(c) Copyright jvaughn, 2013, 2014. All rights reserved. Copyright violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
Chapter Fourteen
Guy jacked himself furiously. He had just cum all over the tile floor of his bathroom, but his cock was as hard as ever. The need to plunge it into Mel was overwhelming. He gritted his teeth and tried to force his thoughts away from his compulsion. His cock erupted again, but his need did not diminish. His vision was still red around the edges and the roaring in his ears had not gone away. He felt like he was hanging onto his sanity by a thread. He needed to stop himself before he lost complete control again.
He flung the bathroom door open and the scent of Mel's sex hit him, strong and fresh. He groaned aloud in an effort to keep the beast within him from chasing down Mel and fucking him.
Mate! Mate! Mate!
It was difficult to think through the chaos of crazy in his brain. He went quickly to his bureau and took out a set of handcuffs with shaking hands. Snapping one cuff around his wrist, he launched himself toward his bed, landing on his knees next to it. Quickly, before the demon took over again, he snapped the other end through one of the metal hooks in the sturdy wood.
A howl of rage filled the room. His conscious mind fled to the dark recesses of his mind, where it watched like an observer, no longer in control of his body, which was now thrashing against the steel, testing the strength of his manacles. He wasn't sure how long they would hold him; hopefully long enough for whatever possessed him to yield to his higher brain functions.
He didn't think he'd ever be able to rid himself of the monster inside. His father had tried already and it hadn't worked. Not only that, he was sure it wasn't a separate entity; it was part of himself. He himself was a demon. He couldn't get rid of it without destroying himself.
It seemed like an eternity that he thrashed against his bonds making ferocious noises. Finally the roaring in his ears subsided and the redness of his vision faded. He found he was shaking and sweating. The need for Mel was still so strong he felt like he wanted to peel off his own skin. His wrist was bloody from fighting the sharp steel, but the physical pain was blunted by his mental anguish.
As he thought about what had happened, he was filled with repulsion.
I almost took him raw, without lube or even prep! How could I do that?
The shame he felt was almost too much to bear. He pictured his angel broken and bleeding beneath him after he had finished satisfying his carnal urges and swallowed back the bitter bile that welled up in his throat.
I am dangerous. I need to make sure this never happens again. I need to figure out how to protect Mel from me.
His eyes lit upon his discarded jacket on the floor not too far away. He stretched out carefully, wincing when the handcuff pulled on his bloody wrist. He was able to grab the collar with his toes and drag the jacket toward himself.
Emptying his pockets, he set his cell phone on the end table. The pills came out next and he considered taking a handful to calm himself, but that was a stopgap measure at best, and he didn't like the feeling of being drugged.
He pulled his dart gun out of an inner pocket and set it on the floor beside him, contemplating it.
I could shoot myself—end it all.
There was a strong appeal in that thought. His torment was almost unbearable. Peace sounded heavenly.
I wouldn't be able to hurt Mel anymore.
No one would miss me. Well, Ed probably would but mainly because I wouldn't be able to work for him anymore. Consuela, probably, but she'd get over it soon enough. Mel will certainly be glad to be rid of me after this morning's events.
If I were dead, I wouldn't be in any pain. I wouldn't have to deal with what I've become. I wouldn't have anymore nightmares.
I wouldn't be able to rape Mel.
He wasn't sure if a single full dose would be enough to kill him. It would certainly kill a normal man, but he wasn't that anymore.
Maybe if I dosed myself with a second shot as soon as I came to, it would kill me.
In the end the main thing that stopped him was the belief that if he weren't there, Valjevo would get to Mel. He couldn't let that happen, no matter what the personal sacrifice. As bad as what he might do to his angel, Valjevo would do far worse. And Mel was such a pure, sweet spirit, he couldn't bear the thought of anything hurting him.
You already hurt him.
His heart twisted as if trying to turn itself inside out. He gasped against the pain.
What the hell am I going to do?
He found himself on his knees next to his bed. "Holy Mary, Mother of God..."
*****
The cool stone floor was unyielding under Salvatore's bare feet. He shifted from foot to foot, trying to ease the discomfort in his limbs. He had been standing for much too long. He pulled in frustration against the chains that bound his wrists above his head. His arms ached, and the cold metal bit into his tender flesh, which was already raw and sore. He stilled himself, some instinct telling him he didn't want to make himself bleed. Escape from the steel manacles was impossible, of course. There was no point in trying.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire,
he thought. He'd been desperate to get away, thinking anything would be better than the life to which he'd been bred. He had thought the horrors he'd seen were the worst that humanity had to offer. He hadn't realized that there were creatures that walked the earth that should never have been. Soulless creatures with bottomless eyes and skin as cold as ice; creatures with sharp fangs and inhuman strength whose minds were twisted in a way no mortal mind could conceive.
Now not only was he prisoner of one of these creatures, but his sister was too.
For that, he would never forgive himself. Guilt warred with despair to take over his thoughts, and beneath the surface was a cold, gnawing dread.
He heard the door to his prison swing open and terror flooded him. With sheer force of will, he tried to calm his pounding heart. Two sets of footsteps came closer, and his captor came into view with Eva on his arm.
They looked like they were dressed for an exclusive costume party. His sister's silk dress fit her like a glove through the low cut bodice before cascading in voluminous splendor to the floor. It was trimmed with an abundance of fine lace. The ruffles of the demon's cravat spilled down his chest. His coat was cut short in the front with long tails in the back. Every detail was perfect; they looked as if they had just stepped out of London, circa 1750.
His sister was even more stunning than usual. The deep red dress complimented her Mediterranean skin tones, and her dark curls were pulled into on elegant coiffure on top of her head.
What the hell has he been doing with my sister?
Salvatore was incensed, but even at sixteen he had enough experience to know that the demon held all the high cards. He needed to play his close to his chest or he would throw away any miniscule chance they had of breaking free.
Her beautiful brown eyes were upon him, showing no emotion.
She is likely in shock.
Her face was pallid, but she appeared unharmed. Then he noticed a red mark on her neck, an area roughly two inches across and oval-shaped, that was a deep, angry red, with two small puncture wounds in it.
"Eva!" he gasped. "What has he done to you?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I am perfectly unharmed," she said in a well-modulated tone.
A chill went through him. She should not be so calm. His sister had always been excitable—full of life and energy. She should be bouncing up to hug him, or screaming at their captor, or ... something. To see her so emotionless affected him like almost nothing else would have.
