Killer Crescent by Leigh Kelsey

14

The dumbasses who ran Blake Hall hadn’t even enchanted the gates or the iron fence that surrounded the property. I snickered at their stupidity as I scaled the fence, dropped down on the other side, and skipped in the direction of the nearest village. Villages had pubs, and pubs had people being assholes; that was basic maths. I just needed to find the meanest asshole and sink my knife into their jugular. All my shakiness and jittery boredom would float away at the first spray of blood, I knew it.

The cool breeze lifted pink curls from my forehead, and I lifted my face into the cold as I slowed, enjoying the feeling of fresh air on my face after a whole day cooped up in my room. It felt good to be on the hunt again, to be stalking my prey as the sun slid below the horizon, even if I didn’t know who my prey was like normal. It was weird not to have a client waiting for confirmation, and weirder still to know I wasn’t going to get paid for the kill. But recalibrating my mood would be all the payment I needed. This was basically a mental health retreat.¹

I couldn’t believe how easy it had been to break out of Blake Hall, but I wasn’t complaining. Still, it was the home to criminals and bad guys who needed training and trials to become nice, normal human beings.² You’d thiiink they might want to put some security around the parameter. A nice, big floodlight that would flash on and blind anyone trying to climb the fence. A blaring siren that made ears bleed. A super mysterious elite team of guards who’d drag the escapee back to Blake Hall.

I was a little insulted, honestly. And more than disappointed. I wanted a challenge, something to make my blood roar and my heart pound.³ If Blake Hall had been an actual prison, I might have had something to occupy my mind, but there was no ignoring the downside of incarceration: shivving, sleeplessness, and gang politics. Even juvie had been more exciting than Blake Hall, and that was taking into account the murder cages in the woods. No chores, no be-a-better-person training, and not even a murder-inducing psychiatrist session. At least then I’d have had someone to talk to, someone to unleash my anger and fear upon.

Wait, fear?

I paused at the top of a hill overlooking a small cluster of lights cupped in a grassy valley, searching through the buzzing noise in my head, feeling around the pinching in my chest. Was I afraid? Was that why I’d been restless and agitated all day?

Huh. Maybe Blake Hall was working after all. I was having a normal person reaction. Go me!

I dragged in a deep breath, tasting the sharp tang of night air and green, growing things—probably the trees lining the path, but I wasn’t about to go lick one to find out. I was scared, and I didn’t like the feeling. I was used to being a total in-control badass, not an out-of-her-depth badass. But there was a murderer loose in Blake Hall’s grounds, and while that wouldn’t normally bother me, I’dalmost been killed. It had almost been my life slashed short, my blood spilling, my bones shattered.

I needed to rally my courage and hunt down the killer before I could get caught up in their murder plot again, but the fear stood in my way, looming over me like … like my stalker. Could he be the killer? He’d said it was a blonde woman, but that could be complete bullshit.

I shivered, forcing myself to resume walking even as my mind dove back into memories of Kyle, of the sharp, biting chill that had spread through me whenever he was in one of his moods, when his eyes would land on me and narrow, and I’d know I was in danger. I wouldn’t go back to that; I refused to be little and scared again.

I couldn’t be the same girl who’d cowered under the bed while her sister was murdered and brutalised.

I refused to be.

And the first step to being better, braver, and deadlier was to remind myself who I really was. Not Rebecca Falcon, but Rebel Falcon—Graves. I’d never really been Rebecca anyway; my mum always called me Rebel, and always called Ana Anarchy. Rebecca and Anabelle were ghosts, and I was glad to leave them haunting Falcon Manor while I moved on.

But that was the damn trouble: no matter how far forward I moved, those ghosts always dogged my steps, calling out in their chilling voices.

I drew a serrated knife from my spine as I reached the village, pulling my sleeve over my hand to hide it as I wove around thatched cottages and quaint rows of terraces, each with blooming window boxes and lacquered doors.

Ah.

Finding a target might be a teensy bit harder than I expected, since this place was postcard-perfect. Harder, but not impossible. I knew well enough the monsters who hid among wealth and prettiness were as bad as those who lurked in squalor and poverty. Worse, for the masks they wore and the smiles that convinced people they were trustworthy.

I kept my shoulders back as I strolled past the houses, conveying confidence even if I twisted with doubt inside, trying to wrangle my self esteem back. Up ahead, a cluster of weathered stone buildings leaned together. The little shop and post office were dark, closed up for the night, but light blazed like a beacon from the warped windows of the Golden Fleece.

