2 : Their God
Evelyn
The world dissolved around me in a blinding, splintering kaleidoscope of pain. When I heard the footsteps behind me, a primal instinct screamed for me to move, to get up. It was an urge to deny them the satisfaction of a defenseless kill, to claw my way out of this vulnerable position before my enemy could reach me from behind. But I was unarmed, utterly exposed, and the effort was a futile one. By the time my heavy limbs responded, a pathetic whimper was all I could manage, my vision exploding into a dazzling display of stars as the impact struck. The world doubled, then spun, the edges blurring into an indistinguishable smear. My eyes fought to stay open, but the strength had vanished, replaced by a suffocating weariness. I felt myself succumbing, being dragged deeper and deeper into the irresistible pull of darkness.
Just as my knees buckled and my head began its inevitable descent towards the cold, unforgiving ground, a sound ripped through the haze of agony. It was not human. A low, guttural growl, thick with menace and power, erupted from behind me. It was so loud, so raw, that even through the fog of pain, it pierced my consciousness with a lance of pure terror. My eyes snapped open, wide and frantic, instantly recalling the nightmare I inhabited, the deadly game I was caught in.
Then came the whispers, a flurry of panicked, hushed voices. "Oh no, we angered the Master." The fear in their tones was palpable, a chilling echo of the growl that had just silenced them. "Master, please forgive us, it was a mistake! We didn't know she was the one!" The words hung in the air, a terrifying prophecy, chilling me to the bone. The one? What did that even mean?
The growl came again, closer this time, resonating in my very bones. Before my eyes could betray me and close for good, two hands, impossibly strong, closed around me. I was pulled, not roughly, but with an undeniable force, against a body that was firm, vast, and radiating an unsettling heat. All I could feel was the searing pain that still coursed through my every nerve, hot tears tracing wet paths down my cheeks.
"Stay with me," a voice commanded from above me. Deep, resonant, yet imbued with a surprising gentleness that was starkly at odds with the undercurrent of anger I could almost taste. I wanted to obey, to cling to consciousness, to fight the creeping blackness, but all I could do was sob, incoherent pleas escaping my lips. I didn’t even realize I was trapped, caught on someone else’s property, a pawn in a game I didn’t understand.
"Stop it, please," I whispered, the words barely audible, forgetting in my desperation that I was begging my enemy for mercy. But at that moment, I no longer cared who he was, only for the cessation of pain.
"Don't worry, nobody will hurt you anymore," he muttered, his voice a low rumble against my ear. A strange calm washed over me then, profound and immediate, the pain dissolving as if it had never been. The darkness, a welcoming abyss this time, finally lured me in.
Waking felt like surfacing from a deep, dreamless ocean. There was a dull ache in my head, a throbbing pressure behind my temples, a hangover without the preceding revelry. Yet, paradoxically, I felt… rested. Strangely well, as if the world had righted itself in my sleep. Determined to piece together the fractured memories, I finally forced my eyes open. The first thing that struck me, startlingly, was the dark, unfamiliar ceiling above. My room, as far as I could recall, was painted a soothing, sterile white.
What?
I turned my head, my gaze sweeping across the room until it snagged, then froze. Firstly, this was definitely not my room. Secondly, and far more terrifyingly, I was not alone.
A man sat on an armchair by the large, arched window, silhouetted against the pre-dawn glow. He was half-naked, clad only in a pair of low-slung, dark grey workout pants. The morning light, barely piercing the gloom, traced the powerful contours of his chest and shoulders, a testament to his sheer, sculpted strength. He held a wide glass in his right hand, the yellowish liquid within swirling lazily, glinting like amber whiskey, I presumed. My eyes, drawn by an invisible thread, fell to his left shoulder. I gasped, a sharp, uncontrolled intake of breath. The tattoo.
