Just a warning: there are several references to the Christian religion in here. It's a fanfiction about demons, it was kind of inevitable. If you aren't Christian, please understand that I'm not trying to shove that belief down your throat. It's here for character development. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it.
He rested for a few hours, watching the sun rise out of her window. It was the only thing he missed about the human world, was the sunrises and sunsets. The span of a lifetime in only a few short hours. Somehow, he'd ended up on his back, Lyra lying on top of his chest. He twisted a strand of her hair around his finger, thoroughly enjoying the warm weight of her naked body pressed against his. He smirked and let the strand fall back against the side of her head. He stared at her while she slept, a little bit curious about the expression she wore. Her eyebrows were furrowed just the tiniest bit, as if she were worried about something. Her lips were pressed together, giving a slight quirk every now and then, as if she were trying to smile in her sleep. She had a very innocent look about her even now, when her innocence had been stolen away in a most brutal manner. He smiled at the memory, remembering each brush of skin against skin and every tiny sound she'd made. He took her right hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the mark he'd made on her palm last night. Maybe when you wake, I could have a repeat performance…
He studied her hand, remembering the black fingernails that had been the second thing to catch his attention. They seemed different than his own; hers were shiny, the color seeming almost liquid, whereas his were dull and flat. Another thing that intrigued him about his little captive was her scent. He pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply. Her fragrance was seductive, that was certain. But there still clung to her the scent of a demoness, though admittedly weaker than before. Why was this pure young woman anywhere near a demoness? She obviously wasn't bound by a contract; if she had been, he would not have been able to place his mark on her. Besides, he had touched and tasted every inch of her body the previous night and had seen no such seal on her skin.
Soon, she began to stir, making sleepy little sounds that vividly reminded him of how she had sounded last night. Her hips shifted a little, had he heard her hiss in pain, wincing. "Ow…"
He smirked and slid his hand down her side to curve over her hip. "I hope you'll forgive me for making you sore; my self-control is normally much higher."
She froze and looked up at him, her bright eyes widening and her entire body beginning to shake. "Last night…it wasn't a dream?" Her voice was a scared little whisper, and he grinned, curling one finger under her chin, tilting her face up so he could see it better.
"I'm afraid not. What happened last night was very real." He laughed softly. "If you need further proof, why don't you take a look at your right hand?"
She inspected her trembling hand, her mouth falling open when she saw the baleful red pentagram sealed under her skin. The color was different, but the design matched the mark on the back of his left hand. It seemed for a moment as if she'd stopped breathing…then she launched herself off of him and hurtled toward a small door at the other end of the room, which opened onto a tiny little bathroom. He heard the distinct sounds of vomiting and smiled to himself. "I have to admit, that's probably the first time a woman's done that after waking up next to me."
He got up from the bed and walked over to her, leaning through the doorway. His smile widened as he saw a sleek black cat rubbing its cheek against her hand, meowing softly. It almost looked as though the creature was asking her if she was alright. He leaned against the door frame. "Your cat seems worried about you."
She reached for a paperback book that sat on top of the toilet tank and threw it over her shoulder, weakly aiming at him, choking out, "G-Go away! Leave m-me alone!"
Despite her protests, he knelt down next to her and swept her hair back from her face, pressing a cool hand to her cheek. She ripped away from him, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. He grinned, still crouched on the floor. "Calm down, my lady. You should know by now that I don't intend to hurt you." He leered and looked down at her closed legs. "Well…more than is necessary, anyway."
Her chest was heaving as she scooted away from him, her lower back pressed against the lip of her walk-in shower. Her cat, the sweet little thing, hopped up into her lap and rubbed itself under her chin. Its affection toward her was a spark of sanity in a world that was rapidly crashing down around her, and she held it close, tears stinging her eyes.
He smiled, watching her hold the creature tightly. "She's beautiful, my lady. May I pet her?"
Lyra shook her head, crying out in a hoarse voice, "No! Don't touch him!"
He nodded. "Ah, it's a male. Do forgive me." He held out his hand and made a clicking noise with his tongue. "It's alright, little one. I adore cats."
The animal wriggled out of her grasp and padded over to Sebastian, delicately sniffing his fingers before rubbing its cheek against them, asking to be petted. He smiled and scooped the cat into his arms, stroking it from head to tail. "So sleek and soft… A truly noble creature. What is his name?"