I grinned. Perfect.

Buzzing with excitement, I tucked my hood tighter around my face and scanned the street, searching for a place to hide. I settled on a shadowy snicket opposite the pub, between a village hall and a dark butcher shop. My heart beating fast, I tucked myself into the mouth of the path and eyed the pub across the way. I knew exactly what I was looking for, had seen the same mean, thuggish look in enough eyes over the years to spot them in strangers I’d never laid eyes on before. Someone, somewhere would thank me—a battered child or abused spouse or fearful employee. If someone had come along and killed Kyle when I was a kid, I would have thanked them, and Ana would still be alive.

Purpose straightened my spine and kicked my doubt in the face, and I settled into the excitement of the hunt. This was the hardest bit—waiting for my target to come into view—but I’d done it long enough to know the fun parts were worth the dull wait.

Minutes later, the pub door opened across the street with a rusty creak and my mood perked up, my focus honed like a razor’s edge. The road was narrow enough for me to make out the faces of the two men who emerged from the inn, the collars of their coats pulled up against worn, lined faces and deep set eyes. One of them was small and hunched, in a black wax jacket, the other taller and proud. The angle of his chin made my interest peak, something haughty and cocky about it, and my blood pounded faster at the potential target.

I shook out my hands so my body was nice and tension-less, tracing my thumb lovingly over the handle of my knife, ready to stalk my maybe-target.

But a whoosh of air behind me had me tensing on instinct, and I spun at the quiet thud of a landing. Whoever had snuck up on me knew how to land quietly; if I hadn’t been on high alert, I might have missed the low scrape of boots on stone.

I was already moving, my knife angled low for a deep, gutting blow—but I halted as the figure came into focus in the faint light from the navy blue sky. Tall and broad shouldered in a black coat and trousers, with a stubbled square jaw and heavy brows drawn low.

“Uh oh,” I breathed as Dean rose out of his crouch, moving deadly fast with those beautiful whiskey-brown eyes fixed on me, glowing with a predatory gleam.

“You thought you could run away, Miss Falcon?” His laugh was low and full of scorn as he stalked the few steps towards me, only pausing when I lifted my beautiful, serrated knife⁴ and pointed it at him. The knife was custom made, and special to me, and I loved her. “Silly girl.”

“Do I look like I’m running away?” I hissed, rolling my eyes hard.

He paused to scan me, from my hood, to my black clothes, to the knife I was aiming at him, and his mouth twisted with confusion.

“And I am a silly girl,” I went on, aware that every second I spoke my maybe-target was getting away. Dammit. “I’m proud of being silly, and even prouder of being a girl. So if you wanted to insult me, bad luck, Sexy Sir.”

He went still, and that stillness made my hackles rise, the wolfie part of me recognising the danger of his alertness. “If you’re not running away, what are you doing here?”

“Stress relieving,” I replied with an annoyed shrug. “Now can you leave me alone? I was a teensy bit busy before you distracted me with this growly guard act.” I gestured with the knife. “Go on, go away.”

His head reared back, insult and offense flaring his brown eyes, and a twinge of regret tightened my chest. “Why do you have a knife, Rebel?” he asked, harsh and no-nonsense.

“Uhh, for fun. Duh!” I shook my head in exasperation, twisting to peek down the road at the two men. Annnd, they were gone. Perfect. I huffed a growl, facing Dean again with a dark scowl. “Which you just ruined, you big, sexy killjoy. Thanks for that.”

“Who are you watching?” he demanded, and muscled past me, his big hand burning my hip as he pushed me aside and looked down the street. I tapped his shoulder with the sharp tip of my lovely Tina, a silent warning that I was getting sliiightly irritated. “What the hell are you doing here, Rebel?”

“I prefer it when you call me baby or Miss Falcon,” I purred, trailing the knife down his jacket, light enough to not cut him. “We should play teacher and student some time. But not now; now I’ve got things to do and you’re getting in the way. So vamoose.”

He raised a thick brow, the tiniest corner of his mouth daring to curl. “Vamoose?”

“It means get out of my way, you big lug,” I huffed, tapping him a little harder with Tina’s sharp edge. His gaze snagged on my knife and stuck there, and I resisted the urge to stab him⁵ as he snapped his hand up and gripped my wrist, pulling the knife away from his shoulder so he could scrutinise it.

