Teeth

Chapter Three

The stone steps leading down into the basement were sticky with blood. The footsteps from his last visit led the way from the locked room and August did little to avoid them. No doubt the new one would assume the blood was on his shoes from when he'd strung Cleo up in the room. He'd never suspect that this wasn't the first visit.

The young were idiotic.

Personally, he didn't like the basement. It screamed of clichés. However, it was the easiest room to clean and he had no inclination to start redecorating. That was Cleo's job, her love.

Correction, it used to be her job.

Her scent was everywhere. The smell of her blood ran so deep that it felt like his own sometimes. He'd known the day would come. Deep down, like the blood, he'd always known. Cleo was too impulsive. All his hard work, all his planning and careful consideration, and she just couldn't wait. Sometimes it worked in her favour, like with William, but others... He could only protect her for so long, despite how hard he had tried. He had cleaned up the mess of each indiscretion. He had hidden the evidence and kept her hands clean. And every time he did, she had hated him a little more.

It was too late to protect her this time, even if he'd tried. She'd brought the man back with her. He had been stumbling and already sick with her blood. Near enough everyone had seen, and those who hadn't had heard about it as the young gossiped in the halls, the salacious story passed from ear to ear. There would be no chance to kill the new one before anyone knew. He'd offered, of course. Many died in the transformation and he had proven time and time again that he could lie. She was so fierce in her refusal that he knew: She hadn't chosen this new one because she couldn't hold back. She'd chosen him because she couldn't hold on.

She wanted to die and it killed him.

August wanted to think that she wouldn't have known that he would be the one selected to dispose of her but the thought clawed at him. She'd seen him dispose of others who broke the rules under Charles' orders. She'd waited to hear the reports, to offer her suggestions on ridding them of the body. That it would be him chosen this time was only fair, wasn't it? After he'd killed so many others for her.

There was another way, other methods he could have used if he'd wanted. She'd probably have enjoyed them. She'd always been fascinated with the others, even though they rarely saw them around here. However, their rules were clear. They were to keep their distance, they were not to disrupt the careful balance that had been created over decades. The young didn't even know. They continued on with their lives none the wiser to what existed outside their own little radius. It was better that way, he supposed. The young were foolhardy and believed themselves invincible. They would only get themselves killed if they knew. Not that they didn't get themselves killed anyway, but once again, August was there to clean it up.

He seemed to clean up everyone's messes. The eternal fucking janitor.

He paused at the door, his hand already on the handle. The new one was pacing and, from the tacky pull of each foot coming off the concrete, he'd ventured into the blood. Probably another attempt to free Cleo, not that she'd have allowed it. He was bonded to her and he would have had little choice but to obey her. Anything to make her happy, even if it meant letting her die.

August pushed the door open and took in the scene. He made no effort to be quiet, not like the last time. The man turned to face him. He was paler than before and the scent of vomit and fever radiated from him. The smell of the food forced from the man's stomach sent a wave of nausea through his own. He took a breath and stepped in, closing the door behind him. The handle was still attached. He hadn't tried escaping again.

"Have you drank?"

The young man took a step along the wall, careful to avoid the pool of blood that now covered most of the small room. He left a brown footprint in his wake.