The Devil and I by Kay Alastor
Chapter Four
Lucas
Never in my life have I ever felt so out of control of the living, breathing darkness inside of me. Like a beast bound to its prey, I don't understand why these powerful feelings have taken root inside of me. All I can do is fight to hold on to my humanity as I succumb to every dark, primitive instinct screaming that this girl was meant to be mine.
In the two hours since I pulled out of the parking lot at Sunnybrook Park, it feels as though my entire world has been flipped upside down and shifted in ways that can never be undone. What madness has come over me that has allowed this girl to call the devil out of me and bring it to its knees at her feet? I can't fathom how so much can change in one single night, for a woman whose name I don't even know.
I can sit here and question everything until I'm blue in the face, but it won't change anything. Trying to analyze this strange situation won't change the sudden onset of possessiveness and hunger threatening to overwhelm me. Feelings no one has ever inspired in me, feelings so strong that the idea of dropping her off at a hospital and moving on with my life makes me want to set the entire world on fire until everything around me is destroyed. Everything but this frail, beautiful, broken girl sitting unconscious in my passenger seat.
My obsession with this girl is growing with every passing minute I remain trapped in my cruiser with her, that ambrosial scent of hers permeating my senses and turning me into an addict. The unexpected desire to touch her is elevating higher than my brutal need to find the man who hurt her and tear him to shreds with my bare hands.
Every other impulse is pushed down by the staggering need to know her name, her story, and what drove her to take a razor blade to her wrist. That singular thought is coupled with my desire to bring her to my home, where I can lock it down and surround us with all the weaponry needed to kill anyone that gets close to her. The insanity of it all feels like suffocating. My rational mind is telling me that this is crazy, but the monster within doesn't fucking care.
Self-control is of the utmost importance for a man like me. Survival and success in this life means being a careful, calculated, intelligent monster. That this girl has singlehandedly dismantled my life in the span of almost three hours absolutely terrifies me. That's a lot of power to be able to wield over the devil himself.
Thankfully, it only takes ten more minutes before I am pulling into the driveway of my home in the woods. I don't think I can last much longer without getting her safely inside and properly bandaged. With the press of a button, the garage door opens and I pull into the large space.
I wait for the garage door to close again before I think about exiting the vehicle, scanning the dimly lit space before getting out. Although my home is tucked away in the dense forests North of Toronto, hyper vigilance has become a habit of mine. Hurrying over to the door leading into the house, I unlock it and shove it wide open before making my way back around the opposite side of my cruiser.
I hesitate for a few seconds, peering down through the window at the girl resting peacefully inside, before popping the door open and reaching inside for her. I hook one arm behind her back and one beneath her knees, lifting her into my arms and settling her against my body. Unexpected relief hits me as soon as she's in my arms, and only amplifies when her big, dark eyes flutter open and stare up at me. Those rich chocolate eyes focus on me, worry evident in the warm depths of them.
“Where am I?” she asks, seeming less sedated and a little more clear headed than she did during our initial conversation on the drive home. My heart aches over how fragile and vulnerable she feels in my arms, and that ache only nurtures the newborn possessiveness that floods my entire being.
“You're somewhere safe. I promise nothing will hurt you. I need to get you inside, then we can talk,” I soothe, keeping my voice steady and calm. I've practiced speaking like this while in uniform, finding it an effective way to ward of escalating emotions in people I'm dealing with.
I shift my body away from the vehicle so I can kick the door shut, turning towards the side door and heading in. I don't bother to turn on any lights as I carry her through the hallway, directly to my bedroom. Thankfully, she doesn't struggle against me as her eyes try to make sense of the dark house I am carrying her through.
Pushing my bedroom door open, I use my shoulder to flip the switch on the wall to my left, which illuminates the dark and classically masculine space. She shifts uncomfortably in my arms, looking like she is about to say something, the worry painted across her face intensifying as we enter my bedroom. Before she can speak, I do my best to cut her anxiety off before it can become something more difficult for me to manage.
