Parasight

by E. S. Carter

  “W-what?”

  I grin up at him, my hand braced against the side of the container, my other still holding my knife.

  “I said,” I state slowly, so there’s no mistaking my words. “Stick. Out. Your. Fucking. Tongue.”

  He stares at me, his tape mouth gaping a few times before slamming shut.

  I shake my head slowly from side to side. “It’s a shame. I tried to ask nicely,” I offer through my smiling lips before vaulting one handed over the edge of the container and landing with a splash into the frigid water that comes up over my knees to the middle of my thighs. My free hand grabs Kennedy by one bound arm and leg, and I drag him and the stool off the plank and into the water with me. I let him sink to the bottom on his side, before using my sleeve to wipe off the water that splashed into my face. I cock my head towards Luke and James then bend at the waist and dip my hand into the water to grip hold of Kennedy’s hair. When I eventually drag the slippery fucker’s head out of the water, he’s gasping like a goldfish on a cold linoleum floor.

  “Now then, let’s try this one more time. Stick out your scaly, slimy, motherfucking tongue.”

  And the stubborn twat seals his mouth tightly shut, his breaths blowing in and out of his nose like a bull before a matador. Yeah, well, I may not have a red cape, but I will make this entire fucking room red by the time I’ve finished with him.

  I whip him around, using the edge of the container to prop up his head, the bottom of the stool digging painfully into my shins and giving me just enough of a buzz to make this next part even sweeter. With quick fingers, I tear the tape from his mouth, the sticky backing clinging to his lips and making it appear as if some filthy prick has jizzed all over his face. He gasps in surprise, and I lock my hand around his jaw and squeeze tightly, my fingers digging into the hollows of his cheeks, his mouth unable to close, the pain encouraging him to open it wider. With my other hand, I plunge my fingers into his mouth and drag out his juicy, fat pink tongue. All this takes place in just seconds, and his sweet gurgled screams echo out long and loud when I slice his tongue off with one flick of my wrist. The blade cuts through the meat like butter and a delicious shiver rolls down my spine.

  Kennedy’s eyes roll back in his head as he splutters and chokes on his blood, but I can’t have him accidently dying on me when we’ve only just begun. I force his head to the side, the stool shifting under the water and digging harder into my legs but that additional discomfort is nothing. Not when I have this man’s blood running from his open mouth like a river and turning the frigid water around us a pretty pink.

  “Here,” I say, as I toss the severed tongue over my shoulder to land at James’ feet. “Payment for my gift.”

  “Grim likes to keep trophies,” Luke explains when James offers up nothing but silence. “In fact, once he’s finished here I’m sure he’d love to show you the part of your mother he wears around his neck.”

  I tilt my head enough to make eye contact with James, wanting to see first-hand his reaction to Luke’s words. What I see in his eyes is acceptance. He knows we share more than blood. We’ve both lost more than just our names to the Renshaws.

  “We’ll leave you to carry on,” he finally says, nodding once to me and stepping around Luke to leave. When he gets to the door, with Luke following close behind, he turns and adds, “I hope this serves to make things right between us, Henry.”

  I release a whimpering Kennedy and pull my shin away from the bottom of the stool allowing the man to sink quickly to the bottom of the container.

  “Things will be right between us when you start calling me Grim,” I reply, feeling something shift between us.

  “Fair enough, Grim.” He nods in agreement. “We’ll be across the hall in the office when you’ve finished up here. Take your time. I have a lot to show Luke.”

  Then they leave, and I swear I see Luke’s eyes locked very low on James’ retreating form. Is he checking out his arse?

  No fucking way. I must be high on adrenaline.

  Speaking of which…

  I bend at the waist and drag Kennedy from the water. His face is now a waxy white with dribbles of red running down his chin. Judging by his efforts, it must be hard to gasp for air without a full tongue, so I help him out a little by raising him and his stool high enough to toss him over the side of the container and onto the hard, concrete floor.

  “Getting a bit chilly in here,” I declare before hoisting myself over the side. “You don’t mind if we continue this somewhere a little less wet?”

