He comes in the night
A.N.:
To maryneedham1994: Thank you for following, and for adding the story to your favourites.
To halo1983: Thank you for following.
To Mona-The-Hunter: Thank you for following, and for adding the story to your favourites.
To Rebs2677: Thank you for following.
To all readers: Thank you for reading.
Part3
The second Saturday after Vergil's disappearance I gave in to the request of Jenny, a colleague, to go out for the night. I realised she had only asked me because I was the only one she knew who didn't have a boyfriend, and her boyfriend Marc had a friend, Wes, who had just broken up with his girlfriend which meant their couples date was a person short.
I'm normally not into blind dates, and this evening reminded me again why not. First my date talked non-stop about his ex-girlfriend. That lasted until she walked in with her new boyfriend. Immediately he put his arm around me and tried to pull me close to him. Next he turned his head to kiss me. I put my hand up just in time and his kiss landed on my fingers.
"No, no kisses please," I told him.
"Oh, come on. Nobody's gonna care. It's not as if you have a boyfriend who might object," he said.
I thought about Vergil and his insistence that I was his. He would very much object to this. I could hear him ask if I habitually ignored promises.
"Who says I haven't got a boyfriend. Just because he's away for the moment doesn't mean he would like it if I kissed another man."
"Oh! I didn't know," Wes said. His arm slipped from my shoulder and he sighed "You're right, of course. I didn't like it when I saw Karina kissing another guy." He sighed again. "At least Marc and Jenny are having a great time," he added, pointing towards his friend and my colleague.
He started to talk about his ex-girlfriend again, and the reason of the split-up. I let him talk. He didn't need me to respond, just to listen. I was looking at the couples on the dance-floor and imagined what it might be like to dance with Vergil. Pathetic!
It was a relief when Wes noticed the cute blonde girl that had been eyeing him all evening.
"Would you mind?" he asked, which I thought was sweet of him.
"Not at all," I answered. "Go ahead. I think she likes you."
They seemed to get along very well and soon I was sitting at a table with two couples. Wes did his best to include me in his conversation but I was very much surplus to requirement. I managed to get a private word with Jenny during a visit to the ladies' room.
"Jenny, I've decided to go home," I said. "Wes has found a new girl, so he won't miss me."
"What a rotten thing to do," Jenny said. "And Marc said he was a nice guy."
"He is a nice guy. He even asked my permission to talk to this girl. But he's not the right guy for me."
"Okay then. Will you get home all right?"
"Sure, no problem."
I still needed to get my handbag and coat which meant disturbing Wes and his new girl.
"Wes, could I have my coat. You're sitting on it, and I want to go home," I said.
"Please, don't go on my account," the girl said. "I don't want to ruin your night out."
"It's fine, really. You're not ruining anything. On the contrary. Now I can go without spoiling Wes' evening," I assured her.
I took a taxi home – which was not cheap but a lot quicker than the bus – and went straight to bed. That night I dreamed of Vergil … in a tender mood.
ooOOoo
On the Sunday I had a long lie in, trying to hold on to the dream. It slowly faded and I got up. The morning dragged on. I read a bit, went for a walk, did some weeding in the garden, had lunch, read a bit more. In the afternoon Jenny called. She thanked me for my help the previous day.
"We wouldn't have had a good time if you hadn't been there with Wes," she said.
"Glad I could help. How did it go with Wes and his new girl?"
"We're going out again today, the four of us. Tina says she knows this wonderful Italian restaurant."
"Tina? Is that her name?" I asked.
"Sorry, you didn't know yet. Yeah, that's her name."
"Well, have a nice evening, Jenny."
"We will. Ciao."
She hung up and I went back to my book. The day couldn't be more typically Sunday boring. Thankfully the book wasn't. I barely put it down long enough to have some dinner.
My reading session was interrupted by the doorbell. I looked up and noticed how dark the room was outside the small circle of my reading light. I was surprised it was ten already. I wondered who could be at the door at this hour. In the hallway I could hear the banging on the door. I looked through the spyhole. Blue coat, white hair, a scowl on his face because I had kept him waiting. It was as if he had never gone.