“I know this isn't the station, or a hospital, but I swear to you, you're safe here.” I start, carefully setting her down on the edge of my big bed. “Why don't you tell me your name?” I offer her a reassuring smile I hope comes across as genuine before immediately turning towards my closet to grab something to wear. I enter the walk in space and pull a dark grey t-shirt off a hanger, pulling it over my head as I walk back out to her.
She looks extremely uncomfortable, and I can't say that I blame her. Before I walk back over to her, I turn towards the large dresser to my right. It's bulky and made of dark brown maple wood, with a heavy black ceramic bowl resting on top. I reach into the bowl and fish out one of my old, damaged police badges. Holding it in my hand, I let my professional mask slip into place so that I can get better control of the situation here. The last thing I want is for her to feel like she is in danger, considering she has no idea who the hell I am or where she even is. Being carried into an unfamiliar bedroom by a big guy with no shirt on is probably pretty damn unsettling, even if I told her I was with the police. My priority is keeping her calm before I try to explain why I brought her to my house instead of a hospital.
I move to stand in front of her and offer her the badge. She takes it slowly, her eyes moving over the well-known department logo and my badge number. She stares at it for a while before setting it beside her on the bed.
“Uhm,” she starts, finally lifting her gaze to look around my bedroom, her beautiful dark eyes taking in the dark wood furniture, my nearly black bed sheets, and the warm beige walls that surround us. At least the vibrant forest photography on the otherwise bare walls makes my bedroom feel a little less harsh. “My name is Rayna Archer.”
Rayna. A beautiful name for this beautiful girl.
“How old are you, Rayna?” I inquire, stepping into my closet again to pull out one of the bigger first aid kits I keep at home. I walk back to the foot of the bed and immediately drop to my knees, trying my best to avoid towering over her. At six foot two and built like a cage fighter, it is effortless for me to intimidate someone with my size. The last thing I want right now is to make her feel even more unsafe.
“I'm 20,” she tells me, eyeing me cautiously. “What did you say your name was?” Her eyes drop down to the big white box resting at her feet, and as if she suddenly remembers she cut open her arm not that long ago, she winces. She lifts her arm to regard the white bandages carefully, a fingertip tracing the patches of blood adorning it. She frowns, dropping her arm into her lap and turning her dark eyes back in my direction.
I offer her a nod, popping open the lid on the first aid kit so that I can pull out the supplies I'll need to re-dress the arm. I reach over slowly to grab her wrist, trying my best not to startle her, and pull it gently towards me.
A good man, a sane man, would have just taken this girl to the hospital. I was not a good man, however. Rayna inspired new, dark urges inside of me and I wasn't strong enough to deny them. Bringing her here gave me control, and feeling the way I was, I needed all the control I could get.
“My name is Lucas Black. I'm with the Toronto Police,” I explain, starting to carefully unwrap the original bandages, keeping her wound together. I'm relieved to find that the blood flow has slowed significantly, which will make it much more manageable for me. I try to ignore the sweet yet sharp scent of blood as it rushes into my head, fighting the sudden overwhelming urge to lean down and drag my tongue along the length of her cut. As fucked up as it is, I desperately want to taste the very essence of her life on my tongue. If I were weak, I'd give in to what I want. It's not like she or anyone else could stop me. The monster in me would love to coat my fingers in her blood and stroke my cock with it.
I shove those urges down, as deep as I possibly can, and focus on the task at hand. Right now, we need to pretend that this innocent girl isn't sitting in front of the devil himself. Despite the sick thoughts circulating in my head, my hands work on autopilot. I take a saline syringe out of its package and very gently clean the surface of her arm, flushing the surface of the angry gash on her arm. Once done, I take a thick pad of clean gauze and press it lightly against her skin to dry it. I hear a sharp intake of breath and lift my eyes to hers. She isn't staring at the destruction she left all over her arm; she is staring at me.