She stared at him dubiously for a moment, then whispered, "It's Ludus…"
He laughs softly. "From the Latin for 'play', I believe? How unconventional." He scratched the cat behind the ears, smiling as it purred. After a moment, he looked up at Lyra who, to his amusement, looked completely bewildered. "Why do you look so shocked, my lady?"
She bit her lip. "He…He hates strangers. I've never seen him be so friendly with someone else."
At the sight of her full underlip being caught between her teeth, gleaming white against soft pink, he felt a wave of desire sweep through him. He smirked and released Ludus, who ran out of the small room and jumped up onto the bed, curling up on her pillow. "I think you'll find that I'm full of surprises, pretty."
He slunk toward her, a predatory gleam in his eyes, and she yelped in fear, crawling backwards and realizing too late that he'd cornered her, trapping her in her shower. He stood, pulling her to her feet, and pinned her against the wall, his hands braced on either side of her head. He drank in her fear and horror, his crimson eyes flashing, and bent down to brush his lips against her neck. He yearned to feel her soft lips pressed to his, but didn't particularly relish the taste of vomit. She needed to wash out her mouth, but oh, he hated the thought of stepping back from her, of not having her warm little body pressed against his. It was then that he saw two knobs on the wall, one labeled with an H, the other with a C. Above them was some sort of spigot, with a bead of water suspended from the broad, flat head. He experimentally twisted the knob marked with a C, and cold water came rushing down, flowing over them. Brilliant.
She squeaked as the frigid water hit her skin, huddling against the wall. Sebastian grabbed her arm and pulled her under the spray. "Wash out your mouth, please."
She wanted to remain defiant and refuse, but the taste coating the inside of her mouth really was vile. Casting a wary glance at him, she opened her mouth to catch some water, swishing it around and spitting it out. She repeated this twice, finally swallowing a mouthful to soothe her aching throat. Once she had finished, she tried to step out of the shower, hoping to dodge him, but his arms snaked around her waist, pulling her against him. "Not so fast, my dear." As he pressed closer to her, she felt how aroused he was becoming and cried out, thrashing and trying to get away.
"No! Please, no! Don't!"
He laughed in her ear, sweeping her damp hair to the side and running his tongue up her neck, licking up beads of water that held the taste of her skin. "I'm afraid that you no longer have a choice, my lady."
He slid his hand down her wet body, curving it between her legs and rubbing gently. She moaned helplessly, despising how good just that one touch felt, his fingers effortlessly finding that knot of nerves and brushing sensual circles around it. She was filled with heat as his lips and tongue caressed the skin of her neck, but the icy water beating down on her chest made her shiver. How was it possible to feel so cold and so hot at the same time?
His senses fogged in a haze of lust, he barely noticed as she began trembling, but his attention was drawn back to her when he heard her teeth chattering. He frowned; this wouldn't do. He so desperately loved seeing her dripping wet, clear water running down her beautiful body, her flawless skin glistening…but he didn't want her to catch a chill. He looked at the knobs again, eyes narrowed for an instant, then smiling as he reached out to twist the knob marked with an H. He heard her sigh of relief as warm water replaced the cold, ridding her skin of the chills she'd felt. He kissed her ear. "Better, my lady?"
She didn't respond, and he cupped his hand around her throat, squeezing gently. "I like my questions answered, little one. Or did you prefer the cold water?"
She shook her head, mumbling, "This is better…"
"Good." He removed his hand from her throat and slid it down her chest to cup her breast, his palm pressed over a diamond-hard nipple. She moaned as his other hand started rubbing her again, the pressure slightly harder. She was beginning to shake, though not from a chill this time. His fingers brushed her nipple, mimicking the circular motion of the hand between her legs. She bit her lip, whining softly as he pleasured her, hating herself almost as much as she hated him. Something was working its way to her front of her mind, something important. Slowly, slowly it dawned on her.
"Sebastian…!"
She wasn't sure whether he mistook her panic for passion or if he was just ignoring her tone, but as she said his name, he groaned and pushed a finger into her. She cried out in pain; she was still quite sore down there from last night, and even his slender finger made her ache. He ran his tongue over the shell of her ear. "Say my name again…"
"No, Sebastian, please! Listen to me! I have to know what time it is!"
He was caught off-guard by the question, his hands growing still. "That's a rather odd request, little one. Why is the time important?"
"I-I have to go to work…and my car's being delivered at two…"
He had to admit, she had taken him by surprise. The fact that she was able to think rationally at a time like this impressed him, as well as the fact that a woman her age had a job and could drive a car. This was certainly not the norm the last time he'd been in the mortal plane. He smiled and darted out of the shower to glance at the clock on her bedroom wall, slipping back in and wrapping his arms around her before she'd registered that he'd left. "It's 1:36, my lady."
