Damien's pov:
Rounding the corner, I see my prey hiding in the shadows, like so many before her but this time feels different somehow.
The hunt is a dance, perfectly choreographed and perfectly on que. Pretend you don't see her to gift false hope before ripping it away with a stab of direct eye contact.
Delicious.
I take a few, calculated steps forward but, instead of cowering in fear, my brave little mutt lunges forward, grabbing a discarded metal pole. She aims to swing it at me with all of their strength but the moonlight glints across its surface, alerting me with just enough time to grab the end hurtling towards my face.
Pulling it out of her trembling hands and dropping it onto the floor, I push her backwards until her back is pressed against the cold, concrete wall and again, my prey is trapped.
With my free hand, I pin her wrists above her head, high enough that she has to stand on tip toes to avoid pain. I relish in the small quivers in her lips and the barely noticeable quickening of her breath. She tries so hard to look brave but, yet again, her body betrays her.
Bringing my knife across her throat, I tilt her chin up to face me. Looking deep into her emerald orbs reveals a lot. The eyes are the windows to the soul and in hers I see fear. Behind that, however, her eyes darken with an untempered rage, one she is desperately trying to control for the reason of self preservation. The storm looming beneath deceptively calm waves is one I cannot wait to unleash and then destroy.
Sliding the cool metal across her windpipe, I feel the pulse in her wrists quicken. Her lips part slightly as she gasps and let's out a shakey breath, eyes rolling slightly and eyelids flickering.
"Caught you little rabbit" I growl in her ear. I release her wrists, keeping the knife firmly in place against her throat.
"wrists out"
She deliberately ignores me so I press my blade further into the skin, just enough to see a few small beads of red, a stark contrast to her pale porcelain skin.
"wrists" angrier this time.
This time she slowly puts her hands out in front of her, allowing me to take the restraints from the pocket of my blazer and bind her hands tightly.
The leather fits snug against her wrists, a chain sitting between them with a long, handled leash attached. I'll escorts her like the animal she is.
Just as we reach the playhouse, an abandoned warehouse I bought years ago, I pause. She continues walking, pretending she didn't see me stop and attempting to keep her head high and her pride intact. As soon as that one act of defiance puts me behind her, I slip a chloroform soaked handkerchief over her nose and mouth. She tries valiantly to fight but it proves difficult when your wrists are bound in leather and she slips under the chloroforms effects quickly.
She never remembers me using it in the first place, they never do.
Id never do anything whilst she's unconscious. I'm many things, the monster in many stories, but even monsters have their morals. I just have to tie her up in the backroom and wait for the fun to begin.