“Oh, come now,” an almost sensual voice purred. “This won’t hurt a bit. Scout’s honor,” the male voice continued on, nearly cooing. The owner of the voice raised a hand as if vowing that it would be a painless experience. The fact that it would be anything but a painless experience brought a cruel grin to the owner’s face. He dropped his hand after a moment and ran it through his light blonde hair.

At this movement, the body that was pinned against the hard, stony ground let a whimper escape its lips. The owner of the body tried to move her head up to struggle against her captor, but was unable to get very far. Her head collapsed to the ground, and she cringed as her head made contact with a small stone.

“You mustn’t struggle, love. It will only increase your pain, really,” the voice spoke up again, grinning in satisfaction as he watched the young woman struggle. Moving a bit closer to her, he noticed with great gratification that his captive flinched as he did so. He remained still for a moment, his breathing ragged due to his extreme excitement.

Finally! this loud, pulsating beat would forever be gone from him! He would never have to feel its horrible pulse again! The shackles of his pulse would finally be gone!

Almost as if on cue, he cringed in irritation as the pulse beat loudly. He slammed his eyes shut and tried to shove the annoying beat from his mind; he wanted to prolong this moment for as long as he physically could manage. The annoyance of the pulse was merely taking away of the whole experience and possibly shortening it, too.

As if to replace the second pulse, he could feel his own heart palpitating wildly. After a moments’ rest, he opened his eyes and glanced over at the body slumped over on the ground.

He forced himself to his feet and took the few strides over to the woman’s body quickly. Soon, he thought, the body would be empty. A mere shell. A casing for what was no longer present.

These happy thoughts were soon interrupted by a moan that escaped the woman’s swollen lips. He turned his attention to her angrily and gave her an irate look that clearly told her to remain silent.

She shook her head wildly, as if delirious. “P-please,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice scratched-sounding. “Don’t do it. You don’t have to do it.”

Liam Young’s eyelids slammed open, and his mouth gasped in a lungful of air. He lie on his bed, drained of all energy, allowing his heart to adjust to a more steady pace. After a moments’ calm, he sat up gingerly in bed, running his hand along the side of his face to brush the hair from his eyes. As he did so, he noticed a faint sickly smell and, by the faint light the window was emanating, caught sight of a red colour smeared along the outside of his right hand.

He cursed under his breath but remained in bed. He was far too worked up to be concerned with a minor wound such as this. He glanced at the cold, metal railing that served as a headboard for his bed. He bent to examine it closer and noticed that there was blood on it. He assumed that he had been gripping it too tightly during his dream, and it had forced his skin open. Sighing, he allowed himself to sink back into his pillows, closing his eyes as he did so. His dream had seemed so real. So definite. But it had been snatched away by the woman’s words.

Never before had he ever received a reply in his dreams. They had always consisted of his cruelty and excitement, but never had they contained any sort of pleading from the Expuli woman. She had always remained in the very forefront, moaning and writhing in pain, but never having the audacity to speak to him! The very thought almost enraged him, really. She had no business begging for her life. She had been the one that was destined to drain him of life; he wouldn’t allow her to guilt him into thinking that she didn’t deserve to have her life drained from her. The whole concept was absolutely preposterous.

At his anger, Liam crushed his hand into a fist and felt his now cold blood drip down his hand and fall onto his cream-colored sheets. He forced himself out of bed and walked into his bathroom. Flicking the light on, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His hair had a tinge of blood in it, as well as the side of his face, which must have happened as he was waking up. He glided smoothly over to his sink and turned the faucet on, allowing the cool water to run down his hands. After a moment, he swiped a towel off of its hanging and dampened it. He swabbed it along the side of his face and flung it down on the counter when he was finished. Snapping the light switch, he returned to bed where he remained for the next two hours envisioning the bloodshed that he would gladly be the cause of.