Harlon stared at Kane’s captive for some time, mulling over her words in his head.
‘I’m sorry, missy, I can’t leave the boy. I’m all he’s got!’ The old man took a swig of his whiskey and continued, ‘Besides, I don’t got nowhere else. This is my home.’ A tear fell from Lyra’s eye and rolled down her cheek.
‘He’ll kill me, Harlon.’ She waited for a response, but the old man simply took another drink. ‘Won’t he?’ she tried to coax further.
‘I don’t know,’ the old man replied honestly. ‘I mean, the boy’s never took a prisoner before.’ Harlon thought about what he had seen earlier in the day. ‘Did he touch you?’

Lyra’s face flushed. He had touched her and she had wanted it. She thought of his weight pushing against her, her body writhing against his. Her eyelids grew heavy and her teeth scraped along her lower lip. Harlon recognised her response and raised his eyebrows.
‘Guess so!’ he mumbled.
‘He turned so quickly,’ Lyra whispered.
‘Boy’s never had no one close to him before. Seen a lot, but no one really wanted him ’cept his mother.’ The head in the wall; the image flashed before Lyra’s eyes. The only person who ever loved him, and that was his shrine to her.

‘He’s different, you see. People don’t like different,’ Harlon stammered.
‘He’s a killer,’ Lyra interjected, her mind still caught between passion and fear.
‘He is that!’ Harlon replied. ‘He just wants to be left in peace out here. See, people around here, they know not to come, but there’s always outsiders treading on his land.’ Harlon thought of the Penroses. ‘And locals, well, they should know better.’
‘Why is he doing this to me?’ Lyra cried softly. ‘Why doesn’t he just kill me and get it over with?’ Harlon put his arm around her.
‘He must see something in you he likes. That’s all I can think.’ Harlon held her and let her cry into his chest.
‘Harlon, please ask him to take me out of here, the rats,’ Lyra whispered between sobs.
‘I will, pet,’ the old man whispered sympathetically.
‘Please don’t let him hurt me,’ she continued. Harlon stroked her hair; he could not make her any promises. As useful as he was to the boy, he knew that Kane could crush him if he chose to.

‘Have I got any chance of escaping?’ Lyra asked, hoping that if there was a way out, Harlon would tell her.
‘No, love,’ the old man said sadly. ‘The boy’s different to other folks. He can’t be hurt.’
‘He can,’ Lyra insisted, remembering how he had buckled when she kneed him.
‘No, he can feel pain, but it passes. He gets hurt; it heals straight away. He’s different, you see, strong like you don’t understand.’ Harlon tightened his hold on her as she continued to cry.
‘What can I do?’ Lyra pleaded. ‘I mean, what can I do?’
‘Survive,’ the old man interjected. ‘I told you, do as he wants.’

‘I don’t know what he wants. He doesn’t speak!’ Lyra exclaimed desperately.
‘He’ll let you know what he wants,’ Harlon replied knowingly. ‘He always does.’
‘You know you’re a prisoner too, don’t you?’ Harlon released his hold on her and took a drink.
‘I chose my fate long time since,’ he explained. ‘Since I pulled that boy from the lake, watched him grow up feral.’
‘How many people has he killed?’ Lyra questioned, unsure as to whether she wanted to hear the answer.
‘Lost count long ago,’ Harlon muttered nonchalantly.
‘No one tries to stop him?’ Lyra wondered aloud.
‘Oh, they tried! Like I said, best leave him alone.’

Footsteps echoed through the tunnels; heavy, thundering strides hurtled in Lyra’s direction.
‘He’s coming!’ Harlon muttered.
‘Don’t let him leave me down here with the rats,’ Lyra begged as Harlon stood up. The footsteps closed in and the monster emerged from the darkness, striding straight past Lyra without even glancing at her. He marched to the trapdoor and climbed up the ladder. Harlon scurried after him, leaving Lyra alone once again.

Kane dropped his quiver in the corner of the front room and stood waiting for the old man who followed him.
‘Boy, you can’t go leaving that girlie in the basement,’ Harlon began. ‘Rats will get at her.’ Kane stared at him through the mask, unflinching. ‘I dunno where you’re going with that girl, but you can’t leave her down there like that,’ Harlon reiterated. Kane tilted his head as if listening. The rage was subsiding, but the passion still boiled through him, the passion for the woman. With a flick of his hand, Kane signalled for the old man to leave. ‘I’m going, I’m going,’ he responded. ‘Just don’t let her suffer,’ he muttered as he departed.

Lyra was suffering, and Kane wanted to make her suffer in so many ways, just as she was making him suffer unwelcome sensations. He listened to her sobbing in the dark and closed his eyes, inhaling the delight of it. She wanted him and surrendered to him; he wanted to make her do it again. Kane marched from the front room to his bedroom and stared through his mask into the mirror. She would never want him if she saw his face. He tilted his head to the side. Never. His hand curled into a fist and shattered the glass with a dreadful force.

