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Joy remembered how she’d tried to move on. She’d quit her job, changed her number,and movedout of her flat. She’d tried looking for a new job, tried putting the pieces of her shattered self back together, but it felt like with every piece she picked up, ten more cracked and broke off.
She’d fallen into a depression. Bouts of moments where she called herself weak for not justgetting over it. She’d tried to have sex with someone new—a woman instead of a man, as if that would have made a difference—and nearly vomited onherwhenshe’dlooked atJoywith that intent inhereyes.
Then had come the anger. She wondered what he was doing, while she was here, spiralling.
Turned out life had simply gone on for him. Nothing had changed.
Joy had known then, there was only one of two ways this was going to end.
With her death.
Or with his.
Joy pulled out theblade. Blood spilled from the wound. She pressed it in again in a fresh new spot, slow and easy. He was shouting, but his body remained perfectly still and quiet, thanks to Malachi.
She watched his face as she stabbed him again. His eyes rolled back. Saliva dripped from his mouth,tears leaked from his eyes, andsnot slid down from his nostrils.
She reached out and slapped him, hard, jolting him back to earth. She gripped his hair and yanked him up, making him sit up—forcing him to watch as she stabbed him again.
“Bastard,” she growled, as she began jabbing the dagger into his torso over and over again, ignoring the hot, wet liquid splashing onto her face and her dress. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”
She let go of his head, and he collapsed back onto the mattress. Malachi released his magic hold.
His blood gurgled out of his mouth as he choked on it, his body jerking, the blood pouring out of him, staining his cream sheets in vivid, sickening red.
Joy gripped his jaw like he’d gripped hers, and stared right into his eyes. She didn’t stop looking until she saw the light behind them finally go out. Shelet go, sliding out of his bed.
For a moment she stood, staring at the body. Her heart was pounding. Some part of her had thought maybe she’d feel remorse—maybe she’d feel disgust after she was done. Maybe killing him wouldn’t make her feel better, after all.
She was wrong on all counts. Her blood was practically singing. She felt a sheer sense of joy and peace; she felt fucking high.
She spun around. Malachi had eyes only for her. The red was vivid, even with the lights on, his expression dark and hungry.
They moved at the same time, flying into each other’s arms. Malachi’s hands went to her ass, grabbing it and lifting her easily off the floor.
Joy moaned. Fucking hell. It was very fucking rare—practically never—that she ever found a partner who could manipulate her body like this.
“Sweet, murderous Joy,” Malachi growled, before smashing their mouths together.
Joy gasped. He nipped at her lips, then slid his tongue into her willing mouth. He kissed her like her mouth held the secrets of life, and he was desperate to know the truth. She clutched at his hair, her adrenaline abruptly morphing into pure, raw lust.
“Take us home,” she gasped, pulling back from the kiss. “Take us—”
The world was already changing around them. She blinked, and they were in her flat, at the foot of her bed.
Malachi settled her down on top of it. Her chest was heaving. She felt like she couldn’t catch her breath. With a flick of his wrist, he got ridof the mess that had gotten on her, his beautiful red eyes flaring.
Then slowly, with his eyes still on her, Malachi sank to his knees.
Oh, God.
“You were in my dream,” she realised suddenly, even as his palms settled on her thighs.
“Yes,” he breathed, without remorse. She let him push apart her thighs, unable to look away from his glowing eyes.
“Sweet, murderous Joy,” he whispered huskily. “Allow me to worship you.”
It felt like liberation—it felt like the most exquisite kind of release when she said, “Yes.”
