by Bethan Tear
“Why didn't you just ask me? How could you not see, how I didn't force you, how I tried to respect your wishes...how I cared for you when you were sick?” he said thickly, and she could hear the beast contained inside him pushing through, making his voice guttural as it roared for release, for revenge.
“That's what I saw in your mind, how you see me differently from other women, different from how I see myself,” she said in a small, misty voice, still awed by that, trying to encourage the lush golden light she had seen in his mind when he'd spoken her name, the goodness she knew was hidden away inside him aching to grow.
He tensed when she touched his arm, ever so lightly. Uncertain she was doing the right thing she tensed too, unsure of what her next move should be, or if he would even give her a chance to make one. She could hear him growling faintly, deep in his chest, the vibrations rumbling in his chest and flowing through to her arm, making her heart beat faster. Whether it was a warning to keep her distance or because of his anger she didn't know. All she knew was that when he whirled around, grasped her shoulders roughly and covered her mouth with his she thought she was going to die.
He kissed her desperately, as if he would never kiss her again, his tongue dancing with hers, caressing it, claiming her. She clung to him, kissing back fiercely with a lust for him that made her tingle from her lips to the tips of her toes. He was an assault on all the senses, his flawless face, his bewitching voice, the feel of his silky skin beneath her hands, his delicious scent surrounding her, the sweet taste of his lips as he devoured hers. All her doubts, all of her fears were banished by his ardent kisses, by the closeness of their hearts, by the blistering heat of his passionate touch.
“Does this mean you forgive me?” she gasped, breathless, her lips brushing his when she spoke. His answering kiss convinced her that he did.
She felt strangely safe in his arms, protected as she tamed the beast in him with her tongue, bending him to her will, to her light. She realised then that the golden radiance she had seen in his mind wasn't because of her. It was her. She had braved the darkness in his soul and infused it with light that made him challenge his own desires, his twisted morals, his very reason for existing. She was inside him the way he had been inside of her, it was what she did to him, how he felt about her, what he would do to have her.
And have her he did. Many times. Many ways. She spent the morning moaning with blinding pleasure, writhing in delicious delight, caring little for the rain that pelted the windows and the storm that raged outside, lightning illuminating his obsidian eyes before he buried his face between her legs. Thunder rattled everything in the house, dislodging shards of broken mirror, sending them crashing to the ground as the world exploded around her in a symphony of colour and light.
She had once believed Kaden to be some sort of sex god, and that analogy wasn't far wrong, especially when he worked his magic on her. But there was something earthy, primal, something very human about these acts. He slid into her, again and again, grunting and laughing, kissing her breasts and nibbing her nipples, enjoying this as much as she did, maybe more. In his memories she'd never heard him laugh, not once. She could tell when he reached his peak, sometime in late morning, and she felt him release inside of her, much more than before, perhaps with some of his elusive seed.
Hazelle closed her eyes afterwards, trying to breath, on the edge of panic again now that their distraction had come to an end. She recalled how hard it had been to breath when Chris had tried to throttle her with shadow and sin. She shivered and turned away from Kaden as he lay beside her, stroking her hipbone, still stark naked and every inch of his buff, tawny skin glistening with the evidence of their escapades.
“What's the matter?” he asked curiously, brushing the hair from the nape of her neck, his touch making her tremble. It seemed that he was still under her spell, so serene and sensuous, and he had reacted far better than she thought he would have. Far, far better. If this was how he dealt with his anger maybe she should piss him of more often.
“He will try again. To kill me. He'd dead, I murdered him...and I still can't escape from him,” she said miserably, her happiness fading as the storm passed, her cheeks wet with tears.
Kaden slid an arm under her, drawing her to him, pressing her bare back tight to his warm chest. His skin was still hot and slick from their lovemaking, if that was the right word. She didn't know if a demon could love, and she had certainly never loved a man before, in anything more than a platonic way.
