Chapter Text
He whispered the words first, or so you dreamt.
"Love you too," you mumbled back, caught in the twilight zone between sleep and wakefulness, when you found him sprawled over you. You squinted at the clock; its green digits displayed an unholy 6:30 AM. The glow of these numbers was the only beacon in the pitch-black bedroom.
Raphael's body was pressed against yours, his hot breath in your ear, his morning erection poking at your lower belly, demanding immediate attention. Having received none, he nudged your leg aside with his tail to make space for himself before spitting into his palm and making a wet trail down between your thighs.
As he entered you, gently but urgently, you let him take what he needed as you made one hopeless attempt to drift back into sleep.
Morning sex was never really your thing. But no dice; Raphael demanded every bit of your consciousness.
"Tell me it's only ever me." His voice was a low rumble, his tail raised and swishing, his hand crawling up your neck. "Tell me no other will ever tempt you away”.
The only other thing that tempted you at the moment was five more minutes of sleep. You couldn't understand where his sudden jealousy came from - perhaps some twisted nightmare - but it seeped out of him like thick black tar.
"No, of course not," you gasped, clutching onto his horns and gently stroking them. "Just you, always you, forever and ever."
"Good," he purred against your neck before giving it a lavish lick with his coarse forked tongue, making you very ticklish. You stifled a giggle as he continued between thrusts, "Loyalty... is something... I value most."
His thrusts and words began to awaken you now; to awaken something in you as well. The more he f*cked you, the more insistent his 'I-need-to-get-off' rhythm became, the more you craved him.
"I am yours," you lifted your hips to meet his and groaned into his shoulder. His damp hair smelled of musk and brimstone. “Yours, fully yours, solely yours. Do whatever the hell you want with me."
That was all he needed to hear.
"Oh, my precious girl," he breathed against your skin as his claws grazed your hips and a shudder ran through him as he released deep within you.
Ow, ow, OW, it burns, you thought as you instinctively tried to scramble towards the safety of the bedpost (no chance under his weight).
Raphael became still, and you felt all the little twitches of his body. For a peaceful moment there was only the sound of his breathing. Then with a soft pat on your thigh, he pulled away from the bed.
The clock read 6:43 AM.
"Stay... Stay, please." You didn't say outright that you wanted an org*sm too, hoping he would read it between the very obvious lines. "I want... need a little more."
Raphael stretched with a sigh of satisfaction that you could only dream of and made his way (you assumed since you couldn't see anything) to the windows.You propped yourself up on your elbows and shook off the drowsiness as sunlight flooded into the room. As the curtains opened fully, Raphael was fully back into his human form.
"I'm so terribly sorry, my love," he gave you a sweet smile, his brown doe eyes full of regret. "I have an early meeting downtown and I'm already running late."
What? What meeting, which downtown?
"I am afraid you’ll have to wait for my return tonight," he continued. "But you know what they say, anticipation makes the reward all the more satisfying."
You didn't know who came up with that ridiculous line, but it certainly wasn't him who should be repeating it after having just received his reward.
Leaning back on the bed, you ran your fingers over the scratches left by his claws and let out a disappointed sigh, a sound that went unheard as Raphael retreated to the en-suite bathroom and turned on the shower.
Underneath the blankets, you wriggled and adjusted yourself, slipping your arm between your thighs to ease the heavy wetness between them as you half-listened to him humming some Italian song (Bella Ciao?) in the shower. Your fingers worked quickly over your slick cl*t in an attempt to quench a thirst only his co*ck could truly sate.
You will do his dirty work for him, fine. It won't take long... it won't take long. Your mind has gone from the blowj*b you gave him in the confessional, to him whipping you, to Raphael and Haarlep in Haunt Me to...
"Didn't I tell you to wait for me?" Raphael's voice sliced through your thoughts just as climax was very well within reach.
The intrusion caused you to jerk your hand away as if it had been scorched by hellfire. You grumbled and resettled yourself in bed; not exactly thrilled about debating privacy boundaries this early in the morning. He doesn’t get to control when you get to come.
"I do," his voice reverberated inside your skull once more. "And I will.”
In a desperate bid for some semblance of privacy, you yanked the covers over your head. A futile effort against telepathy, but better than a tin foil hat. From beneath your makeshift shield, you heard Raphael's voice again, now emanating from the walk-in closet.
Overcoming your irritation, you peeked out to see him standing there in a crisp white shirt, brown curls perfectly coiffed."Red or red?" he asked, holding up two almost identical ties.
"The one on the right," you said, pretending to have noticed some difference between the two options. "Is it an important meeting?"
"Indeed," Raphael replied, tying the silk noose around his neck with a practiced hand. "I'm on the verge of securing a major deal for Avernus. Far more far-reaching and considerably more... shall we say, politically charged than anything I've done before."
