Cute but psycho paranorm.., p.3
Cute But Psycho: Paranormal Asylum Reverse Harem, page 3
My secretary rushed up in the hall next to her, apologizing for letting my patient burst in unannounced. I gave a warm smile.
“Not a problem, Katie.” She blushed and shuffled off as Bree watched her go with simmering rage in her eyes. She was a jealous one. Which entertained me.
Bree brushed her hip-length hair over one shoulder. My eyes briefly fixated on the pale skin of her now exposed neck as she moved in, closing the door, and taking a seat across me.
Every time she was here in my office, her scent filled the space, wrapping around my neck like a collar. She smelled like oats and honey—rich and sweet. Like a plump, shiny, and tempting roll in the bakery window, begging me to surrender and take a big bite. I wanted to lick all that shiny butter and bury my sharp teeth in the soft texture of Bree Hamilton.
Not yet though. Five years was the plan. Five years in this sleepy New England town, terrorizing the pleasant citizens until they wouldn’t even leave their houses at night. For only after those five years of killing would I feel ready to go inactive—hold off my serial killing for a few years before the urge ripened once again.
I could have Bree after my five years here. I couldn’t veer from the plan just because I wanted to brutally bury my teeth in the delicious smelling Bree.
“Good evening, Bree. How was your week?” I asked, ignoring her tardiness. Her eyes watched my lips as I talked, drinking in their movements like she was the predator looking to consume me and not the other way around. I hadn’t intended her attraction but I didn’t dislike it. Actually, I’d started to encourage it—make it fester and grow so that little Miss Bree would do anything to please me. Desire was a dangerous thing.
“It was boring,” she said, her eyes flicking to mine as she gave a taunting little smile. Her bright blue eyes reminded me of daytime skies. Something I hadn’t seen in many years. It was a reflection of the promise her blood offered. Day walking.
Bree Hamilton was half-vampire, more precisely a dhamphyr, and she had no idea. I hadn’t believed it at first. I’d thought half-vampires were myths. Except here she was and there was no denying it.
Luckily, no one had any idea other than me. Once the secret landed in my lap—and what a delicious secret it was—I’d made sure to kill anyone who had known.
I scribbled a picture of a decapitated head with its tongue hanging from his mouth, pretending I was taking notes.
“Did you think about blood this week?” I asked, looking up at her face. She thought her desire for blood was a naughty thirst and that made me smile. I imagined how tied up she must be, wanting something so bad. I loved to hear about it and I couldn't wait for her to taste my vampiric blood. It would bind us as if she was my vampiric child, even though she couldn't be fully turned—just awakened.
“Yes,” she admitted with an annoyed huff. She hated talking about it because she was used to people finding it insane. I didn’t find it insane though. I found it delightful, the little half-vampire not understanding her wicked little hunger. I couldn’t wait to fill her belly with my blood, feel her suck it from me.
“You didn’t try to give in, did you?” I asked.
“No, of course not,” she sighed again, rolling her eyes.
“Good girl,” I hummed deeply, giving her a small, pleased smile. She responded perfectly. I could see her hardened nipples through the thin materials she wore, could hear the small intake of breath.
I found Bree terribly cute with her little crush and dirty little desire for blood. She had big, pouty lips and cute little breasts on her thin frame. I found her so cute in fact, that I felt like taking big, indulgent bites out of her, eating her up whole.
She’d be easy to control once it was time. Until then she wasn’t going anywhere.
Present
I was a simple man, with simple needs. It was no qualm of mine that these needs terrorized, disturbed, and sometimes even disgusted others. There had never been a time in my life when I concerned myself with the comfort of others. Quite the opposite, in fact, it was their discomfort that I concerned myself with.
My life had been long, longer than ever intended, and through the many years I found myself remaining as true to my character as the day I was nine, and found out I liked butchering animals. The grungy cats, the fat rats… the boy next door.
Yes, I was a very simple creature. The killing was always the fast and concise part but dismemberment I drug out and savored.
