23. Survival Instincts
Survival Instincts
Eamon
This is a super fucked up thing to do.
I know that.
Then what are you doing?
I wish I could say this was fury, or revenge, or some kind of petty bullshit to get Isla back for being such a dick last night, but she doesn't need me to punish her. She does that enough to herself, and she and I both know she didn't mean a single fucking word she said.
She's afraid of herself more than anything, but today, she's going to learn that I'm the one she should fear. She's a fucking natural with all the weapons, and she's practiced enough that I'm not worried about her hurting herself with them.
So I woke up with a plan.
A really fucked up plan.
But it's so fucking fun.
She knew something was wrong immediately, which is a good sign. She had goosebumps the second she entered the kitchen today, knowing without knowing that I was watching her from the shadows in the hallway, pitch black in my demon form, watching her through the red haze. I got to see her delicate blood pumping through her veins as her hunter instincts told her to be aware.
She tried to shake it off, tried to tell herself that it was nothing and she's safe here, but her body knew better.
I tried to leap and tackle her into the bed, narrowly missing her. Another good sign. And when I reached out to catch her, twisting in the bed to grab her, I was met with a firm kick from the bottom of her foot, right into my nose and cheekbone, stunning me long enough for her to get to her feet and run.
Now, I just have to see which route her instincts take her. Fight or flight. If she makes it to the door, she could let herself out, but to what end? Whether she realizes it's me or not, her adrenaline probably won't let her stop until I'm a bloody puddle on the ground.
Instead, she takes a right, heading deeper into the safehouse, straight toward the training room.
Good fucking girl.
She's probably going to fuck me up, but I'm going to love every second of it. I've seen how she handles a gun before, and that sent chills up my spine. Now that she's comfortable with them and their power, I'm going to have to keep myself from trying to get in her pants while she guns me down.
Part of me wants to taunt her, to call out her name and tease her as I follow. But the second she hears my voice, the game will be over. I need her to be flooded with adrenaline enough that her hunter instincts drown out sense. If she stops to think for even a second, this ends.
Silently, I stalk after her as she tries to quiet her steps, scrambling down the stairs, the clanging of metal trailing her all the way. I could just cut through the Aether to head her off, but that'll ruin the fun. Instead, I saunter down, giving her enough time to get into the training room and pick a weapon.
I don't think she'll pick the gun. The knives and other close-combat weapons have definitely been her favorites. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, the scent of her fear clogs my nose, the heady smell making desire swell low in my body. I can't sense precisely where she is in the weapon room, and the mystery makes my heart pound.
Listening carefully for her breathing and blood pumping through her body, I follow the sounds, stepping as lightly as possible. She's left the training room door wide open, using the tiny bit of emergency light from the hallway to help her see in the dark room.
Before taking my first step in, I note that the corners are still far enough from the light to be pitch black, giving Isla an easy place to hide if it were, in fact, a mortal after her. Unfortunately, she's dealing with me.
Easing through the door, I close it behind me, hoping to gain the advantage of working in the dark, catching her and keeping her completely blind while she tries to escape me. The thought of pinning her down and watching fear overtake her gorgeous face fills me with a sick glee, knowing her instincts and common sense and self-preservation will be at war while I rip her clothes to shreds and fuck my sweet little prize.
Before I can get the door fully closed, a whoosh alerts me to movement to my left, the swing of a mace coming almost too quickly for me to react. At the last second, I knock the hard stone out of the way, a few sharp spikes scraping across my arm as I do.
Before it even clatters to the ground, Isla strikes again with her other hand, the axe coming towards my chest in a swift arc. I let the blow graze my arm, dodging it and watching Isla as she pulls it back, kicking my stomach to give herself the time to aim again.
As warm blood dribbles down my forearm and onto my hand, I take a couple steps back, letting her get her footing and make a mental plan of how to proceed. She swings the axe in a few circles, both intimidating the foe she can barely see and gaining the momentum she needs to make every hit count.
