Eighth Death

Chapter Six: In Between

Marcy woke up with someone in between her thighs, she knew that cloaked figure and the coldness that came off him all too well. What the fuck was Alaric doing here a whole year earlier than he was supposed to be? And if he was here to do his job, why wasn't he chasing her like he always did? Did he change his methods? Was that it?

All she knew now was that death had her pinned in place, looming over her like a nightmare.

She gulped as she looked at him, mouth dry and unable to form words. His grey eyes practically stabbed into hers, usually his eyes were emotionless. They always reminded her of the moon, just a few shades darker. But today she could see the storm brewing in them. It made her feel afraid and the region between her legs tingle. She recognised the emotion in his eyes, anger. Alaric was angry, yet the rest of his face remained as motionless as a statue.

He wasn't going down on her, but if she just pushed his head down a little-Absolutely not.

His pale skin was a sharp contrast against the darkness in her room, almost illuminating. He was beautiful in the way all immortals were, just little more beautiful than the rest of the. Well, a lot more beautiful than the rest of them.

She should be screaming, shouting, fighting, pushing him away. She didn't know if it was her mind playing games on her or the ache between her thighs that froze her in place. He was looking down at her, as always. Being the giant he was, not all immortals were blessed with height. Alaric however, was.

A few of his raven black curls slipped out from under his hood, making him look more like a meal than an immortal who's murdered her seven times.

His hands were planted on either sides of her, she knew she couldn't get away even if she tried to. He was looking at her as if she was the last bit of light left in the entire universe, light he was angry with.

"You snore." He grumbled, sounding pissed. His voice sounded like the song the Grim Reaper sang while he did his job. Delightful and yet deadly all the same. A bit rougher than expected but it all went straight to her core while sparing a few for the butterflies that formed in her tummy.

Then she realized what he just said. The audacity of this bi-

"I snore? That's your concern? After killing me seven whole times that's what you tell me? I snore? Oh yeah? What's that got to do with anything you dipsh-" She stopped when she noticed something, the tiny splatters of blood on his face, and the larger ones on his cloak. The blood splatters and stains she didn't notice earlier because of the dark. She gasped, fear coursing through her entire body. She looked at herself, trying to find the source.

He tilted his head to the side, two gloved hands gripped her hips, holding her down so she couldn't move. She knew he was using little to no strength and yet his grip was strong to a point it was almost painful. The pleasurable feeling in between her thighs wasn't completely gone but the fear that she felt definitely made it seem like nothing.

Her chest heaved up and down, this was it. Of course it was, why would he be merciful and give her a selected time? He wanted to play so he chose another method. Maybe he'd torture her too this time. Maybe he'd start with breaking her legs, maybe that's why he was in the middle of them.

He looked unamused, he leaned down a little. "Calm down, it's not you this time." He mumbled, his tone cold as ice, it sent shivers up her spine. Her brows furrowed, "What do you me-" she shut her fucking mouth when she noticed the corpse of a random man hanging on the wall, a very large nail right in the center of his throat, the very thing that had him pinned to the wall. His eyes were missing, she didn't want to know what Alaric did to them. She could tell he was stabbed more than once, his legs were barely still connected to his upper half. Lifeless. Dead. Blood all over her walls.

She felt vomit itch up her throat but she pushed it back.

Whenever she thought of Alaric and death, she was always involved in it. This time, she wasn't.

"Why?" She whispered, his grip on her tightened if that was even possible.

"He snuck into your room." He shrugged.

Just because he was in her room? Just because this innocent man was probably just trying to rob her? Was he that selfish? He knew the man would never successfully be able to kill her. But just because he might attempt to?

"Are you really that dense? He would've never been able to kill me no matter how hard he tried-" He cut her off, his hands sliding upto her shoulders, he leaned down until his face was inched away from hers. The coldness of his body gave her shivers, and yet she could feel a warmth forming in her- no.

"He wouldn't have killed you." He nodded before adding, "Not physically, no."

Her brows furrowed, he looked calmer than before but the storm in his eyes was still visible. He still looked furious. The way he clutched her shoulders was enough proof.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked, hesitantly.

To her surprise, Alaric himself looked hesitant as well. "He snuck in through your window and injected you with- something. Your body went limp and he tried to strip you off your clothing before I killed him." He spoke, voice as cold as death as he finally got off her and the bed, standing to his full height.

He was at least six foot four, a literal giant in her small New York apartment.

He sighed, wind creeped into the small room through the open window, pushing his hood down and revealing a mess of raven black curls. Not exactly a mess mess, the aesthetic type of mess. His hair was longer than expected, the curls at the front almost going past his eyebrows. It made him look human, she didn't like that. Alaric was anything but human.

Inhuman as he was, she couldn't force herself to look away. His eyes went back to normal, the grey she remembered. The grey she always tried to mimmick in her paintings.

"I've seen it happen before, I didn't wish to see it again. It was irritating. I'm no savior but I'm the only one who has the right to make you suffer." He warned and then he disappeared along with the blood and the corpse, poof. Just like that. Dark smoke took his place, smelling exactly like a cold and rainy night. She shivered once again, felt like it too.

She knew what he was referring to. Marcy never forgot the night she was raped in 1932. The greasy hands that touched her in places she didn't want to be touched, her screams that no one heard, her favourite dress in pieces on the floor besides her. She did die that day, in her head. She did.

She knew Alaric wasn't present there that day, she would've known if he was. She always knew, she could always feel him.

So, how the fuck did he know?

She looked at the empty spot before her. She didn't realize she was shaking until she tried to stand up straight and realized she couldn't as she collapsed to the floor.

Because even though he denied it, Alaric did save her.

Death saved her.