Kill Me, Kiss Me

TWENTY TWO

    "GOOD." The low murmur carried light on the wind.

    "Good?" Theo laughed humourlessly, turning away from the incinerator encased in its brick outhouse.

    A rush of wind howled between them, dragging Keir's black hair behind him like a murder of crows in flight, a stark slash of darkness against the grey blue of the sky. A swirl of red petals tore through his sight, mingling like droplets of blood suspended in the air. Keir's eyes drowned him through the storm of red, a marsh of still water that clung onto his ankle and pulled him deeper, deeper into its abyssal depths. There was no end.

    His heart trembled. A demon, this was a true demon, and how horrifyingly beautiful. Because this sight ripped into his chest and tore into his heart, and he'll forever remember this dance of withering roses and crows.

    Those eyes stared at him, blank, and somehow, somehow in the wicked pull to devour, accusingly raw.

    "You've never tasted true blood." Keir said.

    The rose petals sank, littered Keir's bare feet, and even the air stilled to a heavy sea that swamped every orifice.

    He repeated, "You've never tasted true blood. Don't look like that."

    And he turned abruptly, striding back up the red smeared path without another glance backwards.

    Theo lifted his hand stiffly and touched the edge of his eyes, staring at the Keir's back receding further and further away into the wild growth of roses. His finger's glided cold but certain over the soft skin, a knife of pain slashing across the edge of his eye as his nail drew across. And he drew over that place against the sting, once, twice, wiping away the stain of that gaze, all the while staring at the tendrils of silken hair that rose above the blooming flowers. Lips pressing tight together, he stood there, eyes fixed on the shadow cast on the ground, and only when all that was left of that broken scene was him and the silence of the petals, did he step forward and follow.

    When he'd reached the master bedroom again and stepped into its cautious warmth, the bed had been stripped bare of its bloodied sheets, all evidence of the previous slaughter wiped away completely from sight, as if this room had merely carried an owner tired of the sight of his bed. As it did. Keir lay against the chaise lounge in a wine red waistcoat and black shirt complete with suit trousers and leather shoes. With the room, he'd reverted into purely a rich, cold man of exquisite taste and unbending will.

    Theo clenched his fingers, the corners of his view trembling over the livid crimson splashes over his shirt and hands. Now he was the dirty one. Now, he was made into the uncouth one, the murderer, the foreign element. How could someone like Keir look and embody such cleanliness like he'd never been dirtied by anything before, not the girl's tears, not the girl's screams, not her blood.

    How dare he?

    Keir's eyes drew over him slowly, the colour of his gaze back to normal behind its sheath of robotic boredom. Tapping his finger against the side of his chin, he stood up and stepped forward. Fighting the urge to shy away, Theo stood stock-still before him, and even when those cool hands grasped his wrists and dragged him forwards, he did not flinch.

    Keir's lips stayed as neutral as ever, but a glint of surprise shimmered in his deadened eyes. The small number in the white heart rose and rose to a small 20%. Theo's eyebrow twitched upwards, and he didn't bother to hide the disgust that twisted through his face. This man was a murderer, a serial murderer and yet he disliked people being scared of him. How hypocritical! He'd not been sure the previous times, but every time before death when he had flinched away at his touch, Keir's gaze had darkened into blizzards. And now, even though he was on the brink of being sick, he let the man's hand wrap around his flesh, and look at it! Look at it! The gauge rose without even the slightest hitches.