There's barely any light in here, but that's only a problem for her. I can see every glorious inch of her body, primed to fight like it's what she was built for. Her pupils are blown wide with adrenaline and the dark room, locked on my barely illuminated figure.
If she's pieced together that this is a training exercise, she definitely doesn't show it, throwing the entirety of her weight behind the next blow, her foot connecting with my thigh with aching precision, making my leg shake and threaten to collapse under me. Instead of another arc, she swings the axe sideways, the tip of it slicing into my abdomen, forcing a pained hiss out of my mouth.
One side of her lips lifts in a pleased smirk before she continues landing hits and kicks, knocking me back with each one. But my height has her at a major disadvantage, unable to reach anywhere that would really slow me down.
She must have the realization the exact moment I do, aiming her axe down at my thigh instead of trying to land it anywhere on my torso. Her quick thinking and speed give her just enough time to drive it into my quad, the skin and muscle tearing easily under the force of her entire strength.
A violent, pained growl leaves my throat as my reflexes force me to grip Isla's slender neck. With a yelp, she tries to reach for the weapon still lodged in my leg, struggling to remove it as my healing abilities try to grow skin back around the steel. Warmth cascades down my leg from all the blood draining from the wound, making the floor slippery beneath us.
Isla's feet scramble for purchase as I hold her aloft with one arm around her throat and the other harshly gripping her waist. Her little shoes glide across the blood pooling on the floor, her mission to retrieve her weapon abandoned in favor of gripping the wrist of my hand on her throat.
Rage ripples across her face, and she lifts one leg, kicking it harshly into the axe still inserted in my leg again and again until I finally crumble to one knee, giving her an opportunity to drive her knee back up into my chin. The force of the hit loosens my grip on her, and she spins to run away, seemingly escaping me.
But her victory is short-lived, slipping on the sticky floor with a scream. With one hand, I grab her ankle, dragging her back to me, coating the entire front of her body with my black, sticky blood. I pull the axe from my leg as Isla kicks and screams, still trying to escape my grip.
Throwing the axe far away from her reach, it clatters to the floor. She releases a frustrated scream, kicking at me again until I grip both her ankles in my clawed hand, standing to turn on the light. She's dangling upside down from my grip, wriggling furiously.
I can't help but laugh, honestly. Isla looks so ridiculously adorable now, her gray combat outfit sticky and black, plastered to her skin. Her face is red from exertion, her chest heaving as she glares at me, finally coming back to her senses. I'd forgotten just how small she looks when I'm in this form, rarely needing to use it around her.
"Put me down, you fucking asshole!" she screams.
"But you look so fucking cute right now," I taunt her. "Like a little doll."
She crosses her arms, the squelch of them against her soaked tits almost comical. Her body quivers, threatening to gag, but she fights through it, glaring at me with gritted teeth.
"Oh, don't pout," a smile pulls at my lips. "You did great. Severed all the way to the bone."
Her face lights up, "Really?"
"Really," I nod. "You fucked me up, babe."
Pride and relief fill her features, but she remains furious at the way I'm holding her, staring up at me, yet somehow down her nose, prim and dismissive, even dangling upside down and coated in quickly drying blood.
"Put me down," she demands.
"Please," I fill in for her the word she forgot.
For a second, I wonder if she's considering stabbing me again.
And then I don't have to wonder because she lifts her body, reaching for her boot to slip a tiny knife out of it and swing it towards me.
"Fuck," the surprised word slips out of me as I scramble to get us to the ground safely without her lodging the knife into my fucking face. As quickly as I can, I grip the back of her neck and head with my free hand, pulling her up towards my chest while I release her feet and wrap an arm around her waist. I fall backward, letting my head crack against the ground while cradling her against me to ensure hers doesn't.
Dizziness blinds me for a split second before I can open my eyes again, greeted with the vision of Isla triumphantly straddling me. I should have known she had a third weapon hidden. And likely a fourth, fifth, and sixth if she's been paying attention.