It was so impossibly familiar. Like a forgotten key turning in a rusted lock, picture after picture, event after event, flooded my mind, each detail as clear as day. Even in the blinding, disorienting pain of the previous night, certain images had seared themselves into my memory. Dressed in a flowing black cloak, a deep hood shadowing his face, I had registered the tattoo then – a complex, swirling design that pulsed with an unearthly, faint glow in the dark, hinting at something not quite human. I remembered the glint of an impressive, wickedly sharp sword in his hand, and the chilling realization that he wore nothing but bare skin beneath that dark cloak. But my pain had been too great, too all-consuming, to truly observe. Now, staring at his bared, perfect skin, the tattoo thrummed with a silent power, undeniably the same.
Oh God.
My gaze finally lifted to his face, only to find his eyes already fixed on mine. My heart seized, a frozen, breathless moment of terror and something else, something deeply unsettling.
He was perfect. Dangerously, unfairly perfect. Rich, chocolate-dark hair framed a face of startling angles – high, sharp cheekbones, thick, dark eyebrows that gave him an intense, brooding quality. Even the scars, etched with a brutal elegance – a thin line that arced over his right eye, another slicing across his left cheek, and a small, almost imperceptible one beneath the corner of his mouth – rather than diminishing his beauty, only amplified it, giving him a rugged, untamed allure that made my breath catch. His body, I knew from the terrifying intimacy of the night before, was a sculpted masterpiece of muscle and sinew, every inch a testament to raw power. And his eyes… Oh God. They were pools of molten gold, flecked with tiny sparks of what looked like fire, so intense I felt I might burn under their unwavering scrutiny. He had been watching me, I realized, for how long? Had he simply waited for me to wake, a predator observing its prey, before whatever dark plans he harbored for me could begin? Or… Oh my God… why had he brought me here?
I glanced around again, taking in my surroundings more fully. The room was immense, a breathtaking expanse of luxurious beauty. Everything was spacious, impeccably clean, and exuded an understated elegance – dark, polished woods, rich, heavy drapes, furnishings that whispered of ancient wealth. The view from the colossal window stole what little breath I had left. Miles of endless ocean met a vast, bruised sky, the first faint blush of dawn barely visible on the horizon. It was still early morning, the world outside cloaked in twilight. Turning my head, I saw a grand fireplace on the opposite wall, directly across from the bed. A gentle, orange flame danced within, casting flickering shadows across the room, warming the air with the scent of burning logs.
It felt like I had woken into a dark fairy tale, a beautiful nightmare, but I knew with chilling certainty that it was all too real. A reality I still desperately wished to disbelieve
Lost in thought, I didn't even notice him move. His steps were impossibly silent, like a wraith, or a great cat, a lion finally stalking its prey, slowly closing the distance before the inevitable pounce. Yet, miraculously, irrationally, I felt a strange sense of security with him. I didn't understand why, but a part of me, a deep, primitive part, seemed to know I was safe.
Turning towards him, I watched him straighten, his immense frame unfolding to its full, staggering height. My mouth went completely dry, my gaze unwillingly drawn to the defined landscape of his torso, his eight-pack abs contracting as the muscles released the tension they held. And boy… he was so impossibly tall, so overwhelmingly huge. I wondered why I hadn't already fallen out of bed, screaming for help, or simply passed out from sheer terror.
"How are you feeling?" His voice, when it finally came, was a low, rumbling baritone, disturbingly soothing, breaking the oppressive silence that had filled the opulent room.
I stared, completely mesmerized, finally hearing him speak. Swallowing hard, my throat suddenly parched, I looked around again, my eyes registering the luxurious black satin sheets and blankets that enveloped me. At the foot of the bed lay a fluffy, pristine white fur blanket, adding another layer of sumptuous elegance to the scene.
Where am I?
My gaze drifted down to myself. I wasn't in my own clothes, nor my pajamas. I was wearing only a vastly oversized white T-shirt and small black panties. As far as I could tell, I had no bra on. What? I truly, truly had no idea what was happening.