I opened the door and no sooner was he inside or he pulled me to him and kissed me. He pushed the door to, lifted me up and carried me into the nearest room, the bedroom that had been his. I lost another outfit to his eagerness to have my clothes off, and noticed with some irritation that he took his time to get undressed himself.
It was my last coherent thought. Next moment I was filled with the sensations of his roving hands caressing me, his delicate kisses igniting my nerve ends, his more demanding kisses claiming me as his. My reaction to him was just as intense. I wanted to taste him, feel his skin on mine, have him inside me, filling me. I thought it impossible that his lovemaking could be as satisfying as before; but it was even more fulfilling.
He stayed two more days. Days in which we barely left the bedroom, and didn't bother to get fully dressed when we went to the kitchen to have something to eat. On the third morning I woke up alone. The neat pile with his clothes and sword was gone. He had disappeared again and I didn't know when or even if he would return.
ooOOoo
A week later he was back, ringing the bell, banging the door. Without a word he took me to his bedroom, fulfilled his need – and mine – and left again.
He became part of my life. Not regularly but when the mood took him, I suppose. It could be a week, a week and a half, sometimes even two, but never longer.
On one occasion he arrived with blood dripping from the bottom of his sleeve. When I wanted to get the first aid kit he stopped me.
"Don't fuss, woman. It is merely a scratch," he said.
"A scratch? There is blood everywhere."
I'm sure I sounded hysterical. I tugged at his coat and eventually got it off him and checked his arms. To my surprise I couldn't find anything. Not a wound or bruise, not even a scratch.
"Does that satisfy your curiosity?" he asked.
I nodded, confused because he wasn't injured, despite the blood I had seen.
"Then it is time to satisfy another need," he said, lifted me up and carried me into the bedroom.
And always we would … no, not make love. Love had little to do with it. We had sex, and he would leave. Simple as that.
This went on for months. Days had shortened, night-time arrived earlier, and so did he. And then it stopped. Two weeks passed, two and a half, three, and still he hadn't shown. I longed for his return. It was like a gnawing feeling that left a great big hole only he could fill. I was glad I didn't need to go into work for a while. I was restless and short-tempered. At least here at home only inanimate objects got the full force of my anger directed at them.
Nearly four weeks had gone before he returned. As soon as darkness had fallen I had become restless, pacing from the living room to the kitchen and back, over and over again. Then the doorbell rang. In the hallway I heard the familiar knocking on the door, sounding more impatient than ever. I rushed to open it.
He came in, slammed the door shut, and pushed me forcefully against the wall. His hand on my neck was squeezing harder than I liked. He looked at me with cold anger which frightened me more than any violent outburst could have done.
"What witchcraft have you used on me to make me return?" he growled.
"Witchcraft? What do you mean witchcraft?" I asked.
"You are not a succubus; you don't smell like a demon. So what spell did you use on me, you witch?"
"I'm no witch. Or a succubus. Anyway, who's bewitching whom here? What spell did you use to make me want you so much? How is it possible that I can't resist you? Why do I let you treat me the way you do? Your merest touch makes me yours. What demonic powers have you used on me?"
"I'm not a demon," he snarled. "I'm a devil."
His eyes changed colour first, shining bright green before he turned into a terrifying creature, more horrific than my worst nightmares ever conjured up. I screamed and would have crawled into the wall if I had been able to. I'm sure my nearest neighbours heard me and they live close to a mile away. I screamed until my throat was sore and raw. I had closed my eyes because I didn't want to see Death who had come to claim me.
"Foolish woman," I heard the creature say with a deep voice that still somehow reminded me of my handsome lover.
He dragged me into the bedroom and threw me on the bed. Instantly he was on top of me, tearing away at my clothes with the claws that were this creature's hands.
I was sobbing and begging him to stop, to let me live. His face came closer to mine; razor-sharp teeth were hovering above me. I was sure he was going to bite my face off, and I screamed again. His mouth pressed on mine to shut me up. Even though it was the mouth of a monster, it was Vergil's taste. I closed my eyes and tried to hold on to the feelings that his smell and taste awoke in me.
