Seducing Two Serial Killers

by Hutchins, Hollie

  All alone.

  “You won't be alone in carrying this anymore,” I tell him, now massaging his shoulders. “We're here. And it's over. They're all dead now, aren't they?”

  He nods, the back of his head brushing my chin, and I feel him tense up. Richard's watching from the side, and he quickly grabs a box of tissues from the kitchen and hands it to Tarren. The big, fearsome dragon shifter plucks a handful and dabs at his face.

  Crying. “Ah, fuck,” Tarren says, voice muffled. Clearly not a man used to such tears. Then again, how many men are? They're all taught to be tough and cover up their emotions, and then they just don't know how to handle them. Seems Tarren's been forcing himself for years by swearing vengeance.

  “They're all gone,” Richard says, now attempting a soothing voice, accompanying my massage. “You no longer have to worry about those bastards. You're free.”

  Tarren remains quiet for a moment, shivering against my touch, still wiping tissue against his face. Something's brewing in his mind. Or maybe nothing is.

  Nothing will bring back his little girl. I don't know how much he loved her, either – whether the grief broke him, or whether guilt consumed him for not being there for her when she needed it – and those feelings boiled over into vengeance. Maybe both.

  Eventually, Tarren gathers himself together, crumpling up the tissue and giving a wry chuckle. “I'm a damn mess. I've not spoken about this in so long. Can't even think about it without wanting to punch something.”

  “Suppressed emotions,” I say sagely, before they both turn to look at me. My fingers, sore from massaging, release Tarren's shoulders. People end up doing things for many reasons. I know this or should know it. In the psychology lessons I've taken, sometimes we latch onto an idea because it's easier than the alternative – facing up to reality. Easier in Tarren's case to believe that he would find peace once he killed the people involved in trafficking his daughter, than in the less pleasant idea – that vengeance won't lead to true peace.

  “Maybe you're right,” he says, clearly reluctant to admit so. “But I know I can't stop, even with this. Because there's more than just those bastards who will cause suffering. There's more than just them. And I guess it's just too easy now. Not going to drop all my businesses, not when I'm good at doing what I do.”

  Maybe not.

  But at least he won't be alone. Guess he really is a thief with a heart of gold. I know I've been trained to accept that murder is wrong in all forms, but sometimes I like the idea of vigilante justice. Not misplaced justice, where innocent people end up being killed because of misrepresentation, like the witch hunts of the centuries before, like the crimes against indigenous people and black people who had done nothing wrong other than exist.

  But true justice, where we forge a society, a place that says that people who practise such cruelty are not welcome with us. And never will be.

  “We should get her picture inflated,” I say. “Placed somewhere so she can be a reminder that you're doing the right thing.”

  He finds my statement abhorrent at first, I see it – but his expression slacks into something calm, collected. “Yeah – yeah, okay. I will.” Clutching the locket, he now places it around his neck, allowing me to complete the chain. It's the least I can do.

  The three of us remain here for a few moments, basking in each other's company, all of us thinking different things in our heads. Our futures, perhaps. The meaning of life. I'm not sure where my future lies exactly, but I do know that one way or another, I want to hang around these shifters. Not just for the snazzy apartment. But because I feel a kind of purpose, being here. I'm in a position to influence Tarren and Richard. Both strong men, both with a circle of power. Through Tarren, I could easily dip into the darker side of society and find a way to bring some people out of it. Through Richard's influence, I could promote charity organizations, bring awareness to certain topics, maybe even influence in a way that will make it easier for humans to be in Animusa, and to assist with diplomatic relations, if they find out that a human is dating a high-rise councilman.

  As for Lisa Arrow, when she goes back to her father, we hope it will be without prejudice. The fox blood's adapting well in her, kicking out the last of her auto-immune issues, leaving her able to have a healthier, longer life than what most humans can enjoy. She'll have better senses – and – depending on the conversion method used – she'll be able to turn into a fox for fast travel across difficult areas.