I try to offer her a reassuring smile, shifting my body slightly in an attempt to re-adjust my cock where it is hardening beneath my heavy sweat pants. Great, just what I need. To have to explain why there are eight and a half inches of dick straining against my pants while I'm trying to tend to her injury. I am so fucked up.
“Look, Rayna, I don't really have a good explanation as to why I brought you to my home instead of the hospital,” I tell her, chancing a glance at her while I apply a thin layer of antibiotic ointment to the cut. Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn't say anything in response, so I continue to talk.
“Your cut looks worse than it is, and you looked so god damn vulnerable that I just wanted to get you somewhere I could keep you safe and figure out what the hell happened to you,” I admit, plucking out a bunch of butterfly closure bandages from the box. She still doesn't say anything as I begin setting the closures across her wound, and I start to wonder what's going through her head as she listens to me try to explain myself. This time when I lift my gaze to hers, she is staring at her arm.
“Say something, Rayna,” I command, trying to snap her out of whatever fog she's sitting there in. Her silence is deafening, and it's making me feel uneasy. When her lips part on a sigh, I feel a flood of relief.
“I don't know what you want from me. I'm supposed to be dead,” she explains, her voice so small and hollow that I have to lean in slightly to hear her clearly. “What am I supposed to do now?”
My head starts to throb, and I realize my jaw is clenched so tightly that the veins on my forehead must be bulging. The suffering evident in her voice makes me feel like a madman, desperate to make her feel better and equally desperate to kill the motherfucker that put her in this state. I force myself to finish wrapping her arm, fighting the urge to pull her into my lap and soothe her with the warmth of my body. That is until the sound of a broken sob escapes her mouth and lands a punch right at the center of my chest. Quickly securing the wrap with a large clip, I lean forward and wrap both of my arms around her so that I can pull her down into my lap. She doesn't fight me as I cocoon her in my embrace.
She relaxes into my arms immediately, and the way she falls apart reminds me of an animal accepting its fate. Trapped in the deadly jaws of a predator, it simply gives up and waits for death. She allows her agony to spill from her in relentless waves of crying, as though she's giving up for a second time today.
Every single tear that falls from her reddened eyes destroys all the carefully constructed threads of humanity that hold me together until I am stripped bare before her. No longer Officer Black, but Lucas... a monster in human skin. A primal beast from the darkest depths of the human psyche, desperate to claim her as mine and right all the wrongs done to her. These urges are insane. I recognize that, but no amount of rational thinking changes things. I've always been a monster beneath it all, but today is the first day that I feel enslaved by the sudden onset of possessiveness, obsession and need that this girl has summoned out of me.
I'm a monster, but I am her monster now.
“You're safe. I've got you now. I'll fix whatever is wrong,” I promise her, brushing my lips against her overheated forehead while she continues to wail, leaving wet paths of tears across my shirt and against my throat. “I'm going to take care of you,” I tell her then, pressing her tighter against me. This is unbearable, feeling her cry and tremble in my arms, not knowing how the hell to fix the damage done to her.
I rock her gently in my arms for what feels like the longest hour of my life before she finally starts to calm down. She has tucked herself so tightly against my body, clinging to me like I'm the last vestige of safety in her ugly world. Once her cries fade into the occasional hiccup, I take note of the way her body erupts into shivers. She is suddenly cold to the touch, which could be a result of either the blood loss or the shock. Probably both, if I had to guess.
Getting her into a hot bath makes sense in my head, since my body heat alone is not doing the job for her. There is no way in hell I'd leave her alone for a single second right now, which means we'll be getting into that bath tub together. That way, I can get her warm and clean while keeping her arm elevated out of the water. It also means I can prevent her from doing any further harm in an attempt to end her life.