It didn't help as much as I'd hoped. He was rough, and when he entered me it hurt. He climaxed, withdrew, and got up from the bed, leaving me a frightened heap of human being. I couldn't look at him, but listened to his footsteps, hoping I would hear them walk out of the room, out of the front door, out of my life.
He stopped just inside the bedroom.
In his normal voice he said, "I should not have done this. It was dishonourable."
Then he left, and I knew this was all I was going to get as apology. No "I'm sorry", no "I didn't mean to hurt you", not a grain of tenderness.
So he wasn't a murderer on the run. He was a devil. I was sure he could still kill me without a second thought, without a grain of regret, without emotion.
ooOOoo
A week later he was back. Even without looking through the spyhole I knew it was him. Nobody else knocked on the door. Normal people just used the doorbell.
Normal people. The thought brought back the fear I had felt. The fear of what he was. The fear of the creature, the devil, this perfect specimen of manhood could turn into. I stood there in the middle of the hallway, unable to move forward to open the door to him, unable to run and hide.
Suddenly the door came flying inward, hinges and lock torn from its surround. He stood in the doorway, his eyes shining, on the verge of changing into the creature. I found the use of my legs again, turned and ran … straight into him. Somehow he had moved from the door to the staircase in a matter of seconds. He grabbed my arms. I wanted to scream but I couldn't. I was shaking in fear.
"Please, please," was all I was able to stammer.
"That was a foolish action. I knew you were there, I could smell you. Do not try and keep me out again. Do not try to withhold what is mine. Is that understood?"
"I won't, I won't, I promise."
I could barely say the words. I was shaking with fear. My legs couldn't hold me up any longer and I thought I would fall on the ground at his feet, looking as small and insignificant as I felt. He scooped me up before I fell and carried me to the bedroom he always used.
"Get undressed," he ordered as he put me down on the bed. "Any item of clothing still on you when I return will be torn to shreds."
He went out in the hallway. From the noises I heard I guessed he was putting the broken door across the open doorway.
When he returned I had taken off everything but my underwear. A stubborn ember deep inside of me objected to sitting on the bed like the Christmas goose on the dinner table waiting for the feast to begin.
He stripped as well, putting his clothes in a neat pile on the chair next to the door. His cold smile when he turned and looked at me had nothing reassuring about it.
"I see you didn't get completely undressed."
I started fumbling with the closure of my bra, but he was already next to me and pushed my hands down. He was tender this time, caressing my body. He had unfastened my bra, slowly teased it off me, and dropped it on the floor. He kissed me and his tongue flicked between my lips. I tasted him and it should have been wonderful, but I was reminded of the last time. The fear of what he could become returned. My heart was beating fast. Despite his tenderness I couldn't enjoy it. I couldn't lose myself in the feelings he aroused in me.
"You did not respond as usual," he said afterwards.
"I'm sorry, it was my fault," I answered. I didn't want to anger him.
"You smell of fear."
"I'm sorry."
He said nothing more, and fell asleep. I lay next to him, awake. Not moving. My heart was beating fast. Eventually it calmed down, helped by the rhythm of his peaceful breathing. Then he moved and I panicked again.
He stayed the following day. The gentleness persisted, as if he wanted to make up for what his devil had done to me. It didn't lessen the fear. Instead it reminded me even more of the roughness he was capable of. Every time he moved my heart started to race, every time he reached out his hand to touch me I had to stop myself from whimpering.
It irritated him.
"You stink of fear. You don't respond to my touch. You lie there like a block of wood, unmoving, until I move or say something. Then you jump like a frightened rabbit. You are spoiling my enjoyment;" he said.
"I'm sorry," I whispered again, shaking in fear because I might have angered him.
"You should be sorry!" he shouted, even angrier because of my timidity it seemed. "You were a partner. We enjoyed each other, stimulated each other. Now you are nothing. A shivering sack of stinking meat."
