Wicked Game (10 page)

Mom gave Kaden an appreciative glance.

“Stay in bed, drink plenty of fluids and I will call you at lunchtime, okay?”

Hazelle shrugged. There was no point in arguing with her mother, she was as stubborn as Kaden.

“I love you.” Mom kissed her forehead quickly before darting away, as if whatever Hazelle had was contagious. She gave Kaden a stern look before disappearing into her bedroom, closing the door to get changed for work.

Kaden still wouldn’t look at Hazelle.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Hazelle said quietly, her stomach lurching as she spoke. Somehow she managed to keep it down, though she didn't know for how long she'd be able to.

“
I don’t think I have much choice. Your mother would never forgive me if you died on my watch,” he sighed sardonically, and then with a mischievous smile she realised he was joking. Sometimes it was hard to tell when he was being serious. She couldn’t have been that ill, if he was still trying to rile her.

She rolled her eyes, something in her stomach rolling at the same time.

“Whatever. I’m gonna take a shower.”

Retreating into the bathroom she closed the door,
leaving it unlocked this time, knowing Chris couldn’t touch her with Kaden standing sentry and Kaden wouldn’t want to touch her while she was so repulsive. She undressed and flicked on the shower, the sound of running water almost soothing. As she stepped into the shower she drew the curtain shut behind her and was eerily reminded of the old Hitchcock film, Psycho, where a woman was stabbed to death, naked and defenceless in the shower.

But in the dream it was she who had wielded the knife, she who had murdered someone, without hesitation, without remorse. Could she ever be so heartless, so ruthless, even in self defence? She stared down at her hands and envisioned them wet and sticky, coated with Chris’s blood, the blood that she had shed. Feeling nauseous again she closed her eyes and let the hot water wash away the blood, the vomit and all the badness from the dream down the drain. She felt slightly better when she switched off the water and stepped out, until she turned and came face to face with Kaden.

With a scream she snatched up a towel and pressed it against her, making sure it covered her breasts and nether region. Kaden was completely naked and in his element, every inch of his unblemished flesh tanned to perfection, his member already swollen with lust. It was even bigger than she remembered. He was smiling dangerously, his eyes entirely black, showing no hint of white, like they had been in the dream when his demon side came out to play.

The dream. Hazelle started trembling, her vision diminishing as she fell forwards. Kaden caught her and held her up, her legs suddenly so weak she couldn’t support herself. The towel had slipped and gave him a decent view of one of her breasts. She felt his engorged sex brush her thigh and shivered again.

“Just make it easy on yourself,” he whispered huskily in her ear, “And give yourself to me. It only takes one time, one good fuck and then I will be gone forever.”

She bit her lip and burst into tears. Kaden’s face showed naked shock, as if he wasn’t used to weeping, weak, sick women clinging to him, relying on him, needing him. In a way she realised that she did need him, and for the first time she was glad she had summoned him.

“That must have been some dream,” Kaden said awkwardly. He stroked her arm and held her gently too him, her damp breasts pressed against his warm chest, only the towel between his sex and hers.

Her teeth were chattering, her wet hair dripping on his chest and she couldn't stop shaking.

“You must really be sick.” He frowned down at her.

She nodded.

“Cold,” she sighed, her voice quivering, though she knew it was a lot more than that.

Kaden released her and took a corner of the towel. Feeling bashful she let him, and he peeled it away from her body, exposing her entirely. His face was impassive as he did so, his eyes dark and distant, betraying nothing.
She didn’t know if he approved of what he saw or not. Over the years, decades, centuries he must have seen so many different women naked. How did she compare to any of them? She knew she wasn’t awfully unattractive but her breasts were too small, her legs too short, her thighs too chubby. Kaden was perfect, in every way, a man that could send women wild and wanton with desire. How could she feel anything except hideous when stood in the shadow of such a sex god?

“
Let me take care of you,” he insisted, and there was something sincere in his voice that made her want to trust him. 

Apparently taking advantage of ill women was not part of the job description because instead of using her nakedness and vulnerability to his
benefit he dried her, ruffing her hair, rubbing her breasts and between her legs. He hadn’t been there before, except for in the explicit dreams, and she half expected his tongue to dart out and taste her. It didn’t. He was still a stranger to her, a naked one, and she was naked with him, with nothing to hide behind. She’d never found herself in more a precarious situation.

“
Relax,” he whispered, trying to reassure her, “I won’t have my way with you today.”

And he kept to his word. When she was dry he wrapped a fresh towel around her, discarding the damp one.
He lifted her into his arms, cradling her to his chest carefully, as though she were a precious doll, carrying her to her bedroom. He set her down on the bed as he rummaged through her drawers. She might have scolded him for that before, knowing his ulterior motive, but he was being so tender, so attentive that she found she didn’t mind.

He handed her some underwear and
even averted his eyes while she put them on and then gave her a pair of clean pyjamas, soft and fluffy against her chilly skin. He positioned her between his muscular legs as he combed her hair, teasing out the tangles. His humid breath on the back of her neck was almost soothing.

When her mother called at lunchtime Hazelle had no reason to lie to her about her treatment. She had spent most of the morning cuddled up on the couch, watching dull daytime TV, Kaden bringing her steaming chicken soup and hot drinks. She didn’t admit it to her mom but she felt so serene in Kaden’s arms, despite how he could excite her sometimes and infuriate her most of the time. She knew that Chris couldn’t touch her when she was with her demon.

Because he was her demon, until that fateful time when he made her his for the night. She didn’t like to dwell on that, not when she was enjoying his company, not when he was acting so calm, so considerate so…
human
.  

