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Chapter 3
My dick stiffensbehind my slacks as Elena licks her plump lips, her soft eyes glued to the corpse in front of us. I try to focus and fix my sight on anything else, but I can’t stop remembering how it felt to have them wrapped around me, sucking like her life depended on it.
“You’re back,” she whispers.
She blinks, over and over, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing.
“Is he...”
“Dead?” I ask, hitting the record button on my phone to stop the video. Shoving it into my coat pocket, I nod, finally breaking away from her mouth to note Mateo’s sightless gaze. “Quite, I assure you.”
Silent for several beats, I can see the gentle rise and fall of her chest, breasts straining against the white lace material of her dress. She’s more covered up than I’ve ever seen her, the dress little more than a sheath that clings to her like a second skin, but somehow she’s never looked more sinful.
Perhaps it’s the context; her, in a wedding gown, standing over her fiancé’s dead body. And yet, her only real reaction was to me, as if his death bears no consequence to her.
Bending down, she presses two fingers to Mateo’s jugular, and my shoulders tense, the thought of her DNA anywhere near him making me nervous. Not because I care if she’s implicated—it won’t matter in a few hours, anyway—but because I simply don’t want her touching him.
The tiara ensnared in her hair shifts as she moves, and mascara smudges beneath her eyelids, making her look sullen and defeated, though I know her to be anything but.
I kept watch over her after she turned eighteen, fulfilling a favor owed to her father, before allowing my depravity to take hold, giving in when she asked me to ruin her.
Therefore, I know everything there is to know about the woman before me: her favorite poems—Shelley’s The Masque of Anarchy and Browning’s My Last Duchess—as well as what she prefers for breakfast—whole wheat toast with peanut butter and fresh fruit—and that she loves learning.
If she’d had her way, she’d be studying literature and not just how to teach it.
I know about the little pomegranate tattooed beneath her breast, and have traced the line work myself with the tip of my tongue. She even tastes like the fruit, explosive and utterly bewitching; the kind of succulence you want to sink your teeth into.
And fuck, did I.
Her blood is just as sweet.
I know she’s drawn to darkness, having watched her bask in the low hum of the stars as moonlight spilled across her pale skin more times than I care to admit.
As I study her now in her state of disarray, I know she’s not upset about the death of her fiancé.
It’s a mirage, as much as their marriage would have been. A sham for the press, making her father look good while destroying the tattered remains of the soul I broke weeks ago.
Elena sniffles, and for a moment I think she’s about to burst into tears; I lean on the balls of my feet, ready to sweep her away from the scene before she becomes hysterical, but then she glides her hands down the front of Mateo’s chest, slipping one beneath the flap of his tuxedo jacket.
And I realize, as she peels that piece back, revealing the blood-soaked dress shirt beneath, that she wasn’t sniffling—she was smelling him.
A shock of arousal jolts down my spine, hitting me like a bolt of lightning, singeing my bones. Perhaps she’s not all prey, after all.
Perhaps my little Persephone is actually fit for her fate.
She stares at the wound, the curved handle of my knife still protruding from the area, and gives the smallest shake of her head. “Insurance.”
“What?”
Replacing the jacket over the area, she gives a little shrug. “Insurance, right? The stab wound? In case whatever else you did to him didn’t work.”
My mouth parts to refute her claim, the need to distance myself from the crime second nature at this point, but I don’t. There’s no reason, if she already knows this was my doing.
Part of me—the sick, disturbed part I stuff down into the recesses of my brain—wants her to know, anyway.
Wants her to see what I’m capable of, and what happens to those who defy me.
Mateo’s decision to go through with this wedding, even when I told him to find a way out of it weeks ago, was the ultimate act. And since I couldn’t let him ruin my entire plan, I needed to remove him from the equation.
