Muse of Ruin

CONTENTS Important Note Prologue 1. Calliope 2. Calliope 3. Atlas 4. Calliope 5. Atlas 6. Calliope 7. Perses 8. Calliope 9. Lelantos 10. Calliope 11. Calliope 12. Atlas 13. Calliope 14. Lelantos 15. Calliope 16. Perses 17. Calliope 18. Lelantos 19. Calliope 20. Perses 21. Calliope 22. Perses 23. Calliope 24. Atlas 25. Calliope 26. Lelantos 27. Calliope 28. Atlas 29. Calliope 30. Perses 31. Atlas 32. Calliope 33. Calliope 34. Lelantos 35. Perses 36. Atlas 37. Calliope Epilogue About the Author Acknowledgments Also By Stephanie Hurst Stephanie Hurst Copyright © 2022 Stephanie Hurst All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Cover Design by The Pretty Little Design Co. Interior Formatting by Pretty In Ink Creations Editing & Proofreading by Victoria Straw To Sauron, Ursula, Darth Vader, Norman Bates, Joker, Cersei Lannister, and Hannibal Lecter. Villains deserve love, even if it makes their skin crawl. IMPORTANT NOTE Muse of Ruin has very dark content with triggering circumstances. These include, but are not limited to, graphic violence, human trafficking, and sexual situations. Kinks also include, but again not limited to, somnophilia, knife play, and bondage. If you are troubled by dark subject matters or kinks, this book may not be for you. Your mental health is important to me, so please check my website for a full list of warnings. There are no heroes here, only villains. Prepare to lose your morals. I am a UK-based author, and as such, this book is written in British English. Certain words and phrases may differ between regions. My heart races as I dare a glance at the man following me. I quicken my pace, and a bead of sweat rolls down the back of my neck from the humid night air. Wearing my leather jacket is a bad idea, but damn, I look hot and not in the sweaty about-to-pass-out kind of way—though another hour in this heat will change that. Focus, Calliope. Always be conscious of your surroundings. I check over my shoulder to confirm he is still in pursuit. His footsteps pick up speed to match my own. The industrial district isn’t safe at night, add the fact I’m a woman, and this is a disaster waiting to happen. My pursuer draws closer, so I dart down an alley between two warehouses. I quickly glimpse back as the shadowy figure enters the enclosed space. The distance between us dramatically reduces. My heart kicks into full speed, galloping in my chest as I slow my pace, close my eyes, and accept the inevitable. His hand lands heavily on my shoulder, his fingers painfully digging in, claiming what isn’t his. I can’t stop my smile as I turn and plunge the large hunting knife into his stomach. “Hello, Graham. Nice to finally meet you.” His eyes bulge with shock, and his mouth imitates a fish as I quickly force the sharp blade across his navel, slicing deep. His weakened hands pathetically grab my throat, but they are already useless. I step back, and Graham falls to his knees before collapsing forward in a heap of death. I have perfected my talents, resulting in quick, silent kills, but the mound of flesh at my feet makes me wonder if the end is a little anticlimactic. I spend weeks monitoring my targets, learning their routines, mannerisms, and signals. Earlier this evening, Graham confirmed he was on the hunt when he picked up his sick little rucksack. Little did he know, I hunted him. Pulling the black canvas bag off his arm, I open it and tip out the contents. Rope, duct tape, black rubber gloves, and a knife drop to the ground with a soft thud. My gut rolls with the knowledge of how many women he attacked and abused with these objects, most of them never to be seen or heard from again. His blood soaks into the dirt, and I savour the knowledge there will be no more. From my time spent watching, I knew where Graham would head for his next victim. I beat him here and made sure to catch his attention. My long fiery red hair did the trick, and he perceived my slim five-foot-seven build as something he could easily overpower. I enjoy being underestimated. It makes killing them easier and sweeter. Monsters roam the streets of Tartarus, but I feast on their blackened souls. They give me a purpose, a meaning. As much as I hate them, I couldn’t live without them. Using my foot, I roll the now lifeless Graham onto his back and marvel at the crimson staining the dirt like a beautiful abstract painting. Graham was one of the few fortunate individuals. Even though the world would soon forget his miserable existence, he would always matter to me. If he were still alive, I’m sure he would thank me for allowing him to be part of my collection. Kneeling beside him, I pull out a plastic case from my inside jacket pocket and pop the lid. Carefully, I extract my scalpel and admire the glint of surgical steel. My hunting knife left a clear path to slice, granting me access to the goods beneath. I kill quickly to ensure no mistakes, but my true vision comes to life after their deaths. I hate the term serial killer because it sounds too trivial. Artist is more appropriate, and Graham just became piece number twenty-five. Quite an achievement for a twenty-four-year-old. After separating his intestines from the surrounding tissue, I pull them out. Blood coats my hands and makes it hard to grip the squishy organ, but I don’t need this to