The Vampire Obsession

Chapter 7

He had the audacity to laugh—really laugh, entertained. The perverse sound echoed through the clearing.

“Interesting,” he murmured, pressing the barrel under his chin. “I didn’t know you cared that much about me. Tell me—do you not want me to kill myself because you plan to do it yourself… or because, deep down, you like me?”

I didn’t even think.

My brain didn’t register the movement—only the impact of my clenched fist smashing into his mouth.

The Grimwood Ripper’s head snapped back. His smile vanished for a beat.

When he turned back to me, his lower lip was split in half. Red spilled from the wound down his chin.

Something dark warmed my chest. My veins vibrated with adrenaline at the sight of him like that. Electric currents seemed to burn where my knuckles had made contact with his skin.

I wanted more violence.

He licked the wound. Dragged his tongue over his teeth, staining them red.

His smile returned—worse than before.

It looked like an animal baring its fangs before the attack.

“Ah,” he murmured, low and guttural, somehow sounding more excited than before. “So it’s the first option. Is that all you’ve got?”

I didn’t hesitate.

I lunged again—fist raised—aiming for a precise point on his jaw.

Self-defense classes had been part of my routine for years. My body, once fragile and defenseless, had gained muscle, endurance, and the instinct of movement. I learned the points that made people fold and drop, and I knew the same could be done to me if I let my guard down.

I knew how to knock a man out with one punch.

But he was too fast.

My fist grazed him, making him stagger sideways—but he didn’t drop like I’d planned.

Shit.

Before he could recover and counter, I drove my knee into his stomach.

His body folded for half a second—then snapped back.

He spit blood into the grass.

And smiled.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

I threw strike after strike—hands and legs.

He blocked them all, dodging on purpose, never striking back.

As if I wasn’t worthy of his effort.

As if he was only playing with me—and all of this was just a game.

Rage surged, fogging my reason, drowning my senses, making me attack blindly.

That was my fatal mistake.

“Fight back, you coward!” I snarled, my blood boiling. “Not man enough to fight me fair?”

As if he’d been waiting for me to lose control, on my next blow he wrapped his fingers around my wrist and yanked me toward him.

My free hand shot to the knife hidden in my jacket. The blade caught the moonlight for half a second—flashing—before I drove it into his side with everything I had.

The knife sank in at the exact moment he hooked a foot behind my ankle—bringing us both down.

A groan of pain tore from both of us.

The fall jolted me, loosening my grip on the handle.

He seized the advantage immediately—ripping the knife from my fingers and forcing my wrists above my head, pinning me to the ground.

He hovered over me in a dangerously intimate position.

His heavy body pressed me down. Chest to chest. Strong thighs tangled between mine.

No air.

No space.

My heartbeat hammered inside my ribcage, roaring in my ears.

When I struggled beneath his weight, it was like fighting a marble wall. He used my strength against me, tightening his grip on my wrists and keeping me pinned.

I snarled in frustration.

“Shh. Better stay quiet,” he said, lifting the knife to my throat.

The cold blade kissed my skin, making me shiver.

There was no escape.

I wouldn’t beg.

If this was my moment, I’d face it head-on, unafraid—even with a blade at my throat.

My eyes bored into him, staring straight at where I imagined his eyes must be behind the mask.

“Give me a good reason not to kill you right now,” he whispered, his cool breath brushing my skin.

I pressed my lips into a hard line, silent as a grave.

My silence made him slide the blade closer, stealing my breath.

Still, I didn’t speak.

“You can’t.”

“Go ahead,” I challenged, lifting my chin, fearless. “Kill me now—this will be your only chance. If you let me escape tonight, I won’t stop hunting you until your head is hanging on the town sign.”

That made him laugh low, watching me trapped beneath him like prey that had already been caught.

Maybe that was all I was to him.

Suddenly, the scent of wet earth flooded my senses.

I looked up at the dark, clouded sky.

Tiny droplets fell like tears.

It was raining—just like the night we met.

“Is this how you pictured it when you did your research?” he asked, taunting.

His blade slid in a lazy caress along my throat, brushing my racing pulse.

And, against instinct, I didn’t flinch away.

“Under me, with my blade pressed to your throat?” He lowered over my body and whispered into my ear. “Have you ever wondered what it feels like to be killed by me?”

My answer was spit—landing square on his cheek.

“If you’re going to kill me, then finish it,” I snapped, shaking with rage, fear, and helplessness beneath his control.

“I’m not going to kill you, Evelyn,” he murmured, his tone soft and dark. “You’re far too interesting to let you die.”

And in some twisted way, that felt worse than his knife cutting my throat.

His words stole my ability to speak.

That was when the familiar, sharp wail of police sirens rose in the distance, growing closer.

I stared at him, eyes widening.

“Of course you called for backup,” the Grimwood Ripper said, shaking his head. He clicked his tongue like he was disappointed. I imagined him rolling his eyes behind the mask. “What a shame. I truly expected better from you.”

“Wait, I—” I started, terrified he’d change his mind about sparing me.

“The police won’t like hearing you had the chance to end me and couldn’t go all the way,” he cut in, head tilted in mockery. “They’ll start wondering why I let you go unharmed the second time. Why I didn’t kill you. They won’t know you fought bravely if you walk out of here without a scratch.”

His voice dropped, amused and cruel.

“They might think we’re in love.”

“And we can’t let that happen, can we?”

He released my wrists—and to my shock, forced my fingers to close around the knife handle.

I stared, stunned, too confused to understand why he was arming me.

He wrapped his hand over mine.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

For a long, frightening second, he stared at me in silence—so long I thought he might press his lips to mine.

“I’m helping you,” he said.

“Trust me.”

He smiled—then forced my own hand to drive the blade into my arm.

Stabbing me.

With my own grip.

I didn’t see it coming. I only felt the impact—then the sickening surge of pain spreading up my arm like poison.

A scream ripped out of me and thundered across the clearing.

Adrenaline muted the pain, but my body understood what was happening. My blood pressure crashed along with my vision, leaving my head foggy—light and heavy at once.

Before he left, he touched the blood spilling from the wound and brought it to his lips.

Tasted it.

I blinked, staring at the act, horrified.

I felt the absence of his weight as he moved away.

Shouts tore through the night.

Police voices called my name through the forest.

The rain thickened, soaking the grass around me, my face, my clothes—making everything cling to my body. Droplets gathered on my lashes. It was hard to see the world. Everything looked hazy—just like my mind.

The wound in my arm throbbed in time with my heartbeat.

I couldn’t move.

Because moving would confirm it was real—confirm I’d allowed what happened.

“Our game doesn’t end here, sweetheart,” he said. Even from farther away, his voice sounded strangely intimate. “It’s only begun. I’ll find you again, Evelyn.”

His tone turned into a promise.

“This is a promise.”

Pressing a hand to the wound in his side, he melted into the darkness of the forest—vanishing between the trees.

I lay there, painting the grass beneath me with my blood.

He hadn’t removed the blade.

He’d left it embedded in my arm.

Just like his words stayed embedded—deep and painful—in my mind.

Trust me.