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Yet as his gaze dipped to his bleeding hand, he couldn't help but recallherblood.
Theirblood.
The day she'd left had been the day he'd buried that pendant somewhere deep in the woods just outside of the city. He'd been so enraged with her—with the way she dared defy him—that he hadn't wanted anything to remind him of her.
Anything.
The madness had seeped in at that point, those seductive tendrils coiling around him and whispering things in his ears.
Things that would make a saint weep.
Things that had shred the last bit of control Michele possessed.
And in an episode of pure insanity, he'd gone on a rampage. Andreas, knowing the signs, had simply guided Michele towards a group of men who'd recently been exonerated in a murder case, though the evidence against them had been strong. Knowing his boss' penchant for mayhem, Andreas was always ready to provide an outlet for his anger.
Somewhere at the outskirts of the city, Michele had lured the men with the prospect of debauchery under the moonlight before he'd painted himself red in their blood.
From head to toe. Red.
It still hadn't been enough. So lost to his madness he'd been that he'd ripped at his own self, clawing at his skin until his hands had bumped into the pendant.
That cursed pendant. Cursed because it housed that which he desired the most, yet could never have. Not while it was eitherheror what little was left of his damned self. Cursed because it embodied her, him,them.Cursed because she fucking haunted his mind, never letting him be for one moment.
He'd pulled at the string, breaking it and throwing it to the ground next to the dead bodies. But as he'd set to leave, its allure was still too strong.Hervoice was still too strong.
It whispered in his ear, detailing all that could happen should he let himself go—should he let himself feel the impossible. It soothed and calmed the beast, but it also awoke it anew with the false hopes and dashed dreams.
Halfway through the woods and he'd come back, grabbing the necklace again, squeezing it into his fist as if, by chance, he could absorb its essence. Then, he'd dug a hole in the ground with his bare fingers, pushing what was left of their union deeper and deeper—so deep it would never see the light of the day again.
And it hadn't.
It was still there.
Yet he was here, and she was…
Scowling at himself, Michele went to his cabinet, opening it and getting some gauze and disinfectant to treat his wound.
But even something as mundane as applying the stinging solution to his open flesh reminded him of tender touches—of someone who'd been far gentler with him than anyone had ever been.
He quickly patched himself up before he grabbed a book to read before bed.
Yet even as he laid himself comfortable in his king-sized bed, even as he felt the luxurious sheets against his skin, and even as he made one last attempt to focus on the contents of the book, he couldn't.
He couldn't fucking do anything. And it was all because of her.
Because of those whispers that sought to drive him insane.
"Fucking hell," he yelled, throwing the book to the side and bringing his fingers to his temples, massaging them in an attempt to assuage the tension inside.
One second. Two. Three.
That was how long his resolved lasted. But he couldn't admit it to himself.
In his mind, this was just his intrinsic curiosity and making sure everything was going according to plan—that his pet had gotten her due just like everyone else in that accursed family.
Swinging his long legs over the bed, he grabbed his laptop from his desk before making himself comfortable once again.
Already, something was simmering inside of him—anticipation, excitement, he couldn't tell. But to lie to himself further, he convinced himself this was just another detail in the grand scheme of things.