“Where did you get this, Miss Falcon?”

“See,” I breathed, shivering at his low, growly voice. “Much hotter when you call me that.”

“Answer the question,” he snapped, baring his sharp canines. But his grip on my wrist never became painful, and his wicked teeth didn’t scare me.

“I bought it,” I replied petulantly. “Satisfied?”

Dean let go of me abruptly, and my hand fell. I managed to avoid stabbing myself in the thigh only thanks to my quick reflexes—and only got my hand up fast enough to stop the bigger, thicker dagger aimed at my chest because of all my training.

“You’re fast and observant,” he noted, although I had a feeling he was mostly talking to himself. We danced down the dark, dead-end path, me deflecting his fast strikes. My heart started to race, thumping against my ribs, and my blood sang. Finally! This was what I’d been missing all day, what I’d been dying to have while I was bored out of my skull.

“You’re cold, you eat people, and you sparkle in the sun,” I joked with a bright laugh, not caring to keep my voice down anymore. I didn’t care if I gave my position away; I’d find another target tomorrow. For now, this was getting interesting.

“Hilarious,” Dean replied flatly, bringing his dagger around in an arc that had my breath catching, bright light leaping off my knife as it scraped along his own weapon.

“Woahhhhh,” I gasped, stepping back and disengaging for a second. “Did you see that? Tell me you saw that!”

“I saw it,” he replied, giving me a strange look I couldn’t interpret. Not annoyed or aroused. More … baffled. “You knew you had magic, Rebel.”

“I know,” I breathed, my excitement growing. “But I’ve never seen it before! That was awesome!”

Dean laughed a soft sound, and his eyes focused, losing that confused sheen. I loved the way he smiled at me, one side of his mouth kicked up higher than the other, lines cutting deep around his eyes.

“February 26th 2019,” he said, still smiling.

“Huh?” I tilted my head, not sure why that date was important.

“A farmer found a thirty-something woman dead and mutilated in his field. Her red hair was like fire against the crops and her blood and guts even redder.”

I blinked, my eyes wide and my heart kicking up. That hadn’t been mine. Right…? I was pretty sure it wasn’t. I’d have remembered that.

“July 1st 2020,” he went on, his eyes bright. “A pale, auburn woman was strung up to a scarecrow’s post, her throat slit so blood spilled down her naked body and her stomach slashed, entrails hanging artfully from the gaping wound.”

My breath caught. “I remember that one! All the papers started calling the killer the Straw Man, which is the coolest name I’ve ever heard. I’m kinda jealous, actually.”

His smile softened to something like affection that made my stomach squirmy and my heart melt. I lowered my knife, taking a step closer to him. He spun his long dagger and sheathed it along his back in a dizzying move that made me swoon into him. My breaths came short and sharp as his arms wrapped around me, exhilaration burning through me. I started to put Tina away, but he halted me with a caress down my wrist. “Keep it out.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He just continued, “January 5th 2021. Another meadow, another scarecrow post. This woman was older, and looked so similar to my mother. She was killed and gutted in the same way as the second, her intestines arranged perfectly, her eyes open and unseeing as the birds came to pick at her.”

I trailed a hand up his muscular chest, rolling onto my tiptoes to whisper against his ear, “What are you saying, Dean?”

“I’m saying,” he replied, his hot hand splayed against my spine, “I recognise that knife, Graves.”

A bright burst of laughter left my lips and I dropped back to my feet, sharing up at him with wide eyes. “Woah, wait! You’re the Straw Man!”

He inclined his head, a smug smile playing about his mouth. “Everyone Graves has killed in the past three years has been cut in some way by a very specific, unique knife. One, the sketches say, looks just like that knife there.”

“Tina,” I informed him, holding her up proudly. “She’s a custom made beauty. A birthday present for myself.” I beamed up at him, something like happiness bubbling up inside me. “Are you really…?”

“I really am,” he agreed, his hands moving up and down my back, a scorching contrast to the chill. “Are you Graves, the contract killer who’s slaughtered more people in the past year than anyone else in the country?”

I swooned. Genuinely tipped forward into him, my heart going pitter-patter. “You’ve heard of me.”

“You’ve heard of me,” he replied with a sharper grin. He ducked his head and laid a kiss to the bite mark that had left a white scar on my shoulder. “You’re completely unhinged. I suspected that before, but knowing you’re Graves…”

“Says the man who makes living scarecrows,” I replied snarkily, like that wasn’t the coolest fucking thing ever. And the way he’d talked about those murders, the explicit details and the excitement in his voice… I was swooning again, lightheaded as my blood raced.