She struggled in his grasp. "The towing company…they'll be here soon…please, Sebastian."
The desperation and pleading tone of her voice sent a sure of need straight to his groin, and he grabbed her shoulders, spinning her around and pushing her against the wall. The hot water flowed down his back, tiny rivulets running down to where their chests were pressed together. He smirked. "Then I'll have to make this quick, won't I?"
With no time left for teasing or preparation, he gripped her hips and pushed into her, growling softly as she screamed. He thrust into her again and again, setting a fast, merciless pace that had her shrieking with mingled pain and pleasure. His hand slid up her side to curve over one breast, his thumb brushing the taut little bud in quick circles. He pressed his cheek to hers, his lips at her ear as he made soft noises of lust and desire; he could feel her hot breath against his neck as she panted and moaned. Tears ran down her cheeks, indistinguishable from the drops of water from the shower that spattered her face. The object embedded in her didn't feel like flesh anymore, but like the blade of a hot knife, burning her and tearing her apart from the inside…and God help her, it felt good.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging on as she felt her feet slipping on the wet floor, digging her nails into his shoulders. She felt the strange, vicious desire to cause him pain, to hear him hiss, show him just exactly how much he was hurting her. She scratched deep furrows in his back, wanting to draw blood; she didn't even know if he could bleed, but she wanted to find out. Her cries grew louder, the poor girl nearing her end.
Sebastian growled softly as the hot water made the long red scratches on his back sting, but it only fueled his desire, driving his hips forward with added vigor. A few moments later, her screams rose in pitch, echoing around them like a siren call. He bit down on her shoulder as she spiraled toward her climax, growling at her to say his name. When she didn't, he ground his teeth into her skin. That fresh wave of pain finally forced his name from her lips, a sharp thrust wrenching her body in spasms of pleasure. "Sebastian!"
She stood panting against the wall, riding out the aftershocks of her orgasm as he continued to pound into her, making her hiss in pain, sobbing, "Stop…please…it hurts…"
Thankfully, his orgasm came soon, and he gave a loud groan, pressing himself against her warm body and breathing heavily. He kissed her cheek with a smile, then reached back and turned off the water. There was a towel hanging on a hook next to the sink, and he grabbed it and started carefully drying her off. To his amusement, she snatched the towel from his hands and wrapped it around herself, hobbling out of the bathroom, wincing whenever her hips and legs swung forward. He smiled as her movement disturbed the clouds of steam that had risen up in soft fog around them. He walked out into her bedroom, where she sat on her bed facing away from him amidst rumpled sheets and combed her hair out. He watched as beads of water dripped from her hair and rolled down her smooth, soft back. He wanted to pin her facedown on the mattress and lick the water off her skin, but he restrained himself. They had time…
Suddenly, the silence of the room was penetrated by mechanical, tinny music. He recognized the tune; Beethoven's "Ode to Joy." But where was it coming from? Lyra reached over and picked up a small object on her bedside table; it was glowing and seemed to be the source of the noise. The numbers on it looked familiar…a telephone with no wires? As if to confirm his theory, she pressed a button on the device and held it up to her ear.
"Hello? Yes, it is. Oh, okay. Yeah, I'll be out in just a minute. Uh-huh, thank you. Bye-bye."
He laughed to himself; she was quite the little actress. One would never guess from her voice alone the amount of trauma she had been through in such a short while. She stood and began to throw on clothes, pulling her hair into a hasty ponytail. He smiled, content to watch her move about the dim room. Finally, after pulling on what appeared to be a man's short-sleeved shirt, she caught his stare, narrowing her eyes at him. "What?"
He didn't answer her question, but instead smiled and asked one of his own. "That was the towing company, I presume?"
She nodded, still staring at him. He could almost see the proverbial wheels turning in her head, could see ideas and plans forming behind her eyes. "I just need to go out and get my key. I'll be right back."
He laughed as she made for the door, still limping. "You do realize that the mark I've placed on you doesn't allow you to run away from me?"
She stopped dead in her tracks, frozen in place by his words. She knew he could be lying, but she was convinced that he wasn't. He continued, "It also prevents you from speaking to anyone about me or what I've done to you. You cannot tell them in words or in writing. You cannot seek the aid of another, and you cannot run." He gave her a cruel smile. "You cannot escape."