"On your way to becoming the Archduke of Earth?" you asked in that half-joking, what-a-ridiculous-question kind of way.
"I adore your grand metaphors," he chuckled as he rummaged through his wardrobe. "And that you make it sound like an existing royal title. But yes, I'm closer to the seat of power than ever before. Glasses or no glasses?"
There was only one correct answer to that question.
"Glasses. What are you going to do with Earth? Change it for the better?"
He put the glasses on, gave himself a wide, pearly-white, toothy smile in the mirror, and then pulled out a drawer with about thirty watches in it.
"Of course," he said, seeming a little lost in thoughts of either watches or politics. "You can't possibly tell me you're happy with the current state of affairs. No one is."
No, you weren't happy, but you couldn't shake the feeling that your grievances might not coincide with his.
"I'm just not sure we share the same views on what constitutes better governance," you said, as nonchalantly as you could.
He probably won't make stopping climate change a priority; he must like it hot. And his stance on social equality was dubious at best, given that he couldn't decide between a gold watch and a platinum watch for a good minute (he didn't ask for your opinion on this particular dilemma). Raphael’s idea of order is probably something along the lines of dictatorship, and that didn't end well for Europe last time.You weren't so sure you wanted him to rule Earth. Surely there were better worlds to rule. Earth was just a little too... close to home. And mundane. Boring, really. Could he not rather rule over Toril and the Hells?
Raphael paused mid-action, gold watchband in hand, and turned to you, nostrils flaring up slightly. "Do I detect a whiff of doubt?" He came over to the bed and dropped to one knee before you. "I was under the impression your loyalty knew no bounds...or was that all pillow talk, my little mouse?"
You studied him: polished, rimmed glasses perched on his nose, slicked-back hair glistening in the bright morning light, and another of his endless array of tailored suits hugging his form perfectly. His sharp fangs protruded just below his lips as he spoke.
"Oh, don't tremble like that, I'm jesting," he said as you instinctively pulled away when you saw the fangs. "I have no reason to doubt you. Yet. As for your earlier words... any rule would be better than what Earth has now. So many lost souls wandering aimlessly. It's hardly surprising, considering their god sleeps and neglects his flock."
"Their gods," you quietly corrected him. "We don't have just one."
"But one holds more power and influence than the others," Raphael tugged at your blanket and drew a cross between your breasts with his finger. "The wealth, the control, billions of souls. The keys to the Kingdom of Heaven."
That was a bit western civilisation centric, but then again, so was almost everything.
"The Christian God?" You questioned. "Most people these days don't truly believe in God or the devil, especially not my generation. The church days are long past."
“They might change their minds if they witnessed a miracle or two,” Raphael said, flicking his fingers, sparks of hellfire between them. “They would wage holy wars in His name and follow His orders, regardless of what they were - or whichever Archangel descended to represent Him. The slightest hint of something beyond this mundane life can work wonders on people. You, of all people, should agree.”
Would people follow Raphael if he showed them hellfire?
They would follow if he just showed them just a vision of hellfire. Just talking about it on youtube with that voice of his would create an Archangel Raphael cult in no time. You would probably have been the first to sign up.
"In any case, cancel all plans for the weekend," he said, playing with a strand of your hair. "We will be heading to Davos if my deal goes as planned”.
“I suspect it will”, you quietly said.
“So do I. So do I. I feel quite invincible lately ”, Raphael cupped your chin and turned you to face up to him. “All thanks to you, my sweetest little mouse, my most ardent supporter”.
"Boss, we need to depart now or else we'll require a chopper," Yuri hollered from downstairs. "The traffic is hell."
"On my way," Raphael replied. “Believe me, hell is more manageable; at least there are rules down there.”
You sat up and realized that you (well, technically he, since it was his seed) were going to make a mess if you didn't get to the bathroom quickly. After freshening up, you grabbed a silk robe from the bedpost and put it on to walk him to the door and give him a goodbye kiss like any good girlfriend would do.
The driver was already framed in the doorway, an imposing silhouette that seemed to fill the space entirely. Yesterday he had been a large man; today he was monstrous; way above two meters. His head, which had boasted only a few hairs yesterday, was now gleamingly bald, and reddish.
Two massive tusks jutted out of his mouth.
You couldn’t have possibly read smut with Yurgir iand enjoyed it. Sleeping with this beast defied all logic and was far beyond your physical limits.
"Anya," Raphael's voice cut through the tension as he observed you and Yuri with detached amusem*nt. "Careful. I am a very jealous man, and you seem to be utterly enthralled”.
No-no, you pleaded. Raphael, my love, I definitely never ever wanted to f*ck Yurgir. No others tempted me. Ever. Especially not an orthon.
