by Bethan Tear
“You are a shadow to me now,” Chris rasped, reaching up to stroke her cheek with bloody, dripping, fetid fingers, “You are death waiting to happen...”
Hazelle retreated from him, step by step, the wind screaming in her ears like a banshee, cold rain pelting her skin like needles. She winced at the sting but the rain didn't wash the blood away, didn't slow Chris down for a single second. He was on her again, pinning her to a square monument with a marble angel atop, the statue's head bowed as if in prayer while it wept real blood tears that splashed on her skin. Black rot began to creep across the marble, encrusting the eulogy as Chris held her there, his soulless black eyes burrowing into hers, showing all his hatred for her, all his lust for her, all his loathing for the thing he had become, the monster she had turned him into. Everything was about her, for her, focused on her, trying to choke her into submission.
This time when he wrapped his hands around her throat she knew he meant to finish the job. He was through with bluffing, with playing games, with letting her live. He held on tightly, crushing her windpipe, cutting off her air supply, ignoring her retaliations. She clawed at his cheek, slices of his dead flesh under her fingernails as she kneed him in the balls. He didn't even flinch. What did the dead care for balls, the instruments of life? His cock was useless now, limp and dead, never to taste female flesh again.
The darkness closed in, a combination of the storm and suffocation, and she began to see the statues around her move. She didn't know if she was hallucinating from oxygen starvation or if Chris could manipulate them. The angels were coming to life, spreading their wings, raising their head and looking wistfully up at heaven, stone gargoyles growling and crawling along the earth towards her, demons blinking with eyes of onyx...
Back in life she felt her heart stop.
Something yanked Chris away from her and he lost his grip on her throat. He was hurled across his own grave as Hazelle sank to her knees, gasping, massaging her throat and trying to encourage life back into her lungs. Aching, bruised and battered she knew time was truly of the essence now. When a strong, tanned, golden hand complete with black talons was held out to her she took it without hesitation, without regret, relief coursing through her, everything in her singing with joy.
Kaden had come for her. He stood before her in the clothes he had worn in real life, so tall and intimidating that if she didn't know he was on her side she might have been more than a little afraid of him. His demon blood had claimed him, was in control, his teeth sharper than ever, his claws wickedly long, his face vicious and his eyes glittering with the need for violence, for chaos, for revenge.
Hazelle gazed up at him in awe, excited and terrified, trembling in his shadow and was only comforted when she looked down at their hands, at their intertwined fingers, at the connection between human and demon, one that was impossible, one that was irrefutable, one that Chris could never break.
“Sorry I'm a little late for the party,” Kaden apologised, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, careful not to prick her with his claws.
She squeezed back, inspired by his presence. “Better late than never.”
Chris was climbing to his feet, shaking his head as if dazed, then she realised it was with disbelief, with denial. One of his arms was hanging uselessly at his side where it had popped out of the shoulder socket and he dragged a foot behind him, both irrevocably damaged. The dead couldn't heal. She could see the fury on Chris's face but underlying that was fear, the first time she had ever seen it from him in life or death.
“How are you here?” he demanded, “You can't be here...”
Kaden swept his arms out in a mocking gesture, glancing around, pretending to be surprised by the turbulent surroundings, “And alas, here I am.”
Chris growled, more of an inhuman sound than she had ever heard Kaden make, and he attacked, fast and foolhardy, not taking the time to fully appreciate his foe. Kaden was subtle and swift, in his element, wasting no-more energy than needed to send Chris sprawling into a cenotaph with a flick of his wrist, exhibiting powers Hazelle had never seen him use in life. Maybe it was because they were on the spirit plane, somehow between life and death where everything was amplified, or maybe it was because this was the middle ground between heaven and hell and being closer to home gave him access to more potent powers.
Whatever the reason she was grateful for it, knowing that having Kaden on her side would more than level the playing field. Already the rain had begun to lessen, the storm weakening, and even with Kaden's sodden shirt clinging to his chest and his hair sticking to his cheeks he looked formidable, frightening, feral and Hazelle pitied Chris ever so slightly for challenging him, though not enough to plead with Kaden to spare him. Redemption was beyond him. Chris deserved hell, deserved the same torture he had put her through and, if she survived this, she would sleep soundly knowing he could never touch her again.
Chris didn't learn from his mistakes, that much was clear. He was on his feet again, neither of them much good now, lumbering towards Hazelle with a murderous light in his eyes, his arms outstretched, fingers grasping at empty air as his lips peeled back from his teeth, revealing dirty, disgusting brown stumps of teeth. His decomposing had been sped up somehow, slowing him down. Maybe it was because he was losing control, or because he was already so rotten inside.
Hazelle stood in the shadow of Kaden as Chris lurched, trying to avoid him, but it was pointless. Kaden was quick and relentless, mean and without mercy. He obviously didn't like playing games that didn't involve the carnal pleasures of flesh. He punched Chris so hard half his face caved in.