But the way he touched her, the way he held her now, like she was so precious, like her treasured her more than he could say, would say...
“This Chris ghoul, demon, abomination...whatever he is...he shall not have you. Body, blood and soul...you belong to me.”
And then he sealed the promise with a kiss.
*~*~*
“I don't like witches,” Kaden muttered under his breath, and not for the first time.
He had been sulking like a petulant child since they'd left the house, refusing to compromise. Hazelle was exhausted from a lack of sleep and all the sex, not that she was complaining, but if she wanted to live to see another sunrise they needed a plan of action.
Kaden had been reluctant to come with her when she'd told him where she was going, and who she was going to see, who might be able to help them. When she'd informed him it was grandmother, mother and daughter, representing mother, maiden and crone, three generations in one coven, he'd been even more adverse to the idea. Apparently a trinity wasn't revered only in holy circles, but in Wicca ones too.
“Once he sees you with me he won't think to cross us,” Kaden had insisted, too confident in his own abilities and obviously resolved to protect her without magical aid. For someone who had been summoned by witches, who had indulged them before, he seemed to be afraid of them. She never imagined she'd see Kaden afraid of anything, especially women. He was a chauvinistic pig, after all.
“I used magic to turn him into what he is so magic must be the solution,” she'd argued logically, believing it in her heart from the little that she knew about the laws of the universe, behind the veil that had been cast over human eyes to shield the true darkness from them. The old lady was, admittedly, a little creepy, yet she was a powerful good witch, which was what they would need to ward off a malign spirit.
She parked in front of the store this time, wanting to avoid the alley where Chris had last assaulted her, well, when he'd been corporeal. When he'd been alive. Kaden stood on the sidewalk, hands awkwardly in his pockets, eyeing the cracked crystal ball in the window with evident unease. It reflected his face, his dark eyes shimmering with doubt. Hazelle walked to him purposefully, taking his large hand in her small one, tugging him towards the door.
“Come on. Don't be such a dweeb. They can help, they are good witches.”
“That's what troubles me,” he said soberly, his face darkening, “Good witches usually don't welcome evil into their homes.”
Hazelle paused.
“You're not evil,” she said curtly.
He raised an eyebrow, something menacing, inhuman flashing in his eyes, making them completely black for a second, but she wasn't so easily tricked by his illusions now. She had seen the golden light in him, she knew how it was aching to grow, she knew he could be so much more than he was now or had ever been.
“How can you be so sure?” he teased her, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a savage grin that would once have terrified her. His teeth were slightly sharper and a whole lot more intimidating.
Before she would have recoiled, would have shied away and rejected any demonstration of the demon he was, the demon she had always known him to be beneath his human visage.
Not now. Not after Chris.
“Because I have seen into your mind,” she reminded him calmly, releasing his hand and walking away.
He had no retort for that. Instead he followed her silently, almost obediently. She opened the door, wincing at the familiar sound of the tiny b
ell tinkling, alerting the witches. Marguerite rushed through the beaded curtain, her hair curled into ringlets, her gold jewellery jingling. She frowned when she saw Hazelle stood in the doorway. The frown quickly transformed into a look of horror when she realised who, or rather what, was standing behind her.
“Demon!” she screeched, pointing a finger at Kaden and retreating behind the counter, her hand scrambling for something to use for defence, “Be gone demon! You are not welcome here!”
Kaden sneered, stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him.
“Mom...what's wrong?” Johanna appeared from behind the beaded curtain, “Oh, hello Hazelle.”
“Hey.”
Johanna's friendly smile faded when she saw Kaden, still stood in shadow, her eyes brightening with the lust Hazelle saw in the eyes of all women over the age of puberty, except for those immune, those who knew of his true nature like Marguerite. The lust quickly turned to fear, though not the outright disgust that shone from her mother's eyes.
“It's okay,” Hazelle said slowly, raising he hands in a gesture of peace, “He's with me. He won't hurt any of you, I promise.”