“You carved children’s cartoons into people’s bodies,” he countered. “While they were alive.”

“You say that like it’s in the past,” I laughed, tilting my head back to look at him, my handsome wolf, my sexy mate, my—my serial killer. My stomach erupted with butterflies and didn’t stop fluttering for ever. “The only thing that stopped me making more pretty pictures was you interrupting my hunt tonight.”

His whiskey eyes flared like pure gold, a canine tooth poking free as he grinned. “You’re just perfect, aren’t you, baby?”

I swallowed, my eyes wide at the reverence shining from his. “Just as perfect as you, my Straw Man.”

He cupped my cheek in a big hand, his thumb caressing my cheekbone. “I’ll find you another kill, baby. A better one than that boring husband.”

My eyes stung, tears building. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He held my body close to his and lowered his head for a passionate, heartbreakingly gentle kiss. “I’ll find you someone who’ll put up a bigger fight. From all the post mortem reports of your victims, you only carve up the ones with defensive wounds on their hands and wrists.”

A body-wide shudder shook me and I pressed fully against him, goosebumps covering me all over.

He laughed softly, running his thumb over my bottom lip. “You gonna come, baby? You look like you’re in heaven.”

I sucked his thumb into my mouth, moaning at the salty tang of his skin. “So much heaven,” I groaned around his thumb. “More heavenly than heaven.”

Dean laughed and pressed a sweet kiss to my forehead. “How about I give you something even better to suck on, my beautiful assassin?”

“Gimme, gimme,” I gasped, letting go of his thumb with a last, wet suck and dropping to my knees on the dirty stone path. I didn’t give a shit that little stones dug into my knees; I pawed at his trousers until I got the button unfastened and his zip pulled down, groaning as his cock sprang free. “Are you … going commando, my Sexy Sir?”

Dean laughed, pushing the hood off my head so he could sink his fingers into my thick curls. “I had plans for us tonight, little slut, but then you tripped my alarms when you broke out and I had to come hunt you.”

Ohhhhh, there had been enchantments on the gates. Whoops.

I gripped the base of his cock and licked around the head, listening to his breath catch. “I bet you liked hunting me.”

“Loved it,” he rasped. “I kept picturing what I’d do when I caught you.”

I sucked the underside of his cock, flattening my tongue to the vein that curved there and grinning as he jolted in my hand. “And what did you plan to do?” I asked breathily, sucking his thick head into my mouth.

“This,” he replied, low and rumbling. “Exactly this, babygirl, but much, much rougher.”

I pulled my mouth off his cock with a pop and gave him an unhappy glare from the ground. “And now you’re holding back? Just because I’m not running away? How is that fair?”

Dean frowned, caressing the back of my head with his thumb. “I don’t want to punish you anymore; you’re a good girl, a perfect little killer for me. You deserve only pleasure.”

I pouted. “But what if I want you to stop holding back? What if I want everything you have to give me?”

The look he gave me was laced with reproach. “Everything will hurt, Rebel. Possibly a lot.”

I nodded eagerly, running my hands up his legs, squeezing his thighs and ducking forward to kiss the bobbing tip of his cock. “I don’t mind if it hurts, sir. I want all of you, all your dominance and brutality.”

A chill skated down my spine at the low, menacing laugh that built in his chest. His hands tightened painfully in my hair, shooting shivers and pleasant sensations down my spine. “Then my perfect little slut will get everything. Open your mouth, tongue out; I don’t need you to suck when I can use your mouth.”

My pussy squeezed, even my ass throbbing, and I relaxed my jaw, letting my tongue loll out of my mouth as he pushed his cock inside—and kept pushing, and kept pushing, until my stomach cramped and I gagged.

“Thaaat’s it,” he breathed, holding my head down with both hands. “Is your belly cramping, babygirl?”

I nodded, as much as I could while my mouth was impaled on his cock, his tip nudging my throat.

“Good,” he said harshly, and held me in place until my head went dizzy, until my lungs fought for air, until I started to panic. My stomach spasmed badly, my choking, squelching sounds loud in the quiet night. “I don’t care what hurts you, little slut. I only care what feels good to me. Nod if you understand.”

