Page 21 of Fangs

The truth slices through me. I should crush her windpipe to prove my true nature.

Instead, I stand frozen. Shadow-claws manifesting in a spray of rage, desperate to remind her who is in control.

How dare she?

I should end her.

My claws clamp harder around her throat, choking with everything I have. The pressure reminds me of the truth I hate: I cannot kill her. A ghost cannot kill a human. The curse has stripped me of the power I once wielded. I am no longer the god of darkness I used to be.

I press harder with both hands. She gasps. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes.

I cannot kill a human, but she does not know that.

I can still scare her.

She moans.

“What the fuck?” I spit.

The shadows have reshaped themselves into a thick tongue of pure smoke and are licking her cunt with long, filthy strokes. They part her folds, drag across her clit, tasting her like they have all night to savor every drop.

This is not foreplay, you stupid shadows!

We are predators.

She is prey. Lunch. Not meant to be worshiped like this.

I hiss, baring my fangs without restraint. My claws dig into her throat as I delve into the depths of myself, searching for the instinct to destroy her.

But she leans into my touch and the movement sends a shock of heat through my entire being.

I am enveloped by the warmth of her, the fragile pulse of her life, and I have never wanted to consume anything more.

This is disgusting. She is just a mortal.

I am moved by the twin hungers to feed and to fuck.

But the curse does not allow me to fulfill either instinct.

I could bite her. I could fuck her right here, right now. I would feel nothing. The curse has stolen every true sensation. I have no emotions left—only endless, unsatisfied hunger and lust.

“Enjoying keeping me hanging like this?” she asks, voice still steady despite the pressure at her throat.

“Not even a little,” I lie. I am entertained as fuck, actually. Anything is better than the endless boredom of my painted frame.

“Let me down,” she begs.

I should refuse. I should laugh and remind her that she has no power here, that she is mine to command, not the other way around.

Instead, I look into her caramel eyes, and an ancient longing stirs awake inside me.

The shadows pulse. I feel every part of them—wrapped around her, inside her, filling her with the darkness that is mine.

“Let me down.”

The shadows begin to lower her. She descends slowly, body sliding against mine as the darkness releases her.

When the last of the shadows fall away, she stands naked before me, body glowing in the faint moonlight. She is beautiful. Not the porcelain beauty of mortals. She is fierce. Wild. And utterly unlike anything I have seen in centuries.