Release(46)

And then one day, he and the dog simply strolled out of the mansion and into the woods surrounding it. The dog had been so confused when he’d slit its throat. He remembered the betrayed look in its eyes, the last whimper it had let out. It had been Risciter’s first triumph.

Dogs got boring pretty quickly, though.

He was thirteen by the time he was dreaming of cutting the throats of people. Of women. He was fourteen when he did it the first time. She was the lady’s maid of a visiting guest to the Risciter household. Risciter had plied her with wine, and been as charming as a fourteen-year-old boy could manage. Which wasn’t very, at the time. The maid, utterly unsophisticated, had fallen for it completely.

She’d been his first, and he had bumbled it a bit. He wasn’t nearly as strong back then, and didn’t know how to drug his victims to make them pliable. He was eager too, in his childish desire for her body. He’d been so overwhelmed at how pleasurable it had been to sink his cock into her that he’d lost his grip on her. She’d fought him off, nearly gotten away. He’d had to club her over the head to stop her from running. And that had killed her.

He hid her body well. No one ever found it. But the loss of a lady’s maid wasn’t the same as the loss of a dog. People had been concerned over her. They hadn’t stopped talking about the missing maid for weeks. Risciter, even then, knew he had to try it again. He had to get it right.

But he did have his first trophy from the woman. He’d never taken things from the animals, but to mark the occasion of his first person, he’d taken something, and ever since, he’d been doing the same thing. It was a tuft of pubic hair. He kept them tied with little pieces of string in a cloth bag he always kept in his breast pocket, close to his heart. Sometimes, these newfangled whores wanted to remove all their pubic hair. Risciter didn’t care for it, but he often didn’t find out until he was so committed to the act that he had to finish what he’d started. He’d been known to cut other things off when he saw it, furious at the woman for denying him his trophy, wanting to punish her for ruining it all. He didn’t keep the flaps of skin he removed, though. Skin didn’t store nearly as easily as hair.

Gazing at the group of houses here, Risciter wondered how many of these whores had removed all their hair. He smiled to himself again at the fact he’d been led here. To a brothel, when they were on the run from him. So many women, all kept out here away far away from everyone else? The things he could do...

But he mainly wanted Miss Gilit. That was why he was here. And that annoying brat who’d escaped from him on Kush. That boy needed to be taught a lesson once and for all.

Risciter tugged a pair of gloves over his hands. They were thin enough that he could feel through them, but they should keep him from leaving evidence behind. No matter how ruined Miss Gilit was, her death would raise questions, and he needed to be careful. He tried the door of the cottage. It was unlocked. Like an open invitation. He smiled.

It was so quiet inside the cottage that he could hear Miss Gilit breathing. Ariana. He’d call her by her first name when he fucked her. And he didn’t want her too drugged when it happened either. He’d been careless last time, leaving her tied and waiting for her to wake up. He’d been too excited thinking about the way she’d struggle against him, wondering what she’d look like if she screamed. He should have made sure she was secure. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He crept to the bed, peered down at her face, relaxed in sleep. Ariana Gilit. He remembered the first time he’d seen her. She’d been young then, only a girl, at some dinner party on Wendo he’d attended right after his father had died and he’d received his title. But he remembered how pretty she’d been then, even in that funny stage that girls went through as they changed into women. He thought of her budding breasts, and her high-pitched voice. The arrogant way she’d tossed her head.

Truthfully, he’d never thought he’d be so lucky as to add her to his special girls back then. She’d been untouchable. But her status made her a possible wife. And Risciter had waited. He’d waited for her to come of age. For a brief span of a year or two, it had seemed her family was set on marrying her to the Earl of Girici, an obviously inferior match, but he supposed they’d wanted to keep her on planet.

He’d heard rumors that Ariana had refused the offer of marriage in the end. It was to be expected, he supposed. The Earl of Girici was practically the age of her father. Though Risciter himself was nearly thirteen years older than Ariana, he was young enough to entice her.