Page 11 of The Monster I Am

But who was he to say as much?

Regardless of what many thought, there was a finite supply of humans, and if those like Alastair continued to burn through them, they might one day find that there were too many predators and not enough prey to go around.

It was Rhys’s turn to hum instead of speak, because anything he might’ve said could be seen as treasonous at best.

Sympathizing with humans could be punishable by exile… or worse.

He watched in silence as Alastair used the human, as the terrible sounds of sobs and muffled screams radiated throughout the room.

Others had gone back to their own toys, but Rhys didn’t look away from the tableau playing out in front of him. Perhaps it was a way of tormenting himself, but he’d see this through. He’d remind himself that the reason he indulged the darkness inside was so that they could eventually stop such tragic excesses as these.

One day, this would be appalling instead of enticing to the masses again.

He added the name Alastair Bancroft to his mental list of those who would die during the eventual transition of power. Dominic Bancroft would need to die as well, of course, if they were to free Onyx Rayne and use his pyromancy for their own cause. Perhaps his death would not be as painful as the one Rhys planned for Alastair.

Alastair groaned in pleasure, his thrusts stilling, before stepping back to fix up his pants. Saliva and cum dripped from the slave’s open mouth, mixing with the tears and snot streaking his face.

Circling behind the slave, Alastair adjusted the chains to hoist the slave up to his feet, only to bend down and slice his blade through the backs of the slave’s thighs, eliciting further screams of agony and leaving him to dangle from the chains as the muscles were cut through.

Rhys couldn’t take it.

This went beyond what he’d done, what he wanted to do. Even the monster within was repulsed by this, disgusted beyond measure, and he’d seen a great deal over the past decade at parties like these.

“The hour grows late,” he said, rising as he fought back another wave of nausea. “I have a slave to tend to now, so if you’ll excuse me…?”

Please, by all the gods, let Dominic allow him to exit gracefully.

Dominic glanced away from the gruesome display to look at him, his mouth set in a thin line. The Bancroft witch’s gaze dropped to the slave at Rhys’s feet for a moment before lifting again, then he inclined his head slightly. “Go,” he said. “Such a canvas should be treated with care. I look forward to your next performance.”

“As do I,” Rhys said.

He only hoped that Alastair Bancroft would not be in attendance.

“Come, pet.” Rhys tugged lightly at Jared’s hair. “We’re leaving.”

Chapter 3

Jared

Jared rose unsteadily to his feet, uncertain whether they would hold his weight, but needing to get away from those horrific screams.

That had almost been him.

That would have been him, if the man who had said he was now Jared’s owner hadn’t decided to buy him.

He hated that he felt grateful to the witch for it. Grateful to the man who’d tortured him.

Had made his body light up in ways it never had before.

Had raped him.

Had made him come harder than he ever had in his life.

Jared kept his eyes on the ground in front of his feet. The floating haze of pleasure had been ruptured by the screams, and the sting from the cuts had set in afterwards, which wasn’t nearly as pleasurable as getting them in the first place had been.

The supe guided Jared through the hall and to the front door, then outside to his car. He led him to the back door, opening it. “Get inside,” he ordered, his voice hard. Despite his tone, his touch was gentle but firm as he helped him inside.

Jared hissed in discomfort as the cuts on his back met the seat of the car, but he was grateful that he wasn’t being forced to ride in the trunk.