A pinch of pain blooms in my chest as clarity dawns. Isla reaches out, smiling triumphantly and playing with the tiny knife lodged in my pec like it's a fucking doorstopper spring.
Well, at least it isn't my face.
I grip the knife and pull it free, throwing it to the side and letting my head fall back, watching Isla soak in her victory. Her eyes drift down to the wound, the thick black liquid oozing out of it and across my stomach. She looks entranced by it, watching the way it falls out with each pump of my heart. As the wound starts to heal, stitching together atom by atom, she leans forward slowly, hypnotized, licking her lips.
For a second, I lay there watching, every inch of my body begging for her to taste that sacred part of me that I've never shared with anyone. But then I realize what that could do to her, and I sit up suddenly, transforming back into my mortal form.
Caught by surprise, she stares at me, her eyes wide from the change. Rather than let her get distracted by my blood again, I take what I've wanted from the second I started this game, gripping her hair harshly and planting my mouth against hers.
It's been a long while since I've drank Isla's blood, but the rules of demon soul-bonding are finicky, and I don't know what kind of expiration date, if any, there is with the blood-sharing thing. There's a fire inside my chest, pleading with me to just let her have my blood and take the risk. Just the thought of having my blood inside her body makes precum dribble from my tip.
As Isla grinds her body against mine, her lips and teeth and tongue violently assaulting mine, my hands wander her every inch as I let myself imagine, just for a minute, how fucking good it would feel to fill her cunt with cum and her body with blood. How she'd swallow down every bit I gave her, the black ooze dripping down her lips and chin while she rides my cock, mewling and screaming from the overwhelming onslaught of being filled with me in every way possible.
My lips travel down her jaw, my hands forcing her hips back and forth, dragging her wet heat against my cock while she moans, her head falling back so I can lick and bite down her neck.
She's covered in the sweet, sticky substance, her clothes glued to her skin with it. As much as I want to fuck her like this, covered in my blood and desperately writhing on me because of it, I need to get all of it away from her right now before something horrible happens.
"Let's go shower, baby," I pant against her skin.
With a frustrated groan, she shakes her head, "No. Right here."
I grunt, my cock liking her idea much, much better. But I can't risk her safety just to get inside her a few minutes faster.
"Shower," I bite her shoulder, pulling a loud moan from her throat, "Me and the showerhead are gonna make you come so hard you pass the fuck out."
It's a promise and a challenge. One she thinks I'm not capable of, but Isla has no fucking clue the vile things I'll do to make her body succumb to pleasure so intense she can't even take it.
She nods absentmindedly, still rubbing against me and waiting for me to start moving us before she'll stop grinding against me for even a second. She's so goddamn hungry for me it drives me crazy. I crave her hunger, her need, fucking crave giving her relief from her desperation.
Without separating her from me, I stand, using both hands on her plush ass to carry her. Her legs wrap around my waist as she runs her fingers through my hair, gripping it to plant sloppy, sucking kisses across my neck and jaw, biting my earlobe.
More than once, I almost stumble from her precision, her ability to make me fucking stupid just with those lips and tongue. Her mouth is a goddamn weapon, whether she's using it for cruelty or to assault my every nerve.
Finally, I drag her into the bathroom, tearing her boots off and turning on the shower, placing her under the hot water, fully clothed. I don't have a single gentle bone left in my body, ripping her filthy, sopping wet clothes from her body, followed by my ruined pants, tossing them through the Aether to deal with later.
Trapped beneath the water and finally completely naked, she pulls at my arms, plastering her wet, hot body against mine, directing me under the water as she hungrily kisses me, the water sluicing down between us and around us, the shower filling with steam.
Each kiss is drugging, every taunting inch of her naked body against mine a fucking addiction I'll never kick. Gentle moans leave her throat as I knead and squeeze that ass I love so much. My dick aches to be inside her warmth, currently nestled between her body and mine as she rubs against me.
