I hoped their pathetic love would jolt them awake enough to taste their final moments.
“What thehellare you doing?” Balthazar roared from behind, his one eye bulging grotesquely, nearly falling from its socket.
“Killing two birds with one stone,” I snapped, unable to mask my disgust as I caught sight of his dangling, twitching eyeball.
He snarled. “You can’t have all the fun.Imust be the one to make her suffer.”
With a grunt, I dropped Layla’s legs. They hit the floor with a sickening thud. I gazed down at her bruised and battered body, so marred by my hand that she was almost unrecognizable. For a moment, something stirred inside me—but I crushed it. There was no room for softness here.
I turned my glare on Balthazar. “Fine. Be my guest.” I waved a hand with dismissive flair. “But fix yourself first. You look like a rotting carcass. We want them afraid, not catatonic.”
He leered at me, inching closer. “I thought you found me arousing in my true form.”
He leaned in, lips peeling back, his monstrous mouth poised for a kiss.
I recoiled inside, my skin crawling with the memory of Raul’s hands still ghosting over my body. I couldn’t bear it—not now, not with the scent of another man still clinging to my skin.
“Later, my love,” I purred, stroking the bloody muscle stretching over his raw cheek, pretending to savor him. “I ache to bed you—but first, we have two pests to exterminate.”
His grotesque form shimmered and receded, the slick, rotting skin folding inward until the Balthazar I could tolerate reemerged—smooth, handsome, composed.
He pressed his lips to mine in a kiss full of fury and falsehood, all teeth and heat. I kissed him back with the same rage, then pulled away.
“Let’s finish this,” I said with purpose.
I glanced down at Layla’s crumpled form beside my legs.
“We still know nothing about the daggers,” Balthazar muttered, rubbing his now-stubbled jaw.
“At this point, I doubt they ever knew anything,” I replied with a shrug. “We’ll find the knives on our own. They’ve served their purpose.”
His gaze turned murderous as he looked at Layla. Then, without warning, he growled, “Unlock Malik’s door.”
I obeyed, stepping aside to let him drag Layla’s limp body across the threshold. Once inside, I slammed the door shut behind them, the heavy click echoing through the corridor.
Inside, Malik stirred. His brow twitched. His lashes fluttered apart, and he blinked in confusion before his gaze landed on her.
Layla.
His battered body shuddered as he pushed himself upright. He reached for her like a man dying of thirst.
I watched through the small glass port, breath caught in my throat, hands clutched beneath my chin like a child before a stage play.
They were awake.
Let the performance begin.
Their bloodied forms entwined, bruises pressed against bruises, lips meeting in a kiss that made me want to retch.
“I knew you’d be merciful, Balthazar,” Malik murmured, his voice hoarse from agony, his eyes shining with love. “I knew you’d let us live. Now we can search for the daggers together… You’ve had your fun.”
Balthazar let out a guttural roar that cracked the air. His body spasmed as if overtaken by a storm of fury. He staggered, muscles twitching, face twisting in a grotesque contortion of rage.
My hands flew to my mouth.
Oh, God. He was transforming again.
“You think this is mercy?” he bellowed, his voice a warped blend of human and beast. His body contorted mid-transformation—patches of skin sloughing off, bone jutting unnaturally beneath flesh. He lunged, wrenching them apart with supernatural strength.