Before the full wave of panic could hit – the terrifying realization that this unknown, powerful man might have seen me completely naked and changed me himself – I forced myself to look back at him. His arms were crossed over his massive chest, his posture radiating an unnerving stillness. He stood much closer to the bed now, patiently waiting for my answer, allowing the surreal situation to fully sink into my bewildered mind.
"Where am I?" My voice was a thin, trembling whisper. Of course, I didn't ask who he was. I already knew, or at least I feared the answer too much to utter the words. That knowledge alone would make this nightmare infinitely worse.
"You are in my home. I saved your life, if you recall," he replied calmly, his golden eyes holding that same intense, possessive look I remembered from the moment he took me in his arms last night.
Oh boy.
"And you are…" I couldn't keep the words from escaping, my voice catching. "You are…" It was a desperate attempt to find out what fantastical, dangerous being he truly was.
"My name is Raphael. I work for the FBI," he continued, his words slow, carefully enunciated, but his eyes never wavered from mine.
FBI? The absurdity of it made my head spin.
"Your name is Raphael," I repeated slowly, tasting the name, testing it, trying to elicit some flicker of emotion, some tell, but his face remained a mask of perfect impassivity. "You realize I'm dangerous?" I challenged, a spark of defiance igniting in my fear-riddled heart.
His thick eyebrows furrowed almost imperceptibly, and a muscle twitched in his jaw – the first crack in his stone-cold facade. "What are you talking about now?" he asked, his voice still calm, but with an edge.
I smiled then, a small, shaky thing. So, something. I had managed to provoke something. "I don't want to scare you," I began, my voice laced with a fear I tried desperately to disguise with bravado, "but since you've kidnapped me and brought me into your home, I can't guarantee I won't fight," I spoke the words with every ounce of conviction I could muster, hoping they would be enough to inject a sliver of fear into him.
Seconds stretched into an eternity, unmarked by any reaction from him. Silence. A deadly, suffocating silence descended, absorbing all sound. Meanwhile, his golden eyes stared through me, dissecting me, as if he meant to strip away every secret, every hidden thought, every fiber of my being. I gritted my teeth impatiently, a burgeoning desperation to escape this gilded cage warring with the strange, inexplicable sense of security he somehow instilled. How did he ever have the right to kidnap me, to keep me here? If he saved me, as he claimed, then why not take me to a hospital after what happened at the gate? Why here?
"Why am I here? What are you going to do with me?" I finally broke the silence, changing the subject, realizing I wouldn't get an answer to my veiled threat.
At this, he immediately relaxed, the tension in his massive shoulders easing. A slow, predatory smile crept onto the man's face, and, oh boy… I would be lying if I didn’t admit it was devastatingly, terrifyingly sexy. "Hmm," he murmured, his voice a low thrum as he crossed his arms, leaning a little closer, his overwhelming presence consuming the air around me. "What do you think about why you are here?"
I frantically searched my mind for a logical reason, but none seemed to fit until two terrifying thoughts pierced through my confusion, making me freeze in stark horror. "You think I'll tell others what's really going on here?" The words tumbled out, barely a whisper. Either he was keeping me for information, an unwilling witness to prevent me from revealing his secrets to the "outside world," or… the second thought made me shiver, a mixture of profound terror and an unnerving, unwelcome flicker of something else. Or he brought me here for his own use. He wasn't just saving me; he was claiming me. I was a possession.
Raphael’s smile was a slow unfurling, not of genuine warmth, but of a predatory satisfaction that made my blood run cold and hot simultaneously. His eyes, the color of ancient sands, were fixed on the ground, yet I felt them burrowing into my skull, charting the frantic labyrinth of my thoughts. He seemed to read my every flicker of panic, every surge of forbidden desire, with an unnerving precision. A single, deliberate step brought him closer, then another, until he leaned down, a dark, looming shadow eclipsing the pale light from the window. He was dangerously close, and I instinctively pressed myself harder against the carved headboard of the bed, the cold wood a faint comfort against the blossoming heat in my chest.
