Bare Her Soul (James Patrick March x reader )

Seventeen

For James, Devil's Night couldn't have come soon enough. It was the final nail in the coffin he needed.

You'd slept in his arms nights before, he'd left your room a few minutes after you'd gone under - a few minutes later than he should have. It had made him feel something he hadn't felt in years. There was hunger obviously, for your blood, your tight body strewn across his lap, your faithfulness. But there was also a colour of tenderness, born from your comfort in him. He had been the one to bring you comfort. That night you'd made him feel a reluctance to harm even a hair on your sleeping head.

He moved out from the shadow cast by your ornate wardrobe.

That wasn't the sort of thing a man like him could just forgive.

You had blacked out and Ramirez pulled the blade out of his chest, wincing ever so slightly. He pushed the shades up onto his head, watching your unconscious form with patient eyes. He turned to James then.

"You did well old friend" James nodded, standing next to him now and placing an encouraging hand on the man's shoulder "now return to the soirée, enjoy the amuse-bouch..."

"In a while boss" Ramirez chuckled and James held his hand out expectantly.  Twirling on his heel, he passed the steak knife to James, and shot finger guns at his master with a smirk.

James stood at the foot of your bed, he pulled the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the slick of rotten blood off the blade with it. All the while, his gaze trained on you.

Your eyelids fluttered, and you rolled blankly onto your side. The sheen of sweat on your cold neck glittered in the darkness.

Your eyes opened on the ceiling, unaware of his presence, panic flashed on your eyes and then oddly, relief.

James' chin jutted out, and he appraised you with a tight smile.

"It's exhilirating isn't it? To take a man's life. Although the first is always the best, you'll find you'll be chasing that feeling for years..."

You sat upright at his voice. Eyes darting around the room. You found his shape, glared to see him clearer. Your pretty face was a tear-streaked mess. Black coal smudged around your eyes, skin contoured with exhaustion and despair. Ruined. Just as he wanted you.

"James?" you whimpered, blinking severely. Your voice was gentle, it pleaded for him.

"Ah" he hummed approvingly "so you've come to your senses dear. Well done. You see, I wouldn't leave you as God has done..."

He looked upon the fine blade in his hand then, turned it over a couple of times.

He'd enjoy looking at your face for eternity, and a slash in your throat would really detract from that pretty picture. He could drive it into your heart instead, but he suspected he'd quite enjoy the sight of your chest too..

Your back then, he decided. He'd get to your heart that way instead. But there was one final thing to do. A thing he'd fantasised about from the moment you walked your little self into his crafted hell. And he wanted you alive, writhing and screaming under him as he did it. There would be no question after that, as to whether your soul would be abandoned here with him.

His depraved eyes dropped to your legs, bare, smooth, impossibly tantalising. He reached for your ankle, meaning to drag you to him. Before his hands found your delicate bones though, you opened your arms. It was a pitiful gesture, that of a desperate, vulnerable child reaching for a parent.

Perhaps you thought he'd meant to comfort you.

"Is this real? I...I dreamt that I- that you-..." you strained, quiet and mouse-like. Your arms were still stretched towards him.