When I return to the truck, my shadows are already moving. They gather like revenants, beastly and trembling, hungry for blood.
They’re not just dramatic little wretches after all.
Good.
They can taste what’s coming. So can I.
Jameson is awake. He doesn’t move—not a single muscle twitches—but his eyes flick toward the creeping darkness.
He sees them … seesme.
“Hello, Jameson.”
My lips curl with lazy contempt, cold as the shadows gathering behind me. This is going to be so much fun.
“It’s time to show you what I can really do.”
I shift into my Umbraeth, pouring into the truck like a living void, seeping into every crack and crevice, winding around him, inside him, through him.
My shadows latch on to his silent whimpers, scenting his weakness. Jameson’s breath stutters out. I can taste his fear in the expired air, and I know if I sank my teeth into his lips, I’d be able to drink his terror while I gorged on his rot.
“Do you think this is how she felt when your hands were around her neck?” The question vibrates through the black. “When you shoved your cock down her throat?”
The shadows flex. Bones snap. Jameson gurgles, choking on the pain.
“Don’t worry, Jameson,” I murmur, letting my darkness coil tighter around him, “I won’t make this quick.”
His ribs bend. His arms fracture.
“I’m going to make you suffer. Make you beg for your pathetic, disgusting life.”
Another crack. His femur, this time. The sound is fucking exquisite.
I shift back into my Løkkda, solid again, and pat his cheek like I would a petulant child. His muscles twitch, desperate to get away, as blood blooms brighter across the whites of his eyes.
“You didn’t scream for me, Jameson.” I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m so disappointed.”
A thin shadow wraps lazily around his throat, more noose than comfort, but soft enough to confuse him.
“Let’s see what we can do about that.”
I grab his foot and rip him from the truck, his head slamming into the running board.
“Careful,” I murmur, laughter rumbling low in my chest.
Shadows slither behind me as I tow the useless meat into the woods. They coil and flicker, tasting the blood, trailing eager tongues along his torn flesh.
When I stop, they melt back into the trees, lining the clearing like hounds bred for violence, waiting for the call to strike.
“Yes. This will do nicely. Beautiful fall leaves, stars in the sky, a soft breeze. It’s a perfect night to die screaming for your mum.”
My bare foot slams against his chest as shadows curl around my heel, eager to follow.
Jameson lets out a wet, rattling sound, drugged and broken beyond speech.
I crouch beside him, slowly trailing my fingers along his arm before wrapping my fingers around his wrist.
“You know,” I muse, fingers flexing, “I’m billions of years old, and I’ve never met anyone quite like Aurora.” My shadows pulse at her name. “She speaks to a part of my soul I didn’t know existed.”
