She went to remove her blindfold, but I caught her hands before it was too late and pinned them to the bed. “The minute you take that off, the minute you see my face, I’ll have to kill you.”
She stilled.
“Go ahead and take it off, sweetheart.” Damien needed reassurance that I’d finish her. I needed her to remain blinded of our world because the minute she exposed herself to it, it would mean the end of her.
I released her hands, convinced she would take me seriously, but she didn’t. She yanked off the blindfold, but before she could get a glimpse of me, I pressed my palm against her cheek and turned her face. Damien’s wicked chuckle threw me off.
“Look at those pretty eyes.”
Fuck!
She’d seen Damien, and with one glance over my shoulder, I knew he wanted her dead.
Nothing stopped her from resuming her assault on my face. I tried to get a hold of her again, but she was too enraged, so I wrapped my hand around her throat and pressed down, tightening my grip with each sharp thrust of my cock into her pussy. I gritted my teeth as pleasure danced up and down my spine. She’d stopped attacking me and was trying unsuccessfully to loosen my grip on her neck. She made a gagging, gasping sound, tapping on my hand lightly as she started to become lost to the darkness.
My balls tightened, and I felt her wet heat consume me. The moment she went limp, I loosened my hold on her neck and came on a roar that I felt in my chest but refused to release in Damien’s presence. The orgasm rocked me, made me feel more than I ever thought possible. As my body trembled, a single tear slid down my face and fell over her heart. My arm gave in, and I collapsed on top of her unconscious frame, breathing heavily.
“Get rid of her.” Damien left the room, bored now that the show was over. He assumed she was dead. That I’d lost control and choked her to death, since my hand was still wrapped around her neck. He never suspected I’d loosened my hold on her neck, and lying over her kept him from seeing the steady rise and fall of her chest.
Still alive.
Still breathing.
Just broken.
Her tearstained cheek pressed to mine. I ran my fingers through her hair and kissed her collarbone. “I’m sorry.”
I’d stolen the angel’s light, and it felt like the minions from hell were cheering me on, letting me know I’d officially became what I was always meant to be.
A monster.
I dropped her off in a deserted house, miles away. She never woke on the ride there. I never got a chance to hear her voice again, but I was sure if I did, it would’ve been laced with a lot more hate than it had before. An anonymous call to her father, and she was home under protective guard less than an hour from the time she had been lying underneath me.
Part Three
Love Transcended
Chapter Thirty-Two
Devlin
She’d left two years ago.
Two fucking years of losing what little control I’d maintained over my life.
She’d done the right thing. I knew it. I was glad she did, but it didn’t stop me from searching for her.
She was strong. Stronger than I was. Her sense of self-preservation endured any hold I’d had on her. I went from city to city tracking her, following her scent like a starved animal on the prowl. It was the inner battle that slowed me down. My heart telling me to love her enough to want her to be safe from me, but the part of my mind that fantasized and fabricated things so eloquently they seemed more absolute than reality, wouldn’t let me back off.
I wanted her back. No... You need her back was my mind’s interpretation. The suffocating pressure that wracked my body regularly made me think I was physically incapable of being without her. What had been a small obsession for years became a perverse compulsion once I’d claimed her.
An animal didn’t usually stalk his prey for so long except when he constantly fought against his nature. There’d been a fleeting moment of relief when I realized she’d left, abandoned what we’d had—what we’d become, but that feeling didn’t last. It was quickly overpowered by anxiety and cloaked with rage. Outraged enough that when the darkness faded and reality sank in that morning, I was sitting in the middle of a war zone with no idea how I’d completely wrecked my room and why blood trickled slowly down my fingers.
I pressed my palms against my head, always trying to come to grips with the things I had no control over, not caring that I was smearing blood across my face and into my hair. It took quite a while for me to drag myself off the floor and into the bathroom. This is where I discovered what had caused the gash in my hand. The vanity was shattered, pieces of the mirror bloodstained and scattered about. The rage and violence I understood. It had been hand fed to me, deeply instilled through inexplicable events. It was the rest that terrified me. The blackouts, voices, and complete disconnect from reality weren’t learned, they were hereditary. I had absolutely no defense against the complete terrorism of my mind.