Yuri's grin widened at Raphael's words, relishing in the attention directed towards him. "New look, boss," he boasted, gesturing to his shaved head. "Thought it'd be a sharp one. Do you like it, Ms. Berger?"
“It’s...striking, Yurgir,” you managed to say.Raphael chuckled softly at your answer. "She tends to mix up names," he said, talking about you as if you weren't standing right next to him. "Took me a while to get used to it”.
You wondered how long it would take you to get used to seeing a real Orthon, and how he could possibly fit into a car.
Raphael glanced at the Valentino bag you had left by the exit "Glad to see you treated yourself to something nice. But just so we're clear, I'm quite fond of your torn jeans and studded bracelets," he remarked with a slightly lecherous tone. "It’s... refreshing. A bit rebellious. Punk, right?"
Actually, you were going for a goth rock vibe, but he probably didn't know the difference.
He leaned in for a goodbye kiss, short but tender.
“Enjoy your day, my love, indulge in that dolce far niente. I want you to be very happy here. I want us to be very happy”.
Yuri watched the exchange with what looked like genuine joy for his boss etched on his face, which was odd because Yurgir never seemed to give a f*ck about Raphael.
His smile revealed an unnerving number of teeth.
****In the main dining room, the housemaid served you cappuccino and a plate filled with fresh waffles topped with whipped cream and strawberries. You attempted to make small talk, only for her to politely apologise with non parlo inglese and promptly make herself scarce. Name was Lucia is all you could figure.
You didn’t mind. Munching on the waffles, you googled Risperidone, a piece lodging itself in your throat when you read what it was for.
It was an anti-psychotic. Against hallucinations, schizophrenia, and generally all things wrong with one’s head. Something you probably should have taken a long time ago, but Raphael…
Why would Raphael need anti-psychotics? Is he a psychopath… yes, he is, but is he that kind of psychopath? Or was he stocking up for your sake, like some twisted version of a family first aid kit?
You left the half-eaten waffles behind as you went into the bathroom, spinning the pill bottle between your fingers while squinting at the doctor's name printed on it: Dr. med. Angus Bambauer Praxis für Psychiatrie und Psychoanalyse in Zurich.Freshly issued, less than a week ago.
Did Raphael fly to Zurich to be examined?
No, he didn't, but Raul did. Here it was written: Raul D'Avergni.
Could Raul really be insane, orchestrating this whole I-am-devil-now-I-am-not charade to drive you mad and lock you away in a dark cellar for eternity? Did he put something in your food? Was Isabelle his victim too? Was he a serial killer?
Wait, no, you saw him flickering the infernal fire; you heard him talking of souls of the Christians. Besides, it all went back to long before you met him, back to that cursed mod. You considered popping one of those Risperidone pills yourself; maybe then you'd get some answers. Surely, they couldn't mess with your already scrambled brain any more than it was.
What happens when a healthy person takes risperidone? You google that too. "Delusional thoughts, social withdrawal, thought confusion". Pretty much your normal state then.
After some thought, you decided not to take Risperidone. You did, however, take the little round pill from Plan B; and then the first pill in a pack of contraceptives, because the thought of having the 'please wear a condom' conversation with Raphael (or Raul, for that matter) made you feel queasy, and because you were no longer quite sure which one of them would be daddy.
Your swallowed them sitting on the toilet seat with your trousers around your ankles. You harboured a small hope that this might be a place Raphael wasn't watching. The pills went down without a hitch, so maybe he was respecting some boundaries.
Hold on to what's tangible and real, things that are acknowledged by people far more sane than you. This house is real (probably). The man who lives in this house is (probably) real. And probably batsh*t insane, but that just means you are a perfect match. His wealth is real.
As for the other parts... the fangs, the tusks, the tail...
You spent the rest of the day trying to keep yourself busy. You went through the books in the library (massive collection), you blasted Angelspit all over the villa, you checked out the gardens and the guesthouse and the stables (the man had bloody stables and four horses).
Finally, you decided to take a dip in the swimming pool which had its own separate wing on the ground floor along with a sauna, private gym, and an entire room worshipping Peloton like some kind of modern deity.
The pool room was frescoed with dolphins and mermaids against a backdrop of shimmering turquoise tiles. As you dabbed the last drops of water from your skin with a plush towel, you felt the weirdest, darkest urge to take a selfie for your social media and show everyone (whoever they might be) how amazing your life was on Thursday afternoon and how you had it all now.
It took all your willpower not to succumb but instead stare at your reflection in the camera; damn, you looked good. At this rate, you might actually start believing those lies about being pretty.
You saw the door behind you open.
"And who might you be?" A young man greeted you, though it was you who should have asked the question. "I was hoping to see the Master of the house."
