But as the steel brushed against Dahmer's chest, Malcolm's muscles completely locked. His knuckles turned white around the hilt. His amber eyes flicked from the knife to Dahmer's breathtaking, calm face.
He couldn't do it. The blade remained suspended in the air, vibrating with Malcolm's intense, internal hesitation.
Slowly, with a furious curse, Malcolm aggressively hurled the knife across the room.
Malcolm fell back against the pillows, his chest heaving as he covered his face with his hand. "Damn you... I'm not in the mood to see blood right now. It's too messy."
Dahmer let out a satisfied wicked chuckle, his frame slowly crawling back toward Malcolm's side. "Is that the real reason, Malcolm? Or is it because your heart simply cannot bear to see me hurt? Your protective instincts are already synchronized with mine."