I finished hacking through the limbs. Blood glimmered on my tool as I set it aside.
Today, I had to quickly finish with these men. Normally I’d have drawn out the process much longer, taking my time. My eyes roved over what I’d done, the bodies roughly butchered as much as possible given the time.
Bree had changed my timeline. Ruined my plan. Five years of unrestrained killing was suddenly three.
I didn’t like the alteration but I was going to calmly accept the cards as they were played, as I always did, adapting my plans to suit a shifted situation. I’d gotten these bodies ready as fast as I could—ready for their part to play. They had been intended to be tossed in dumpsters around town—my normal tactic for disposal. I knew it was better for the bodies not to be found but it was a thrill like no other for the world to see what I’d done.
Each time I did this, I butchered my victims, dividing up the sections thoroughly. Hands, feet, fingers, arms, thighs, ears, tongues… I liked how much more disturbed people were when they realized how thorough I’d been. How long I must have spent with the bodies. How much I must have savored it.
Plus, the process was calming. A monster like me could only be calm if he had some good hobbies to put his energy into. Things tended toward chaos when deviating from a plan perfected from decades of trial and the occasional error.
Once the sun would finally dip low enough into the horizon, I had to find my dhamphyr and roll her mind until she barely knew her name. I'd make her forget as much as I could.
She’d pissed me off by sneaking in here tonight and now I was ready for her to be my personal blood slave, filled with all that special day walking blood. I wouldn’t be trapped inside during the day anymore. I’d be free from the night. It was the one detriment to becoming a vampire.
I could use cute little Bree any way I pleased and intended to do just that. She'd be so pretty listening to every command I gave. I wanted her to sit around waiting for me, a living trophy. Her beautiful blood-colored hair hanging straight down to her hips. Her pale skin so thin I could see every single vein flirting with my appetite. Her cute button nose, her plump lips. I had a soft spot for beauty and Bree was indeed beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.
I took my glove between my teeth, tugging it off as I moved to the stainless steel sink in my underground cooler. My other hand freed my hardening cock and I wrapped my fingers around it, fisting it hard.
If for some reason I didn’t erase her memory, would Bree help with my kills? Would she laugh and hack away and lick the blade right along with me? I pumped my hand fast, gripping the edge of the stainless steel sink. My eyes slipped close and I imagined Bree spreading herself open with two blood-soaked fingers. I imagined licking between her legs like a starved animal, making myself messy with all her juices. I imagined her throaty voice rasping my name, her pale fingers clutching my hair.
A groan came from my mouth. I tried to push the image from my head because it wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want Bree, I wanted a dhamphyr pet and I didn’t want to be dirty, I wanted to be clean, or else I’d feel unhinged.
The images wouldn’t stop though, my baser mind fighting me. I remembered the smell of her wetness between her legs when I found her down here and threw her against the wall. I remembered the blissful look on her face as she lapped at my blood and pushed her hips into mine. I remembered the terrified look on her face when I first caught her under this sink.
A rumbling groan fell from my lips. Thick ropes of liquid shot out and I lifted my other hand and gripped my neck roughly as the pleasurable wave of release went through me. My fingers curled tightly around the sides of my neck, digging into the veins there and making myself light-headed. It was almost as if I was punishing myself for this release. My lips peeled away from my teeth and I grunted like I was pissed off until I was trying to pump a spent cock that couldn’t come anymore.
Release was never as satisfying as I needed it to be. It was as if my brain was incapable of making enough chemicals necessary to feel true satiation from an orgasm. Which meant I shoved myself back into my pants, barely feeling any more satisfied than before but I didn’t have time to keep pumping away at my cock all day.
I frowned at what I'd done—thick white liquid painting the sink. I flipped the water on and watched it get cleaned away. An unwanted murmur of shame rolled inside me but I pushed it down. I’d learned to abolish myself of that feeling a long time ago.