Well, there could be absolutely no mistaking who he was, even in his human form, for no one talks like that, walks like that and looks like that. Lush lips, tight fishnet r-shirt, pierced nipples, bulging biceps, obscenely tight tracksuit bottoms (yes, that bulge).
Haarlep resembled young Raphael, but only slightly; he had more of that pop rock star vibe, like that guy from Maleskin. His gaze stopped on your wet cleavage peeking out of your swimsuit and didn’t budge ever since.
"Haarlep," you breathed out.
Unlike the others, he didn't seem bothered by you using his real name.
"Whoever you want me to be," he said. "The master paid me for our usual hour, but it seems he's decided to neglect me today. Duh. Perhaps I could spend it with you instead?"
Was he a hooker?
"He pays you?" you asked.
"Well, as charming as he may be, I wouldn't do anything for him without receiving some cold hard cash," Haarlep winked.
You noticed a sports bag slung over his shoulder and decided to clarify.
“He pays you for what, exactly?”
"For my unmatched skills, of course,” he said, gesturing towards the nearby training room. "I can show you. Do you enjoy cardio?"
“What kind of cardio?”
“Any kind of cardio”, Haarlep drawled. “But I’m partial to the kind where we both end up drenched in sweat.”
Seriously?! He was not making it easy for you to figure out if he was a prostitute, a personal trainer, or both.
“No”, you replied. “I mean, yes. I used to run. I fell out of shape, I am afraid”.
"All I see before me is perfect shape," Haarlep responded with a slow lick across his lips. "But there's no harm in stretching those muscles”.
Christ, if he could eat you, he probably would.
You let him beckon you to the training room; all mirrors and yoga mats and hardwood parquet, and watched as he knelt down and punched play on some Blasterjaxx-esque electro beats that blared out from the speakers.
Oh, he was serious. Haarlep actually wanted to do sport. Which was hardly good news, because last time you did sport was when you recently went running (once), and the one before was some year ago.
"Try not to fall too far behind," he teased, positioning himself right in front of you so both your reflections stared back in the mirror. "Just some light stretching to get us warmed up."
When sporty people say that, you know you are going to be thoroughly f*cked, and not in the sexy way. You breathed out and nodded.
Like f*ck it was some light stretching. It was torture, some mixture of pilates and aerobics and bodyweight. Brutal contortions designed to test every fiber of your being. You huffed and puffed like an asthmatic bulldog trying to keep up with him, and after five minutes, you surrendered this ambition entirely.
After ten minutes, as sweat trickled down your forehead and stung your eyes, and muscles you didn't even know existed began crying out in protest, so you decided: f*ck this. Raphael had paid for this hour of hell; let him enjoy it.
"Mercy!" The word tumbled from your lips as you collapsed onto the floor, desperately sucking in air. "Mercy, Haarlep."
Haarlep, the bastard, didn't even have a bead of sweat on him or a hair out of place. Sure, he might make an excellent athlete but he was a sh*t trainer. His clients would be dropping like flies if this was his idea of a warm-up.
"My bad, darling. I thought you were into rough play," Haarlep said, sinking down next to you. "I can do gentle too”.
"Gentle," you parroted back weakly. "You familiar with the sleeping dog pose? That's about all I can handle."
"I'm very fond of all doggy positions," Haarlep smiled. "Lie down and rest".
His cheeky grin was contagious, and you couldn't help but return it as you flopped onto your back on the yoga mat and spread out your limbs. Haarlep settled down beside you. Goddamn it all, but there was more than just sexual banter here, you realized as his hands started to wander over your body with intentions that obviously went beyond simple stretching. It didn’t help that Raphael had left you high and dry earlier in the day.
You barely had time to make a half-hearted quip before he slid the top of your swimsuit down and took one of your nipples into his mouth.
You couldn't help but gasp at the sudden contact.
"We can't do this without Raphael's consent," you managed to get out between breaths, attempting to push him away. "I mean I'm game, for sure, but we need to ask him first."
Haarlep merely hummed in response while swirling his tongue against your hardened nipple. Unlike Raphael’s solid bulk weighing down on you, Haarlep seemed light as a feather above you but proved surprisingly immovable.
"Haarlep!" You yelped as his erection rubbed against your thigh through the thin fabric of his tracksuit bottoms.
"Such a tease," he murmured against your skin before flicking his tongue over your nipple again. "But two can play that game darling. Let's see who cracks first."
Raphael was your number one devil, of course, but Haarlep... Haarlep had a certain sexual magnetism that made him very, very difficult to ignore.
"I have answers for you, Anya," he murmured, grinding his whole body on top of you, and oh, it felt good. “Answers about this lookalike game and what the Master truly wants from you."
What? Finally, f*ck, someone!
“Tell me”, you said. “Haarlep, tell me”.
"Tit for tat," he purred, taking a very indulgent sniff of you.
