Love & Exorcisms | 18+ | COMPLETE |

- Chapter 4 -

Damian Hearst was far younger than I expected for a man with a house full of ancient things.

His presence filled the doorway. Tall and thickly built, I could not place his age at a day over twenty-five. His black hair hung in waves around his face, giving him a disheveled look. His startling green eyes lingered on me in shock as the echo of the desktop slamming down lingered in the room. He looked about for a moment, as if to assure himself that I was not in fact on the couch as I should have been. When he looked back at me, I expected anger.

Instead, I saw a fiery excitement.

He smiled, a small and restrained expression. "A curious one, I see," he said. "Did you find what you were looking for?" He spoke with a pleasing baritone, and the slightest hint of an accent: there was a tension in the corners of his mouth as he spoke, his "w" nearly becoming a "v" as it slipped off his tongue.

"I wasn't looking for anything in particular," I said quickly. It was a rare occasion to find a man that struck me as attractive; rarer still to find myself intimidated by him. I slipped out from behind the desk and approached him, hand outstretched, hoping he would quickly forget my trespass. Mary would have fits if she found out I had snooped in a client's home.

"I'm Samara," I said, tempering my smile to something coy and - I hoped - alluring. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Damian Hearst," he said, and grasped my hand briefly in his as he watched me with narrowed eyes. "You're not the same woman they sent before."

"I'm one of Mary Jeffries' newer girls," I said. "I've worked for her these ten months passed. The woman before me, Elizabeth, is married with child now."

Mr. Hearst nodded, his expression clouded for a moment. "All the best to her then. She was a fine woman."

Never had I heard a man refer to a whore such as I as a "fine woman." It almost unnerved me. "I'll be just as good as she," I assured him, although a little begrudgingly. I had taken pride over the past months at being praised as "far more cruel" than my predecessor. Cruelty was my specialty, sadism was my specialty. Yet according to Mary, it was this man's as well.

It mattered little now. I was already there, and pleasantly surprised to find that this Mr. Hearst was actually the sort of man to be easy on the eyes. The thought of him lashing me - or whatever other depraved things he had in mind - would still take some getting used to.

Don't let him speak. Stop his words. Binding words. Words of slavery.

I frowned as the voices muttered and whispered. They never failed to scatter my thoughts like old leaves in the wind. Mr. Hearst must have seen the look of uncertainty on my face. He motioned to the sofa before the fire, as he moved to take a seat in the chair beside it.

"Please," he said. "Have a seat. Rachel will bring drinks shortly." As if on cue, there was a soft knock at the door, and Damian made a motion with his hand despite the door being mostly closed. "Come."

A young woman entered, dressed in pale blue with a white apron, her auburn hair pinned up neatly at the back of her head. She smiled as she carried in a silver tray upon which were two glasses, and a crystalline bottle of amber liquid. It took on a kaleidoscopic quality in the flickering firelight as she set it upon the table before us. Mr. Hearst thanked her, and she left without a word.

"Would you care for some?" he said.

"I don't drink while working, thank you," I said, watching as he carefully popped the crystal-topped cork from its bottle. The subtly sweet, spicy aroma of bourbon wafted through the room as he poured a small amount into his glass.