I turned back towards the last body I’d finished, then reached over and snatched up the jaw. This would stay with me, I’d add it to my collection. You could see from the sharpened back teeth that this hadn’t been a man’s jaw at all, but a monster’s. Not a vampire like me, not that I was opposed to killing other vampires. That was how I’d learned of Bree in the first place. A desperate vampire begging for his life and offering me the knowledge of a real dhamphyr not even that far from where I had been at the time.
This group today had been a small little gang of werewolves. Dirty thugs with disgusting vices. I despised the beasts. They were animals—dumb brutes. Werewolves equaled vampires in strength but lacked speed. One on one they could be easily overpowered but the things traveled in tight packs. I’d dangled drugs in their faces and they’d fallen for the trap.
I had a particular interest when my victims were more than human. I had known the supernatural existed since I was just a boy. A ghoul had found our village and ate through my family as I hid. I didn’t think about that anymore though. No point.
Supernaturals were a very thrilling victim to capture. It would make things easier if hunting humans satisfied me, too easy really. Part of the thrill was the risk. Supernatural victims meant pissing off people I shouldn’t—disturbing powerful communities that wanted me dead or worse, locked up.
My fingers ran over the sharp bottom teeth of the werewolf’s jaw before I walked over and plopped it into a medium sized aquarium housing my colony of dermestes beetles. I watched as they rushed out and began picking the flesh from the bones. They would soon clean off the meat and then I could whiten the bone with peroxide. I wasn’t very sentimental about the grungy yellows and browns. I preferred it perfected to a bright pearly white.
That’s how I liked most things—clean, orderly, and sitting in their spots waiting for their use. Bree would become another item in my ownership, an object that sat and waited in her place, waiting for me to use her for whatever purpose I desired.
Chapter Three
When I opened my eyes I felt a pinch of panic. My room was way too orange, the low sun in the sky dipping down. It was well past morning, I’d slept most of the day away. Shit.
I shot up, feeling frantic. I didn’t know what I was going to do but I had to do something. Orson said he was coming for me and as much as that made a smile light up my face, I didn’t want him to have all the control and power.
He was just like me—fucked in the head, obsessed with blood, and dead in the eyes. He was perfectly wrong. My blood-drenched angel of death. My serial killer. My Orson. Perfect, strong, deadly.
It made me giddy to think about how famous his monstrous side was. Everyone knew the Bloodless Butcher but no one knew who it was. No one except me.
Right now though I had to move. In the shower the water ran pink, getting rid of all the blood. I looked at it swirl down the drain, my gums feeling itchy and my body telling me it was hungry. I wasn’t used to that feeling being so prominent in my brain.
My thoughts swirled like the pink water, running in circles trying to figure out what to do. I kept coming back to the simple plan of threatening him. A simple agreement would have to work at first. I didn’t mind being with him and the idea of him potentially wanting me closer—moving into his house and sleeping in his bed—made me hold my breath in glee.
I’d just have to make it clear that I had power too and would still be my own person. I didn’t want to be caged in his house and have my life controlled.
After the shower, I got dressed and did my makeup in reds. My red Doc Martens looked good with my skimpy black skater skirt and cherry-themed palette of eye shadows. I brushed and straightened my ass-length crimson hair—my pride and joy. Of course, I liked my eyes too; bright, pale blue. My lips were pouty and big, my nose a cute little upturned button. I had a lot going for me and I was well aware.
However, I had to practically smear on two thick layers of concealer to hide the bags under my eyes and no amount of full coverage foundation and sparkly highlighter could make my skin look truly healthy. I didn’t even bother with blush or bronzer. It looked ridiculous on me. My cheekbones looked a little harsh and my arms and thighs were too thin. Sometimes no amount of dolling up could hide that I was only pretty on the outside.
I was feeling shaky in anticipation. Today I felt different. As if life was bigger and more thrilling. So much had happened last night that my thoughts couldn’t organize. It just kept coming back to what Orson had promised. He was coming for me.