True fear started to grip me as my lungs squeezed tighter, the tiny puffs of air I dragged through my nose nowhere near enough. He tightened his grip on my hair and pulled me off his cock, letting me gulp down cold air in loud, desperate gasps. His cock jumped in front of my face with every needy inhale I made, and my hands flattened to his knees for stability as the world blurred and spun around me.

I laid my head against his thigh, panting, half surprised he let me pause there as I caught my breath.

“Pick a safe word, babygirl,” he said, wrapping my hair around his wrist. A shiver went down my spine and my clit ached fiercely. Fuck yes. Dangerous, threatening, dominant, and considerate of my safety? Now I was definitely swooning.

“Unicorn,” I said, tipping my head back to stare dazedly as Dean looked down at me, a satisfied smile on his face and cruelty shining from his whiskey eyes, the first hint of the crazed killer who needed to kill and mutilate. What had driven him to this life? None of us ended up here just for the fun of it, even if it was fun. There was always a breaking point, a moment when the old you snapped and the new, twisted you took their place.

“Unicorn,” he agreed with a little laugh, keeping one hand wrapped up in my hair and gripping my chin with the other. “If you can’t talk and you need to stop, you hit my thighs, okay?”

I nodded, blurry and confused in the best way. And I could breathe again now; I wanted more of the gruff sounds he made while I choked on him, wanted the ruthless voice that replied good when I told him it hurt. I was so wet my underwear was soaked through, my jeans probably sporting a wet patch too.

“Tongue out, little slut. I want to feel it against my balls when I fuck your whore mouth.”

I shuddered at the degradation, my toes curling in my boots. And that was before he slapped me for taking too long to respond. It was light enough to not hurt, to not even make my face burn, but abrupt enough to shock me. I’d never even liked slapping before, but something about Dean made it so fucking hot.

I opened my mouth, my tongue hanging out, and Dean rumbled in satisfaction, staring down at me with blazing brown eyes. “That’s my good fucking toy.”

Ohhhhh, that name made pleasure squeeze my pussy deep, my body tingly and hot. I wanted him to touch me so badly, but his grip on my hair was hot too, and I’d asked for every bit of his dominance. I’d take every single thing he had to give me.

I relaxed my mouth and throat as he thrust in, shallow at first, letting me get used to the rough, rapid movements. The feel of his thick veiny cock sliding over my tongue made my hips writhe against air, desperate for touch.

“Stay still,” he commanded in that vicious voice that sent genuine chills through me. I could believe this man was a serial killer, and one cold and calculated enough to only kill once a year. My serial killer—mine. All fucking mine. I flicked my tongue against his cock, hollowing my cheeks and sucking him greedily, aching to show him how much I loved that he was mine, how much I loved his bloody alter ego.

“I said—” he snapped, ripping me off his cock and using his grip on my hair to shake my head so my brains rattled in my skull.

Ooh, woahhhhh, the alleyway was spinning like a merry-go-round. Drool and saliva dripped in a messy line down the front of my hoodie, but I barely noticed.

“—stay fucking still,” he finished, so cold and deadly that I whimpered. Not for him to stop, but to give me more. “If I wanted a cocksucker, I’d have found another slut.”

I growled at that, the sound coming from deep within my chest, so full and loud I shocked myself.

His huff of a laugh had me looking up at him, and the smug male smirk on his face drove me wild. I half wanted to slap it from his lips, half wanted to rip my clothes off and offer him my pussy there on the floor. “I hear you, babygirl,” he said, his eyes intense in a different way than before. “You can stop growling now.”

“You’re mine,” I snarled, glaring up at him. “This cock is mine, only mine.”

His eyes flashed vivid gold and he grabbed my head, holding me still while his hips snapped forward, fucking my mouth with wild, animal need. I gagged as he hit the back of my throat, my eyes watering, but he didn’t give me time to get used to it this time, using me roughly.

Pleasant tingles rushed down my back as he tightened his grip on my hair, using it to pull my mouth up and down his cock, a rough grunt leaving his throat every time he filled my mouth. I hadn’t forgotten his earlier remark; even as I gasped and choked, I stretched out my tongue, wiggling it against the underside of his cock. I wanted my alpha to lose control, wanted to drive him mad.

“Yess,” he said roughly, his loud grunt filling the tight alleyway. “But you can do better than that, Miss Falcon. I know you can take me deeper.”

I whimpered as he withdrew—and immediately plunged back into my mouth. My body seized with the force of my stomach cramp, my hands fluttering around his thighs, but I panted through my nose and didn’t tap out. Yet.