No, f*ck it, you knew Raphael would be livid. Not worth it. Well, might be worth it. Or not. Would it have killed Raphael to f*ck you properly out this morning?
"Let’s take things slow," Haarlep suggested, locking eyes with you while fluttering those long lashes of his. "May I sample that delicious puss* of yours? Just one taste. I know it's so sweet, I can smell it."
Oh, that’s something you planned to start to hint to Raphael about soon. Haarlep reminded you of Puss in Boots from Shrek with those big eyes of his and silky soft brown curls. If he started going down on you, there would be no turning back.
"You’ll love my tongue inside you”, Haarlep promised, trying to coax your legs apart with his knees. "I’m so much better than him. I would never leave you unsatisfied. I would make you cry from pleasure over and over and over and over…”
His lips were inches from yours. Your brain kicked into gear just in time, recalling the incubus' saliva and its effects. You swerved, his mouth landing on your neck instead. His hot wet lips were tracing it up and down, and you couldn’t hold down a hungry whimper.
Haarlep smelled overwhelmingly sweet too, like chocolate truffles and melted caramel and ripe fruit and holy hell you have a sweet tooth, but it was too much.
"If Master throws another tantrum, just think about the punishment,” Haarlep cooed. “Imagine us both taking care of you, loving you, hurting you, worshipping you, debasing you…”
Your response was barely above a whisper - the most pathetic 'no' that had ever left your lips. "No, Haarlep... Seriously, I can't... He told me to wait for him tonight..."
Haarlep halted his advances and turned on his most pitiful expression. He looked less human or more like some strange fey, demon child — a look that would have made him incredibly popular in goth circles.
“Anya, please”, he whispered. “Raphael starves me. I want your touch so much it hurts me, and it hurts a lot. Please show some mercy”.
Tears welled up in his eyes, huge, genuine ones, and your heart ached with empathy.
“Why does Raphael starve you?”, you asked.
“Because of my loose tongue”, he sobbed. “And because of that damn letter from Cania I would have never written”.
That letter was a bloody disaster and a very unclassy move on Haarlep’s part, you thought to yourself, yet still, nobody deserved to be treated like that.
“Just a taste”, he pleaded, fingers sliding down your swimsuit. “You are such a delight”.
The sweeter his words became, the more insistent his touches; he already managed to put down the lower part of your swimsuit to your knees and was on his way down.
As you tried to shift away from him, he held you firmly between his arms and legs. He was damn forcing himself on you, and that’s one line Raphael would never allow to be crossed.
“I said f*cking no! Do you understand “no”, incubus?”
Without another thought, you aimed a sharp knee towards his groin, only to have it connect with his rock hard thigh, sending a jolt of pain up your leg.
Haarlep halted abruptly, baring his teeth at you like an irate cat. You were as angry as you were horny; you wanted Haarlep desperately, but not enough to ruin things with Raphael.
"Such a loyal and loving pet," Haarlep sneered, his lips twitching."Congratulations, you passed his test. A perfect little bootlicker".
You were not a bootkicker. You were f*cking in love. Mutually so!
“co*cksucker,” was your retort. It was only after the words left your lips that you realized how ill-fitted it was to throw at an incubus.
You used to fantasize about both of you as best friends—sharing cupcakes and gossiping—but that dream might need shelving now.
“And far, far superior to you,” Haarlep shot back without missing a beat.
He leapt up and mumbled some cryptic curse before slinging his sports bag over his shoulder.
"You sure you want the truth?" he said, throwing the question over his shoulder like a gauntlet. "The cellar code is 7-3-5-6. Go fetch."
With that, he slammed the door shut behind him with such force it rattled in its frame, leaving you alone to tug your swimsuit bottoms up past your knees.
*****
You wanted some truth all right. Your fingers flew over the keypad, tap-tap-tap-tap and then a decisive pound on the hash key.
The door retaliated with a red glow.
“CODE INCORRECT. 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING. ENTER THE CORRECT CODE WITHIN THE NEXT MINUTE OR THE SECURITY OWNER WILL BE ALERTED OF A BREACH ATTEMPT.”
What? He said 7-3-5-6, did he not? You tried again, double-checking each press of the keys.
“CODE INCORRECT. 2 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.”
"Haarlep!" You spat out through clenched teeth. "You son of a bitch!"
Panic clawed at your insides. Don't do this to me, not now, not like this. You tried again, hurling yourself against any logic and then once more because hell, what else did you have left to lose?
“SECURITY OWNER ALERTED OF A BREACH ATTEMPT.”
Your knees buckled and you slid down the wall, landing hard on the cold floor.
Raphael wasn't the one in charge of security, so who else could it have been? Yurgir? Korilla? How were you going to explain this mess and what could you possibly offer them to cover it up? Oh f*ck, it’s like you tried to stole the Orphic Hammer, and you never did, never tried to, not even once.
