It was hard to concentrate on his work when the sounds of passion flowed through the halls. They echoed, tormenting his mind with such persistence that drove him into despair. Never before had he left a work of art unfinished; never had he let his canvas dry and recover from his dedicated work. But just how could he possibly concentrate on his work when those sounds still came?

The screams and cries were intoxicating; coming from a throat so sweet, so innocent. Those screams were not like the ones produced through his art, through – these were not pained but delightful and tainted in pure lust.

Was he actually jealous? No, of course not. He had all he needed night here before him. So why did he feel like this? Why was there a gut-wrecking feeling every time another cry echoed through the hall?

It had been the Master’s night with him… with Harley. He could see him there, sprawled upon that bed – lying among the softest of satins and velvets, those wings so beautiful spread out to his sides. So angelic, so innocent. He knew those pool of blue would be pressed shut in wicked delight.

I should not be thinking about this! He scalded himself and turned his attention back to his work. The shiny blade of his scalpel ascended in trembling fingers. This was unacceptable! The sharp “paintbrush” was dropped onto the tray contained various other art instruments.

Tybalt turned away from his beautiful masterpiece and faced the doors. The huge wooden doors had been shut but not even that kept away those agonizing sounds. It was as if Master was doing this on purpose… perhaps he was.

Ever since he had the nerve to bring that angelic incarnation that was Harley home, everything turned into fierce competition. It had been him that brought the boy, why did Master have to take that away. Because he has the right to, he told himself subconsciously. It was true. And as much as it infuriated him, that was just how it would always be.

Why should these things even matter now, anyway? He was grateful to have been given this gift, and hell! He would enjoy it. No one was better than him; intertwining pain with pleasure to create such a magnificent result was his trade and only his. He excelled at it. It gave him a sense of joy to hear every whimper and cry – in the end they always begged for more… or they died.

When his shining emerald visage turned back to his current project, his gaze narrowed. Well, now this could not be allowed. The young woman stood there, shackled to the wall - as they always were in order to prevent mistakes – in a beautiful bloody portrait, but she was smiling at him. She knew. The bitch actually knew what was going through his mind. She took pleasure in the knowledge that it was not just she that suffered.

His jaw clenched and unclenched and he delivered a brutal backhand that collided with her already bruised cheek. Her head turned violently with the blow but it didn’t seem to matter. She knew and that had just been a desperate blow on his part.

Never had he allowed one of his pets to taunt him; it would not start now. Cold fingers descended down the woman’s cheek ever so lightly, could it be that he was actually being gentle with her? Surely not. Digits hooked beneath her chin and turned her head towards him. By now, he was mere inches from her face, staring coldly into her damp hazel orbs.

She was a bold one, even after all that he had done, after every mark and slash, after every stroke of his brush she was still lively and struggling. It was not everyday that he had the pleasure of working on a creature so full of determination.

His lips touched hers; his kiss was not tender but cold, bitter and always with the slightest metallic taste. Blood. She neither returned it nor resisted him. By now she was used to his cold touch. The one thing she was not used to was the sharp pain that touched the side of her neck only moments later.

A sharp pain it was, but so strangely unique and sensual just the same – it brought her release from the agony she had been living in the past few days. As death neared, however, she gasped, struggling against the chains that held her. Her eyes widened for one last time before she loosed a final breath of contentment.

Tybalt released her a second later and brushed his tongue over crimson tainted lips. He tilted his head at the woman, now dead and hanging limply from the wall and sighed dramatically. It had been fun while it lasted. At least he was feeling better now, more calm. That was also perhaps due to the fact that Harley’s soft voice no longer echoed in his mind… but that was a completely different story all together.