The Touch of Demise │18+

25: The Meet

DEMISE

If one had asked him what he thought his undoing would be, he would not have ever said from the gaze of a brown-eyed, curly-haired, five-foot-two woman. In all his life, no one had ever nearly brought him to his knees as she had almost done with the smallest of kisses.

Beautiful barely described her radiance, and yet that was not what he found himself most drawn toward. Those beautifully delicate features weren't what made him believe in salvation.

It was the soul of a wolf masked behind the veil of everlasting benevolence. She was a woman that would forever say 'I can do this,' and push forward, even with tears in her eyes. Even with everyone around her dead. Even when her own body was trying to give up.

A gentle, small hand tightened around his palm. For a moment he forgot how to breathe as the rain-covered window painted shadow from the moon on her dark hair and high regal cheekbones.

"Are you alright?"

Demise watched her brows angle in worry. How silly- she worried for him. She only needed to worry about herself.

He nodded, and she yawned, shifting her gaze back to the trees outside. She looked back at him, apprehension teasing her lips.

"Can I lay on you?"

His brows furrowed. No one had ever asked to do so. No one had ever wanted to be as romantically close to him as she. Sure, women wanted him sexually, but somehow the prospect of being with her as she slept seemed more intimate to him. He must have nodded. He must have given some inclination that she could because she laid herself on his lap. Her hair fell down his black slacks and her eyes closed easily. Like she wasn't prey. Like he wasn't a monster.

They had stopped a few hours back to change after getting caught in the rain. Grace was neatly redressed in a black skirt and white blouse.

She nuzzled into him her hands fisting his shirt. He silently cursed at himself feeling his member tighten from desire. He forced his mind to think of anything, everything, other than her.

He didn't understand how she remained alive even after everything. He'd touched her. He'd been around her more than he had any other person, and yet she remained alive, while others succumbed to his power with less.

She thought he was being ridiculous; that he'd made up some story about his prowess as a means to garner control, but that couldn't be further from the truth. He brought up his arm, pulling back the sleeve of his shirt. Painting his skin was harsh, black ink, swirled and ornate, rumbling under his skin. Slithering.

That was power. That was death. Demise lingered on his skin, within his head, under his skin. It ravished him. It shrouded him.

At all times did he have to focus. He couldn't allow that focus to waver. His brain always worked to maintain his control, to try to reel in that power around those he didn't want to hurt. He'd failed before. He hated himself because of it. He hates himself for it.

He was death. All he wanted was to live.

The car wavered for a second and he looked through the partition at the driver. The driver's eyes fluttered shut and then reopened, startled. It was an attempt to ignore the sleepiness that came from Demise's presence.

"It's fine," he sneered. "Switch off."

"Sorry, Primus," the driver muttered. The car pulled over and parked. The man pushed the door open and promptly vomited on the ground.

Blood. He'd vomited blood.

Grace stirred awake, immediately looking out the window. Gamma Tertiums picked the man up and carried him away.