No. You need to call him directly and tell him his f*cker of an incubus has set you up.
"Mr. D’Avergni is tied up in meetings all day," Camilla's voice chimed through the phone line with practiced efficiency. "I'm afraid I won’t be able to pass on any messages until later this evening, Ms. Berger. Is there something urgent I can assist with?"
Attempted break-in at your place but didn't sleep with your incubus - does that count as breaking even?
“Just wanted to ask what to cook for dinner”, you asked.
Camilla let out a polite laugh.
"Oh, leave that to Lorenzo," she suggested lightly. "Mr D’Averngi is very particular about his meals - he specifically brought in a chef from Campania for that very reason. Is there anything else I can help with?"
How about asking Lorenzo to slip some antipsychotics into the boss's dinner so he doesn't flay me alive tonight? But instead, you bid her a hasty goodbye.
Now, it’s not like you wanted to run next. But you wanted to check if you theoretically could, because you noticed the security at the gates. So you took a leisurely walk towards them with your best "I'm innocent" smile on your face.
"Can we be of assistance to you, Ms. Berger?" The guard's voice sliced through the silence before your lips even parted to speak, his hand resting on the gun strapped at his side. "You need a ride? Just give us your destination and departure time."
His jacket bore the G4S logo and his blonde hair was cropped close in a military buzz.
"Ah, don’t bother," you replied, all casual like. "I can just hail an Uber."
His face hardened instantly. You'd said something wrong.
"We must strongly advise against that," he said. "Mr D'Avergni values his privacy."
"So... public transport?"
"The nearest station is four kilometers away." Suspicion laced his words now. "Is there an issue?"
"I'm allowed to leave whenever I want though, right?"
There was an uneasy laugh, from him and his co-workers (at least four that you could see). You forced a laugh as well, even though you had no clue what was supposed to be funny.
"Of course you are, this is not a prison, Ms. Berger," he answered while keeping a firm hold on his weapon—as if reminding you of its presence would put you at ease. “We did have a recent security breach though; we’d feel much better if you stayed put for now."
So, you were not.
"I don't intend on leaving," you assured him. "Just checking what options I have. You all... have a good day!"
If you decide to leave the mansion, they would alert him in no time. And then it would look like you attempted to breach in and then sneak out, which is not a good look at all, and something was telling you it wouldn’t be hard to track you down and jail you for break-in.
Except your jail cell would likely be the very cellar you'd tried to break into.
****
The clock was ticking.
If Raul likes punk, you'll give him punk, you thought, as you smeared on some dark liner and mascara and put on the white T-shirt you'd brought back from Wacken last year (nothing punk about a goat's skull, but hopefully rebellious enough for him), and then you waited, thinking of all the attacks and excuses and distractions you could use.
Raphaelreturned just before dinner was served, around nine. It was Raphael, definitely. No doubt about it. For he had grown bloody horns. You did not speak to him, he did not speak to you, just sat across from you on the table in his perfectly human form, except for, well, bloody horns.
There was that uneasy air that comes from households that do not deal with the issue and let it fester. You knew he knew, you knew you knew he knew, and yet he said nothing, smoldering in silence.
"How was your day?" you asked in your sweetest voice when the appetizers were served.
"Successful," came his curt reply, leaving no room for further questioning. “Yours?”
“Quite something, actually”, you said, but received no further questions so you went on chasing antipasti with your fork.
This stonewalling tactic made your skin crawl; it was a classic move straight out of your mother's playbook. Raphael filled your glass with white wine, his exaggerated manners bordering on confrontational chivalry. You fired back by complimenting the wine with equal vigour.
The main course arrived with a flourish - seafood pasta garnished with fresh herbs and sprinkled with Parmesan cheese, its arrival announced in Italian - and Raphael plunged into it like a starving man. As soon as he bit into the calamari, you decided to attack first:
"Your 'personal trainer' came at me pretty hard".
You put air quotes around 'personal trainer'. You put all the blame on Haarlep - and rightly so, because it WAS his fault.
"Excuse me?" asked Raphael after he had a mouthful.
"Your personal trainer almost raped me."
His anger subsided for a moment as he looked at you in utter bewilderment.
"Who, Armand?"
"Oh God, yes, you know exactly who we are talking about," you said. "The incubus. Don't you think he should be punished?"
“Punished? If that were true, I'd prefer to see ‘the incubus’ fired and put behind bars”.
"If that were true?" you raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, “if that were true”?”
Raphael stopped eating and coughed into his handkerchief.
"Anya, Armand is... come dire... well, obviously… a hom*osexual”, he lowered his voice.
A man f*cking his own incubus would be the last person to say “hom*osexual” in a low whisper.