That last remark ignited something inside me that I thought was dead. Like water that comes pouring through a break in a dam, my anger erupted. Yes, he could hurt me, kill me even, but at that moment I was past caring.
"And whose bloody fault is it that I'm afraid? You're a devil with anger issues. You took me just to fulfil your need, and it hurt. You raped me! And now I can only think, 'Will he change again? Will he hurt me again?' A shivering sack of stinking meat, indeed. Well, you caused it, you do something about it."
I sat up, ready to get out of the bed, but he pulled me back.
"Foolish woman. You need not be afraid. I enjoy your fire; I enjoy your body and your response to me. I should not have lost control the way I did even though I was angry because I thought you had used some love potion on me."
"A love potion? Yeah, I get it from the perfume counter. Love potion number Five, by Chanel," I said, not caring any longer what he did.
"Perhaps you should know my other side better," he growled, his voice already sounding deeper.
Next moment I was held by the monster again. Despite my earlier bravado my heart skipped a beat. He didn't do anything; just lay there with me in his arms. I looked at the face that didn't look human in the slightest. His smile showed enough teeth to make a shark jealous. Not a very reassuring thought. Two white horns curved upward from his temples. Between them grew snow-white quill-like hair. His entire body was covered in small blue scales. My curiosity won from my apprehension. I touched his arm and found it was not rough but soft. It didn't quite feel like skin, but wasn't like scales either. I stroked his chest, his abdomen, his thigh. I felt more than heard him moan. I stopped caressing him and looked into his demonic eyes.
"Let me love you," he said.
His clawed hand gently stroked me, sending shivers up and down my back. He kissed my neck, and despite all the teeth it was a delicate kiss.
This beast with its killer claws and fangs brought me to the edge of utter satisfaction as surely as he had done as my handsome lover, and I begged him to take me.
He warned me, "This could still hurt."
I didn't care. I wanted him, man and beast. It did feel uncomfortable, but what he gave me was worth it. Afterwards he didn't throw me out of the bed. I was lying with my back to him, his leathery wing covering me. He played with me making me gasp and moan, and eventually climax again.
"Where did you learn to be such a great lover," I asked. "Did some she-devil teach you?"
"Yes."
The answer was short and uninviting, but I wanted to know more.
"Why are you here? Why are you not at home? Why are you not in … Do you say Hell?"
"The Demon Realm, but Hell will do. It is not my home."
"Not? But you're a devil."
"I am half devil, half human. The son of Sparda and his wife Eva."
"Sparda? Like the Saviour of Mankind whose statue is in the park? Was he a relative?" I joked.
"He was my father."
It was a short answer that created more questions than it answered.
"How can he be your father? The statue is as old as the town and you are not. Or is your human form not really you?"
"It is irrelevant. Thinking about the past is of no use. It is history at best and cannot be changed. "
"It might help me figure you out."
"Doubtful."
He paused and I waited for him to continue … or not.
I made another attempt at conversation and asked, "Are you that old as well then?"
"Do not ask any more questions. I will not answer. Looking back is futile."
By now his voice sounded more like a growl, so I decided it was better not to push my luck. He changed into his devil anyway and when he used all his devilish tricks on me I forgot everything I wanted to ask or say, except the one thing he wanted to hear: that I was his.
I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder, wrapped in his wings. In the night I woke up when he moved. Instinctively, half asleep, I kissed his chest.
"Enough," he growled. "I have to go."
I rolled over and I shivered as his warmth left me. I vaguely remember that he pulled a blanket over me, and then I fell asleep again. In the morning he was gone. I had no idea for how long.
He returned regularly to satisfy his need. Mostly he was rough, frequently insulting, generally cold. And oh so rarely he would be tender. He would be more than the skilled lover who managed to fulfil both our needs. It was a coming together of souls, a unification of two beings that was pure feeling. It sounds lame, but how can it be explained when two become one. To this Vergil I would always open my door. Unfortunately I hardly ever opened to the soulmate. Usually he came as the rough lover. Just like that night.
ooOOoo