He heard what sounded like a choked sob, then watched with a smirk as she tried to open the door that was still sealed. He lifted the spell momentarily, watching as she wrenched the door open and stormed out into the chilly sunlight. He picked up her towel, hanging it up in the bathroom to dry before pulling on his black pants and white shirt, leaving the first two buttons undone. He stepped out into the bright afternoon, his pupils contracting, and smiled when he saw her standing barefoot in front of a man wearing a filthy, ripped shirt and a strange pair of coarse blue trousers, also torn and stained. Her fists were clenched, her teeth grinding together as she tried unsuccessfully to choke out a plea for help. He came up and put his arm around her waist, pulling her against his side. "You'll have to forgive her. She has trouble speaking sometimes."
The man shot her a strange look, then handed Sebastian a key. He spoke, his voice rough and accented in a strange way that grated against Sebastian's nerves. "It should run just fine now, but y'all can go ahead and call us if it gives you any more trouble."
"Certainly. Thank you."
The man gave the odd couple another strange, scrutinizing look before walking back to his truck and driving off. Sebastian turned and steered Lyra back into her apartment, smirking as she made small noises of pain. He was tempted to carry her there, but thought she would kick up too much of a fuss. Once they were back inside with the door shut and the seal in place, he released her. He had to admit, he was not expecting the sting of her palm against his cheek as she slapped him. Her voice was venomous as she hissed, "Just what the fuck did you do to me, you bastard?"
He frowned at her. "Please watch your language, Lyra. Such vulgarities aren't proper for a young lady." His lips quirked in a merciless little smile. "As for what I've done to you, please allow me to explain." She glared dangerously, but was silent. He took her right hand in his and traced the design on her palm with the tip of one finger. "This mark is my claim to you. Because of it, you are mine. You are now what we call a scylcen, which roughly translated, means 'female bed slave.'" He smirked. "I have been permitted one year away from my duties to satisfy my appetites, including those of a sexual nature. And to slake my lust, I have chosen you. You will the only one I take into my bed, whenever and wherever I wish."
She interrupted him. "I thought demons were promiscuous?"
He smiled. "We can be. However, when overtaken by mæccea-what you would call a 'heat'-we choose one partner, usually a human, but sometimes a demon, if that is what we crave. Demons, of course, can't be marked by other demons, but to make sure that the human we choose doesn't escape, we place our seals on them, binding them to us until we choose to set them free, or they make a contract."
"A contract?"
His smile grew, his lips parting. "A contract is a deal made between a human and a demon. The human makes a wish, and the demon serves that human until their wish is fulfilled." He stepped closer, taking her chin in his hand. "Then, the demon is free to devour that person's soul."
She clenched her teeth, fighting back the sour taste that rose in her throat. "I-Is that…what you're going to do to me? Eat my soul?"
He shook his head, giving her a condescending smile. "I'm afraid that once a woman has been made a scylcen, no demon can consume her soul, not even the one who marked her. The only way I could get your soul now is if you made a contract with me." He picked up her right hand again and kissed her palm. "The mark would then turn colors to match mine, and you would no longer be my bed slave. I would be bound to obey every command you gave, no matter the nature or circumstances; except, of course, if doing so would put your life in danger."
She raised an eyebrow. "What if I don't? You said you can only stay here for a year. When that year runs out, what happens then?"
He stroked her cheek with a curled finger. "Most demons would lift their mark, setting their human free. But in your case, I'm afraid I've become rather enamored with you." His smile grew predatory, and she felt the hot clenching of fear in her stomach. "Should you refuse to make a contract with me, I will refuse to lift my seal, so that when I return to Hell, you'll be dragged there with me. There you will remain until Time winds to a stop, still alive and still pure of heart." He ran a cold finger down her neck. "Do you know what being in Hell does to a pure heart? You'll be driven insane merely from the sight. And the pain you feel when I enter you? It will be magnified a hundredfold." He stroked a lock of hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. "The easiest and least painful path would be, of course, to make a contract with me. Your soul would then rest within me, knowing nothing but soothing darkness. No pain, no sadness, no suffering. Sounds rather peaceful, don't you think, my lady?"
She tore away from him and curled up on her battered loveseat, as if trying to hide from him. "No…no, I can't. I won't."
He smiled and sat beside her. "Why ever not? Would you rather suffer in endless agony for the rest of eternity?"'
