The Broken Princess

Dante. Azalea’s tiny, broken body lay there on the wet docks, most of her clothes stripped and dressed in a tiny, silk-thin dress. Blue, cold, lifeless, in the middle of the godforsaken winter. As much as I wanted to lengthen the demise of the twisted fuck who did this to her, who planned to fucking dump her into the ocean alive tied to a brick of cement—I was forced to cut short on my work on him. I wanted nothing more than to paint him in blood, break bone by bone and feed hum acid and watch him die a slow, agonizing death. He would beg for the devil to come for his soul once I would be through with him. But, the longer she lay there out in the cold, the sooner that light inside her would fade. I ended sending the fucker to his demon maker sooner than I wanted. At least I got rid of that pent-up anger stewing inside me from those vamps. I needed to hurt something and he was what I needed. Just not at the price of Azalea. I sighed, gently untying her bound legs and searched for the ke