  He doesn’t respond, rude fucker, or if he does, it’s muffled by his moans.

  “Okay,” I begin conversationally, as I circle his prone body. “I’m going to untie you now, but I’m not telling you this because I think you’d try anything. In fact, knowing what a spineless prick you are I’m not bothered at all, but I thought you’d like to know that by the time we’ve finished here today, you will literally be a spineless fucking prick.”

  I laugh when he catches my meaning and begins to sob.

  Oh, it’s good to be me.

  An hour later I leave another gift for James.

  Sitting atop of the righted stool is Kennedy Ford’s freshly harvested spinal column, with the cherry on top being his teeny weeny shrivelled cock and balls.

  You’re fucking welcome.

  Calliah

  Grim and Luke arrive back just as the sun begins to set.

  All day I’ve alternated between pining alone in the cottage, to wandering aimlessly through the small fields and paddocks. I even made food for myself and the guard on patrol outside. He seemed taken aback to be presented with a steaming bowl of pasta, but that may be because I’ve never cooked much of anything before and it was likely inedible. I wouldn’t know because I couldn’t stomach mine. My insides were in a constant state of turmoil after my time with Grim this morning. Then, when he left seconds after my confession without saying anything in return, I wanted the ground to open and swallow me - if only the hole I fell into had been bigger.

  So, when I hear a vehicle approach, just as the sun’s warmth fades, I contemplate going inside before he assumes I’ve been waiting for him, which I have been, or staying right where I am, sitting on the dirty wooden step in front of the cottage.

  The speed at which they arrive makes the decision for me, and my stomach plummets when I hear them all exit the car and go straight to the main house.

  I curse myself for my foolishness. Why would Grim come straight to me? What claim do I have on him? I told him my truths and called him beautiful. That does not indebt him to me.

  I stand carefully and turn my face towards the main house, throwing my senses out into the air between us in the hopes that he will know I’ve been foolishly waiting for him and that I’ve been worried about his return visit to the King.

  He’ll come to you, Damaris whispers in my head. “I’m not so sure,” I whisper back. “After all, I am useless to him now.”

  With my decision made I turn and walk back into the cottage, the lingering smell of tomato and basil eliciting a rumble from my empty stomach.

  Having never cooked pasta before or much of anything in truth, I misjudged the amount and even after giving a large bowl to the guard, I still have enough to feed a small army.

  Grabbing utensils and a bowl, I heat some of the food on the old stove and serve myself a portion with a warm garlic and rosemary bread roll. The delicious smells of cooking fill the cottage once more and my hunger increases. I’m spooning long strings of spaghetti into my mouth while walking towards the table, and, of course, that’s when the door opens. I halt, spoon to my lips, while Grim just stands there watching me.

  “Something smells good,” he says after a beat, sniffing the air but not entering over the threshold.

  I place my bowl of food on the table and surreptitiously wipe sauce from my mouth before replying, “I can make you some up if you’d like. It tastes pretty good, surprisingly.”

  “I’d like that,”
he replies quietly, still stood in the doorway, the cool breeze blowing past him and dragging in his fresh, clean scent. He’s showered. I can smell the soap he’s used.

  “Please, take a seat. It will only take a few minutes to reheat.”

  I turn and walk towards the stove, setting the bigger pan on the burner and lighting it quickly. I hear him softly close the door behind him, but he doesn’t walk over to the table and sit. Instead, he enters the small kitchen area and leans up against the counter only a few feet away. There he seems content to watch me putter around, his eyes following me every step I move. It should be unnerving, feeling his gaze so intently but I find it empowering. The fact that he’s so transfixed with watching me is a heady sensation, and I find myself wanting his eyes on me always.

  “Would you like something to drink? Someone sent over wine but I’ve never tasted it before so I stick to water, but I can pour some for you if you’d like?”

  “Water’s good. I don’t drink either,” he responds.

  I hear the water running and a glass filling before I can get to the sink.

  “I can handle the drinks. Do you need me to do anything else?”

