Lyra coughed up water, and her legs paddled furiously. She turned from Kane, who was watching her intently, and swam towards the shore. Kane watched; her struggling would never stop tantalizing his inner beast, and now he had seen her anger and it was sweet. The water splashed up behind Lyra as she darted through it, her mind still awash with confused and disgusted emotions. Once her feet touched the floor, she waded out of the lake and headed towards her cabin.
The locks were still broken from Kane’s kick and the door hung on its hinges. Lyra gave it an additional kick as she stormed in and headed directly for the bathroom. The stove was warm; Harlon must have been good enough to light it for her. She knew that the water would be tepid at best but did not care. Lyra stripped and climbed into the bath as it was still running. She scrubbed her body furiously with gel, washed her hair and cleaned herself up intensely. Within ten minutes, she was dried and dressed. Kane had left debris of clothes and towels about the place. Lyra pulled on a black summer dress, her leggings having all been torn or wet, and set about clearing up the mess.
Her furious cleaning was soon interrupted by the sound of banging from the front room. Lyra put the last of her towels away and marched to the front room to see where the noise was coming from.
‘I knew I had some spare locks out in the shed,’ Harlon muttered without turning to look at her. The old man was crouched on the floor, screwing a bolt into the wall. ‘Don’t want no one breaking in now, do we, missy?’ Lyra let out a laugh; the only person who had disturbed her home was Kane, and she was quite sure that Kane had instructed Harlon to mend the damage that he had done.
Lyra marched past Harlon and stared out into the wilderness. It appeared that Kane had not followed her; perhaps he had released her.
‘Nope, he’s about somewhere,’ Harlon responded to her thoughts.
‘Can you not do that?’ Lyra asked.
‘Do what?’ the old man asked as he finished fixing the final screw.
‘Guess my thoughts.’
‘Not guessing, missy, just knowing,’ Harlon laughed.
‘Can you just not?’ she asked again abruptly.
‘If you mean can I shut them out, well then, yes, I certainly can,’ Harlon replied. ‘But the boy don’t want that now, do he?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Lyra replied.
‘You and I both know that ain’t true,’ Harlon muttered whilst shifting his attention to the top bolt. Lyra thought about the old man’s words; she had sensed Kane’s movements, but not his thoughts, and not all of the time.
‘It will come,’ Harlon nodded. Lyra sighed but did not bother to ask him to stay out of her head, knowing that there was little point as her words would go unheeded.
Harlon fixed the top bolt with precision and speed. He gathered his tools up and prepared to leave.
‘He’s waiting for you!’ the old man exclaimed, nodding towards the studio. Lyra remembered her promise: to paint for him. She closed the door behind Harlon and walked to the studio. Kane was indeed waiting, motionless, in the corner so that he could see the array of work on the desk. His eyes fixated on the painting that he had seen the first night.
‘The duality of man,’ Lyra stated. ‘It shows that man is neither good nor evil.’ She pointed at the various hues of darkness and light. ‘You see, man is a spectrum of shades, neither one thing nor the other, but a mixture of feeling and action.’ Kane flicked his hand out, indicating that she should paint.
Lyra pulled a piece of paper from another smaller table and spilled a selection of acrylic colours into a palette that sat at the far end of the desk. She stared out of the window at the lake shimmering against the forest and started to paint.
‘Normally I would pencil the outline, but for landscapes I like to just use the flick of the brush,’ she explained to the silent monster. Time flowed as she worked, painting Kane’s beloved wilderness. Again, something in her work spoke to him; a sense of self-imposed isolation and sadness that he could understand. The afternoon drifted into evening, and the sun dropped seamlessly from the sky.
As the clock struck ten, Lyra put down her brush and hung the work up on her drying line. She washed her utensils without speaking and turned to face Kane. He stared down at his woman; she had fulfilled her promise wholeheartedly. He had sensed an ongoing conflict within her: a disgusted fear combined with an aching desire. Kane considered the possibility that her actions could be a ruse to gain his trust, allowing an easy escape, but not her painting. She was genuinely and profoundly happy and at peace whilst engrossed in her work; she was expressing her inner self, fully exposing her soul to him.
Kane reached out and cupped her chin in his gloved hand, raising it up so that she was looking in his eyes.
‘It’s for you,’ she whispered. ‘The painting, it’s for you.’ There was sincerity in her words. After a pause, Lyra continued, ‘I need to work and send my work to the auctioneers.’ Kane snapped his head to the side furiously; her words threatened to bring outsiders into his home. ‘What is it?’ Lyra asked. ‘You don’t want me to do that, is that it?’ Slowly, Kane nodded and lifted his arm to point out of the window. ‘You think people will come here? Is that it?’ she asked nervously. ‘No, Kane, no one will come, I promise. Amy arranged a postal box in town for me before I moved…’ Her words faded away. Kane was breathing heavily, his anger clearly gaining in momentum.
Lyra thought over her words; she had mentioned Amy. For a while, she had forgotten what he was and what he had done. His reaction served to confirm what she already knew: that the Penroses were dead. Lyra thought quickly and carefully; she did not want to anger him further.
