Later by Elektra Pendragon Mac was getting good with the knife. Frightfully good. Renny watched as he twirled the knife over his fingers, making the thin blade dance and sparkle in the moonlight. Occasionally a breath of smoke would curl around the knife, obscuring Mac's hand until it looked like it was a disconnected thing, alive all on its own. The blade itself was a frightening thing. It seemed twisted, obscene compared to the cool, slick knives Paul was used to seeing. One edge was smooth until the half-way point of the long blade; there it became jagged, rough, with sawing edges. The other side had more pronounced jagged edges, like the feathers of a bird when it gets ruffled. It looked wicked, and painful--designed to destroy instead of just tease like the knives Mac used to have. Renny couldn't help but rub a hand across his chest, remembering the old scars now almost completely healed. Mac's eyes seemed to glow in the dark. Jackal eyes--inhuman, predatory. There was always something just a little off about Mac; the crystal had just made it easier to see. The older boy didn't even have to watch his hand as he twirled and twisted the knife in the darkness. Mac just sat and watched Renny, waiting for something. He didn't dare move off the bed. "You go by Paul now, doncha?" He had almost forgotten the way Mac's voice got when he was in the mood. Slow and lazy, almost like a yawn, yet his eyes were unnaturally alert, his words slithering like some eyeless, legless bug trying to find a cool, dark home. Renny could feel tiny crawling creatures sliding over his skin and down his spine, as though the foulest of insects were drawn up out of the ground at Mac's command. Paul finally nodded when he noticed he hadn't answered the question, that Mac had yet to even blink. "Paul." Mac drew out the sound, making it purr over his lips. Suddenly Paul missed the days when everyone called him 'Renny.' There was very little you could do with 'Renny' to make it sound like such a threat. 'Paul' sounded too much like a victim. "It suits you," Mac finally said, almost reading his mind. "Little Paul. Screaming Paul. Pleading Paul." The knife flashed, twirled, sliced through the sparse light. "Bleeding Paul." He must have blinked. He must have closed his eyes, lost his concentration, forgot to make eye contact for that brief second it took the Jackal to pounce. Mac was always all arms and legs, but now those limbs were around him, holding him down, his lithe body impossibly heavy. Paul had a hard time breathing. It came in gasps, strangling little startled sounds out of his throat. He couldn't stop the frightened whimper when Mac pressed the cool metal against his lips. Renny could feel Mac's breath against his chin, the other man's lips pressed to the other side of the blade--a kiss separated by sharp metal. "You remember our games, don't you...Paul. You remember how you moved under me as I cut you open. The way you always wanted more." Like a nightmare, Paul could remember those times, back when he was a slave to the crystal. His thoughts had been so muddled and black back then, most days he could pretend it never happened. Then he'd catch himself in the mirror before his shower, and remember it all. Remember, even, how hard it made him when Mac pressed the blade deeper, searching out the cream-white of bone. The way he screamed for more, screamed to be opened entirely, to feel his blood flow over his flesh until he was ashen and pale and complete. Yes, Paul could remember those days. "I'm here to make those dreams come true, Renny. I'm here for you man. Just for you." The blade slipped out from between their lips, until he could feel the silken slide of Mac's mouth against his own. When the blade tip began to press into his side, Paul couldn't find the breath to scream. All he could think was, "More."