Hell's Rayne (Book 1)

Chapter 5

 The dark corridor was a little too narrow for practicality, but I managed to squash myself into the corner beside the open door; just out of sight of the rooms two occupants should one of them happen to look up. Though I was certain that Shane and Evie were far too wrapped up in each other to notice me, it was no time for risk taking. I would need to check on how things were 'progressing', if you like – as if the sounds emanating from the room weren't enough – but a few quick glances inside were enough to tell me that the opportune moment to pounce hadn't yet arisen. I would have to wait, and endure, a little longer.

The rough, rusting creak of the bedsprings had increased in both volume and tempo. The sound ripped through my eardrums as if someone were strangling a glaring of cats, but that was nothing when compared with the noise that was, undoubtedly, coming from human lips. There were moans and gasps of delight, all sounded to be female, coupled with deep, gravelly utterances of every sordid desire and exclamation that could possibly come to mind. Even as a half-demon, with all of the things I had seen and heard in my lifetime, I could scarcely believe some of the things that spewed forth from that man's mouth. It made me cringe to hear from a distance, I couldn't imagine Evie found any of it the slightest bit appealing. Though if she felt any distaste at his words there was certainly no sign.

 I felt a small seed of reluctance start to grow in the pit of my stomach. Squeamish was one this I wasn't, but the thought of watching that man - bald head glistening, brick like body sweating and rampant, pug face contorted in sexual ecstasy – it turned my stomach.

 From my cramped hiding place I could see a corner of the bed, the sheets looking ever more tangled, and an occasional flash of pale flesh. It was enough of a sensory experience with the sounds alone, but that told me I had little choice but to move and look more closely. Evie's breath had started to come in ragged gasps as the pleasure she felt had started to mount. The time was drawing near, if Shane was going to kill her it would have to be soon and I needed to see him to know when to strike. There would be only a small window of opportunity for me to enact my powers of persuasion and only watching him very intently at the time would show me when that window opened.

 Slowly, I slid down the wall into a crouch – I figured if I was nearer to the floor I would appear less conspicuous in the doorway – and gently inched open the door a little wider. Shuffling carefully, trying to be as silent as possible, I moved into the light that spilled into the corridor. I tried to make sure I was as hidden as I could be and still have a clear view of all the action on the bed. It was show time, and it wasn't a pretty sight.

 Looking inside, properly for the first time since I'd found the room with the pair of them inside, my eyes were given a feast of milky white skin that blushed with exertion and shimmered with pin pricks of sweat. The yellow light from the lamp did nothing to flatter Evie's pallor, making her look sickly; her hair sweat matted and tangled. She already looked like death, perhaps my mind was simply projecting what I wanted to see back to my eyes but she looked like a corpse. Though corpses should lay still and Evie still writhed beneath her lovers body.

 Shane's broad, muscled back rippled with every movement; making a show of his physique and strength. It was almost as if he expected someone to be watching his performance, or perhaps all men were naturally show-offs during sex. Sweat dripped from his flesh, splattering onto the sheets, under the effort he was exuding. I wrinkled my nose, inching that small distance into the room seemed to have broken some kind of vacuum and smell was the third of my sense to be invaded by the act of their love-making.

 The stench of sweat and sex flooded my nostrils and I felt my stomach give a lurch. It was far from the most vile thing I'd ever smelled, I could handle scorched flesh, the latrine smell of fresh death, the stench of decay, all without batting an eyelid, but the whole sensory experience from that room had me wanting to spill my guts. It was the filth that dripped from him, oozed from every pore. Not physical dirt, but the filth of the soul, of every vile act he'd ever committed in his life slithered from him to culminate in an invisible mass all leading to one final act that would mean his end. But invisible wasn't really very helpful, I needed to be able to see it.