Dark Intent

Chapter 5

The kiss was as intense as any she had ever experienced as she broke away she was breathless and dazed.

Her green eyes locked onto his, a calmness emanating that was both intriguing and unnerving simultaneously. She couldn't quite decipher the effect he had on her; it felt unnatural. She pondered whether she could truly walk away, or if he would even permit it.

"Have you figured it out yet?" His words were a low murmur against her ear, and the intensity of the moment had her on edge. Something now traced her ankles, but she dared not look down to answer the question of what it was.

Whatever it was curled at her ankle, then slid up tracing gentle patterns, which in turn sent shock waves of need up her body as she whimpered softly, she was drowning in him, and the want for him to claim her was rising so rapidly she wasn’t sure if she wouldn’t c*m without him so much as touching her.

That’s when it hit her. Her mind rocked as she met his gaze. He knew she knew, and she understood she was going nowhere until he allowed her. All those women, the youthful looks, the 100 years or more – not a vampire. He had called them lesser creatures, which would make him a demon. s**t, only one thing fit the things she was feeling. Alexander Ravenhurst was an Incubus.

As Sara struggled to pull away, her mind grappled with the realization that cascaded through her consciousness like a sudden storm. The clarity of understanding clashed with the chaos within, and at that moment, she screamed – or so she thought. The whirlwind of emotions and revelations left her in a state of inner turmoil, desperately trying to make sense of the newfound knowledge about Alexander and the supernatural reality she found herself entangled in. “P…please don’t…. I don’t want to die,” she whimpered as she looked back into those deep blue eyes.

“Who said anything about your demise? I’ve already told you the effort in hiding such things is far more than I’m willing to engage with, this is what you wanted is it not? To know the story of me?” His words were now like a song in her head.

“All those girls,” She stammered “They all went mad, just like I am, you drown them in whatever this and then use them for your own twisted needs,”

His hand crept up around her throat, and as his eyes settled on hers, there was no force and admittedly she wanted it. She was used to men being semi-competent but he hadn’t done anything and she had almost c*m.

Suddenly he let go, as he stepped aside the path to the door was now completely clear. Her mind seemed clear as she felt the heat between her legs, she’d soaked through her panties, and as she felt her mind clear her hair matted and stuck to her face.

“The door, Miss Reynolds, grants you freedom. Walk through it, and you are free to leave. However, I ask you to keep my true nature to yourself. I doubt the town of Wilton-on-Sea could endure the scandal of a demon on its doorstep” His tone had again shifted now back to that warm tone she was used to as if nothing in the last half hour had occurred.

She straightened and approached the door, her mind wrestling with uncertainties. Was this a trap? Would he attack as she descended the stairs, causing her to slip, fall, and break her neck? Perhaps he had sinister plans involving her lifeless body, a burial on his property where no one would ever discover her absence. The lack of CCTV and witnesses to her arrival fueled her paranoia. It was all maddening, an enigma she couldn't unravel. He kept her just off balance enough to bewilder her. Even without him in her head, there was an emptiness, a void. What about that tail? Did it almost bring her to climax? She forcefully shook these thoughts away. "Leave," she urged herself. "Just walk out the damned door and forget him."

As she made for the stairs, she could feel his eyes following her every move, an intense scrutiny that hinted at a foreknowledge of how this would unfold. Was he still exerting his influence on her? No, her head felt clear, but then... she descended the stairs toward the door, finally opening it to be met by a blast of cold air. The wind howled, and rain poured down heavily, creating a shimmering coat on the ground. When did the rain start? Was this another illusion? The biting cold that enveloped her argued otherwise, yet she had the option to leave, call a taxi, and return to the safety of her home.

"You are more than welcome to wait out the storm," he declared, standing at the top of the staircase. Somehow, he appeared even more imposing from that vantage point, his figure outlined in darkness, a silhouette against the backdrop of the Georgian architecture.

“I….” She paused now looking back as the rain pounded down hitting with such force she could see the droplets bounce momentarily.

"The guest room is through here; you may stay until the storm passes," his voice was soft and low as if he were once again taunting or testing her. Was this a deliberate move on his part?

"Thank you, Sir," she replied, closing the door. Leaning against it, she glanced at him. Her mind deliberated on the likelihood of the storm being a mere coincidence or a calculated effort to keep her trapped with him.

"I can't control the weather," he chuckled softly.