“We need to get you warmed up, Rayna. I'm going to give you a bath,” I tell her firmly, not expecting her to protest when she is obviously running on empty. My voice rumbles low and deep against her ear, which causes her to shiver harder in response. “Please remember that you're safe. I won't hurt you.”
Despite how tired my body feels after everything today, I find it easy to shift my body so that I can get to my feet without letting her go. A lifetime of fitness pays off when it counts the most, it seems. At this point, I'd run a thousand miles straight if it meant I didn't have to let go of her for a single second. All of these new possessive feelings are being amplified by the way she clings to me for safety.
Her fragility as she clings to me only strengthens my resolve as I walk us across my bedroom and into my large, en suite bathroom. Suddenly grateful for my unusually large bathtub, I reluctantly set Rayna down on the counter so that I can get the water running. Reaching overhead, I grab a jar of epsom salts from the shelf there and dump a few spoonfuls of the stuff into the water.
I check the temperature of the water to make sure it isn't too hot before making my way back over to the wayward girl perched on my bathroom counter, who sits there watching me with curious eyes that are still red from crying.
“Do you often find dying girls in the forest and bring them back home to take care of them?”
I drag my hand across my face and through my hair, watching her closely to monitor any emotions that may etch themselves into her features. I find nothing but exhaustion there.
“No... no, I don't. This would be a first for me.”
“Oh,” she says, glancing towards the tub as the water quickly rushes to fill it up. “Hopefully you're not a serial killer,” she whispers, looking down to watch her small hands where they fidget in her lap.
I don't blame her for that comment, because any normal person looking at us right now would question our collective sanity. I don't know this girl, and she doesn't know me, and here I am patching her up and getting us ready to take a bath together. I clench my jaw, frustrated with myself. It's a war between my rational mind and the possessive animal inside of me. There is nothing I hate more than having to fight what feels natural in this situation, but at the same time, I don't want to terrify her before I get the chance to show her I won't ever hurt her.
“You're safe with me,” I tell her again, “You're in shock and you've lost a lot of blood. I need to get your body temperature back up. That's all that is happening right now.” I pull my shirt off over my head and tug my sweat pants down, leaving myself standing in the middle of the bathroom wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. I don't give her a chance to fixate on the fact that I am now standing here half naked, so I step in front of her and begin to unzip the hoodie she is wearing over her clothes. Once I peel it away from her body and toss it in the corner of the room, I wrap an arm around her lower back and pull her down off the counter. I make quick work of removing her t-shirt and leggings, tossing those in a pile with her discarded sweatshirt. Once she is standing before me wearing nothing but her panties and bra, I place my arm around her lower back and guide her towards the tub.
I step into the bath before her, reaching down to turn off the faucet now that it's full. I immediately rise to my full height and guide her into the tub with me. Once she is standing in the water, I lower myself down and bring her with me. She sighs deeply as she submerges herself in the water, settling between my legs and leaning back against me without hesitation.
My hand grips her wrist gently, holding her arm along the side of the tub where it can stay out of the water. My free hand reaches over towards the corner of the tub to grab a sweet mint candy from the small bowl I keep there. With one hand, I carefully unwrap it and bring it to her lips.
“You need the sugar. It's a mint,” I tell her, and she opens her mouth and takes the candy from my fingers. The way she trusts me is dangerous. More dangerous than she will ever realize. Despite my efforts to appear normal and safe for her, she has no idea that she's currently taking a bath with a man who harbors a dark side that can rival any villain.
The sickness inside of me is growing steadily as we sit in silence, reaching out through the very pores of my skin to latch onto the girl nestled in my arms. All the primitive possessiveness that emerged the moment I found her dying in the forest has taken root deep within me, nurturing the budding obsession into a brand new monster. A monster I am powerless to stop. Now, with Rayna nestled against me in my dimly lit bathroom, I hear the thunderous voice echoing throughout the walls of my mind. There is nothing, and no one, that can take her from me now.