Chapter 6 Until I go numb

Killian's POV

"Hey, I'm so sorry... my friend is drunk," a young guy said, suddenly stepping in and pulling the blonde away from me.

"What's your name?" I asked, eyeing him up and down.

"I'm Aiel," he answered, struggling to haul his slumping, intoxicated friend back into a chair.

"Leave your friend with me," I commanded, my voice cold and absolute.

He paused, stepping back to glare at me. "Uhh... why should I do that?"

I was instantly shocked at his response. The fool just questioned my orders? For a long time, no ordinary human had dared to second guessed my demands.

I leaned in closer, gripping the edge of the wooden table, trying to suppress the rage bubbling in my chest over his insolence.

"What's your last name?" I asked, locking my gaze onto his.

He hesitated, his face twisting into a stubborn frown. I pushed my compulsion into his mind, watching as his pupils dilated and his posture softened until he finally broke.

"I am Aiel... Aiel Littletown," he muttered, his voice going flat.

There it is. I knew it...he wasn't just some ordinary human.

I leaned in closer, our faces only inches apart as I stared into his hollow eyes. "Now, go home, Aiel. I will take care of your friend just fine."

He tried to resist the command one last time, but his mind caved. He immediately grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and turned on his heel, rushing out into the crowd.

I turned my attention back to the drunk boy slumping over the table.

"Polish. Come here," I called softly.

Within a second, Polish materialised at my side out of the shadows.

"Take this boy to my section," I ordered, turning toward the VIP corridor. Polish immediately stepped in, dragging the boy behind me.

When we reached my private suite, Polish laid him gently across the plush bed. He bowed, preparing to leave the room to give me privacy.

"Polish," I called out.

"Yes, Sire?" he answered, stopping near the door.

"Doesn't he have an unusual scent?"

Polish’s face twisted in confusion. "Not really, Sire." He stepped closer to the bed, bending down slightly to inhale. "No, Sire," he confirmed, looking back at me. "The only scent is his normal human blood, the steady beat of his heart... nothing more."

"You may leave," I said. Polish slipped out, shutting the wooden door quietly behind him.

I walked over to the bed and sat beside the boy, leaning down.

Polish was weak. This boy's scent was so strong, so utterly overwhelming, it filled the entire room. It smelled like crisp rain falling on a warm, sandy beach, laced with something deeper, almost intoxicating. It was completely unique... I had never encountered a human with an aura like this.

I leaned into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent as my hand pressed against his chest, feeling the frantic pounding of his pulse.

"My friend is dead..." he mumbled, his breath hot against my collarbone.

I pulled back slightly.

His blue eyes were glistening with tears, the hot drops spilling over his lashes and tracking down his flushed cheeks. His face was red, his blonde hair a wild, messy tangle against the dark velvet sheets.

"My friend is dead, stranger," he whispered again, his voice cracking as he broke into heavy, shuddering sobs.

I just stared at him, my eyes shifting as I studied his face. I think it was the first time in my existence I had ever seen someone cry with such raw, unguarded agony. Didn't he realise how much danger he was in?

He had let Polish drag him here, let a complete stranger hover over him... without throwing a single punch like other humans usually did.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" He tilted his head, his tear filled eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made me swallow hard.

A strange, unfamiliar spike of tension hit my chest, forcing me to pull back.

I sat up straight, putting space between us as I stared down at him.

"Say something!" he yelled, his sudden shout cutting through the quiet room and catching me completely off guard.

"Yes... thank you," I blurted out, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.

"Thank you?" he barked, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "Thank you for what?" He lunged forward, grabbing both of my shoulders with trembling hands. His breath reeked of heavy alcohol.

I didn't know what to say. For the first time in my life, I was completely speechlessly thrown off balance.

He gave a harsh, bitter nod, his grip tightening on my shoulders. "Anyway... now that you've brought me to your bed... I want you to make me cry."

I froze. Make him cry? He was already sobbing. I hadn't even touched him, and he was falling apart over some dead friend.

"I hate feeling this way," he whimpered, his eyes desperate. "I want to feel physical pain."

"Physical pain... because I deserve it," he added, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

Before I could react, he yanked my collar hard, dragging me down until I was lying flat on top of him. Our faces were mere inches apart, his uneven breath fanning over my lips.

"Now, fuck me!" he demanded, staring right into my eyes. "I don't care if you're straight...just fuck me until I shed every last tear in me. Fuck me... until I go completely numb!"