Page 39 of Signed in Blood

I can practically feel it in my own veins, the moment she needs it. The moment her rage takes her over the edge.

My poor girl. I know the feeling all too well.

“Take what is owed to you,” I murmur and give her everything that I am in order for her to fucking kill him.

Chapter Eighteen

Lilith

* * *

I think I know where this bastard is going but I’ll be damned if I wait by a dingy hole-in-the-wall fucking bar for him to get pissed drunk.

As he shuffles his way through a parking lot, I lift my hand up to the street lights, breaking them each one at a time.

Let the darkness reign.

The crack of the glass and sudden darkness causes him to freeze mid-step and look up. His mind is already tormented, confused, and filled with regret.

I add in the agony I felt as they stabbed me repeatedly, and the bastard whimpers, falling to the ground and grabbing his head. As if he could stop the images from flooding his mind.

I replay the vision of them stabbing me. Their chant turns to whispers and I gather the wind to carry the words. To surround him where he’s fallen behind a row of cars.

It’s possible someone could see, but doubtful. Either way, I call upon the crows to gather and hide us if anyone were to look this way.

“What the hell?” Warren grabs hold of his chest, experiencing the brutality of what they did to me over and over again. Of what he did!

Rage turns my vision red.

I don’t even touch him, but he feels the knife slicing through his chest, his arms, his legs.

“Feel the burn of the rope at my wrists,” I whisper. My eyes are closed as I walk ever so slowly toward him.

“Ahhhh!!” he screams out and I smile. From a few cars’ lengths away, I can see the reddened marks on his wrist. He grips his arm, staring at the sight as if it’s on fire.

And perhaps…perhaps, I can make that happen.

Warren peels over, groaning loudly, trying to catch his next breath and his bearings.

In the blink of an eye, I shift back into my original form and Warren screams bloody murder when he realizes who’s walking toward him. With a flick of my wrist, I silence the wind. I want to hear his racing heart.

“It can’t be! We… We… We killed you…” He stutters. A few more steps and I’m close enough to do what must be done. “How are you here?”

I crouch down to his level, uttering, “I’m the grim reaper and I’m here to collect.” A smile I can’t control comes over me. It’s so odd, because I feel the torment still. The anger. The desire to deny any of this is even real.

“What did I do to deserve it?” I ask him, so sweetly. Kinder than I should.

Warren, like the pussy he is, shouts, “Help!”

Shaking my head, I place a finger up in the air. I imagine gluing his lips, silencing him.

“You killed me for fame,” I taunt him. “Do you know how pathetic that is? How low it is to stoop to that because you’re not talented enough to make it on your own?”

His eyes widen and his limbs physically shake, keeping him from moving if only for a moment. He tries to stand, but I wag my finger at him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He stills, pissing his pants. What a spineless piece of shit. Flashes of him on top of me dare to enter my mind and I have to close my eyes to end them.

Calmly, I speak to him again. “It’s actually comical that this was your last resource to prove to the world you’re not talented and had to resort to evil to be seen… I pity you, you fuck.” I slice through his glued lip, now that he knows it’s useless to scream for help.