“Fuck.” His grip on my hair tightened as I flicked the tip of my tongue over his balls, a rush of accomplishment filling me as he choked on a groan. It was the hottest sound I’d ever heard, and I wanted more.⁶ “Fuck, like that, stay right there and lick my balls.”

I tried to obey him, reaching out my tongue to lick further, but the demand for air made my lungs burn, and my stomach twisted so hard I was sure I’d be sick. I tapped frantically at his thighs, and when he released me, I dragged gulping breaths of biting air into my lungs, my whole body covered in goosebumps.

“You tried, at least,” he said in a patronising tone that should have turned me all the way off.⁷

My lungs hurt, every breath I dragged in seemed to scrape them raw, and don’t even get me started on how sore my throat was. But getting my sexy sir to let go and give himself over to the killer darkness he kept hidden was worth it. And I’d make sure he pampered me with care, affection, and a dozen cups of soothing peppermint tea when we got back to Blake Hall.

“On your feet, little slut,” he commanded, releasing his tight fist on my hair as I wobbled to my feet and he steadied me with a solid grip on my hip.

“Look at the mess you made,” he said, but he made it sound like a good thing, his whiskey eyes bright with intent. The front of my hoodie was definitely messy, but that was what you got when a crazy dominant alpha fucked your throat. Nobody ever said sex was clean and tidy, and if they did, they were lying. “Better take that off, hmm?”

A deep throb went through my pussy at his low voice, at the tone. When I stopped being so disoriented, I unzipped my hoodie and threw it to the floor, not really caring about the cold when his rough hands covered my body. The thin straps of my vest got pushed down my arms until the fabric gathered around my waist, baring the cute pink bra I was wearing.

“Very pretty,” he murmured, his big hands spanning the width of my waist, burning hot where I was chilled.

“Thank you,” I replied with a beaming grin. I squeaked when he grabbed the lacy cups and tore them apart, throwing my bra aside like it was rubbish. “Hey! That was one of my favourites. You better buy me a new—oh!”

He tugged on my nipples until I was flush to his body, my naked chest against his jacket sooooo fucking hot. I felt dirty and exposed and I loved it because I knew I was safe with Dean. He wouldn’t let anyone see me.

“Less attitude please, Miss Falcon.” When I kept my lips pressed shut to show him I could obey, a satisfied smile crossed his face. “Better. I knew you could be good for me.” He rolled my nipples between his fingers, his stare fixed on my face as need boiled up between my legs. “Remember what I told you?”

“Umm…” He’d told me a lot.

He laughed, a deep, callous sound, and backed me up against the wall. I gasped at the hard, freezing stone, and swore his eyes turned a shade darker.

“This will hurt,” he reminded me, releasing my nipples to unfasten my jeans and yank them over my thighs. “No,” he said firmly as I shifted to move them lower. “Keep them where they are. You don’t need freedom of movement for this.”

Oh, fuckkkk. Was I panting like a bitch in heat? I was panting like a bitch in heat.

I’d never been with someone this dominant before, never been controlled so entirely, never submitted fully like this. I’d thought I’d had good sex before, but whoa, this was something else.

“You better be wet,” he rumbled, grabbing my hips and spinning me so suddenly that the world tipped and I giggled. My hands snapped out on instinct, saving me a broken nose and missing front teeth, and I’d just managed to spread my palms across the stone when Dean grabbed my ass and impaled me on his cock.

I shouted out, so loud that someone must have heard, but he didn’t silence me; he laughed with wicked pleasure, forcing me into the wall with rough, unyielding thrusts.

“Is this what you wanted?” he demanded with so much alphaness in his voice that I wilted against the wall with a whimper. “You wanted me to fuck this pussy? You wanted me to use you like a ragdoll, like a toy? Well?”

“Yes,” I choked out, my eyes squeezed shut as he took me so hard and fast that I couldn’t process the sensations exploding through me. I started to shake, my pussy tightening on his cock, and my breaths coming in shattered pants.

“You wanted a vicious killer to make you his broken doll?” he demanded, his palm coming down in a sharp spank against my ass.

My toes curled, and all I could do was whimper.

“Answer me, or you don’t get to come.”

