Page 14 of Wicked Vile King
I shouldn't have left her earlier, but my father was calling, and henevercalls. If I missed a call from him, he'd pay Graves extra to bury me in the hole for a week or more. I can't let that happen, not when I've just met my muse.
He interrupted our morning together to tell me my brother will be starting immediately at Prodigum University, Chryseum's sister school. I almost laughed when he said it. Hell, I almost fucking cackled, and I bit my knuckles hard enough to draw blood to stop it. I wanted to ask what my big bro did to royally fuck up his perfect life, but father wouldn't take kindly to that. He'd just sic Graves on me like a dog with a bone.
It's been months since I last saw my family. During one of the visiting days last semester, my brother sat between my parents at the table across from me and smiled, like he didn't belong next to me, like we aren't the same thing, ugly and disturbed where it counts. He's just as fucked-up as I am, but why isn't he here with me? Well, he's better at hiding it.
Or at least he was.
My father would've had me sent to the hole if he even thought I found my brother's transfer remotely humorous. No, I just told him what he wanted to hear, what he expects, that I look forward to being able to attend college with my brother.
The truth, though, was that I had more pressing matters to attend to, like breaking into the new girl's assigned dorm room and waiting for her to show up.
And waiting.
Andwaiting.
I fucking hate waiting.
Time is sluggish as I sit on the bed beside her roommate-to-be's body. She's pretty, my pet's assigned roomie, but my dick isn't even remotely interested. The chokehold would have done something for me months ago. But I can't even manage a second glance in the sleeping girl's direction, even when her annoying screeching is quieted, for the time being at least.
I used to like it when they fought.
When they used their nails and teeth and acted like they didn't want me to impale them with my cock and make them scream my name.
It isn't enough to stave off the boredom now though. It's become, well, boring too.
Monotony bleeds over everything that used to get my blood going and keep me alive, but this girl . . . this new conundrum with more questions in her file than answers . . . she's not boring.
Normally, it would take more than a kiss to get my dick interested. It's become a challenge. A few months ago, I even wondered if I was transitioning into something else, something asexual. Porn does nothing for me anymore, not even the nasty stuff with whips and pointy objects and questionable consent. Warm, willing holes do even less, if that's possible. Four weeks ago, if someone had said a kiss would have stirred the useless thing between my legs, I would have laughed in their face and seen how many uppercuts to the face a person could suffer and survive.
It takes blood and misery to get me hard anymore, yet a kiss from her did.
Interesting.
A stolen kiss too, tasting of salt and surprise and the fear fizzing on her tongue. My cock stirs again at the memory, and I decide if she doesn't show up soon, I'm going to whip out my dick and mark her bed with my cum. It wouldn't take much, just the memory of her soft, pliable flesh against me.
Of her terror and the slap of her hand against my cheek.
And the scent of her—flowers and flesh.
Mine.
I didn't mean to find her again, not so soon. But I tasted her lips, and my fate was sealed. I'll never get enough, not today at least, not until I fill every one of her holes and open each part of her and see what makes her tick.
So I sit beside her incapacitated roommate and wait until finally, when the boredom is clawing up the sides of my skull, I hear footfalls in the hall. Heavy footfalls like those of Headmistress's favorite righthand bitch, Marshall, who will accept a hundred and let you do just about anything you want on campus. He'll try to fuck you over first, take the money and lock you up, but he can be persuaded, especially with a shank to the jugular and the threat of death. From then on, he will honor the arrangement.
His footfalls grow louder, and although I'm tempted to stay here beside sleeping beauty, I want the element of surprise. Marshall won't interfere. He wouldn't give a fuck, but I want to see the panic in my pet's eyes when she realizes a monster has waited for her.
I climb slowly to my feet and slink into the shadows behind the door and wait. A moment later, the door opens, and my pet is pushed inside. She stumbles, nearly falls, and then rights herself.
"Asshole," she murmurs, just loud enough Marshall can't hear, which is good, because then he might go all Hulk and touch her, and I'd have to kill him for laying a hand on what's mine. I like him letting me do whatever the fuck I want far too much to make a bloody mess of his face right now.
The door shuts behind her, and the lock slides into place with an audibleclickI hear even over her angry breathing. I stand there, my back against the wall, and watch from the shadows as she surveys the room.
One shared closet, two small desks, and two twin beds, one with sleeping beauty still out cold. Gray blankets that itch at night and matching pillows sit on her bed across from an adjoining bathroom that holds a shower, a toilet, and a non-breakable mirror attached to the wall. Her uniforms—pleated skirts, white button-down shirts and stockings, black Mary Janes, and a dark green Academy cardigan—all sit in neat, untouched piles on her bed, matching the outfit she wears now. It's not surprising that she's changed. Graves makes all of the fresh meat do so before depositing them at their dorms.
My pet drops a copy of the student handbook and the map Graves gives everyone on her bed and stands there a moment. Half of her room lies in shadows, where the light from the window doesn't reach, leaving her roommate's side and me in darkness. I watch a moment longer as she walks farther into the room, her brown hair caressing her shoulders with each step.
She is careful to avoid the darkness, I notice, playing hopscotch across the shadows that decorate the floor in messy shapes. My fingers twitch with the urge to reach out, grab her by the ponytail, and reel her back to me, but I refrain, watching as she takes another step. The roommate groans on her bed and starts to stir.