  His body is even closer to me than it was before.

  “No, it’s almost ready. If you could grab yourself some cutlery, I’ll bring it over for you.”

  He rattles around in a few drawers before he finds the right one, and then he moves away, and a few seconds later I hear the clunk of them hitting the table, and the scrape of a chair being pulled back.

  Once I’m satisfied the food is warm enough, I turn and carry it over. His chair moves once more, and I can feel his quick actions as he pulls out my seat for me to sit.

  He’s acting weird around me. Is this what a man does when in the presence of a woman or is he overcompensating because he thinks I have a disability?

  “I can get my own chair,” I say, a little too tersely before setting his food down in front of him.

  “I didn’t mean that you couldn’t… or that… well, I mean,” he stumbles over his thoughts. Another thing Grim never does.

  “Fuck, Cal,” he groans, and I hear the rasp of his stubble as he runs his hands over his head and face. “I swear I wasn’t trying to make you feel weird. I’ve never done this with a woman before, and I’m out of my fucking depth here.”

  My belly flips and I take a seat quickly before my legs wobble underneath me. His words are setting off all kinds of foreign sensations inside me, so I pick up my fork and spoon to give my hands something to do and my brain something on which to focus. I want to get rid of this strangeness between us, so I decide to go easy on him.

  “You’ve never eaten food with a woman before?” I tease with a smile in my voice. Okay, I said I’d go easy, but I wasn’t going to let him get off scot-free.

  He huffs out a sheepish laugh and replies, “You’re determined to make me say it aren’t you?”

  I swallow my smile and twist up a forkful of pasta.

  “I haven’t been… umm, in this kind of situation with a woman. I mean, I’ve been with a woman,” he stammers. “Of course, I’ve been with a woman, but that’s not really what you’re supposed to say in this situation, so I’m fucking that up too.”

  He groans again, and I hear him slide down in his chair a little, his legs catching on the table leg.

  With a deep breath, he carries on, “What I mean is, I pulled out your chair because women like that kind of stuff and men are supposed to do it. Chivalry, and all that. I didn’t do it to make you feel awkward or because I think any less of you. In fact, Cal, there’s nothing you could ever say, do or tell me that would ever change my opinion of you.” He straightens once more and picks up his cutlery. His voice low when he finishes with, “You blow my mind, Cal. And it freaks the shit out of me.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I have even less experience of what happens willingly between two people like us than he does.

  “This is excellent, Cal,” he says around a mouthful of spaghetti. I smile and begin eating, likely looking like a fool grinning around my full mouth of food. This is all so normal it’s abnormal, but in such a wonderful way that I just want to bottle up this moment and replay it repeatedly.

  We finish our food in silence, his feet accidentally touching mine under the table on a few occasions. He clears his bowlful before me, and I hear his cutlery clink against the empty dish before he pushes his chair back and says, “I’ll wash up, it’s the least I can do after the best meal I’ve had in ages.” He steps from the table before returning for my bowl and adds, “But don’t tell Anne I said that when we get back to Hunter Lodge, or else I’ll be cut off from her cookie supply, and her cookies are to fucking die for.”

  He’s a cold-blooded killer with a sweet tooth who gets tongue-tied when he has dinner with me. There are so many contradictions to this man that I don’t think I’ll ever work him out, and a part of me doesn’t want to.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” I reply quietly.

  He leans forward slowly, and his thumb catches my mouth at the corner of my smile. His touch is equal parts electrifying and soothing. Yet another contradiction.

  “You, uh, had a little bit of pasta sauce just there,” he says shyly before removing his touch and walking away with the dirty dishes.

  I hope that the sound of the taps running blankets my deep and shaky inhale. The place where his thumb touched my skin tingles with aftershocks and my belly does another one of those flips that are happening more frequently in his presence.

  “I’m going to go and clean up,” I call in his direction, standing up on my trembling legs and using all my training and practice to mask my swirling and erratic emotions. “I’ll be right back.”