To his surprise, she nodded. "Yes. I'm a Christian, and my soul belongs to God. I will never surrender it willingly to a demon, even to save myself." She pulled a set of keys out of her pocket, her fingers gripping a charm that dangled and jingled merrily. It was designed to look like two folded angel wings in the shape of a heart, and nestled between where the shoulder joints would be was an iridescent stone, similar in color to mother of pearl, but with a faceted cut. She rubbed her thumb over the back of it, where the words "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saves a wretch like me" had been etched into the metal She glanced back up at him, her eyes hard with resolve. "Do whatever you want to me; rape me, torture me, kill me, drag me to Hell. I have faith in my God, and I know He won't abandon me." A triumphant little smile curled on her lips. "He'll save me from you."
It surprised her how at ease he seemed with her declaration, as if he didn't take her seriously. "How interesting. Are you Catholic? I thought you were at first, since you were wearing a rosary around that pretty neck last night, but I haven't seen any other trinkets of that sort around here."
She blushed. "No, I'm Protestant. Methodist, to be precise."
"Ah, the Methodists. If I remember correctly, that denomination sprang up in America not long after the Revolutionary War…some fellow named Wesley and his brother?"
Stunned, she nodded. "Yeah, John and Charles Wesley… How did you…?"
"When one has lived for as long as I have, one tends to hear a few things." He cocked his head to the side, tapping a finger against his chin. "I wonder; if you're Protestant, why were you wearing a rosary? Surely a simple cross would have sufficed?"
Her blush deepened. "I wore it for the symbolism…it made me feel closer to God."
He nodded, a smirk playing across his lips. His eyes were drawn down to her shapely hands, her thumb still rubbing across the back of that charm, and bounced back up to capture her gaze. "My lady, may I ask why your fingernails are black?"
"Huh?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why is that important to you?"
He smiled and held up his own hand. "One of the physical marks of a demon is that our fingernails grow black. It was one of the things that attracted me to you. I was simply wondering why a human would be sporting such a demonic trait."
She blinked. "I…I painted them."
His eyebrows furrowed. "You paint your fingernails?"
She rolled her eyes and reached down to open a little cabinet that was built in underneath her coffee table, pulling out two bottles and a tissue. The first bottle held an aqua liquid that released a strong chemical smell when the lid was unscrewed. She poured a few drops onto the tissue and rubbed it against the nail of her left index finger. When that was done, she held out her hand to show him the fingernail completely devoid of color, as normal as if the black had never existed. She then opened the smaller bottle, whose lid had a tiny brush attached to it, dripping a thick black fluid. Cautiously, she brushed the liquid color over her fingernail, repainting it black. When she was finished with her little demonstration, Sebastian smiled. "I see. But why do you paint them black?"
Lyra blushed again. "I-I just like the color. I like the way it looks on my hands."
He smirked. "Indeed." He took her right hand in his and brought it to his mouth, kissing her fingertips, ignoring her attempts to pull it from his grasp. She stifled a gasp as he slowly rubbed the tip of his tongue against the sensitive pads of her fingers, teasing and tasting her.
"Th-That's disgusting. Stop it."
He laughed softly and dropped her hand. "I do apologize, but you see, I find you quite irresistible. Which brings me to another question I'd like you to answer for me." His face became quite serious. "Last night, what drew me to you was your scent, because you smelled very much like a demoness. More specifically, like a demoness in the midst of mæccea." He gave her a hard look. "I would like to know why you smelled that way."
She blinked. "I…I did?" Almost without thinking about it, she crossed her arms over her chest, as if trying to hold herself together. "I can assure you, I haven't been around any demons lately." She glared at him. "At least, not of my own free will."
He chuckled. "Well, it's very possible that someone you know and spend time with is a demon…we're more common than you might think." His ruby-red eyes narrowed dangerously. "Nevertheless, I will be keeping a close watch on you from now on, at least until I find out who it is that's been getting that close to you. Now that you carry my scent, others will want to claim you." She might have imagined the possessive growl that rumbled low in his throat, but probably not. "I won't allow anyone to steal away what belongs to me." Something hung in the air, two words that were kept silent but she could still feel lingering around them, could almost see them in his eyes and in the slight clench of his fists.
Not again.
Bad ending is bad. Also, I neglected to translate the two words mæccea and scylcen in the last chapter...sorry about that. Those words aren't made up; I'm not quite that creative. It's actually Old English, and my reason for using that instead of Latin is because...well...everybody uses Latin nowadays. I wanted to be a little less conventional.
mæccea: "mate"
scylcen: "female slave, concubine"
Please review, I love to hear from you! :)