Mom told her to put Kaden on the line so Hazelle handed the phone to him, snuggling closer into his chest, his tawny skin warming her
s through his shirt as he stroked her arm, almost absent-mindedly, as if he didn’t realise he was doing it. She felt every sweep of his skin against hers, the sensation giving her little shivers of delight.               Kaden listened to her mother lecturing him; though her voice was too faint for Hazelle to hear every word, as she was sure he had with his super-human hearing when she had been on the phone.

Kaden made reassurances, said goodbye, and then hung up.

“What did she say?” Hazelle asked curiously, lifting her head of his chest a little.

“
She said to take care of you,” Kaden mumbled, sounding slightly miffed. What was it with his unpredictable mood swings? How could he be so close to her one moment and so distance the next?

Demons were a most baffling race.

“I appreciate it,” she told him honestly, hoping to lure him back to her side, using her eyes as a leverage. She gazed up at him, eyes wide and open, letting him see how grateful she was for his care, letting him see everything she felt for him.

He looked away, swallowing uneasily, with a guilty expression on his face. Hazelle never thought she’d see Kaden nervous.

“Maybe this is a mistake,” he said in a low, sober voice, after a few moments of awkward silence.

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. How could he think that now? She’d thought the same thing herself once, at first, but there was something about Kaden that made sense to her, something that all the human men she’d ever known lacked, something extraordinary that she wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

“No. This isn’t a mistake. This is perfect,” she insisted, scrunching against him.               He tensed. For a moment she thought he was going to push her away, reject her and storm out the house like he had before. Instead he relaxed, tightening his arms around her, her ear pressed against his chest. She could hear his heart beating, feel it pounding through her, slower and louder and more profound than a human’s. He was so different to her, in so many different ways, and she was still discovering new things about him, things that would disgust other humans, make them cringe, and cry and pray for salvation. Hazelle had moved past that, and there was something so exciting about exploring another species, another being beyond humans, beyond God himself.

Kaden had only the devil to answer to, and, for the time being, her.

Hazelle went to bed early that night, sleepy and peaceful, pleased that Kaden hadn’t pushed her away, physically and metaphorically. She had to wonder how many women he had nursed while ill, if any at all, how many he had cuddled with on a couch, how many he had comforted and made feel special, even if it was only for a day.

Then with a bitter sting she remembered that he was only after one thing and would do whatever it took to get it, even if it meant different tactics to those he usually
employed. She knew she wasn’t like other women, but she hurt like a woman when she realised he was only going to use her and leave her.

She went to bed alone and hugged her pillow, crying quietly, wishing things could be different, wishing she wasn’t so pathetic, wishing the demon she
longed for in her bed wanted her the same way she wanted him.

*~*~*             

She didn’t dream that night. Whether it was because she was so exhausted and slept too deeply, or if Kaden had taken pity on her because she was ill, she didn’t know. He wasn’t there in the morning to ask, she was alone in her bed, sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating the empty space where she had expected to see him.

Disheartened, she got up and went downstairs. Mom was making coffee in the kitchen. As Hazelle hadn’t been sick since yesterday morning her mother permitted her to go back to work, but advised her to
come home if she felt the slightest twinge of sickness. Hazelle reassured her that she would, glad for the distraction of work to stop her dwelling on the demon that prowled upstairs, who had ignored her when she'd knocked on his locked bedroom door and asked him if he wanted any breakfast.

Hazelle stood by the window, blowing on her cup of coffee, watching as her mother’s car pulled out of the driveway. She took a sip, enjoying the way the coffee warmed her on the inside, recalling someone else who could do that. She glanced up at the ceiling, almost anticipating seeing him floating there, a disdainful smirk on his face, his claws ready to tease her breasts.

Putting her mug down she decided to be brave, knowing she had to face him sooner or later, not even trying to keep her footsteps quiet as she climbed the stairs. He was a demon, he would hear her anywhere in the house with whatever extra-sensory powers a demon possessed and humans lacked.

“
Kaden?” she spoke his name gently, knocking on the door with her knuckles, some of her boldness fading now there was only a door keeping them apart.

There was no answer.

“Kaden? Are you sick?”

“
Demons don’t get sick,” came the sullen reply, “Diseases are for humans.”

Hazelle pressed her ear to the door, tempted to try the handle again, knowing it would still be locked. He was trying to shun her, to distance her, to lock her out of his life. What had changed last night, what had been so terrible that he couldn’t b
ear to look at her? She had to wonder, did demons dream?

“
You can’t hide from me forever,” she said sternly. They’d had this conversation before, only now the roles were reversed. “I thought that if I buried my head in the sand you would go away, but it doesn’t work like that. We need to solve this together or neither of us will ever be happy again.”

“
Because you were so happy before?” she heard him sneer. She knew he meant to hurt her, to wound her pride, to make her want to keep her distance from him but she wasn’t so easily diverted or defeated, not anymore.

“
No. I was lonely. Miserable. Unwanted, like millions of other humans out there that don’t resort to black magic.”

There was the sound of squeaking bedspring and then the door was unlocked.
She stepped back hastily and his face appeared in the crack between the door and the frame, his hair dishevelled, his face surly and in shadow, oddly ominous.

“
Do you regret it?” he asked scathingly. If she didn't know any better she would have thought his tone was self-loathing.

She shook her head, tears in her eyes, feeling very contrary, but she knew that whatever happened now, that whatever stood between them, she didn’t regret knowing him, being in his arms, feeling the heat of his skin against hers. Those things she would always cherish, black magic or no.