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Aeron
It was Nyla.
What the fuck did that even mean?
Samael
Killian’s coworker? What does she know?
Even through text, I could tell that Samael was both pissed and ready to take her out.
Aeron
Not much. Got together to do a tell-all, didn’t really do much telling. Have to go. Killian needs me.
What’s wrong with him?
Aeron
Not sure.
Killian was fracturing at the same time our little slice of heaven was falling apart. Our routine was being picked at underneath a microscope and I hated it. Samael would take care of the Nyla situation and I had hope that Killian would find his way back to us though.
He had already opened up to Samael, although not in the most preferred way. When Samael told me that he had fucked the kid amongst dead bodies, I was furious. I wish I could say it was because our Kitten didn’t have his priorities straight.
But it wasn’t that. I was jealous.
We all had our delusional fantasies—fantasies so dark that the devil would be ashamed. Personally, I imagined on more than one occasion Killian partaking in one of my escapades, watching as the desire ran through his expression, using my favorite knife to make his own carvings, blood coating those delicious lips…
And now that Aeron had whisked our little Kitten off to his place, stating that he needed ‘help,’ I felt a little left out. I’d check on them later.
Right now, I had to get out of the fucking schedule that our Chief of Surgery had proposed. I got it. I was Dr. God Hands. I was in high demand. But my hands were my craft. They needed rest. I smiled to myself, laughing at my own bullshit. I didn’t need rest. I needed another kill. It was so soon after the last one, yet my hand was starting to shake again.
David hadn’t been nearly enough time to placate my demons. Case in point that I didn’t even remember half of his agony as I sliced into him. Samael had shown me the crime scene photos and the horror I left behind wasn’t the work of The Skinner. It had been the work of someone dark and depraved, clearly out of control, and losing touch with reality.
That needed not to happen again.
Scrolling through my phone, I double-checked my schedule, pleased to find that I had a rather long break before my next meeting. In reality, I had fifteen minutes before someone barged in but it was enough to recline in my chair and prop my feet up on the desk.
I dialed Samael. It rang, and he didn’t pick up. Maybe he was busy? After all, we did have regular day jobs. Too bad. I dialed again.
“What?!”
“Uh… Samael?” With my door closed, I opted for the name we used between ourselves, knowing that it would humanize whatever was left of him.
Samael really only used that gruff voice with me for a few reasons—either he was at work, and something was pissing him off, or someone in his pyramid was pissing him off. Either way, Samael was usually more reserved during private interactions. And he didn’t seem… alone.
“Sla-Ryker. Samael… he’s… it’s not good,” Brent whispered. I hadn’t heard his voice in a while and there was no reason for him to have my lover’s phone. The guy might have been Samael’s closest confidant besides Aeron and me but I had never trusted him like that.
Sitting up straight in my chair, my feet falling to the ground with a plop, I lowered my voice. “Brent, what are you doing with Samael’s phone?”
“He came home really pissed off. I have no idea what’s going on. But he just headed straight for the basement and gave me one of those looks.”
Those looks always translated into dead bodies. While I perfected my craft and introduced my kills as a work of art—most of the time—Samael destroyed things and he enjoyed every last minute of it. “Again?” Why did everything have to happen at the same goddamn time? Killian falling apart, Aeron acting weird, and now Samael losing his shit? Not to mention Jenny’s fucking lungs still hanging out in Aeron’s fridge…
“I’m running out of people to send down there.” Brent sounded worried, and that ninja fucker was never worried.
“Fucking hell, Brent.”
