Page 10 of The Devil and I
Rayna tucks her head under my chin, trying to hide her face from me. I let her, recognizing that self image must be a problem she's been struggling with. “I'm sorry, I just don't see what you do,” she whispers, her hot puffs of breath against my throat making goosebumps erupt across my skin.
“I understand, but that doesn't change how I feel about you,” I say softly, turning around and walking towards the bathroom. She may not reflect society's hollow definition of perfect beauty, but she is perfect to me exactly as she is.
I use my shoulder to flip the switch on the wall, light flooding the bathroom as I set Rayna down on her feet. “I'll give you a minute to do whatever you need to do, then I'll make you something to eat.”
“Thank you, Lucas.”
I give her a firm nod in response and then exit the bathroom to give her some privacy, leaving the door slightly ajar. As I sit down on the side of the bed, I run my hands over my face and through my hair. Thank god I am on vacation, because the last thing I want to do right now is to be away from her. I have no idea how today is going to go, but I know I need to have full control of it. The idea of having the outside world interfere with what is happening here in my home makes me feel all kinds of violent. Nobody will bother me for the next two weeks, which gives me the time and space to do what needs to be done.
I look up as I hear the toilet flush and the sink running shortly after. Rayna's head pops out from behind the door, looking a little lost. “Do you happen to have an extra toothbrush somewhere?”
“The cupboard beneath the sink, in a basket,” I tell her. She smiles sheepishly, then quickly retreats back inside the bathroom. The idea of her having personal belongings here in my home pleases me. I start imaging her things scattered across my house, her clothes in my closet and her books on my shelves. It soothes the primal beast inside of me, desperate to lay claim to all of her – her entire life included.
When she finally emerges, she looks a little shy, and still very naked. “My clothes have a little blood on them,” she tells me, before dropping her gaze to her hands.
“I'll wash them for you. For now, you can wear one of my shirts.” I say, standing up and wandering over to my closet again. I pull down an over-sized black t-shirt and walk it over to her. She doesn't protest when I help slip it over her head, watching as the hemline plummets to just above her knees. The sight makes my chest ache. She looks damn good in nothing but my shirt. Her thick, dark hair spills around her shoulders and cascades down her back in loose waves. She bites at her lip, her hands dropping to tug the shirt more comfortably around her wide hips. I groan as my cock hardens, pressing aggressively into the front of my sweats. Her eyes travel there, widening at the sight. Her entire face and chest flush when she sees the response she has on my body. That pleases me, too.
“Come on, beautiful. Let's get some food into you.” I offer her my hand, trying to focus on feeding her before I lose it and drag her down to the floor where she stands. I've gotta feed her before I fuck her. Otherwise, she may not survive it.
“Okay.” She reaches out and takes my hand, allowing me to guide her from my bedroom. The trust she so easily puts in me despite barely knowing me does things to me. It feels like an unbelievable mercy for this sweet girl to want to easily trust a monster like me. The darkest parts of me know that she can't possibly fathom the danger she's facing, and those same parts of me are irrevocably devoted to being the monster I know she needs me to be. A monster that will gladly walk through hell for her. A monster that will tear this world apart, if only to see her smile again.
Chapter Seven
Rayna
As Lucas leads me through his home, I am in awe of how clean and well decorated everything is. His house has a distinctly masculine feel to it, and manages to feel warm and inviting despite being fairly minimalist. There are a lot of large windows that offer an incredible view of the trees surrounding the property, making me feel like we're far removed from the city. The view from the windows makes me think I am deep in the Canadian wilderness, which makes me wonder just how far we are from my Toronto apartment.
“So, where are we?” I ask, the most fragile part of me hoping that I'm far enough away that Mark won't be able to find me. As Lucas drops my hand, he pulls out a chair at the small table situated next to the open concept kitchen and motions for me to have a seat.
“We are about 2 hours North of Toronto.”
I nod, feeling a little safer than I expected to. Any added distance between me and Mark is a bonus in my books. It would probably be pretty hard to track me all the way out here. Mark never seemed like a smart, calculated guy. I can't imagine him having amazing investigative skills that could help him track me anywhere in the world.
“I like being up here in the woods. It's so much different from the streets of Toronto. Quieter,” he explains. I nod again in response.
“The differences between Toronto and here are like night and day,” I say with a small smile, taking a seat in the chair he pulled out for me. I glance at the large window set in the wall I'm facing, taking a moment to appreciate the dense forest that seems so otherworldly compared to the big city I live in. It feels really surreal to be here now, when just yesterday I took a razor to my arm in an attempt to end my life.
I glance down at my bandaged wrist. A few small dots of red bleeding through the bandage here and there. I've been feeling light-headed and a little weak, but I don't want to tell Lucas. The last thing I want is for him to make me go back to Toronto, or take me to a hospital. This place feels safe, and I'd rather stay here while I figure everything out.
“Are you in any pain?” His voice pulls me from my thoughts and brings me back into the present moment. I glance up to see him standing in the kitchen behind the island counter.
“It hurts,” I confess.
He moves to one of the cupboards in the far corner of the kitchen and begins rummaging through some bottles, pulling out some generic over-the-counter pain medication. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and sets both items in front of me on the table. “Are you allergic to anything, or are there any foods you hate?” he asks as he wanders back towards the fridge.
“No.” With my response, my stomach rumbles loudly. The emptiness suddenly hurts, and I try to remember the last time I've eaten. Beyond the mints Lucas fed me in the bathtub, I can't remember my last meal. Suddenly, I don't feel so good. “I'm not feeling great,” I admit sullenly, and he turns to regard me with a look of concern on his face. He walks back over to me and places the back of his hand against my forehead, his brow furrowed slightly.
“I'm going to get your blood sugar up, then we need to take a look at your arm and re-wrap it. You may need antibiotics.” he states before heading back over to the kitchen. He begins pulling out some ingredients, a mixing bowl, a pan and two plates. I watch as he moves around the kitchen, the muscles of his tattooed back flexing with every movement. He reminds me of an apex predator.
“Are you on birth control?” His deep voice rumbles through the open space, putting an end to my appreciation of his impressive physical condition. The unexpected question completely throws me off.
“Uh... I, um..” I stammer, considering how best to reply. He doesn't turn to watch me for a response, just continues to prepare our breakfast. I'm glad he is not looking at me, because that piercing silver gaze of his would probably leave me speechless with all of its intensity. “Yeah. I've been on the shot ever since...” I pause, wondering how much to say. “...ever since I was... raped.”
Lucas goes so still that it causes my anxiety to spike. The muscles of his back ripple with his sharp inhale, and then immediately tense up as he holds his breath. The sinister tattoo covering his back seems to breathe along with the movement, the realism so extreme that it looks like the figure is about to come off his skin and step into the real world. I can tell his fists are clenched tight because the prominent veins on his forearms seem to bulge even more, making him look like a man about to beat the ever living shit out of some invisible opponent. He exhales deeply, rolling his shoulders to release the tension there. I look down at my hands where they lay fidgeting in my lap. I don't know what to say, so I let the first thought that forms in my head pop out of my mouth. “Why do you ask? For the antibiotics or something?”
I watch him take another deep breath, exhaling it slowly. “Yes,” he manages to get out, his voice deceptively calm. “There are only a couple that can affect your birth control. I'll avoid those to be safe.”
I want to apologize for upsetting him, but that feels silly. His response is the exact one I wish my uncle would have had when I tried to tell him what happened to me. I feel awkward after dropping a bomb like that in the middle of our morning, so naturally I can't stop the next awkward question as it rushes out.