Kane was still angry; Lyra could hear him destroying things upstairs. The rats were back. Lyra kicked out at them, but this time, they did not run. Instead, they climbed into her lap and started gnawing at her leggings and tearing at her skin.
‘Kane!’ Lyra shouted. ‘Kane!’ she called again. Kane had shifted his anger from the mirror to the walls. Lyra wondered if this was his intention, to leave her to the rats. He continued to pound at the walls as the rats climbed higher. ‘God, help me!’ Lyra screamed. The rats gnawed into her skin. ‘God, help me!’ she screamed again. Kane stopped dead; her cries were different now, more pitiful, more dread-filled.

Lyra fidgeted and wriggled as hard as she could against the cuffs. They bit deeper into her wrists, but the rats bit harder. She kicked out and flailed hopelessly.
‘Get them off of me,’ Lyra cried as she struggled. Rapidly, Kane dropped through the trapdoor; the power of the thud drove the animals away. He stomped to the woman and, in an instant, unlocked the cuffs, lifted her over his shoulder and ascended back into the main house, carrying her to the sofa.

He was torturing her; that was his plan, Lyra reasoned. He was going to continue to torture her for his own pleasure, playing with her mind and body like some toy. In spite of Harlon’s warnings, she would have to escape if she had any hope of survival. The bite marks bled, as did her wrists. Lyra realised that she would have to lull Kane into a false sense of security to enable her departure.

‘Kane,’ she whispered. His name on her lips was music to his ears, the most beautiful sound that he had ever heard. He snapped his head to look at her lying across the sofa.
‘Let me clean up and dress, please.’ Kane nodded and stalked out of the room, returning with a bowl of water. He poured the remains of the disinfectant into the bowl as Lyra removed her leggings and cardigan. Once she had stripped, he removed his gloves and tended her wounds. This time, she was awake, and she winced as the disinfectant stung her wounds. Kane relished the sound of her moans. As he moved the cloth over her, he took in the sight of her body.

Her naked, soft body, so fragile and tender, sprawled before his eyes and hands. He could easily break her, but he wanted something more. Lyra noticed his hesitation as he washed between her thighs. Harlon’s words echoed in Lyra’s mind; she would have to do whatever she needed to survive. Boldly, she clasped the man’s huge wrist; he snapped his head to look at her. For a second, Lyra hesitated, but inside she knew what she had to do. She feared it; feared him, how he could make her feel, what he could do to her and the evil within him.

‘Thank you, Kane,’ she whispered, releasing her hand and allowing her fingers to move up his arm. Kane’s body went rigid in response to her touch. He remained motionless as she trailed her hands up to his neck and drew him close to her. The warmth of her body awoke his desire. Lyra gently moved her fingers to his mask. A strong hand instantly gripped her wrist. She stilled under his power. Kane looked over his woman; she was his woman, she had been his woman from the moment he had first laid eyes on her, and he was ready to claim her fully.

Reaching down, he took a rag in both hands and Lyra nodded submissively. Kane stretched the rag around her head, covering her eyes, and removed his mask. The passion that had built up into an unspent rage overwhelmed him, and his mouth instantly pressed against hers. Lyra responded, taking his tongue into her mouth. Her hand wrapped about Kane’s neck and her legs clasped his waist and drew him closer so that he was pressed up against her. Kane allowed the scent of her to fill him as he drew his mouth from her lips and down her throat, where he bit at the sensitive part of her neck.

Lyra breathed in sharply; she tried to reason that allowing him to use her was nothing more than a ruse to escape, but her reasoning failed as her body betrayed her. She shuddered audibly as his teeth ground into her throat. Kane felt her shudder and responded by sucking her skin into his mouth. His hand squeezed her breasts roughly and dropped down to her legs. He stroked her thighs and hips with his rough hands. In the darkness, Lyra caressed his throat, moving quickly to his cheek, back to his neck and down to his chest. She could feel his inhuman muscles clenching beneath her. Her fingers found the buttons of his boiler suit, and one by one, she released them as Kane slid his hand up towards her sex.

Her hands slid into the suit and pressed against him through his shirt. Tension welled deep inside of Kane and he drove his body against hers, rising his mouth back to her lips as he did. Her body arched beneath him and she tore open the remainder of his boiler suit. Kane felt himself harden at her need for him. His fingers moved to the apex of her legs and centred on the most delicate area. She arched again. The monster had her exactly where he had wanted her, as she surrendered to his touch.

Lyra pulled her hand from his chest and down to his belt buckle. She had passed the point of reasoning; she needed to feel the beast inside her, she ached for him. Kane flicked his thumb about her sensitive spot and worked at it with vigour. Lyra could feel waves building within her, desperate, dreadful waves in response to the killer’s decadent touch. She easily slid the belt open and worked his zip down, taking hold of his hardness. Her strokes were gentle at first, but soon met his rhythm. His woman was conniving and cunning; she would happily bring him to climax in the same way he had done for years, but that was not enough, and he had no intention of letting her thwart his satisfaction. Kane pulled away from her and slid both hands beneath her, lifting her from the sofa. Lyra sensed his thoughts, just as she had sensed his hesitation in the tunnels; her hands held his neck and she allowed him to carry her to his bed.