With painstaking effort, I gently push her away, seating her on the bench opposite the showerhead. Her brows raise as I reach for the soap, making my intention clear. No sex until we're both completely clean of blood. She playfully rolls her eyes, holding her hand out for it, but I'm not missing a single opportunity to rub my hands all over her like this. No fucking way. So I shake my head, pouring the liquid soap onto her loofah. The smell I've become addicted to surrounds us, the herby, sugary scent of her body wash mixing with her so sweetly as I take her hand in mine. Working the loofah in soft circles down her arm, I can sense the second fear tries to take over her mind, tries to pull her away from the here and now. I've seen glimpses of what this must remind her of, the memories of it sickening.
"Isla," I say her name to drag her back to me, getting on my knees and supplicating myself, ensuring she knows who's really in charge here. "You did so well today."
"Yeah?" Her voice is soft and tentative, her gaze cloudy— only halfway here, needing me to bring her all the way back to me.
With a nod, I continue, "I'm so proud of you. There are only a handful of hunters who've ever landed a single hit on me. None have landed two."
"You scared the shit out of me," she admits as I move to the other arm. "I thought... I don't know what I thought. I guess I didn't even take the time to think. Just acted."
"You did exactly what I need you to do," I assure her, scrubbing her chest. She takes a shuddering breath, fear filling the room again, but not the fun kind. "Another hunter won't be as fast, or as indestructible as I am. You'll be able to take them out easily as long as you trust your instincts."
She beams, a soft blush filling her cheeks. I continue down her stomach and legs, cleaning any and all blood I can find without lingering between her thighs or on her chest too long. I'm rock hard and desperate to be inside her, but just being with her like this, taking care of her for as long as she'll let me... This might be even better.
"Eamon?" her quiet voice brings my gaze back to her solemn face.
"Yeah?"
She gnaws on her bottom lip, unable to look at me, fighting against how difficult it is to say what she's about to. "I'm really sorry about last night."
"I know," I tell her. I knew she was sorry the second she said it, but hearing it out loud is still a balm over the wound created. "It's okay."
She shakes her head, eyes watering, "No, it's not. You shared something really beautiful with me and opened up to me, and I may as well have spit in your face."
"You didn't mean it."
"It doesn't matter that I didn't mean it. I still said it, and you didn't deserve it." Silent tears fall down her face, likely both from guilt and the embarrassment of admitting it. But she's certainly not the only one guilty of perpetuating this violence. I'm just as culpable as she is.
With a heavy sigh, I ease her hair out of her face, smoothing it behind her ear, "Isla, we've done nothing since we got here but take turns harming each other. I think, at this point, we've exhausted our armories."
A sad laugh creeps out of her, a frown pulling at her lips.
"So maybe we lay our weapons down, yeah?" I continue, scrubbing her neck with the loofah. "Just for a while."
She sniffles, looking up at me with those beautiful, teary, hopeful eyes, "Really?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," she nods, a tiny smile pulling at her lips.
I'm sure I mirror her expression, a warmth in my chest making me grin at this new beginning, "Okay."
Working down her calves to the blood splattered there, over and under her feet, I don't leave a single inch untouched, making sure she's perfect and pristine without any of my dirty blood tainting her body.
I squeeze the loofah, letting the gray, foamy goop that is my blood and her soap fall to the floor, washing down the drain. I try to set it down, but Isla holds her palm out, waiting expectantly for it. I raise a single brow, and she gestures at my body as if I should have just expected her to return the favor.
"Oh, no, honey. The whole point was getting this stuff away from you. You just sit. I can take care of this myself."
Disappointment she fights to hide creeps through her expression, her lips falling into an almost pout and her bros furrowing before she fixes her features to calm indifference. I don't want her in contact with this any more than necessary, but with her admitting that she wants to touch me, her willingness to indulge in this intimacy… How can I deny her anything if she'll stay in this blissful, steamy little bubble with me?
I can't. That's the answer.