“Yes!” I cried. “Yes, that’s what I wanted, and I fucking love it!” Words bubbled up and spilled out as his palm smacked my other cheek, and then the other again. His spanks were so fast that I couldn’t process the burn, couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or pain as he slammed deeper inside me, his hips right against my stinging backside. It was overwhelming and dizzying, like hanging upside down from a rollercoaster, adrenaline thumping through every part of me, and my pussy clenched sporadically, climax so fucking close.

“Dirty fucking slut,” he snarled, grabbing a fistful of my hair and wrenching my neck back. My mouth fell open at this new angle, a wordless cry ripping out of my throat. “You love this? You love being fucked so much it hurts by a man who’s killed seven people? You love being touched by hands that have been drenched in blood?”

“Fuck!” I screamed, and came so hard it was like a detonation. It was a good thing Dean was gripping my hip and my hair because I collapsed into violent spasms, my body jerking and my pussy locked tight around his ruthless cock.

When I floated back to earth, my skull stung fiercely, and various points on my body throbbed with pain—my pussy equally brutalised by his roughness—but that faded into the background for now as Dean buried himself to the hilt and growled, so loud the residents of this quaint little village must have thought a lion had got loose.

His cock jolted inside me as he came, making my body shake again as he tilted my head further back and sank his sharp canines into the same spot he’d bitten before. Aftershocks rocked my pussy, my eyes wide at the force of them.

“Wow,” I gasped, shivering as Dean’s fingers loosened in my hair, running gently through the long curls.

“Mm,” he agreed, his other hand sliding around my front to cup my breast. “You were perfect.”

I leant back against him, melting inside. He kept calling me that; he must have really meant it.

“Are you hurt, babygirl?” he asked, the sinister edge in his voice softened until he was my protective alpha again.

“A little,” I admitted, my breaths evening out as my body finally went limp and relaxed. His gentle touches felt as good as his rough treatment, and I was one lucky girl to get both.

“I shouldn’t love that as much as I do,” he said with a husky laugh.

“That’s my life motto,” I replied with a snicker, finally opening my eyes and returning to reality. To a freezing, dark pathway and my jeans shoved around my knees, and my vest pulled down so my tits pebbled in the cold. And Dean’s cock still buried inside me, softening as fluids leaked down my thigh. And nowhere nearby for us to shower. Ick.

Dean’s tongue swirled over the bite he’d opened up again, the tether between us swelling with affection. He finally withdrew his cock, careful not to hurt me this time, and retrieved my hoodie while I pulled up my jeans and tucked my boobs into my vest. My poor bra! I pouted as he put it in his pocket, no ruefulness in his eyes, just satisfaction.

“I’ll buy you another,” he promised, hooking his arm around my waist and bringing me in for a deep, passionate kiss.

“You better,” I warned against his lips, running my fingers over his short, scratchy beard, and through his silver hair. “Or no more sexytimes for you, my Straw Man.”

“Fuck,” he growled, dragging me back to his lips for a deep, devouring kiss, nipping my bottom lip. “It makes me so hot hearing you call me that, Graves. Wait.” He straightened, his eyes sharpening. “Edison Bray knows who you are; he called you that before you attacked him. I didn’t realise the significance at the time.”

“Yeah…” I slipped out of his arms and hunted down my murder bag where it had ended up slung on the ground. “Let’s not talk about Edison, shall we?”

Dean was quiet for so long that I was forced to glance back at him, and a chill tripped down my spine at the look in his eyes—like he was planning to disembowel someone. Slowly.

“You can’t kill him,” I sighed, zipping my hoodie up. “He’s my mate. Sort of. He rejected me.”

I jolted at Dean’s deafening growl, and then he was in front of me, his hot hands cupping my face as his lip curled back from his deadly teeth. “He did what?”

I shrugged, as if it didn’t hurt like hell. “He’s an heir to his family, I’m a dud, it’s fine. I’m over it.”

He surprised me by pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. “I’ll never reject you, babygirl. And neither will anyone who matters. I promise you.”

It was a raw, bleeding wound that had never sealed over, but Dean’s words eased the pain a fraction. “You’re very sweet for a serial killer. Anyone ever tell you that, Sexy Sir?”

Dean laughed. “I can’t say they have, Miss Falcon.” He laid another kiss, this time on my cheek. “Let’s go back to the hall. I can plan what I’m going to do to Bray back there.”

“Nothing. You’re going to do nothing to Bray.”

He didn’t reply, just linked his fingers with mine, took my bag and slung it over his own shoulder, and led me out of the alleyway.

“Right?” I pressed.

“Right, Dean?”

He didn’t answer.