"You know better than anyone else that being attracted to men and being attracted to women are not mutually exclusive," you said.
“I beg your pardon?!”
You noticed Raphael's cheeks flush suddenly, a sharp contrast against his tanned complexion. Your attempt at diversion seemed to have backfired, but you took a step back and chose your words carefully:
"What I meant was, one of the things I admire most about you is your lack of prejudice. You don't judge based on gender or race or..."
“The f*ck are you insinuating, Anya? Spell it for me, please”.
You hesitated. He said f*ck, and Raphael would never do that. Besides, he looked as shocked as only a middle-aged man with a deeply Catholic upbringing could be. Oh, now he was suddenly Catholic! He had no problem getting a blowj*b in a confessional before.
"I thought you were... flexible," you admitted after a moment's pause, sinking into your own seat. "Bisexual, perhaps?"
Pansexual, you corrected yourself internally, but refrained from saying it aloud.
"Who gave you that idea?" Raphael's tone turned icy. "As far as I recall, I made my preferences quite clear to you. Do you need a fresh reminder? I’ll give you one”.
Why was his bloody threat such a turn on for you? The fact that you had already been edged and frustrated twice today only made things worse. You bit your tongue, trying to find a way out of this precarious situation.
"Armand hinted the two of you had something," you said tentatively. “But I might have misinterpreted, of course”.
Raphael gave you a long, thoughtful look before responding.
"If there's any truth to that - and I seriously doubt it - that little sh*t will get what's coming to him," Raphael's lips tightened and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Now, tell me something else. I heard some peculiar rumours at my company. What were your last words to Konstantin before he died?"
"Who's Konstantin? The jerk yuppie from your company? I told him... well, that I hoped he would get hit by a bus."
"And how did it just so happen that the bloody thing actually happened to him?"
"Are you serious?" you asked, staring at his horns. He even absent-mindedly rubbed them. “Infernal magic, god damn it”.
Maybe Asmodeus f*cked up Raphael so badly that he got amnesia and now thinks he is a human banker?
"Infernal magic," he repeated slowly. "Let me guess, because you're a witch who serves the devil? Is that the little fantasy world you invented as an excuse? How convenient. Maybe it is time for me to play inquisitor with you."
Ah, the f*ck. You hated the visceral sexual reaction your body had when Raphael chastised you like that, rapping the fork on the table, threatening an interrogation.
"This crazy girl act of yours is impressive, very convincing indeed," he continued, "but it's growing tiresome, Anya. A stunning young woman who I just happened to bump into at a café falls head over heels for me and lets me do everything I ever fantasized about,” he said, emptying his wine glass in one gulp as his Italian accent thickened again. “You appeared too perfect to be real and voila! Today I get a security breach alert. How incredibly naive of me to think luck had finally smiled upon me."
All your mind could process was that he thought you were too good to be true, which is what you'd always thought of him. Plus, there seemed to be genuine sorrow in his eyes.
"Who are you really working for, Anya?" Raphael asked, his jaw tight. "Interpol? Competition? Was killing Konstantin a warning about the defende contractor deal?”
Interpol!? The suggestion was so insane that now, finally, it was him who sounded completely unhinged.
"No one. You made sure of that, Raul," you said, using the name to try and soothe him.
“You tried to break into my cellar. Do you take me for such a fool?”
"No," you replied, avoiding eye contact and feeling tears prick at your eyes. "I was — I am — afraid of you. I needed to know what was inside and why you take Risperidone."
"Is there anything else about me you haven't pried into?" He snapped. "Stop the waterworks, I won't be easily manipulated."
But you couldn't stop the waterworks, you hated when he man scolded you like that when all you wanted was his approval, and the fact that you couldn't stop the waterworks only made the tears flow harder.
Raphael's expression softened ever so slightly.
"My father's… demise affected me deeply, if you were truly wondering." He paused before adding, "As for the cellar...let's go together and see what secrets it holds. Confront your fears head-on.”
You looked up at him. What could there be? Dead girls. Definitely dead girls. Lots of dead girls in the cellar. Oh no. Raul is a maniac, that's why he's on Risperidone. He paid the police, so he got away with it. And Raphael… he collected their souls, probably. A theory as solid as any other.
"I'd rather not," you manage to choke out between sobs.
"Oh no, we shall," he insisted. "Don't make me drag you along, piccola".
*****
He didn't yank or shove you; instead, he was all manners as he escorted you down the stairs. His fingers traced the keypad, entering a sequence that was Haarlep's code played in reverse. With a soft click, the doors opened and he motioned for you to enter first - chivalry at its finest.
You descended into silence. No moans or screams echoed off the walls, no sounds of sex or torture filled the air. Just a steady mechanical hum and a long, pristine white hallway.
