And amid the destruction, I have never been more inspired. I look at her, my dark little muse sent to stir my soul. She is so much more than I envisioned.

She swipes her bloodstained hair from her face, her chest heaving. “I’ll wait here while you make the call.”

Lungs gripped in a vise, I step toward her. This moment is fragile, and I can’t scare her, or else she’ll slip right through my fingers. “Ut operaretur eum.”

Her gaze traps mine. “I don’t understand,” she says, her voice quivering.

“Let us work without reasoning.” I sweep a hand to encompass the body, blood, mayhem. Voltaire’s words have never held more meaning for me than in this very moment.

A light flickers in the depth, a single ray of connection where her soul recognizes mine. Gingerly, she touches her forearm, her thoughts drifting to some other subspace.

“One must cultivate one’s own garden,” I say.

Her eyebrows pinch together as distress crests within her. “Why do I know that?”

A requirement of any college literature course, she’s likely read the text, but I’d rather believe in the predestination of us.

“It’s the only way to make life endurable.” My smile is morose as I deliver the words, marveling at the shiny wet tears clinging to her dark eyelashes.

A broken sob is torn from her chest. “Nothing has been endurable.”

As her body succumbs to exhaustion, she collapses. I catch her as her chest crashes into mine, enfolding her into me as I wrap my arms around her trembling body to weld us closer.

My heart beats in perfectly timed choreography with hers. The pure serenity I feel will be my undoing.

I release the weapon and run my hand down the cool strands of her hair. “Tell me what to do.”

Tilting her face up, she swallows, her eyes pierce mine with conviction. “Sever the head.”

An erotic buzz ignites my blood. I’ve never felt anything so intoxicating, and I would become a slave to this feeling in due course.

From here, we work together in tandem. Admittedly, it’s not an easy task. I wasn’t prepared for this outcome. What bone I can’t saw must be broken. Every move that follows is meticulous, every act painstakingly analyzed, but my lovely little sprite directs the assembly.

Where the violence was beautifully reckless, our staging is carefully constructed. A union of chaos and logic that is flawlessly harmonized.

I stand back and admire her work. “A masterpiece.”

Countermeasures have to be taken, of course. But the university is no Fort Knox. Any security footage that might need to be addressed is easily attained. All evidence tied back to Wellington’s own lecture hall.

The secluded corner of the quad is dark and peaceful where we stand beside each other. The arousing jolt at her nearness urges me to reach out and take her hand in mine. Without words, I turn toward her and draw her close. Traces of dark red cover her clothes, still speckle her face. As her gaze lifts to touch mine, I track my thumb across her lips, smearing the blood. It’s stained in the fine fissures of her skin.

I’m possessed by the desire to taste her, indulge in her and feast on her until I’m delirious from gluttony.

My mouth hovers close to hers, a dare, a promise.

A goddamn inevitability.

“Are you insane?” she asks me suddenly, but there’s no derision or judgment in her tone.

“By now, most likely,” I admit, though I’ve never thought of it in a clinical sense. I don’t see the world in three dimensions, a spiral through quantum theory that altered more than my perception.

I have desired my muse for so long, I’ve stretched the bounds of sanity.

Before exhaustion completely claims her, she says, “I think I might be.”

I caress the back of her hand with my thumb. “What you are, to me, is so fucking lovely, sweetness.”

With the final addition to set the scene and tell the story, I place the wiped-down tool in the backseat of Wellington’s car. Then I take her to my townhouse near the university, where I leave her in the bedroom shower.

I listen to the water rain down on the marble as I build a fire. After which I toss her bloodstained jeans into the flames. As I hold the shirt, my fingers tracing the rusty splotches of blood, precaution urges me to tuck the garment away in my closet.

The shower cuts off, then I hear the soft pad of her feet behind me. I turn to see her dressed in my sweatshirt, and the sight of her there, wearing my clothes, robs me of all reason.

“I don’t regret what I did,” she says, her voice weak, “but I can’t live with it, either.”

Her despondence trips my pulse. Despite all my tireless efforts, nothing has changed. I can feel her descent, know what she’s contemplating, and a flame of rage ignites beneath my sternum.

“I need the blade you used.” She rings a hand down her damp hair. “I’ll turn myself in. I’ll never mention you.” She releases a derisive breath. “God, I haven’t slept in days. I don’t know who you are. I can’t even remember how I got here.” She begins to pace, pulling at the hem of the sweatshirt. “Is any of this real?”

Her spiral grips her fast and fierce. She’s going into shock again, panic infusing my bedroom with a crackling intensity.

Tomorrow, or maybe even the day after, when the shock has faded, her conscience will tear her apart. She’ll ruin herself. She’ll ruin us.

I can’t let her.

“Come here.” My sure tone snaps the connection between us taut.

When she crosses toward me, I expel the tension from my chest. The rising flames cast her features in a soft glow. My nostrils flare as her scent invades my system like the most potent aphrodisiac.

I swallow. “Tell me what you need.”

A desperate laugh slips past her lips. “Can you make me forget?”

Without hesitation, I say, “Yes.”

She studies my eyes, searching me for the truth.

“I can make us both forget,” I say, banishing the doubt from my thoughts. “But you have to trust me.”

I undo the buttons along the placket of my black shirt, then wrench my arms from the sleeves and toss the balled garment into the fire. Gaze transfixed, she sweeps the sculpted reliefs of my chest, examining the dark ink and markings.

Her touch damn near sends me to my knees. I’m so awestruck by her, so desperate to keep her, I’m torn over whether I should steal her and lock her away in my mountain home.

“I know who you are,” she says, a little shiver clinging to her shoulders. “I’ve read your papers.”

Her eyes latch on to mine, and I admit, my ego soars. The desire to make her know exactly who I am is a depraved demon clawing from the inside.

“Do it,” she says, her demand every bit a plea.

A lifetime of study into the hidden wisdoms of the world has either given me an advantage, or made me delusional. Either way, it’s prepared me for this moment in time. If sanity means returning to my uninspired life before her, then I’ll readily descend right into the maddening abyss.

I retrieve my ritual blade and bring it between us. There’s no fear detected in her features, though there absolutely should be.

Do I believe this will work? For her, to keep her from self-destructing, I have no other choice. And if it fails, if her mind shatters…

Clasping her neck, I thread my fingers into her hair and tilt her face up to me. “Even in the darkest chasm, the deepest crags of hell, I will find you. I won’t leave you in the dark.”

With a reverent touch, she places her hand over the sigil scored into my chest. “But I don’t believe in any of this.”

“I’ll believe for the both of us.” A practitioner of the dark arts, my conviction in chaos magick is more than a belief system, it’s coded in my DNA.

I was born to raise fucking hell.

She lowers her hand. “I trust you.”

And I’m drowning in her.

While my selfish nature demands to keep her for myself, this beautiful, exquisite woman and her heartsickness that breathes life into my decaying soul, I can’t bear to feel her suffer.