Carving for Cara

He is my predator, and I am his prey. Tonight, he is starving for a taste of what’s his. It was Halloween, my favorite time of the year. I had my dream job as a tattoo artist, a loyal best friend, and an ex who happily tended to my needs without complicating our arrangement with feelings. Everything was going great until Devil’s Night when the masked man watched me from the shadows like a predator stalking his next meal, and that’s what I was: his prey. Like any natural-born predator, he was bloodthirsty, staking his claim to me before I could see the face behind his mask. He wasn’t afraid to kill for a bite of what he craved, even if it meant shedding the blood of those closest to me. Once he had a taste, he hungered for more, and the more he needed it, the more I wanted to give it to him.