--It’s in Your Blood - Chapter 9--

*Content warning. Less sex, less self-harm, but more violence. While I wouldn’t say it gets descriptively into body horror territory, it may be uncomfortable to anyone who’s just looking for arousal. It’s in Your Blood, as a whole, contains themes of self-harm. If you have a history of self-harm, consider whether or not you’ll be triggered by its depiction. As always, you’ll be notified of the content at the start of each chapter.*

When I awoke, I was in custody. Not of the authorities, but of some angry mob of my neighbours. They hadn’t trusted me before, and finding me in a carnal act with the demon only shunted that over the edge. Suddenly, I was a witch. The demon was my fault, and I was using it to terrorize. To what end, I don’t know, but they didn’t seem to want to argue. I was in no mind to do so.

As they built their pyre of sticks and firewood, I felt resigned. It seemed like a fitting end to my life. The culmination of all the fear people had towards a craft that I inherited. I made poor choices – innocently if I’m able to claim such a thing – and it led me to this. The way things had been going recently, I cannot say I was surprised.

I’m uncertain if my silence helped or harmed my case. Whenever I tried to explain my end of things, my captors refused to listen. Or worse, as I had been struck a few times.

Fear wasn’t the worst sensation I had at that moment; it was loneliness. Neither Daisy nor Colin was there. Either word hadn’t reached them, or they were afraid of associating with one who was deemed a witch. Or perhaps they just didn’t care.

The demon seemed to have run off. Part of me understood that a quick decision had to be made when people were shooting at him, so maybe he saw no way to save me. Another part of me was certain that he didn’t care about my well-being either. That he used me, then left. I hung my head at the thought. I felt like it was myself against the world, and I didn’t have the strength to struggle against it.

This apathy continued, even after they completed their pyre and began lifting the stake they had me tied to. I was carried to the top of it and set up on display. Again, fear eluded me. Rather, I was impressed that civilized people could build such an impressive pyre so deftly.

“Lianne Bellerose,” a torch-bearing bulldog bellowed. “You are accused of witchcraft, having been caught consorting with the very demon that has been terrorizing our community. You have betrayed our trust. What do you have to say for yourself.”

My mind went wild with possible ways to have these scared citizens put down their torches. I could explain how I was under the demon’s spell. Claim that I had no ability to resist. That I was as much a victim as they were. It would have been the truth.

Instead, I spit in the bulldog’s face. Let them think about what they wanted.

The bulldog cleared his throat and turned to the other people surrounding the pyre. “My friends! Though gruesome, today we take the first step into cleansing our community. Lianne Bellerose is sentenced to death.”

He dropped his torch onto the pyre. Following his example, each torch-bearing person in the crowd did the same. Gradually, the dry timber took flame, and it began to spread. It was then that the reality of the situation began to claw at my heart. The white smoke billowed around me, stinging my eyes. The heat took hold, wrapping my body. My chest became tight from the panic that gripped it.

I began pulling at my binds. I wasn’t gentle. If I couldn’t pull my wrists free, I could perhaps make myself bleed, and that would give me what I needed to release myself. Abrasion is hardly the quickest way to open a wound, but it might have been the only chance I got. I only wish they had bound me to a rougher stake. A protruding splinter would be enough.

Fuck. Nothing. My mind tried to find the humour in the situation. Why would they burn such a nice piece of lumber? I’ve seen banisters with more imperfections.

It wasn’t funny. It was less funny when I felt the flames licking across my legs. The sensation was no longer just heat; it was searing. It was my fur and flesh burning. Tears welled in my smoke-filled eyes. There was no thinking anymore. It was panic. I thrashed. I ripped at the ropes. I dug my fingernails into the stake. I kicked as hard as my bindings would allow. It wasn’t a matter of whether I was going to live or die. I just needed it to end. I needed to get away.

Through the tears and the smoke, I could see their faces. Watching, chanting, screaming, cheering. Some were aghast, some were elated. It didn’t matter. They were all sadistic, malicious cowards. They should be the ones to burn.