The air around me thickened, suddenly saturated with him. So much closer now, I could practically taste the very essence of Raphael’s being. He smelled of something wild, untamed, a deep undercurrent of sweet coconuts mingling with an exotic, almost smoky spice I couldn't quite place. It was the scent of a hidden grove, a forbidden paradise, and it stole my breath, leaving me dizzy. Beneath that primal aroma, a sophisticated hint of aftershave cologne, crisp and masculine, created a bewildering duality. It was a contradiction that muddled my brain, pulling me forward even as my instincts screamed retreat. My head tilted, a silent, involuntary invitation, my eyes fluttering shut in an exquisite torment that was dangerously close to pleasure. But then, a jolt of self-preservation, a flicker of sanity amidst the fragrant haze, snapped me back. The shame was a searing brand, and I recoiled, slamming back against the bed, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs.
What is wrong with me? The question screamed in my mind, a frantic, desperate plea. How could I, a nobody, be so utterly mesmerized by a creature who was clearly something more, something profoundly dangerous? This wasn't a schoolyard crush; this was a fatal attraction, a moth to a flame that promised not just warmth, but utter immolation.
He had me, didn't he? Held captive not just by these opulent walls, but by the sheer force of his presence. He would keep me here, I knew, to ensure I couldn't breathe a word of what I’d witnessed, what had transpired at the old manor’s entrance. That terrible, beautiful secret I now carried. The way the very plants had spoken to me, their tendrils curling with sentient life, their voices a chorus of whispers only I could hear. They weren’t just flora; they were living, breathing, conscious beings, and Raphael... Raphael was their master. Their god.
Oh no. My eyes flew wide, fixed on him with a dawning horror. What had possessed me, in a moment of terror and confusion, to blurt out what I’d heard? To reveal that impossible truth? I could have feigned ignorance, could have played the role of the dizzy damsel, and perhaps, just perhaps, he might have believed his own concocted alibi of being a mere security agent. It seemed so plausible then, so comforting in its mundane reality. But now? Now I had proven myself a liability. I had seen too much, knew too much, and worse, I had confessed to knowing it. My life, my very existence, had become a precarious thread, poised to snap with a single thought from him. Oh no... the whisper was a ragged gasp, choked in my throat.
Raphael watched my unraveling with an infuriating stillness, his gaze unreadable, yet intensely focused. His right hand slowly, deliberately, began to rise. Every primal instinct, every nerve ending in my body, screamed for me to brace myself. My reflexes, honed by a lifetime of mundane fears, knew he wouldn't hurt me physically, not in the way a common thug would. There was a deeper, more insidious threat in him, a promise of subjugation rather than outright violence. Yet, my body betrayed me. I couldn't stop the involuntary flinch, the closing of my eyes, waiting for the harsh sting of a slap, or some other brutal gesture to shatter the illusion, to definitively mark him as an enemy. To sever this terrifying, intoxicating pull once and for all.
But nothing came.
There was only a long, agonizing silence, punctuated by the frantic drumming of my own heart against my ribs. I held my breath, the scent of him still swirling around me, a potent, bewildering perfume. When I finally dared to open my eyes again, gasping for a deep, much-needed breath, my gaze met his. The unreadable calm in his eyes had been replaced by a subtle, yet profound, frown. He didn't like my reaction at all, I realized, a strange twist of understanding blossoming in my chest.
Slowly, his hand, which had been suspended in the air, descended. Not in a strike, but with a terrifying, tender deliberateness. His fingertips, warm and calloused, brushed my cheek. This time, I didn't recoil. I didn't even flinch. His touch was a current, a shock that defied logic, and I found myself leaning into it, a silent, shameful surrender. And then I saw it, stark and undeniable, reflected in the depths of his sand colored eyes: a flicker of genuine worry.
But why? Why would he worry about me when he was the very reason for my fear? The question hung in the air, unanswered, yet laden with a dark, possessive promise.