Would he drive by and pick me up? Take me back to his house and lay me down on his bed? Would he peel open my legs and fuck me within an inch of my life while wearing those dangerous, blood-soaked gloves?
“Bree,” my uncle’s voice came from the living room firm, almost angry. I hesitated as a frown briefly marred my face.
“I’m busy,” I called out, looking to make sure my door was locked. I liked my privacy.
“Come here now,” my aunt hissed. Anger radiated in me as I settled the second magnetic eyelash on, thus completing my look. I ran my tongue over my teeth and then pressed into the living room.
The thick scent of chemicals that were supposed to mimic fresh linen and sea breezes hung in the air. I hated candles, perfumes, and anything with a strong smell. They buried in my head and made me dizzy.
My aunt and uncle sat on the couch, their thighs pressed primly together. They looked the same as always—perfectly middle class. One hundred dollar jeans, brushed hair, and a healthy glow to their skin. Whereas I looked like the strange goth relative no one talked to. I didn’t fit here at all despite them raising me since I was born.
My eyes flicked between them as I stood there. This was probably going to be another discussion about me finding my own place. A frequent demand ever since I turned eighteen two years ago.
“The police called,” my aunt said coolly. My thoughts moved around trying to figure out what was going on. The police called? Why? Orson wouldn’t call them. How could he? He was the Bloodless Butcher.
“How could you do this?” My uncle asked. “We’ve done everything for you,” he hissed, still not making it clear what was going on.
“I’ve got a paper upstairs with my list of personality disorders if you want an explanation,” I said with an eye roll. My brain worked overtime trying to catalog all the potentially illegal things I might have done recently. It was hard to pinpoint the one that would have gotten back to the police. Shoplifting, speeding, trespassing at a serial killer’s house.
“Don’t use that as an excuse,” he said, utterly baffling me yet again, with his inability to understand mental disorders. I didn’t even argue. It never worked. He was never going to understand that I couldn’t just stop being my fucked up self. He was just as baffled with my mind frame as I was with his.
“All I want to know is why?” my uncle asked. My aunt didn’t look very interested in hearing me talk though. She was the more cruel of the two. My uncle tried at least. My aunt just hated my guts. Always had, always would. According to her, I was the one who killed her sister. As if a shitty birth was somehow the fault of a baby that didn’t even ask to be born.
“Why what?” I snapped. My aunt shook her head, her cruel blue eyes the same color as mine.
“You broke into your therapist’s house, Bree. We know. The police know,” my aunt said in sadistic pleasure she attempted to hide.
“He told them you’re obsessed with him,” my uncle said and I felt all that excited energy from before, hit my gut and burn. This was personal and I didn’t like them knowing personal things. It felt wrong. It felt like being exposed in ways I didn’t want to be. Probably because for my entire life I’d learned that everything about me was wrong. My aunt and uncle had taught me that. So now anytime I felt exposed to them, I felt gross.
“I’m not obsessed with him,” I said, not looking at them. I balled my hands into fists. My aunt tossed something on the table in front of them. It smacked the table and slid towards me. My eyes widened and I lunged forward to quickly snatch my journal up. I pressed it to my chest and crossed my arms over it as if trying to protect it from their eyes.
This was beyond personal. This was all of my thoughts and there was some sick shit in here. I put all my dark thoughts down because sometimes they just bubbled up and needed to be released.
This book had been hidden in my dresser, tucked in the back bottom of my underwear drawer. Meaning they had searched my room—pawed through my personal space. Well, I hoped they read the part about how much I hated them. Perhaps I could tear it out and tape it to the fridge just to make sure they saw it.
“Some of the things you wrote in there…” my uncle said in disgust, turning his eyes away from me because he couldn’t even look at me. My aunt just stared at me lifelessly.
“Yeah, I’m one sick fuck. Surprise, surprise,” I said sarcastically.
“You’re done being a leech,” Auntie dearest snapped, her lips smeared with dried-out orange lipstick.
