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CHAPTER FOUR: BOUND
MARIE
“What are you doing in my room?” It was as much a demand for him to get out, as it was a question of why he was there.
“Is that any way to treat the person who saved you?”
He smirked, and I hated that even after our tussle, he still managed to look good - dry, even. It only highlighted my shitty appearance by comparison.
He wore a dark, v-neck t-shirt that clung to his built frame, paired with jeans that made him look sinfully human. But he wasn’t human, and that was something I would do well to remember because the creature that sat before me was built to sin, his very presence eliciting images of naked bodies and sweaty flesh pressed between sheets that smelled of sex itself. My lust - my desire - seemed to flare up in his presence, which only kindled the fury that was already burning hot after Julian’s dismissal.
“Is that what you think you did? You saved me? No, Demon, you did not save me, I saved myself long ago - all you did was tie me to the land that I need to flee from.”
The moment the words escaped from my lips, I knew that I had said too much - revealed too much. The way his green eyes seemed to spark with interest only served as confirmation, and I braced myself for the way in which the Demon would use that knowledge - would manipulate my predicament for his own purposes.
Instead, he lay back against my bed, rumpling the comforter in the process, his back flush against the white linen. The image of him pressed against my bed did nothing to quell those traitorous thoughts that seemed to rise up in his wake.
The Demon pouted, looking far too un-Demon-like, and all that movement did was direct my attention to his plush lips, which once more drew images of mouths devouring one another - teeth clashing - tongues fighting for dominance.
Urgh.
I hated Demons, but the way my body seemed to be controlled by his every movement, made me hate this one even more.
“You’re very rude.” The Demon drawled from my bed, and I wondered if I had hit my head and had somehow found myself in the twilight zone.
“Pardon?” I spoke the word, dumb-founded that I had somehow found myself in this position - tied to a Demon in my home Village, confronted by my past whilst he lounged on my bed. The word was more French than English, and I watched his green eyes darken, as if hearing me speak French somehow piqued his interest.
But I knew better - Demons were not interested in mere mortals (even if they were Witches) beyond their own entertainment, and whilst the idea of losing myself for a few hours between the sheets with a hot-blooded male certainly held its appeal, I wasn’t about to dabble with a Demon.
“You don’t even know my name.” His teeth brushed against his lower lip, and I hated that I seemed to track that movement eagerly - like a bitch in heat. I flushed at the thought of it - berating myself. I certainly did not flush at the images his teeth and lips seemed to evoke.
“I know who you are,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to my traitorous thoughts.
And then, to my absolute horror, he began ticking things about me off on his fingers as if he had compiled a list on me.
“Your name is Marie,” he spoke as he tapped one of his fingers, indicating the beginning of his list. “You are the High Priestess in the Tarot Club.” He tapped a second finger. “You practice Gypsy Magick, which doesn’t come as a surprise considering you’re from Gypsy Stock.” I pulled my lips back in the semblance of a snarl at his observation.
“Oh, sorry,” he spoke flippantly, hardly sounding the least bit apologetic. “Did I offend your delicate sensibilities? It’s so difficult determining what terms will offend humans these days - it’s always shifting, to the point where even attempting to be inoffensive is somehow offensive.”
I could only stare at him - stare at the bizarre creature that listed items about me that most didn’t know. I needed to phone Charl - needed to warn him. No… he mentioned that he knew Charl? Merde. This was confusing. I needed to phone Charl and find out the truth because I had no doubt that the Demon was lying.
The Demon saw my panic - saw it clear as day - could probably hear my increased heart rate, scent my fear, and he offered me a saccharine smile that should have seen me running - scampering for the door. Instead, I steeled my spine and stared at him, fully aware that I looked a mess, fully aware that he was at an advantage because of the knowledge he held, but I was not built to cower.
“Your mother was a Gypsy Witch and your father is an American who spends his time in boardrooms, demanding the impossible from those beneath him.”
He tapped a fourth finger, continuing his assessment as if we didn’t just have a moment - one where he saw me as prey. This time I flushed at his analysis of my father, embarrassed by how accurate the Demon seemed to be. But then, perhaps that was another one of his tricks - talents.
His tongue dipped out, skating along his bottom lip, and I fought the urge to wonder if he was also talented with his mouth - his fingers - his tongue.
He tapped the last finger on his hand, his voice taking on a husky, sensual tone. “And I know that you were once paired with that gypsy boy who didn’t know what to do with you - didn’t know how to take care of you.”
The way he spoke those words told me he had heard everything I said to Julian earlier - knew that Julian’s fumbling teenage advances where I gave him my virginity whilst pressed up against a tree had left me wanting - had left me unsatisfied.
“Why are you in my room?” White hot rage consumed every pore of my body. I needed to exorcize the demon from my room - needed a moment of peace - a moment of serenity if I were to brave the storm Julian would undoubtedly unleash.
I had embarrassed him in front of the village, but he had embarrassed me years ago - made a fool of the girl I once was, and so I found it difficult to feel regret for my actions, even if they made the very notion of self-preservation difficult.
“Are you always this hostile towards your lovers?” The Demon smirked, sliding his hands behind the back of his head, resting himself more comfortably. The movement caused his shirt to ride up a little, exposing the dip above the waistline of his jeans, and Demons were not supposed to be built like that.