  In the small and musty smelling bathroom, I splash water on my face and brace myself against the sink. I reach out to the wall above it and trace my fingers across the small mirror. If I could see, who would I be, and would I like my reflection?

  I may be blind but my mind is not, and I can feel things changing between Grim and me. That bond made of barbed wire that has always connected us grows stronger, and as it strengthens it becomes less sharp to the touch, yet more focused. We are linked, him and I, and not just by circumstance but by something more tangible.

  With a deep breath, I straighten and turn my back on the woman I’ll never see. Just because I can’t see her, doesn’t make her less real or less powerful. It’s like faith; you can’t see it, but it’s there, even when you’ve felt forsaken, and I may not see her, but she’s always here, even when I’ve felt broken beyond repair.

  I’m more composed by the time I leave the bathroom. I’m not prepared for anything that may or may not happen, but I’m not scared of it either.

  When I enter the kitchen, it’s empty, so I walk through to the tiny living room, but he’s not there either. I throw my senses out through the house, and I feel him, my feet carrying me towards him before my mind has caught up. The bedroom door is ajar, the room silent, but I know he’s in there. When I step up to the door and push it slowly open, I wait, listening carefully to any sounds. The room is still and silent, except for the gentle rise and fall of his breaths. I approach the bed and carefully lower myself down onto the mattress until I lie on my side facing him. His breathing doesn’t change, he’s asleep, and it’s one of those moments in time where I wish I could see him. I mourn the missed opportunity to study him, to drink him in while he slumbers and memorise every feature. With tentative fingers, I reach out, just for one more memory of his face. I’m no more than an inch away from his skin when his arm snaps out, and he grips my wrist with brutal force. I can’t help the whimpered gasp that slips from my lips, and I know the exact second he opens his eyes. He doesn’t give me even a moment to break free before I’m tugged to his front, his leg lifting to pin mine to the bed, his hand relaxing only a fraction against the delicate bones of my wrist. His hot breath hits my face, and his words come out as a husky growl. “I want you to touch me, Ca
l, but never do so when I can’t see it coming. Do you understand?”

  My heart thunders in my chest, my lungs working overtime to get air, the force pushing my breasts out to rhythmically brush against his forearm.

  “Yes,” I reply breathily. Yes, to touching, yes, I understand.

  His grip loosens further, and he leans over me, his forehead touching mine and a pained tone accompanies his next words.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Cal. I’d end myself before ever hurting you.”

  I tilt my head, so we now touch nose to nose, our lips just a hairsbreadth away from each other. With my next exhale, I confess, “I’m strong enough for your hurt, Grim. If you need it, give it to me. Give it all to me.”

  Grim

  She’s so close I can taste her.

  Her body under mine is a divine ecstasy, one which I am not worthy of receiving.

  I came into her bedroom when she slipped into the bathroom, with the intention of only looking at the bed in which I held her last night.

  While she slept, I watched. While she slipped into dreams, I stood guard against the monsters.

  I sat on the bed and leant back because it beckoned me. I did not intend to fall asleep, but I guess days without any rest have a way of creeping up on a man, especially when her scent was so potent on the sheets. Sunshine and freshly cut grass.

  Now, I have her underneath me, and my Devil is clawing to be set free. His slumber awakened by her uninvited touch, his blood thickening in my veins, his need raging through my skin.

  I’m hard, painfully so, but my needs are not for her to sate. She’s undeserving of my perversions. Cal has been through enough already. Her body used to make other undeserving men feel powerful and I will not allow that to happen again, even if the only person she needs protecting from now is me.

  “I’m strong enough for your hurt, Grim. If you need it, give it to me. Give it all to me.”

  Her sweet acceptance of who I am and what I need is almost my undoing. I want to mark her, to bite her, to devour all that she is until I’m fat and bloated with her flesh. I want her to return those actions, to mark me, to bite me, to give me the satisfying gift of pain and release, but I won’t. I will not hurt her even if her pain would feel like nectar on my tongue, but I will give her something she needs without seeking anything in return, even if I must lock away my Devil to do so.