Page 152 of The Cannibal

I forced my fingers around the rope, shoving my hips back before throwing the man over me and into her.

Pierce stumbled over her to get away, his feet kicking at the floor before I straddled his body, turning him over. His perfectly trimmed hair now scuffed and wild, his face no longer smug, and he was powerless to what would follow.

I pulled the blade from my rib but couldn’t reach the one in my back.

My blood glistened on the ancient blade.

“Foolish man.” I caught my breath. “Simple creatures, no matter your species.” My voice crackled like a fire.

“Please,” he begged, “you would have done the same in the name of protecting what’s yours.”

“You’re right,” I breathed, “and I will take what is mine.”

I lunged, and my teeth were in his neck faster than he could spit another plea. He could have been braver. And if he had been in Rebecca’s place, he at least would have gotten the venom. He thrashed and choked as my teeth buried in the throat, crushing his larynx from the force of my jaw.

Blood flowed from my wounds, but only for a short time before the cuts closed. The one on my back was agitating me, but the pain had washed away like every natural swallow was morphine.

Rebecca pushed the blade deeper into my back, but I was already sucking on wrung-out flesh.

My body was vibrating as if powered by pure coal. I pushed back on the pressure of her hand on the blade. An angry scream is all she could manage with the paralysis in her face.

I reached back, grabbing her by the throat.

Her nails scratched and scraped against my arm as I held her away, the blood from my lips still dripping onto Pierce below me.

She couldn’t fight me.

Not now.

Her cheek was torn to her lip, the flesh open and her back teeth exposed.

“I will remember you for all you were,” I said softly, “but everyone else will only know you for this moment.”

Her breathing was so hard that the blood from her mouth sprayed in my face.

My fangs were in her neck so fast that everything else faded away.

After, I was blind to the carnage. Each tear of skin made me crave more, each swallow of blood swelled within me like new life, and the ecstasy could have healed every part of my soul.

I wouldn’t call it carnage, there was no blood left.

The only drops I did not consume had soaked into my own clothes, dying my attire as black as the day I’d embraced myself.

The day I became a poisoner was the first day I put trust in my nature; the day I became the cannibal was the last day I ever doubted it.

It was a shame. The Guild’s collection of arms and artifacts could impress even the most avid collectors. Notably, the Assyrian sickle sword displayed proudly on top of the mantel.

Carefully, I placed my fingers under the hilt and blade, lifting it from the confines of its display. So perfectly balanced and light.

I tapped it on my finger. It took my body a second to realize it had even been cut, the smallest pain didn’t register until several seconds after the blood appeared.

In the corner, a shaking ball gripping her head. I almost forgot she was there at all.

“Mary,” I spoke, my voice clear of any imperfections in the previously crushed chords.

She looked up at me and withered like a leaf.

I tilted my head toward the exit.