"But you can read my mind?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"Your thoughts are rather loud; they're hard to ignore," he replied calmly. The shift in his demeanour again was oddly disconcerting how easily he had her off balance as once more the thoughts of being in his arms began to creep in, and again scolded herself.

She headed back up the stairs and to the room he’d indicated, the low lamps cast a dull glow in the room as she stared at the bed, it was less elegant than his but still inviting, why was the bed already made she wondered? Again had he planned for this? Was this all some plan? Perhaps he needed to feed and she had become the intended target, it would explain why he so readily invited her to the mansion.

Slowly she removed her jacket, it occurred to her that staying at a stranger's home she was ill-equipped for, as she slowly unzipped the skirt and allowed it to fall, unhooking her bra and removing the straps through her sleeves before letting it drop, this now left her in just her shirt and panties. Climbing into the elegant bed she felt so out of place, though the bed was comfortable in a way she had never experienced, she half sank into the mattress as it folded around her. Her head laid upon the pillows which were as lavish as the bed.

Shortly afterwards, her eyelids grew heavy, and she succumbed to the embrace of sleep. The passage of time during her slumber remained uncertain as she awoke, stretching in the bed. In the dimly lit room, she could barely discern the surroundings. Rising from the bed, she approached the door, finding the landing and the house enshrouded in quiet stillness. The play of shadows danced and flickered in the dim light, yet fear no longer gripped her. Moving toward his room, she cautiously cracked open the door and peered inside. Discovering his absence, she rubbed the back of her neck before turning away.

She descended the staircase and entered the drawing room, where the dim embers of the fire crackled in the ornate fireplace. However, the room was devoid of his presence. Puzzled, she traversed the entrance hall and returned to the library.

As Sara wandered through the high shelves of the library, she found herself surrounded by a vast and eclectic collection of books. The scent of aged paper and leather bindings filled the air, creating an atmosphere of intellectual richness. The volumes were a mix of subjects, spanning sciences she was familiar with and others that seemed to delve into realms of knowledge she had never explored.

The shelves housed works on various branches of science, from physics to biology, and even disciplines she couldn't readily identify. Intriguing titles beckoned her attention, promising insights into ancient mythology and mysterious realms. The authors represented a diverse array of intellectual pursuits, from renowned scientists to obscure mythologists.

As she skimmed through the volumes, Sara marvelled at the depth of knowledge contained within the library. It was a testament to the intellectual curiosity and perhaps the vast lifespan of the mansion's enigmatic owner. Each book seemed to hold a piece of the puzzle, contributing to the mystery that surrounded Alexander Ravenhurst.

"Where on earth is he?" she muttered, pacing between towering bookshelves that held the secrets of centuries. The investment Alexander had made in his library was evident, with volumes spanning from the early 1500s to the contemporary era, housing some of the rarest books ever printed. Her breath caught as she discovered a first edition of "De Humani Corporis Fabrica" by Andreas Vesalius, a 1543 masterpiece, positioned curiously next to Gray’s Anatomy. The juxtaposition sparked a thought — was Alexander delving into human anatomy to better understand how to extract whatever he sought?

Her mind couldn't escape the haunting possibility. As her eyes traversed the ancient texts, she couldn't help but ponder the fate of the women who had crossed the threshold of the mansion. Jennifer had drowned, but the peculiar effects induced by Alexander lingered in her thoughts. Were the anomalies and damages these women experienced somehow linked to his influence? The library, a repository of knowledge and potential clues hinted at a deeper connection between Alexander's intellectual pursuits and the enigmatic repercussions on those who encountered him.

There were also scrolls and parchments, likely dating back before the books, she wondered if the library was all Alexanders' work or if he had merely continued to build on Lord Wilton's collection. Had the mansion even survived being abandoned for so long?

She sighed softly and slowly made her way to the dining room, the plates he had piled earlier had been cleared away and she wondered for a moment before heading for the door at the back of the room, which led into the kitchen.

The kitchen was a blend of Georgian elegance with a Victorian refurbishment, she guessed that had occurred when Alexander took ownership, it was clear that the kitchen had originally been intended for a staff of many, the mahogany countertops still looked well kept, a mix of old and new cookware hung on the racks above, the shelves stacked with an assortment of spices and tins, it was clear that Alexander knew his way around a kitchen, which with him being the sole person in the place made sense.