Let me die. Let me die. Just let it end. It was unbearable. Excruciating. I thought I understood pain after all I had been through, but this was far beyond that.

I didn’t even realize I had started to scream. I had no way of telling when the shrieking started or even how long the fire had been burning. Time was lost in the agony that enveloped me.

I forced the screams to stop, clenching my teeth together as tightly as I could. My head was full. Pain. Terror. Defiance. Hatred.

Burn them. Burn all of them.

I thought I might get my final wish as the crowd erupted into chaos. The faces that had watched me so captivated had turned to expressions of horror. Through the tears and through the smoke, I could scarcely tell what was happening. Perhaps it was all in my head. In all the heat and the searing pain, perhaps the crowd being forcefully dispersed was all in my head.

Then, I finally saw it. The massive dark shape seemed to take form in the smoke. The horns, the red eyes. It reached out and wrapped its arms around. I let my head droop, resting against whatever was directly in front of me. I felt the binds on my wrists snap. I raised my arms, feeling a large pair of hands grip my hips. Its powerful fingers pressed into me, lifting me. The whole stake came free of the burning pile beneath us. The flames reached after me as the figure hefted me onto its shoulder.

No. I might as well be clear. It was obvious. The demon came for me.

The powerful flames that whipped around us didn’t seem to bother him, even as the searing heat dragged its claws against my skin. Despite the urgency, he worked carefully, climbing down the crumbling pyre and back to solid ground, where he placed the stake.

He examined me with his crimson eyes. His imposing figure was betrayed by the worry pasted on his face. He cared, didn’t he? Or was he simply upset that his property had been damaged?

With a few quick movements, the remaining ropes that bound me were cut. I crumbled into his arms. My feet… I wasn’t certain they were even there anymore. Disfigured? Burnt to bone? I didn’t wish to know. The screaming pain was enough to tell me that I wouldn’t be walking on them. The demon seemingly knew this, scooping an arm under my legs and effortlessly lifting me.

“Shall I kill them?” he asked.

“What?” My voice was weak and raspy. Expressiveness was not really among my concerns at that moment.

“The people who did this to you. Do you wish for me to kill them?”

It was a thought. It was tempting. But I merely shook my head. They are what they are. Killing them wouldn’t solve anything.

With a curt nod, the Demon continued on, carrying me in its arms. I closed my eyes, not caring where we were going. I concentrated on the feeling of being in his embrace, willing away the pain that still radiated from my body.

“I’m… sorry I didn’t reach you sooner. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from them,” the Demon said after a short period of travel.

“It’s their fault,” I said with a voice strained by weakness.

The rest of the trip was silent, aside from the constant thudding of the Demon’s hooves and the rustling of vegetation. I wished for unconsciousness – that the pain would allow me to lapse out of reality – but my mind continued to try and process the misery the world put me through. It had all gone to pieces. I was given nothing, and what I had was taken away. I tried to find my own contentment, and it was refused.

After some time, the plodding of the Demon’s hooves slowed. I felt my weight shift as I was placed on what felt like a stone slab. I pushed myself upright and took in my surroundings. They were unfamiliar to me, but their intent was clear. I sat on a ritual altar. Around me were various rudimentary stone structures, the centerpiece being a simple threshold made of three rocks. Across their surfaces were runes scrawled by someone clearly not trained in carving.

“You need… my blood,” I said, shifting my gaze to my own body. My feet were blackened beyond recognition. They were such a mess I couldn’t assess the damage done to them. Everywhere else, my snow-white fur had been stained grey.

“I do,” the Demon replied. “Though, whether you wish to give it to me is your decision. I will not force you.”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked.

“Yes. I will make my proposition, and if you refuse, I will take you somewhere far away from here, get you help, let you start over,” he said.

“Start over?” The thought was almost nauseating. Everything I had worked towards had crumbled. I had little desire to make another attempt. Not in the face of an uncaring world. Survival is tiresome. Putting one foot in front of the other each and every day is a torturous act, an unending chore. Was there an alternative?

“You choose to do whatever you desire,” he clarified.

“And… if not?”

