Page 92 of Unhinged Alphas

Ivy's knife slips, and I feel a sharp pain. I growl, my hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that isn't there.

"Sorry!" she yelps, quickly pulling back.

I force myself to relax, unclenching my fists. "It's fine. Keep going."

She hesitates for a moment before continuing. "How many... how many have you killed?"

I shrug slightly. "Lost count. Dozens. Maybe hundreds."

"How do you find them?"

I chuckle darkly. "I am very good at hunting. I was quite literally born and bred for it."

Ivy works in silence for a moment, then asks, "Do you ever feel guilty?"

The question hangs in the air. Do I feel guilty? I consider it for a moment. The faces of my victims flash through my mind. The terror in their eyes as they realized who I was, what I was going to do to them. The screams, the pleas for mercy.

I remember the first one. A board member who resembled an oily human mole in charge of the humane treatment of experiments. He workedremotely from his seaside mansion just a few miles away from where the horrors themselves took place. I tracked him for weeks, learning his routines, his habits. When I finally cornered him in his own garden, he shit and pissed himself at the same time.

I had found it endlessly amusing in the most ironic sense that he tended to his exotic plants with care he never gave us. In fact, he went out of his way to deprive us of every comfort. Unless, of course, we were pretty enough to go home to his bed for the night. It's a small mercy I was too heavily sedated to remember much of anything.

"Please," he had begged. "I have a family."

I smiled then, the same way I'm smiling now. "So did I."

I took my time with him. Made sure he felt every cut, every slice. I wanted him to understand the pain he'd inflicted on us. Wanted him to experience a fraction of the agony we'd endured. His muffled screams as I choked him to death with his own dismembered cock were music to my ears.

"No," I say finally. "I feel nothing."

And it's the truth. If anything, I feel like I haven't done enough.

Ivy is quiet for a long time. Then she murmurs,her breath warm on my ravaged neck. “Almost got it.”

She continues cutting, and I focus on the burn of the alcohol, trying to ignore the memories threatening to surface. The labs. The needles. The pain.

She hesitates for a moment before continuing. The blade digs deeper, and I grit my teeth against the pain. But as she works, I become aware of something else. A familiar heat building in my core, spreading through my body.

Fuck. Not now.

"What's wrong?" Ivy asks, pausing her work.

"Nothing," I growl. "Keep going."

She resumes cutting, and I close my eyes, trying to will away my growing arousal. But it's no use. With each touch of her fingers, each brush of her breath, I grow harder.

My cock twitches, and I curse under my breath, shifting uncomfortably and hoping she doesn't notice. But of course, she does.

"Are you... are you gettingturned onby this?" she asks, her voice a mix of disbelief and disgust.

I laugh harshly. "It is the pain."

It's not a complete lie. Pain has always been a trigger for me, blurring the lines between agony andecstasy. But it's more than that. It's her scent, her touch, the vulnerability of exposing my neck to her.

Ivy's hands still. "Should I stop?"

"No," I growl. "We need to get this done."

She hesitates for a moment, then continues. I feel the knife probing deeper, and I hiss through clenched teeth. The pain sends a jolt straight to my cock, and I have to bite back a groan.