Hazelle watched, horrified, Chris gurgling as he was drowning in his own blood, his face grotesquely disfigured, more like a mask of death than ever, the bones of his nose jutting from under the skin and one of his eyes reduced to a glob of useless jelly that fell out. The hatred she saw burning in the other one was enough to boil her blood. He would have hurt her again if Kaden hadn't overridden his powers and left him defenceless, weak, little more the degenerate scumbag he'd been in life. Hazelle couldn't believe she had let herself be so scared of him, had let him bully her, blackmail her, make her life a misery for so long. She should have cut his cock of years ago and fed it to him through a straw. Now she saw that Kaden wanted to do that for her.
“I've seen some jealous men in my time,” Kaden drawled, shoving Chris away when he made another desperate grab at Hazelle, “I've been with some jealous lovers in my time. But none as pathetic as you, or as ugly.”
Chris screeched, a sound like nails on a chalkboard, clawing at Kaden's eyes. Kaden swatted him away as though he were nothing more than a bug, no more threatening than a knat.
“You forced yourself upon this woman, you tried to take away all the pleasure for her, tried to make it all about yourself. Sex is about passion, giving it and receiving it. You must be one sad fucking coward to get off on terrorising a woman, little more than a girl. She deserves better than that. Better than both of us.”
Kaden glanced back at Hazelle, his face pensive, something humble and almost haunting in his dark eyes, as solemn and serious as she had ever seen them. She had never seen him so regretful, so remorseful, so close to being human. Even in his current diabolic demon state he looked much more human than Chris.
The corpse gargled something and spat a glob of black blood at Kaden. Kaden wiped it from his brow with a weary sigh then crushed the other side of Chris's face with a blow that sent him flying through the air, landing on the mound of earth that was his very own grave. Hands burst from beneath the earth, grasping and grubby with grave dirt, hands in varying stages of decay, hands grey with bandages, hands missing fingers, hands green with gunk and hands stripped to the bone. The hands of hell groped at Chris, gripping his mangled limbs in a vice-like grip of final judgement as he struggled, shrieking and screaming and spluttering incoherent curses and threats, his face a mush of bone and flesh and blood. Hazelle knew he wouldn't have chance to carry any of them out.
Kaden's shirt and skin were filthy now, smeared with mud and deacying black blood. Chris's stinking corpse was sinking below him, embraced by the earth, carrying Kaden with it. Remembering that she needed Kaden to revive her in real life she ran at him, wrapped her arms around his back and tugged. With a final shriek that would haunt Hazelle forever Chris vanished but the hands wanted Kaden too, recognising him, realising he belonged in hell with them, with Chris. Kaden fought them, gritting his teeth, trying to break their hold. He seemed weakened by them. Hazelle darted round to the front and reached out, wrenching the hands away, screaming at him, crying for him, trying with all her might to drag him back from the brink.
I want to live...I want to live...and I'm not ready to lose you just yet.
“Fight,” she growled in his ear, “Please, fight. For me. For us.”
The hopeless, finite expression on Kaden's face faded and was replaced by a grim resolve. He gave a nod and that was when she knew he wasn't going to give up on her, just like she wasn't going to give up on him. Together they worked as a team, human and demon, mortal and immortal, the summoner and the summoned. But they had become so much more than that, so much more than the universe could ever allow them to be without suffering repercussions. Kaden had saved her, and this was a price that neither of them were willing to pay. They managed to free him from the hands and they sank back into the earth as Kaden fell back, Hazelle landing on top of him.
Chris was gone...for good.
And Kaden is still here.
The demon laughed wildly, though his eyes showed he was more bemused than amused. Hazelle tensed, wondering if he was mad, if something in him had snapped, if the hands had affected him in some way and being closer to hell had stirred the darkness in him. She had no reason to worry when his arms came around her, holding her close to him, his warm breath tickling the top of her head.
“You're safe now,” he murmured, giving a content sigh.
“Yes,” she agreed, closing her eyes and breathing in the soothing, spicy scent of him, feeling so tranquil. But then she opened her eyes and shook her head. “No. You need to get back and resuscitate me, remember? I don't want to die today.”
In a flash she was on her feet, Kaden having set her down, his eyes focused again, determined, devoted, dedicated to saving her from the cold clutches of death again.
“How do we leave?” Hazelle asked urgently.
Kaden didn't answer. He pressed his clawed hand to her unbeating heart and brought his lips to hers in a life-saving kiss.
*~*~*
The first thing Hazelle felt through the darkness was warm lips massaging the life back into her own. She clung to them, savouring their softness, their sweetness, the taste of honey and spices that made her tongue tingle.
When Hazelle opened her eyes she was half surprised to still see Kaden, worried he might vanish the second her heart started beating again, his purpose fulfilled, the conditions of the spell met.
But he was still there, still solid, still touchable and touch him she did, rubbing a bulging bicep before stroking his face, looking into ravenous, pitch black eyes, swollen with starvation, though she knew he wasn’t hungry for food. He never was. He reclaimed her lips, kissing her deeply, his hands drawing her close, closer than close, as if he was trying to fuse their flesh and become one with her. She felt his engorged member brush her thigh, straining in his leather pants, waiting to be unleashed. She let out a shuddering gasp of arousal, filled with a sudden lust for life. Something about almost dying made her feel so very alive.
