The Devil Inside (Wolf Guard Book 1)
Table of contents
Cold.
It burns like fire.
Some incandescent flame that wraps around
skin, blistering in it's righteous invasion.
Igniting. Smouldering. A roaring inferno
that consumed.
A breath.
One single inhalation and all that searing dissipated.
Sucked into lungs to devour from within.
A puff of smoke released. A dragon coughing
it's remnants.
The chill returned, a never-ending
torturous cycle of flare and ash.
The click brought me out of the fantasy I
had been living.
The hard thud of a lock disengaging as the
bolt drew back.
The grey wall to the right of me had my
unfocused eyes attention. The blandness of all four walls and the concrete
flooring created a backdrop for my imagination to run wild. Like a blank screen
just waiting for a film to start, this bare and depressingly dreary décor did
wonderful things for my illusions. I could lay for hours on the floor, staring
at seemingly nothing while my mind whirled in a secret place where my reality
could not encroach. I'd spent days on end imagining an elven Kingdom with
purple trees and sparkling sapphire oceans. Where I was a guardian of the
kingdom, strong and fearless, fighting mythical creatures and villainous
traitors. I received adoration from the civilians I was protecting and
gratitude from royalty. In this place I was everything I wasn't in reality. In
this place I was wanted. In this place I was alive.
The click enforced an automatic reaction
from me. My body, with a learned response from years of repetition, tensed and
scuttled across the floor, finding the nearest corner and curling itself into a
ball. My head shook itself to make the straggly ends of my hair cover my face
and my eyes forced themselves to the floor. My muscles tensed in expectation.
His shoes tap....tap....tapped on the
concrete as he made his way over to my corner. I could make out a slight
humming, a song I'd never heard, maybe one he had heard on the radio today and
couldn't get out of his head.
His shiny, black, patent leather shoes
stopped just before they hit my head, my eyes so focused on the floor I almost
missed when they came into view. He knelt slowly, balancing on the balls of his
feet. Those shiny shoes creasing slightly when his foot arched into position.
His humming became louder and more cheerful as I felt his gaze on me, looking
over my curled up form shivering at the cool air he'd let in with him.
I could no longer stay in my fantasy world.
The humming abruptly stopped and I heard a deep inhale before a stroke of his
finger wormed it's way down my arm. The creeping, crawling sensation of insects
followed in its wake. I could never stand his touch, it had produced an adverse
reaction in me even when I was younger and my existence was not this pitiful
excuse of a life. Maybe my skin knew then what I did not, that this man was
wrong inside, that he would turn me wrong inside.
"Come now, little girl...it's bath
time,” he breathed in my ear. He'd gotten closer than I realised and I cursed
myself for not paying attention, I always knew where he was even with my eyes
glued to the floor. His words contained an excited hitch in his breath and my
entire body cringed in a way I was unable to stop. He chuckled warmly at my
reaction.
"Mm hmm...I know little girl, I love
our bath times too".
His words almost made me heave but my body
was long used to repressing such a response. He liked to fantasise too. He
liked to pretend that I enjoyed what he did, even when he knew it was painful
he would make me tell him how much I liked it. Perhaps that's what he enjoyed
so much, the thought that he could hurt me and make me like it, his goal was
maybe not just to hurt but to humiliate. If I thought it would get me anywhere
I would have told him years ago that it was a waste of his time, I would never
enjoy a single thing he did.
He grabbed my bicep with his rough,
calloused hand and dragged me across the floor to the doorway. I made no move
to stand; I never did. It was pointless anyway, not only would I be going with
him, regardless of whether it was by my own volition or not, but my bare feet
had turned numb hours ago from the cold floor and my slip of a silk, strapped
nightie was neither long nor warm enough.
The concrete gave way to wooden flooring
and I slid easier across the waxed surface. The bathroom was two doors down and
I was forever grateful that I didn't have to be dragged up a flight of stairs.
The white tiled flooring of the bathroom was cool on my skin and I shivered
again as he dropped my arm to turn on the hot tap and fill the bath. I smelt
apples and assumed he was using bubble bath this time.
I hated the smell of apples.
I heard him take off his tie and shirt as I
fixated on a broken tile in the corner of the bathroom. He always took time to
fold his clothes and I found that fascinating; that such a man could cause
chaos but be so orderly.
