floor, crying out helplessly. "My leg! Fuck. You broke my leg!"
My gaze shifted to her, and oh, how her eyes widened in terror. Good. I savored that look, the way her fear acknowledged my power over her. Stepping around him, I delivered a calculated strike to his spine. Just enough to ignite agony without shattering bone.
He cried out again, pleading, "No… no.. please, no more! Stop!"
Her scream rips through the house, raw and unrestrained. It pours out of her in desperate waves, sharp enough to make everything else fade.
She’s begging now, her voice cracking as the words tumble over each other, prayer and panic tangled together. “Leave him alone.” She cries. “Please, God, Just leave him alone.”
She sounds broken. Frantic. Trapped inside the moment as it keeps replaying for her, each second carving itself deeper. Horror holds her in place, even as her body trembles with the need to run, to stop what she knows she can’t control.
I drop to one knee in front of her. Up close, she fills my vision. Small, folded inward, trembling so hard I can hear her teeth chatter. She tries to retreat, pressing herself back as far as the space allows, like distance alone might save her. It won’t.
I feel her reaction before I fully see it. The way her breath stutters, the way her body curls in on itself, instinctively protective.
“Please. Don’t…” The words come apart as she sobs, fragile, unraveling. She folds tighter, arms wrapped around herself like a shield that’s already failed. “Please. Don’t hurt me.”
I stay where I am. Close enough for her to feel my presence. Close enough for the terror to settle in fully. This is the moment where everything changes. Where she understands how completely the world has shifted beneath her feet.
And how little space there is left to run.
Pulling the syringe filled with midazolam from my pocket, I injected it swiftly into her arm. I always keep it handy for times like these.
“No…” She murmurs, blinking hard. “What… what did you… do to me?”
Her eyes lose focus, drifting instead of fixing on anything solid. She reaches for balance and finds none. Her limbs grow heavy, movements delayed, uncooperative. The fight drains out of her not all at once, but in stages. Awareness dulling, resistance softening.
I watch the moment it happens.
Turning back to him, my hand closes in his hair, fingers firm, unquestioning, and I pull him up just enough to bring my mouth close to his ear. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to. The truth carries its own weight when spoken quietly.
“She is Mine To Hunt.”
The moment hangs there, suspended, long enough for it to register. Even if he doesn’t fully understand it. Then I slammed his head against the floor with brutal force, and he went limp, unconscious. I end his resistance. His body slackens, collapsing into stillness as consciousness slips away.
Silence follows. Both of them are out now.
I take my time leaving the house, moving through it like I belong there. Outside, the night is calm, indifferent. I pull the car around front and open the trunk. Lifting them is effortless. Their weight barely registers. Only obstacles temporarily in my way.
The drive passes in a blur of empty streets and steady breathing. I secured her loosely in a chair, my thoughts already shifting to the interloper. I'd kill him first, then turn my full attention to her.
A hard slap hit his face, turning his head and splitting his lip like a overripe fruit. Blood dripped down his chin, warm and sticky, as his eyes opened in confusion. He groaned, "Who... are you? What the hell is this?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I grabbed a dull knife, its edge worn out but great for slow, painful cuts. No quick slices, just rough, tearing wounds to make the pain last.
I began with his arms, pressing the blade on his pale skin and pulling it slowly. The skin held at first, then split with a wet rip, like tearing wet paper. Shallow cuts crossed his arms like a grid of hurt.
Blood bubbled up in red drops, filling the lines before spilling over and soaking the ropes tying him to the chair. He yanked against the ties, his muscles straining for nothing. "Stop! Please! What do you want?"
Deeper cuts now. I stabbed the knife into his thigh, twisting it as I pushed, feeling it scrape bone. Muscle ripped with a squish, and hot blood shot out in pulses, splattering the floor in red designs.
His scream was raw and loud, bouncing off the walls. "Ahh! Fuck! Please." He jerked around wildly, the chair groaning, his body shiny with sweat and blood mixing together.
I kept going to his hands, those shaking, weak fingers. First the tendons. Snip, snip. The knife cutting through the tough strings with a gritty feel, like slicing rubber in meat. Blood leaked from the cuts, and his fingers flopped loose, like dead bits of skin and bone.
He cried, tears running down his face with snot and spit. "No. No more! I'll do anything! I’ll give you money. Please stop."
But I didn't care about his words. I grabbed each finger and twisted until the joints cracked like dry sticks, the snap loud over his crying.
Bones broke and poked through the skin in sharp white pieces, blood fizzing around them. He shook hard, puking yellow stuff on his chest, adding a sour smell to the room.
The hammer felt heavy in my hand, its cold metal ready for big damage. I swung it at his ribs. Crack. Crack. Crack. Each hit shaking my arm. Bones broke like thin glass, pieces stabbing inside and popping his lungs with wet sounds.
Air whistled from the holes, blood bubbling from his mouth like pink foam as he gasped. "Can't... breathe... please..." His chest moved unevenly, sinking in with each hard breath, ribs scraping together in a mess inside.
I saved his face for the end, that scared look. First the nose. I smashed the hammer down, crunching the soft part like eggshells, blood spraying in a light mist that spotted my clothes. His nose holes spread flat into a mushy blob, blood running down his throat and choking him.
Then the cheeks, caving them in hard, skin splitting to show broken bone under, muscles twitching on their own.
Last, the eye socket. A strong hit that shattered the thin bone around his eye. The eyeball stuck out weirdly, veins popping in red lines, the white part filling with blood like a burst fruit.
He made bubbly noises, his body shaking in last jerks, arms and legs flopping weakly as his body shut down, skin turning pale under the mess.
The rush from it was weak, not the big thrill I wanted from victims I picked myself. The ones I followed and enjoyed slowly. This guy? He was just extra, forced on me by the situation.
But I still liked it. The warm blood splash on my skin, the sounds of breaks and yells, how his body changed from alive to a wrecked, dead pile of torn meat, bare bones, and leaking guts.
Across the room, she stayed passed out in her chair, not knowing about the killing, her breathing calm and steady. I cleaned the knife on his ripped shirt, already planning the cleanup and how to get rid of him. The boring jobs after the fun.
I left them there and ascended the stairs, showering off the blood that clung to my skin, then changing into fresh clothes.
When I return to the basement, she is exactly where I left her.
I lift her carefully, instinctively adjusting my hold until her weight settles against me, familiar in a way that feels inevitable.
Her body rests easily in my arms, slack with unconsciousness, fitting there as if it always had. The thought steadies me.
The drive back is quiet. Streetlights pass in a slow, measured rhythm, illuminating her face in brief flashes before letting it slip back into shadow. She doesn’t stir. She trusts the stillness without knowing it, and that trust feels like something precious.
At her flat, I carry her inside. The space is unchanged, unaware of what has just shifted. I lay her down on the bed with deliberate care, smoothing the sheets beneath her, arranging her as gently as possible.
I pull the blanket around her slowly, tucking it in, sealing the edges as if to keep the world out. The gesture is intimate, intentional. A quiet claim made without words.
I step back and take one last look before leaving, committing the sight of her to memory.