“I don't want you to go,” she whispered wretchedly, and then she was weeping, her tears splashing on his cheeks, “I don't want you to go...”
He kissed her cheeks, kissed her eyelashes, kissed her tears over and over again.
“I don't want to go, I don't want to go, I don't want to go...”
But go he must and they both knew it. He held her after, like he would never hold her again, like her cherished her more than any human ever could. She felt the sun on her skin, not as hot as him, and remembered that it wasn't over...not quite yet.
Her lips were still on fire when she stood up, looking down at Chris's undisturbed grave, resigned. There was no slouching corpse, no fetid fingers, no hands of hell snatching at her ankles or come to take Kaden away from her. Anyone that visited here, his mother, his sisters, his friends and family, even strangers that strolled past would never know the unrest of his spirit, would never know where he was now, screaming into a black oblivion with only demons and the other dead to hear.
Kaden touched her shoulder, looking down at the grave too.
“I'll do it,” he said simply. There was no need to elaborate.
Hazelle nodded, too tired to argue. She wanted to close her eyes, to forget the last few hours, the last few days, everything she had seen, everything she had felt, everything she had done and could never take back. So she left Kaden to the gruelling job of unearthing Chris's coffin under cover of darkness to burn his bones, his physical remains reflecting the fate of his soul.
Kaden didn't return till after midnight and she feared that he wouldn't return at all. As it turned out she wasn't able to sleep, too agitated, too consumed by dark thoughts and the grief of losing the one person, the one demon she could trust with her life, with her everything. He didn't say a word when he opened the bedroom door, mud clinging to every inch of him, encrusted on his golden skin, dust in his hair and the colour of his shirt indiscernible. She had showered and changed for bed and that was where she was sat, the covers pulled over her, her arms wrapped around her legs as she stared miserably into empty space.
He walked to her slowly, his eyes concentrated on her, an understanding that needed no words flashing between them.
It was done. Chris was no more. Kaden's purpose had been fulfilled and after tonight, when the dawn touched the sky and chased away the darkness he would go with it. He would disappear and she would be left to deal with the gaping hole in her heart.
He undressed gradually, leaving his sullied clothes on the floor, his eyes never wavering from hers. When he was naked and gorgeous in all his glory he drew back the sheets and slipped in bed beside her. She cared nothing for the mud on her sheets. Sheets could be replaced, but Kaden couldn’t.
His face was unreadable, guarded and closed to her and she found that, for once, she couldn't see what he was thinking from the light in his eyes.
She was crying again, silently sobbing, tears blurring her vision. She wiped them away, wishing she wasn't so weak, so helpless, so dependable on a demon. Yet here she was, a demon in her bed, a demon in her heart, and that was just the way things were. She had to accept that, accept it like she had to accept the fact he was going away for good, that he would leave her forever and she would have to face an inevitable life of loneliness.
She didn't say anything, didn't even breath as he took her in his arms and drew her close to his chest. The sound of his beating heart was steady, deep, profound, the rhythm of it almost comforting and after so many days, so many weeks of stress, horror and harrowing nightmares she closed her eyes, the beat of his demon heart lulling her into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Kaden was gone.
Hazelle sat up slowly, clutching th
e sheets to her breasts, glancing around the room for any sign of the sex demon. The space he had occupied in her bed was empty, the only evidence he'd been there, the only evidence he'd even existed was a few streaks of dirt on the white linen. That's how she had once thought of him, as a dark blotch of filth made flesh, a stain on her life that she couldn't wash out, but it turned out he had been more, so much more than she ever thought he could be, perhaps much more than he ever thought he could be. He'd been her foe, her friend, her confidant, her protector...and her lover. The warmth of his embrace, the scent of his skin, the feel of him inside of her, all she had of that now was a brief smudge on her memory and some dirty sheets.
She couldn't cry. Not now. She was too numb, too hollow inside as if he had taken his heart with him to hell. She sat there, sunlight streaming through the windows, the golden light pooling around her with a warmth that reminded her so much of his tawny skin, his hot flesh as it rubbed against hers in the throes of passion. She went cold with the realisation that she would never feel that heat again.
Still exhausted from treading in death she buried herself under the duvet, pulling it over her head, dozing, half-awake and half-asleep, miserable and alone...
“I thought you might like some breakfast.”
The arrogant drawl she'd become so accustomed to was like sweet music to her ears. She almost thought she'd imagined it until she ripped the duvet from her face and sat up so quickly it made her dizzy.
He was there, by her bed, naked and carrying a tray laden with eggs, bacon, and a cup of coffee. His skin was clean, his hair washed and he smelt of the strawberries and crème shampoo that she favoured. She gazed up at him in awe, in disbelief...in fear.
“You're still...here,” she said lamely, dazed, and then felt so stupid stating the obvious. “Am I dreaming?”