  I'm glad she's out of danger. We're not out of the woods yet, though. No doubt senator Arrow will be furious to have his daughter transformed, unless she can somehow hide it. But it's mandatory for shifters to have tattoos, and their eye colors change to indicate their preternatural tendencies.

  Do I want to be a shifter myself?

  Before, I was unsure. But now – if it might make living here easier, I'd have to consider it. Not now. I still have plenty of years left before I reach that decision. Plenty of years to finish my courses. To stay by the sides of these powerful men.

  Everyone's going to look at them. Everyone's going to see them doing amazing things. But they're not going to realize that I'm the one in the background, steering them to it.

  It's a little like those games I've played. Everyone focuses on the damager dealers, with their flashy spells, their amazing damage. No one focuses on the ones who protect them, who make sure they don't die in those games – because it's often or not a thankless role.

  People crave being thanked and appreciated. Me as well, if I'm honest.

  “Will you stay with us, Emma?” Richard poses the question, bringing into life what's churning in my mind. His amber eyes are earnest, worried, and hopeful all at once.

  He doesn't need to worry. He never should have to. “I suppose I can hang around you guys for a little longer,” I say, smiling. “If you'd have me, of course. Annoying little immune that I am.”

  “Hah.” Tarren drags me into his arms, and takes a moment to sniff my hair. Not quite as fresh as I'd like it. “It won't be easy for you, you know. Carla might be itching to get another immune contest together, and there were four survivors. You and your gang.”

  “Eh,” I say. “They're fucking off to Bulgaria to live on a farm, last time I heard. Kalina promised to message me on Facebook, though, so we're going to keep contact that way. By the way, we have invitations to Bulgaria.”

  “Pft, Animusa is the best place,” Richard replies, nodding. He stretches, and his muscles move in rather interesting ways. “What about your parents? You said they didn't like shifters.”

  “They can fuck off.” I grin. “It'll work out. Somehow. Might need to bludgeon them over the head with a saucepan or something, but it'll be fine.”

  Barring any complications, I guess I'm sorted then, aren't I?

  Sorted with two men, that, despite all my doubts and cluelessness over just what exactly I feel about them, I do know that it physically hurts to consider leaving them. That I want to see them smile, their eyes twinkle, hear their confessions and listen to their beating hearts as I rest my ear upon their chests.

  Oh, and the fucking, of course.

  Can't forget about that.

  I still fidget, thinking about the love word. Tiny tiny word, immense meaning behind it. Is that what love is, then? A fluttering in the heart. An affection that runs deep, a person that makes you smile and pains you inside at the same time?

  Because I ain't got a clue.

  Balancing two people's emotions is difficult, because there's always the underlying fear that maybe one of us will get too jealous of the other's waning attention. If we start favoring one person far more than another.

  It does bring to mind something else. Maybe we just shouldn't worry about all the things that can go wrong. Be aware of them. Don't let them consume.

  And just enjoy what's there.

  I'll try that.

  And who knows?

  Maybe it'll even work out.

  Seizing Tarren's hand, and gr
abbing Richard's slender fingers as well, I lead them back to the bed. To sleep? To have sex?

  Guess we'll see. And tomorrow will be a new day. Back to work. Back to eking out our dreams for the future.

  Long as we try hard, we should success. And I’m no quitter.

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  Get It Here

  REASONS TO ESCAPE FROM THIS PHYCO CAPTAIN:

  He basically bought me. To protect me? No. Of that I’m sure.

  He is cold-hearted. Obviously.

  Aggressive.

  Homicidal.

  Half-dragon.

  And everything else bad there exists.

  He just decided to keep me for himself instead of selling me as a human slave.

  But I’m not the little pet he thinks I am. Do you know what I do to *people* like him?

  I f..... destroy them. I’ll wipe his existence off this ship, along with all his ugly, unruly aliens on board.

  Captain Kylen will learn not to mess with me -if he is still alive by the time I’m done with him.

  My name is Sarah Dawson, captive of the Slipstream F6... but not for long.

  © Copyright 2018 by Hollie Hutchins - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.