Page 160 of Pareidolia

“How am I going to explain this?”

The tendril around her throat squeezes and she reaches into her pocket—this is his fear, the thing holding him back. The thought that somehow humanity will be able to take him away from me, to punish him for embracing what he is, what he can be.

“What are you doing?” He watches in fascination, his fingers still trembling on the knife.

Janine pulls out her phone and dials a number, and her voice sounds sweet when she speaks. “I’m leaving.” There’s a pause as the person on the other end of the line responds, and a tear slides down her cheek. “You know I’ve wanted to for years. I’m tired of this place… I’m sorry. I’ll call you soon.”

She hangs up, and her phone drops from numb fingers as she gets that other word out one more time.

“Please…”

“I wish you’d been Blake,” he says, but there’s no actual regret in his voice. “I would have enjoyed it more if you were.”

“Wait, I—” He doesn’t wait. Whatever humanity Aspen usually wears as a mask slips away as he drives the knife forward into the woman’s stomach and twists it. Whatever assumption she had, whatever desire, dies on the wings of horror, of fear, of terror and pleading hope that somehow she can get out of this even as he rips the knife upward and the wet sound of her blood hitting the earth spills through the forest.

He catches her around the waist and lowers her to the ground with a shocking gentleness.

“I remember you,” he whispers. “We were in class together… you used to cheat off my math tests, and I let you because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do to be normal.”

His confessions elicit another shiver of terror, and she tries to form a word.

“Ale… Alex… you’re Alex… I…”

“I’m not,” he whispers, and his eyes lift to connect with mine as he speaks. “I was never really Alex. I’ve always been a little monster… and I’m tired of pretending I can be anything else.”

He lifts the blade and drags it across her throat, and the wash of arterial spray paints his pale hair crimson, halos the moonlight shine of his eyes as her terror and agony washes over us both.

He stays there, straddling her body and shivering as his lashes flutter shut. Aspen drops the knife on the dead woman’s chest and raises his hands, running blood stained fingers over his face.

There’s no horror at what he’s done.

No regret.

There’s just a deep satisfaction that tears up along his chest and reaches across the distance, drawing me closer to him.

This is Aspen—who he truly is.

My little monster.

A mate worthy of standing by my side.

He hovers over her body until the last breath leaves her chest in a wet gurgle, until the emotions in the air go stale and still.

And then he stands.

Aspen is covered in blood that isn’t his own, and his eyes are glowing pale like moonlight again when he faces me. The tattoo on his chest is writhing, squirming, like the wings are alive and want to take flight. He doesn’t hesitate when he steps closer, doesn’t pause as he sinks to his knees. He just wraps his fingers around my thighs, nails digging into my flesh.

“I’m still hungry, Nox,” he murmurs.

“Then let me feast while I feed you.” We’ll both be satisfied by the time I’m done. My body shivers and my cock slides out… and like he was born to be on his knees for me, Aspen sticks out his tongue and tips his head back, sucking my tip between his lips like he’s determined to take me or die trying.

“Choke on me, Aspen. I want to break you apart until I’m the only thing inside you.” My hips rock forward and my cock shifts shape, spilling into something longer, thick enough to completely fill his mouth, but capable of sliding down his throat. I mold myself to the shape of him and moan when he swallows around me. “That’s right… a little killer on his knees, ready to die for a monster.”

He seems to like the rumble of my voice. One hand drops down and I tangle claws in his hair to hold the back of his head. I pull back just enough to let him free his lips.

“Use me,” he moans the instant his tongue is free. “Fuck my mouth, Nox. Break me.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to start—Aspen dives back onto my cock with the enthusiasm of a starving man, and I take him at his word. My fingers in his hair tighten and I thrust my hips forward, spilling down his throat until he gags and reveling in how good it feels for him to squeeze around me. His desire carries my movements, his demand setting the pace…