“I told you not to meddle with demons,” Marguerite hissed, “And now you have the nerve to bring him here and put us all in danger, put my daughter in danger and my m-”
“Let them be, Marguerite.”
The old witch's voice came unbidden from beyond the veil, stern and obstinate, with the power and authority her daughter's voice lacked. It was a voice that demanded respect.
Marguerite closed her mouth, looking more than displeased, not so much as being given an order but by the fact the demon's presence had been accepted by her own mother. Johanna looked torn between wanting to support Hazelle and her curiosity about Kaden. It wasn't every day you saw a demon, especially one as attractive and enigmatic as Kaden. She didn't imagine very many of them had the need to visit occult stores in need of a witch's advice, and even fewer still accompanied by a human.
Marguerite emerged from behind the counter reluctantly, apparently unable to find a weapon worthy of a demon. There were some nasty looking athames and a ceremonial sword mounted on the wall that might serve. Instead she gripped her daughter’s shoulders pushing her into the back room without a word and then she held the curtain open for them, contemptuously. Hazelle didn't meet her harsh gaze as they passed through, Kaden so close she could feel his warmth breath on the back of her neck.
The storeroom hadn't changed much since her last visit. Either they didn't make enough money to hire a cleaner or they didn't care about the cobwebs clinging to every corner and the dust in every nook and cranny. There was a musty smell in the air with an edge of smouldering spices she couldn't identify. A fire flickered in the fireplace, even though it was a warm day, and it made the room stiflingly hot. Hazelle followed the scent of lavender and patchouli to the chair the old lady was slumped in, still wrapped in rags and shawls despite the fire. Faint light danced across her withered, frumpy face. It was turned towards them, the whites of her blind eyes glowing eerily in the gloomy hush.
“I knew I'd be seeing you again,” the old witch said with a slight smile. She gestured with her clawed hand, “Come closer child. You too, demon.”
Hazelle glanced back hesitantly at Kaden. He shook his head, his lips set in a firm, unforgiving line. He was going to make this difficult. Had she ever expected anything less? He was tense, on edge, every muscle in his body taut and ready for a fight.
He really didn't like witches at all.
Marguerite didn't look happy with the situation either, about a demon being so close to her elderly mother. Hazelle knew the witch was very old but was willing to bet that she wasn't the weak, defenceless little old lady she appeared to be. Hazelle knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving. The fragrance of magic was all around the old woman, emanating from her, something Hazelle had missed before. Maybe it was because she herself was more attuned to magic now, after having cast a few spells of her own. She was definitely more susceptible to the spirits, as if some deadly sixth sense had been ignited. The old woman was powerful, not on par with Kaden of course, but she practised spells that were bound to pack quite a punch.
“There is no need to be afraid. I wish neither of you any harm,” the witch spoke serenely, gesturing again as she did.
“I am more worried about him doing you harm, mama,” Marguerite interjected, her voice quivering slightly. She had Johanna by the shoulders, unaware that her daughter was gawping dreamily at the demon. Kaden could have taught the girl a thing or two about men, about demons, about death. Hazelle wouldn't let him touch her, or any of them, even the standoffish Marguerite.
“I warned you of darkness in your life child...but this demon is not it.”
“You know?” Hazelle rushed to the witch's side, all hesitations, all doubts forgotten.
“I know. I had foreseen it.”
Kaden snorted derisively.
“How?” he asked scornfully.
“I may be blind, demon, but there are other ways of seeing, powerful ways, ancient ways, ways you wouldn't understand. Maybe one day, you will.”
“Wait...so you knew my spell would kill Chris?” Hazelle asked, confused. Wasn't this woman supposed to be a good witch, against dark magic and death? Had Hazelle been deceived again?
“I did.”
“Then why didn't you stop me?” Hazelle pleaded, exasperated.