“I need your blood. With it, I will open a way to the realm I was conceived to rule…” he stepped before my gaze and lowed himself to look me in the eye before continuing, “... with you by my side.”

“For my blood,” I said as if finishing the thought.

“And your company. Your guidance. Hopefully, one day, your love,” he said, reaching to take my hand. I looked down at his now massive fingers stroking my fur. “It is up to you whether you come to love me, but I was born to love you.”

It never felt like a choice. Even now, his touch brought on rapturous arousal, drowning out my pain. Perhaps it wasn’t love, but it was almost cheating by how easily it checks that need off the list.

“And… what becomes of me,” I asked, lifting my eyes to again meet his.

“Life would be different,” the demon replied. “You could never return, but you would be cared for. Respected.”

I let my hand slip from his and laid back against the altar. I felt as though I was waiting to die. That peace was coming to take me. Surely, there was nothing left for me in my old life; some family ties that became more tenuous with each passing year, but nothing more. Perhaps if life in another plane of reality was no improvement, death would still be an option.

“Do it,” I said. “Do what you want.”

The demon gave a slight nod. He then ran a hair across my ear, down my jaw, and to my collar. With a quick tug, he tore through my top, letting it fall open and exposing my abdomen. He took my pants by the waist and gently lowered them to my knees.

Then, he repeated the motion of stroking my ear. This time he moved to the back of my head, lifting me slightly into a kiss. A warmth overtook my body, and my heart fluttered. It was like my first kiss, though I admit the circumstances were far different.

He pulled away, moving his hand again over my shoulder and to my collar. There, just below my neck, he paused. Then, a jolt of pain swept over me as his claw penetrated through my flesh. I had no concept of how deeply he had sunk it before he began pulling it down, down between my collarbones, stopping before my navel. The throbbing agony took my breath away. The warmth of blood flooded across my skin.

He did not stop. He took his finger and placed it above my hip. I gritted my teeth as he plunged it into my skin, drawing it across my belly.

Hot tears rolled from my eyes and down my cheeks. I concentrated on drawing breath, as he said to me, “It’s okay to scream. I understand this must be painful.”

I did. I shrieked. I wondered if anyone would hear me, but I could only assume that the Demon had taken that into consideration when bringing me here.

My screams abated, but the Demon wasn’t done. He made smaller movements across my torso. While the intricacies of the movements were lost in the sea of pain he navigated, I could only assume he was carving runes into my flesh. In a way, it was a relief compared to the long incisions he had made. The small wounds he now opened were negligible in comparison.

It felt like hours before he stopped. He stood above me, searching my eyes. He lifted a hand, placing it behind my ear, his thumb on my cheek. A quick movement and a gash was made. He repeated the motion on my other cheek before placing his hand atop my head. A stroke of my fur, then another incision from between my brow to the top of my head.

“There,” the Demon said in a hushed voice.

“Is it done?” I gasped.

“Almost,” he replied as he grabbed hold of my thigh and dragged me, turning my body on the altar until my head hung off the side.

He lifted my legs, parting them. I knew what was coming, and he did not leave me waiting, thrusting himself into my womanhood. The pleasure that enveloped me was almost enough to eliminate the pain radiating from my abused flesh. I felt incorporeal, an absolute mess of sensations, emotions, and thoughts. No longer a fennec fox. No longer anything of substance.

I felt the Demon thrusting into me; his rhythmic pounding against my legs. The pleasure was there but was disconnected. I felt the blood that poured from my wounds, that pooled beneath me. The thoughts in my mind, however, turned to dust and became intangible.

As the Demon climaxed, he expressed his exertion. Behind him, a bright light filled the space in the makeshift threshold. Red and glittering, it was difficult to behold.

I felt myself being lifted into the Demon’s arms as he cradled me. It was then that I felt how weak I had become. My body was wet with blood, my muscles barely entertained the idea of movement. I was limp in his embrace. Something about it felt as though this was right. I was helpless before the beast, but I was safe.

As the portal grew closer, I said goodbye to myself. To my former life. To the world that I had struggled with.

I was where I belonged. With the Demon.