Page 94 of Corrupt Shadows

My abdomen flexes around the black tourmaline blade buried within my flesh. I grip the handle and slide the intrusion out of my stomach, then toss it onto the counter in front of me.

Stupid fucking bitch. Does she really believe that stabbing me would help my psychotic behavior? The darker, primal side of her demands my madness meet hers, and I will gladly fucking oblige.

I close my eyes and center on our bond. I travel down it and emerge in Evie’s mind. Her thoughts practically shout at me in the chaos of adrenaline, arousal, and fear.

“Run, run, witch. When I catch you, I will spank that needy pussy and make a feast of your filthy fucking body.”

I watch through Evie’s panicked gaze. She’s hiding in a small, cramped space. The witch huddles with her knees to her chest. Her heartbeat thrashes against her ears.

“Do you think you can hide from me? You’ve never known pain like I am able to inflict.”

Evie bursts from the wardrobe and paces back and forth in front of the enormous canopy bed, frantically wringing her hands. She bolts toward the entrance of the room and presses her ear to the door. The witch twists the knob slowly but cringes when the hinges creak loudly. Evie pokes her head into the hall, then rushes away.

Back in my own mind, I push to my knees and stand. My stab wound shoots bolts of pain through my middle, and I grin widely. I poke my fingers into the gash and hiss from the pleasureful pain. I remove my crimson-stained fingers and slide them down my tattooed neck, the skulls on my throat now decorated with war paint.

I saunter out of the kitchen to the bar built into the wall of the library, then press a button. Something whirls within the wall as the wooden panel slides down, exposing the stereo system. I select a mix perfect for hunting and crank up the volume far too loud. The base thumps through my body, practically vibrating my neurons. I remove another mask from a drawer beneath the bar and secure it to my face. I stare threateningly at my reflection. The black-and-gold mask hides nearly all of my inner turmoil, but it cannot wash away the madness blazing within my obsidian eyes.

A wave of utter disgust simmers in my gut. No one loathes me more than I loathe myself.

Maddening pain radiates through my skull, and I smile widely behind my mask. I roll my shoulders back, then reach behind me to pull my bloody T-shirt over my head, exposing the throbbing gash in my tattooed abdomen. The wound isn’t healing as quickly as it normally would, because the demonic blade is imbued with magic to interrupt my magic from repairing the damage.

I ride shotgun within my mind as my madness takes the driver’s seat. It calls my demon form forward, shifting my body partially into the terrifying, lethal predator I am. Evie has only skated the surface of my true nature, but she has yet to dance with the devil himself. My muscles visibly swell, and my veins strain against my skin, now a blue so dark, they appear black. My razor-sharp teeth form and everything in my body extends and lengthens. I admire the unwavering demon in the mirror, enjoying the freedom from the attractive shell I always don.

All of my senses stretch out of me, fighting for dominance at the forefront of my mind. I smell the witch all the way on the third floor, the stench of her fear a potent aphrodisiac.

“Paint It Black” by Anrankai vibrates in my chest, then it slowly transitions to a new song.

I breathe in her potent rosy-vanilla scent, her fear enhancing each of the notes, and stride through the kitchen to the buttery entrance. I jog down the stairs and flick open the electric panel behind the wooden rack of wine bottles. My claws scrape against the metal housing as I switch off all the breakers minus one, the stereo system.

The witch screams, her terror echoing through the manor, but it cuts short, as if she covered her hands over her mouth.

Adrenaline floods my veins and my brain throbs intensely, the edges of my vision blackening. My psychosis and demonic form happily blended is more than a little dangerous. The blood rushing through her veins calls to me, and I ache to drive my cock into her warm, wet holes while I brutalize her body with the blade she lovingly lodged into my abdomen.

I jog back up the steps and enter a shadow to travel to the third floor. I remain cloaked within the darkness beneath a painting. It feels as though it’s been years since I stalked her properly. I yearn for her horror-laced sweat beneath my tongue. The thought sends an unbearable ache to my swollen length.

The witch sprints by the shadows in which I loiter.

“I cannot wait to cover you in my blood,” I whisper, barely loud enough for even my ears to hear.

She skids to a stop, her heart beating so hard, it thumps against my tattoo on her breast. I stroke myself a few times and groan before adjusting myself so that my hard-on does not become a hindrance. Its mushroom head sticks well above my waistband, and the several rows of ridges lining the top and bottom of my demonic cock rub against my abdomen in a way that is distractingly pleasurable.

The witch backs up slowly, her eyes darting around the hallway, and she bolts toward the grand staircase. I wait until she gets halfway there before I escape the shadows.

With my free hand, I place the tips of my claws onto the wooden paneling. Keeping my pace measured, I walk forward, dragging my claws along the wall. The wood snicks as grooves carve along the grain. In my other hand, the dagger slices into my palm as I grip it by the blade. A trail of my blood follows me in an unbroken line.

The witch glances over her shoulder and stumbles before landing on all fours. I tilt my head to the side, lazily moving toward her. I slice into my lip with my razor-sharp teeth when she presents her ass cheeks beneath the gray satin cheeky panties. Pre-cum leaks from my demonic dick, then drips down my shaft as I thoroughly enjoy the view. Her biteable ass jiggles as she scrambles to her feet.

My mind fogs as her honeyed arousal permeates the air. My brain squeezes, begging me to dig my teeth into her throat and coat my tongue with her life’s essence.

Evie turns the corner and slides on her bare feet when she reaches the first marble stair. “Fuck!” She shrieks, her voice cracking. The witch crashes into the ornate railing, knocking the air from her lungs. She swivels her head, then gasps when I reach for her with a hand-shaped shadow. The wood groans eerily from my claws as I draw closer. Evie white-knuckles the banister but trips down the long staircase.

I linger on the balcony between the stairs, leaning casually against the banister. The intricate carvings on the wood dig into my forearms as I purposely let her get farther away. It would be a shame to end the hunt before true terror freezes her palpitating heart.

Thick drops of blood leak between my fingers squeezing the dagger’s blade. They splash soundlessly against the stone floor below. The opening bars of “.SALT.” by the Dead Poet Society blare through the hidden speakers in the manor, and I laugh throatily.

I press my bloodied palm against the damask wallpaper, smearing gore on the wall. I rest my fingers on the banister as I walk down the stairs, the pads smoothly gliding along every intricately carved rose.

Evie trips again and falls the last three steps onto the first floor, then heads straight for the entrance. Her sweaty palms slip on the handles as she pulls them down aggressively, her own madness finally waking up to meet mine.