Page 120 of King of Hollywood
There was anonymity in the city that we’d never got in the countryside.
And more resources for a person like Felix.
If he had still relied on the shipments of blood from SAC (the Supernatural Alliance Committee) the city would’ve been an ideal place to live. They had more access there than they had to our small town. Not that that mattered—because by the time we moved there, I was Felix’s full-time blood donor.
And I fucking loved it.
There was something incredibly satisfying about the fact that I could be not only his lover, his partner, his number one fan—but also his sustenance too. My blood ran through his veins. It fueled him. We were connected in a way I’d never thought was possible.
Once, I’d joked about him eating me. And that thought hadn’t bothered me one bit. In fact, it excited me. I wanted to be inside him, in whatever capacity, as many times and in as many ways as possible.
Call me possessive, I don’t care.
I’d always miss Allen and his crematory, but I figured—it wasn’t like Beach Town was too far off the beaten path to visit.
And that was another thing.
Another bomb that had dropped right after we’d killed Barry. Apparently, The Club I’d been a member of hadn’t been a murder club at all. Go figure. Instead, it was a hunting club. Of the supernatural variety. And all this time, when I’d spoken about stalking my prey—about eradicating them—about rituals and biding my time, the members of The Club had thought that I was hunting creatures like they did. Not humans. Oops.
Except, of course, Allen.
Bless his heart.
He’d told me to be more open-minded once, when it came to Felix—and I understood now he’d said that because he’d been one of the only people in town that actually knew what Felix was. Don’t ask me how he knew. Honestly, I didn’t care.
If it had been anyone else, I would have. I would’ve questioned everything. Perhaps I wanted to eradicate them for having dared know something about Felix before I did.
But Allen had won my trust, and my friendship—and thus, I was content to let him keep his secrets.
Felix, however…was another case. For three blissful, bloody years, I learned every secret he’d ever had. I learned about his first crush—a boy in grade school. He’d gotten spanked with a paddle one time, for trying to slip notes into the other boy’s lunch box during class. The teacher had thought he was stealing from his bag—of all things.
Stealing.
My Felix.
My lovely, soft-hearted, (sometimes murderous) but always kind, Felix.
Ridiculous.
The only thing Felix had ever stolen in all his life, was my heart.
And that wasn’t much of a robbery. Not when I was content to let him keep it.
I admit, I’d hunted down the first man Felix had ever slept with. Through the wonderful, wide web. It wasn’t that hard, honestly. All I’d needed was his full name, and the town Felix had grown up in. Apparently, the little bitch, was ninety-five. Lived in a retirement home in Maine. I half debated going on a road trip to visit him—so I could stomp out the competition immediately—but when I told Felix about my genius, masterful plan, he quickly put a stop to it.
My little killer had morals, after all.
Our kills had to have “deserved” it.
I thought the fact that his first crush had been the reason he’d received corporal punishment made him deserving enough. But Felix informed me that we had to have new rules. And…as a person who liked rules, I couldn’t deny him that.
Our new murder code became:
They needed to deserve what was coming to them. (Felix)