His shoes and suit trousers remained as he
bent to lift me off the floor. He turned to sit on the closed lid of the toilet
and pulled my limp body onto his lap. One arm wound around my waist to keep me
in place as I slouched forward and his fingers deftly pulled the ties apart one
handed at the back of my nightie. His fingers trailed lightly over my skin as
my back was revealed to him and a happy murmur escaped his lips. I could feel
his deep breaths puff out on the back of my neck and the part of my brain that
processed touch wanted to shut down. As the straps became loose he pulled me
further into his chest so I wouldn't fall off, and used both hands to skim the
silk down my arms and sides until it pooled at my waist. He held me close,
nuzzling his face into the side of my neck, twisting the pooled fabric gathered
on my lap in his fingers. I felt his erection dig into the cheeks of my ass as
his hand trailed a pattern over my stomach.
I hid my revulsion well. I'd had plenty of
practice.
His other hand came to cup between my
legs, resting lightly over the silk that was pushed between them. He used his
strength to pull me back onto his bulge, grinding against my butt and rubbing
the heel of his hand into my pussy.
His breath came in short pants against my
ear as he touched me.
"you like that don't you, baby? Hmm
you love how I'm petting your little pussy, how hard my cock is waiting to be
inside you? "
No. I despise you. You disgust me. I
want to stab you in the heart and watch this white tiled floor run red with
your blood.
"Yes Sir," I replied
mechanically.
His groan of satisfaction was added to the
hundreds of memories I wanted to expunge from my mind. The first year I had
wallowed in self pity, the second year I had spent praying for a saviour. It
wasn't until the third year and this one; the fourth, that I had shut down all
hope for rescue. I stopped relying on others to save me. This was my reality.
This would be my vengeance.
His movements against me suddenly stopped
and he took a deep breath.
"Looks like your bath is done, "
he ran his filthy hands up my stomach to cup and massage my breasts."We'll
have to save playtime for later. In you go, baby."
He stood pulling me with him and letting
the silk drop to the floor at my feet. His arm took my knees from under me and
I was lifted into the bath. I sat woodenly in the centre my knees almost
touching my chest in a useless plea for privacy. His hand dropped to my knee
and slid between my thighs to rub at the soft skin of my pussy. I knew the
reasons behind the touch, he was reminding me that I had no privacy, that
everything I am and every part of me belonged to him.
"Clean yourself, pet. I will be back
to check you've done everywhere to my satisfaction, " he ordered with a
leer. "Don't forget to shave my pussy bare, you know how I like it."
I inwardly shuddered as his finger slipped
slightly to my entrance and he prodded within. "Yes Sir."
He smirked a "good girl" at me
and I felt instant relief as he left the bathroom. The razor on the side was a
painful temptation for murder, but I knew he would check that everything was
back in its place when he returned.
I started washing, it had been a full three
days since the last bath I'd been allowed and if nothing else, at least I would
be clean for a moment. I heard him rustling in the bedroom, no doubt changing
into his relaxed attire of jeans and bare chest, he enjoyed feeding me while I
was sat on his lap leaning against his chest, skin to skin.
I was a slave. Nothing but a slave.
But that would change soon.
My mind was in constant activity. With no
paper, pens or anything else to use, his daily comings and goings were logged
in my brain. That would turn out to be useful. I may have started out a weak
young girl but now I was strong, in mind if not in body. And I had a long list
of grievances that he would be answering for.
I'd finished my grooming quickly, my hair
washed and my body scrubbed as if I could wash away the dirt that clung to me.
As per his wishes I shaved completely and
returned everything I used to its proper place. I sat in the cooling water and
waited, relaxation was not an option, I don't think I'd known that pleasure
since I was fourteen years old. He had come into our lives that year, exactly
two years after my father had died. My mother had been wallowing in grief for
some time although she had made the effort for my sake to do so in privacy. I
had known though, I could always hear her sobs through my bedroom wall. My
parents had been mates, that all important word to werewolves. I put no
reverence on that word; I had no belief any more that I would be saved by my
heroic werewolf mate. If I had one...I do not even think I would recognise him.
My emotions so buried and my heart so cold that I doubt it would beat for him.
When my mother brought him home one day to
introduce to me, I had an instant reaction of unease. Maybe it was the predator
I saw in his eyes when he looked at me or maybe it was the way he would attempt
to touch me in a pretence of innocence. Whatever it was that forewarned me, I
should have listened harder. My mother moved him into our house within a year
and I never, not once, made any objection. I'd like think it was because I saw
how lonely she was and I'd hoped for something to make her feel alive again.
However hard I pushed my doubts aside, I never forgot to lock my bedroom door
at night.
As it turned out, a human was no
replacement for a lost mate. At my mother's funeral, a year later, his hand on
my shoulder and a sly, victorious smile on his face he showed an expression of
ownership that at sixteen, even I understood.
The night of my mother's funeral has been
burned into my memories, a night of lost dreams and broken innocence. Two years
later on the exact same day while entering my third year of servitude, my soul
was irreparably damaged. I think that was why I had never shifted – I was too
empty of life to bring a Wolf forth.