At first you smelled faintly of gun oil and varnish. Then he led you to the first room on the right. Racks and racks of hunting rifles were proudly displayed in expensive wooden cabinets that lined the walls.
"Guns?"
That was a step up from corpses, but hardly a comforting thought given this man's daily breakfast of antipsychotic medication.
"Rifles," he confirmed. “All legally acquired and secured, as they should be. Just an extra precaution for any guests who may be overly curious.”
He selected one from its resting place and caressed its dark wooden barrel with his fingertips.
"Beretta 687, Diamond Pigeon," he introduced. "One of the best in my collection."
You'd always been pro-gun control, now you found yourself veering towards outright prohibition.
"What do you hunt?" you asked.
Raphael laughed softly.
"Beautiful women, Anya," he said, leaning casually against the weapon display, rifle in hand. "You might want to start sprinting."
Your eyes darted between him and the gun then up at the staircase wondering if he was going to offer up any sort of head start.
"Are you seriously... My, you are absolutely precious. How could I ever hurt you?" he shook his head in disbelief, a twinkle in his eye. "I track deer, boar and birds, whatever's in season and legal. Say, what did you think I had down here?"
You couldn’t quite admit that your mind had painted him as some madman with stacks of dead girls hidden.
Especially since they could still be tucked away in another room.
"Or should I rather ask what you were fantasizing about?" he smiled as he put the gun back into its place. "A medieval dungeon? Torture racks? St Andrew Crosses? Stocks? Me playing the part of the cruel inquisitor chaining up the little witch?”
His entire demeanor changed; now relaxed yet wickedly playful. His ability to flip moods like a switch was both amusing and terrifying. You did entertain some of these thoughts, but you bit your tongue to deny him the gratification of knowing so, and you could definitely not flip moods as easily.
“Um, no,” you said, trying not to stare at the huge rifles behind the glass.
"No?" he raised an eyebrow, "You had quite the expression on your lovely face at the dinner table."
“I did not”, you denied, trying to keep your voice steady.
"Undress," came his command. Seeing your surprised expression, he reiterated: "I said get those pants off."
You were not arguing with a man in a room full of guns. You unzipped your jeans and let them slide to the ground, staying in nothing but red lace panties, white socks and a t-shirt.
He wasted no time as his hand slipped between your legs, pushing your underwear aside. Your breath caught in your throat as he presented you with his slickened fingers and placed him to your lips.
“What do we have here, little liar?”
You made a little “beats me” shrug as he pressed closer.
"Must I spell it out for you, or can you figure it out all by yourself?"
Shaking your head, you obediently licked his fingers clean. His response was two satisfied nods of approval and a soft pat on the top of your head. Maybe you could also flip moods easily.
"You're a naughty little thing, aren't you?", Raphael asked, his voice turning hoarse which you found wildly erotic. “Very well, I vowed to reward you if you could hold out till sundown, and so you did, despite all the temptations. You deserve to have your every dirty little fantasy fulfilled. But first, let's set the stage just right." His hand had snaked around your waist, pulling you closer. "Close your eyes."
And so you did, feeling the pressure of his palm against the small of your back. It was firm, but not unkind.
You moved like a dancer following her partner's lead - one step forward, then another.
The cool metal of a door handle pressed against your palm as he guided your hand towards it, the click of the latch releasing. What was behind that door?
You decided to trust him and took a step.
Well, you should've known better because down you plummeted. Down. Straight down. The air rushed past your ears and the pressure built up in your chest. It felt like the ground had disappeared beneath you, as if you were sliding down a water slide where the bottom suddenly drops out from under you.
You slid and tumbled down a surprisingly soft clay tunnel, but couldn't help screaming in terror. How on earth could there be a clay tunnel underneath the villa? Where did he flush you? At least it didn’t hurt.
You tumbled out into the open, landing in what seemed to be... a meadow? That didn't make any sense geometrically. You should have ended up somewhere underground. You opened your eyes to see bright daylight.
Off in the distance, a windmill with wooden blades was spinning peacefully, surrounded by hills covered in wildflowers and wheat fields. Cows grazed contentedly by a babbling brook. Smelled like sh*t and fresh grass.
What f*cking mill, what f*cking field, what f*cking cows?!
There was somebody you could ask indeed; a man was approaching you.
He was dressed like... like...
Okay, you didn't really pay attention in history class. But you'd say medieval. And the man was not larping, because one look at his weather-beaten face and teeth that had seen better days told you that no one was that dedicated to his hobby.
You scrutinized him, his wool chaperon, his handmade boots. He returned the favor, taking in your red lace panties and Baphomet T-shirt, your leather bracelet, your smokey eyes. And then he said:
"Ach du mein lieber Herrgott. Hexe! HEXE!"