“Because we witches take a sacred oath not to interfere with destiny. What will be will be and we cannot deny our destiny, no matter how hard we might try. Your demon will do well to remember that.”
Kaden didn't make any sarcastic remark this time, which surprised Hazelle. He always had something to say about everything. Glancing over her shoulder she saw him still stood in shadow, his face expressionless, his dark eyes hooded and unfathomable, even to her.
“What can I do to stop him? He means to kill me and he is so strong...” Hazelle wept, full of despair. All the confusion, all the anger and guilt and fear she had bottled up inside came pouring out in one great tidal wave of emotion that swept everything else away. All she had to cling on to was her fear and she knew it wouldn't be enough to defeat the darkness.
“And you are so weak?” the old witch asked reproachfully, “You, who fought off a spiritual attack? You, who tamed a demon?”
“Hey, I'm no pet, lady,” Kaden reprimanded her, giving a dignified sniff.
Hazelle gave him a watery smile, somewhat amused and encouraged by the re-emergence of the old Kaden, the one who'd tried so hard for so long to get into her pants, the one that had cared for her when she was sick, the one that had resisted his own selfish desires for her benefit.
“I never said you were,” the old witch said calmly, and then beckoned to her daughter, “Marguerite, bring me my potions chest.”
Marguerite didn't look pleased at that prospect but she obeyed, grudgingly, bringing a chest to the old woman. It was small and carved from mahogany, shiny and darkened with age. There was a tarnished brass keyhole. The old witch rummaged through her rags and withdrew a small, intricate gold key tied to a length of red silk ribbon. Inserting it into the lock she gave it a twist and lifted the lid cautiously, careful not to knock any of the small vials arranged inside.
“These are my most precious potions...and my most dangerous,” she said ominously as she picked up the tinniest bottle, holding it between forefinger and thumb. It was half filled with a strange, inky looking liquid.
“Mother no. She is just a girl, she doesn't know what she is doing...”
Marguerite stepped forwards, obviously upset. Her pale eyes were wide with fear, unlike that which she had for Kaden. The old witch held up a wizened hand, crippled by arthritis, silencing her daughter.
“It is the only way,” the old witch's voice was solemn, the potion sloshing as she held out the bottle to Hazelle, “Take it, child.”
“What is it?” Hazelle asked nervously. Apart from the p
resence of Kaden, in which she had no choice, she considered herself to be done with working magic. Finished. Retired.
Nothing good had come of it so far. Only death and heartache. Her intimacy with Kaden didn't count because when the time came that he had to leave she wouldn't be feeling very good at all.
“It is the key to your salvation. There is only one way to fight a spirit and that is to enter their world, to challenge them on their plane of existence. This potion will slow your heartbeat and eventually stop it altogether.”
“No!” Kaden growled from right behind Hazelle. His shadow loomed over her and the old witch, and she saw him glowering down at the old woman with fury flashing in his onyx eyes, as if he wanted to strike her, to silence her, all pretences of civility and chivalry gone.
Hazelle looked back at the old witch. Her face was impassive, her blind eyes betraying nothing. To her credit if she was intimidated she hid it extremely well.
“Will I die?” Hazelle asked, her voice constricted by the lump of fear gestating in her throat, almost afraid to hear the answer.
The old witch shook her head.
“No. Not as long as you have someone there to revive you. I believe your demon would be happy to do the honours.”
Kaden growled again, low in his throat, a warning that could not be mistaken. Hazelle wondered for how much longer he could restrain himself, knowing that for Kaden patience was not a virtue.
“How long will I have?” Hazelle asked quietly. She had to get the facts straight in her head.
“Once your heart stops...mere minutes until death claims you.”
“No,” Kaden snarled, pushing Hazelle away from the old witch, standing between them. Hazelle lost her footing and fell, grazing her palms on the stone floor as Kaden wrapped a clawed hand around the witch's throat, not tightly, but enough to warn her of what he was willing to do, if she gave him a reason to.