The Lover Held Captive

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
I don't know if anyone has ever read the British short story, The Demon Lover, but this is a sequel that I had to write as a school assignment. If you don't understand it, then I suggest you read The Demon Lover or look up the plot. My teacher said mine was almost as good as my best friend's. Go read adKnight's "The Demon Lover(sequel)"

Submitted: December 25, 2013

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Submitted: December 25, 2013



“You! It can’t be you! Not after all this time. I’ve gone crazy. I must be dreaming. That’s right, upon the long journey from the country I grew tired and when I arrived home I must have dozed off. That’s it. There’s always a logical explanation,” she said after some time had passed. “Oh, I assure you my dear Kathleen that this is no dream. I am just as real as you or this war or even the war before this one and I’ve come back for you.”

“You died, didn’t you?” He smiled at her through the rearview mirror. “A demon never dies, my dear. Instead I’ve come back to collect what is mine.” She froze. His? Surely he was not referring to her. “I am married and have three children. I’m called Mrs. Drover now.” He chuckled. It was a deep menacing sound that chilled her to the bone. “That means nothing. The only thing that is substantial is that scar on your left palm. That scar binds you to me. You are MINE and mine alone.”

She shifted her gaze to her hand and examined the twenty-five year old scar indented there. “But why now? After twenty-five years, why have you now decided to come?” she questioned. “No particular reason, really. I just felt like it,” he replied. “You chose a most inopportune time. My family needs me. There are things I must deliver to them.”

He slammed on brakes and turned to look at her. Before her very eyes his demonic face turned into one of beauty and his voice softened. “How is is that you have a husband and three children when you are only nineteen?” he inquired. “Nineteen? I haven’t been nineteen in twenty-five years. I am forty-four years of age,” she answered. “Not anymore,” he whispered seductively as he slipped a small silver mirror into her hand.

She brought it to her face and gasped at her reflection. Her reflection was one of a young girl, no a woman with long brown hair and hazel eyes. “What’ve you done to me?” she asked sliding her hands across her face. “What I had to, to make you mine.” She watched as he opened the door and climbed out of the car. He opened the car door opposite of her and slid into the back seat beside her.  

“What are you doing?” He slid next to her and she gulped. “I demand to know what you are doing!” He took her hand in his. “You’ve grown feisty in my absence, haven’t you?” She tried to pull away, but his grip was tight. As he leaned forward she closed her eyes and whimpered. He took her right hand and stretched it out, palm upward. Then he brought it to his chest and pressed it against the buttons of his uniform. There was a quick sharp pain as the metal bit into her skin and she yelped.

She opened her eyes as he released her hand. She stared down at her bleeding palm and before her very eyes the cut healed, leaving an identical scar on her palm. “What’ve you done to me?” He grinned and slid his fingertips along her cheek. She expected his touch to be cold, but it was surprisingly warm and gentle. “I’ve made you mine forever. You will be young forever. You will be with me forever. “ She groaned. “But my husband and my children.”

He leaned forward, his face only inches from hers. “Forget them. Be mine forever. I will love you as no one else has ever done before. Just say yes,” he murmured as he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, but then it turned rough as he pulled her into his arms. “Yes,” she murmured breathlessly. He pulled away with a smile. “Excellent.”

Then he got out of the car and climbed back into the driver’s seat. He took off at an ungodly pace with a wicked grin on his face. She was his forever and now there was nothing no one could do to change that. 

© Copyright 2018 Paige Phillips. All rights reserved.

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