Page 20 of The Monster I Am

He paused in the doorway, wanting so badly to reconsider but knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold back those urges for much longer.

It would’ve been easier if they were at a party, where he could claim he had to. This wasn’t necessary, though. This was only because he wanted to.

Weak.

Rhys dug out the cuffs from the trunk. He secured one wrist to one post of the bed, and the other wrist to the other side. “You’re going to cry so beautifully for me, aren’t you?” he murmured.

He retrieved the sleeve of knives from the bedside drawer, flipping it open to select one of the medium length blades.

“These will hurt a bit more,” he said. “And they’ll bleed a bit, too. But they’ll heal quickly and without scarring.”

So he could do this over and over again.

“Yes, sir,” Jared whispered, taking a few shaky breaths.

“Good,” Rhys replied, smoothing a few strands of Jared’s hair from his face before lifting the knife. It glittered in the light, wickedly sharp and enchanted for his touch alone, and Jared’s breath caught beautifully in what was either fear or anticipation; Rhys couldn’t tell. Perhaps both. He leaned in to place the first cut along Jared’s chest, just above his nipple. “I think I’ll create my own art tonight.”

Jared’s gasp ended on a soft moan.

“It all starts with a line,” he murmured. “Art is a wondrous thing. One line, one curve, one stroke of pen or brush… or blade.” He cut again a little lower, this time in an arc. These wounds, unlike those at the party, welled up with blood almost immediately. He’d have to work his way up to avoid making a mess of his canvas.

Intently, he began to create his own piece of art, cutting into the soft flesh of Jared’s stomach.

Jared didn’t hold back any of the soft — or increasingly louder — pained sounds, and Rhys noted that his cock had begun to fill even as tears streaked down his cheeks.

“Lovely,” Rhys murmured in approval as small trickles of blood started to drip from the lines he was creating. Jared really did look beautiful in red.

He cut a little higher up, a few swift strokes in rapid succession, before he slowed again. He switched to the other side of Jared’s torso, starting all the way at the bottom before beginning to work his way up again.

Jared was crying openly, kept from sobbing only by each catch of his breath as the knife opened more of his skin.

Each cut was carefully placed, artistically positioned to allow the drips of blood to paint a more impactful picture. Rhys didn’t consider himself a true artist, really, only a hobbyist. But he loved the way the blood looked as it spread across Jared’s skin.

He reached out with his other hand, stroking Jared’s cock in a few lazy pumps of his hand.

Chapter 6

Rhys

It happened all at once.

Rhys was considering turning Jared around and fucking him with his painfully hard cock when he felt something brush against his wards. Before he could even blink, someone was through them.

A handful of quick beeps preceded the front door swinging open. “Rhys!” a familiar voice called from the front of the house.

The door slammed shut and footsteps strode across the house toward Rhys’s bedroom.

Everything was in slow motion, and he couldn’t react before a quick double tap knock on the wall outside the door preceded the arrival of someone in the doorway.

“Rhys, we need— get the fuck away from him!” Aidan snapped, his voice harsh.

Who did he think he was, snarling at Rhys to get away from Jared? One of his best friends or not, Jared was his slave, the monster beneath his skin reminded him. Because Jared had become his, and that meant Jared belonged to Rhys, and who the fuck was Aidan to tell him to get away from his own pet?

Rhys came back to himself in a rush, lowering the blade. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hissed at Aidan. “Get out.”

Aidan didn’t make the demand a second time, whispering something beneath his breath instead.

Rhys should’ve expected something, but he’d been too caught up in his mind’s games to be prepared. His back hit the wall with a thud, and the knife fell from his hand, dropping to the floor.