‘It’s for you, Kane,’ she reiterated, placing a hand on his chest. Kane snapped his head upright and placed his hand over hers. Lyra expected him to push her away, but instead he simply clasped it tightly. ‘No one is going to come here, Kane, I promise,’ Lyra whispered. ‘Not looking for me. I came here to get away from people.’ With her other hand, she reached up and stroked his neck. Her fingers trailed upwards to his mask. Kane released his grip and brushed her hand away from his face. ‘Kane, let me see?’ she implored, hoping to distract him from the previous conversation.
Kane shook his head; she would be even more disgusted with him if she saw his true image. He cast his eyes over to the painting; she had such an eye for beauty, and he was hideous. There was no beauty to be seen, not in a deformed killer. He moved his gaze from the painting to the pretty, hazel eyes that bewitched him. A wave of guilt flitted through him; he had caused her greater suffering in two days than she had experienced in a lifetime, and yet she still made something so beautiful for him, not out of fear; her art emanated from the heart. She had not realized it, but she had smiled whilst working, and her smile radiated, lighting up the room.
Lyra sensed the improvement in her captor’s mood; doing anything to survive meant that she had to encourage his trust.
‘Take me home, Kane,’ she whispered. The monster tilted his head and lifted her carefully into his arms. Lyra wrapped her arms about his neck and buried her head into his shoulder. Kane walked out of the cabin and carried his woman through the woods back to his home. He slowed his pace so that he might enjoy her voluntary affections for as long as possible. Lyra closed her eyes and kissed his neck gently; she would gain his trust, yet she did not trust herself not to give in to the passions building up within her. ‘I want to go to bed,’ Lyra muttered as she nibbled on the monster’s neck.
The electric pulses shocked through Kane’s stomach, not animalistic and cruel, but desirous and powerful none the less. He carried her directly to his room and placed her on the edge of the bed. Lyra nodded towards the rags on the floor and closed her eyes, expecting to be blindfolded. Instead, Kane left the room and extinguished every candle and light so that the cabin was shrouded in darkness. Lyra rose to meet him when he returned and instantly placed her lips on his. Her hands unbuckled his tool belt and moved to the scabbard. Unexpectedly, Kane did not resist, allowing her to remove the sheath from his leg as his own hands explored the shape of her breasts through the dress that she wore.
Lyra pulled aggressively at the buttons on his suit, exhibiting a strength that Kane had not yet seen. Once undone, she pulled the suit from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. In response, Kane kicked his boots off and stepped out of his clothes. He lifted Lyra back onto the bed so that she lay supine. Their lips met again with a furious passion; her arms laced about his body and stroked at him. The creature tore his gloves off and ran a hand between her legs, raising her dress as he did. Lyra moaned as his rough hands stroked at her legs, rising with each stroke. She felt herself getting wet at his touch and dug her tongue deeper into his mouth; she stroked his back, neck and chest, taking in the awesome strength of his body.
His fingers worked their way higher until they reached her wetness. Lyra gasped, and the monster responded, running his fingers from her sensitivity to her aching wetness. Her breathing slowed as he rubbed into her. Kane pulled her dress up higher so that he could take in the smell of her arousal. His tongue delved into the back of her mouth and he released her sex, enabling him to rise her dress fully. In one swift moment, he lay between her legs, his hardness pressing against her, touching the most sensual area.
Lyra parted her legs further for him, and he pushed gently against her. She moaned as he pushed up against her passionately. Their tongues entwined, as did their bodies. Kane built up the pressure; she was bound to be sore after the previous night. She held tightly to him as the pain subsided and morphed into an exquisite pleasure. He pushed more firmly, and she relaxed, allowing him access. Again, he pushed against her, then he pushed into her. She arched slightly and dropped into a relaxed, amorous trance. With slow, ever-deepening strides, Kane continued his affections. Lyra’s need quickly intensified, and with each lustful moan that left her lips, Kane’s ardour built.
Lyra ran her fingers up his spine to the back of his head, which she cupped adoringly, pushing his tongue further into her desperate mouth. Kane grabbed her hips and forced himself fully inside, causing Lyra’s body to go rigid. The waves in her stomach curved and expanded; she was so close that it pained her.
‘Please, Kane,’ she whispered, having sensed how her begging aroused him. The creature pushed harder, driving his body up against her swollen sex. Lyra dug one heel into his back and moved her hips to meet his almighty thrusts.
Her moans sank into a tantalizing breathlessness. ‘I’m so close,’ she moaned, stretching and collapsing against him. Kane’s own need was desperately close to peaking. With one final thrust, she arched fully against him; her body went rigid and her fingers dug into him. The monster responded immediately, releasing himself fully into her. For a time, neither moved, both unsure as to exactly what had taken place. He had made love to her with a passion alien to him, and she had responded in kind. Finally, Kane lay next to her and pulled her close to him. Lyra had expected him to tie her again, but he did not. Instead, the creature held her close, wondering how he could have ever harmed her.
