“Please… Don’t. Pleas…n-NO!”

Pained screams filled the air, unrelenting and bursting with such delicious fear. Though this time, Nicolai felt none of the usual pleasure he did when performing such acts. In fact, he felt nothing at all. Not the satisfaction, not the arousal. His movements were mechanical, as though he were on autopilot and merely going through the motions. Screams that normally brought to him a sense of euphoria now only proved to annoy him. And fuck, was this woman’s scream annoying. A young twenty-something college student he picked up at a Valentine’s Day function earlier that night, he had planned on having a lovely evening with her. She really was a pretty little thing; luscious blonde hair, slim waist, and breasts that had obviously been an early graduation present from daddy.

Under normal circumstances, he would have taken his time with her, savoring each delectable curve and cut, basking in the scent and warmth of her blood as he worked. But tonight he was irritable, impatient and in no mood to continue. Taking firm grasp of her now matted hair, he did something he had never done to another woman before; he ended her quickly. The blade he used for such pleasures pierced her flesh smoothly, melting across her neck like a hot knife through butter. Screams ceased and were replaced by sickening gurgling and gagging noises, the girl slowly suffocating in her own blood. Dull, emotionless gaze held steady as they witnessed the life fade from her eyes. Such a waste.

He released his grip on her, uncaring that it allowed her body to drop harshly against the ropes that bound her wrists just above her head. A grotesque popping announced itself as she fell, her arms wrenched from their sockets as gravity contributed its own work to the girl. Nicolai turned from the body and walked away, tossing the knife on to the stainless steel table as he strode by. Relinquishing blood-covered gloves to the trash, he made his way up the metal staircase to the heavy basement door, taking his leave of the disappointment that had befallen him.

Moving into his private study, he dropped to his favorite smoking chair, breathing out his tension and reflected the night’s events. “What the fuck.” He didn’t understand what had happened, why he had been so turned off and disgusted with the one he’d chosen. She had been perfect. Exactly his type, yet she hadn’t satisfied him. Breathing out a string of angry curses, he leaned to grab the cheap bottle of whiskey on the table stand next to his chair. That’s when he glimpsed her; the raven-haired Irish beauty, Emillia. Understanding dawned on him. She was the reason. It was her fault he was unable to find pleasure this night. Her fault that the busty blonde downstairs, as well as the two others he had taken, failed to satisfy him. Her fault. Well, she would pay dearly. She would pay him back for all that he had been forced to give up tonight. She would pay for his lack of pleasure. His lack of fulfillment.

His mind resolved, he rose from his chair and walked slowly to the wall upon which her picture hung. He had taken the picture himself, as he always did when considering potential candidates. She had been his first date choice, but she managed to slip from his grasp. She had disappeared. For days he searched for her, frequenting the small Irish Pub where he had first seen her. It was only by chance that he had learned her name that day, she responding to the name when a customer called to her. He would find her again. For Nicolai, it was a necessity. An uncontrollable need. He could not simply forget her and move on with his life.

Opening a drawer of the chest beneath her picture, he withdrew a pair of gloves and pulled them over his hands as his gaze remained fixated upon her. The longer he stared at her, the more he found himself wanting her. It was too late for him to have her this year; Valentine’s Day was nearly at an end. But that would not deter him. Patience was a practice that he employed religiously. No. This one would require a special evening, more so than any other who have had the pleasure of his company. She would not escape him again.

“Emillia.” He breathed in slow exhale, each syllable savory upon his tongue. Three weeks had passed since he’d first set eyes upon her. He had to have her. Nothing would satisfy him until she was his. No other woman would suffice. Not their screams. Not their blood enveloping his hands like the softest of silks. She was quickly becoming an obsession; a drug. Gloved fingertips traced the picture on the makeshift altar before him almost reverently. “You will be mine. In a year’s time, you will become my possession. My Valentine.” Voice given to his vow, Nicolai turned and left the room. He still had one loose end to tie up before the day ended, and he could begin preparations for the next year.

He was… The Valentine Killer.

Copyrighted Gypsy Maylis 2017PhotoGrid_1490420381570


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