Love & Exorcisms | 18+ | COMPLETE |

- Chapter 70 -

"Samara!" he called her name as loudly as he could. The house was almost eerily silent save for the never-ending torrent of rain on the roof. He dreaded to think what must have happened downstairs as the possession of the woman had taken hold: all the distant, cheerful conversation of the party was gone, the guests likely fled.

But Samara, where was Samara? He had to find her...

"Stay with him," he told Margaux, leaving Abraham's side. "He should stabilize, so long as he keeps breathing. Please, the moment he awakes and is able: I need their names."

Margaux nodded solemnly, moving closer to her husband and caressing his face. "They have her," she said grimly, her eyes overflowing with tears. "They have her Damian. They're so loud. They-"

As if with a sudden breath, all the lamps in the room snuffed out. They were plunged into near complete darkness, lit only by the red glow of the fireplace's embers. Margaux gasped, a whimper stifling in her throat. Damian's pistol weighed heavily in his jacket, both a promise and a threat. He could not wield it yet. Not when he didn't know where Samara was. Not if he was to face her.

That pistol would not take aim at her. It couldn't come to that.

The temperature of the room was plummeting, the fire struggling to maintain its glow. Damian took up the iron poker Abraham had held and grasped it carefully, turning his attention towards the broken door and the darkened hall beyond.

"Samara?" his voice was softer this time, cautious. He peered out into the hall, his eyes trying to pick out any shapes they could in the darkness. Everything was shades of black, nothing was discernible.

"Samara?"

Movement. Sudden, and brief, at the head of the stairway. Footsteps rapidly sprinting down and away. His first instinct was to give chase: but he had to be calm. His heart was pounding, sweat breaking out across his palms despite the cold. They couldn't have taken her. Not now. Not now. They weren't ready. Abraham had to wake up, he had to give them the names!

Or Damian would attempt an exorcism without them. The very thought made him ill, like imagining plunging off of a cliff. No hope awaited him there.

He crept down the stairway, keeping his back to the wall, the iron poker ready. Would the demons have possessed others? Or only Samara...but why was she running? Why hide? Demons were aggressive, and in her previous states of total demonic control she had always sought to be violent against him.

"Damian..."

Her voice was a whisper, floating up from below. He stopped, only a few stairs from the bottom. Samara was standing there, in the darkness of the wide open doorway. Rain poured down behind her, and she shook with the cold. Her dress hung raggedly off of one shoulder. Her hair had come loose and tangled about her shoulders, moving with the fearsome wind from outside.

Samara. His Samara. The strong, beautiful woman who had swept him up in her fire when he least expected it...

Her eyes had gone black. She gritted her teeth as she spoke.

"Get. Away. From. Me." Her every word was a struggle. She choked on them and whimpered. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides. "Don't. Let. Me. Hurt..." Tears streamed down her face and her body began to twitch. He approached her slowly, hands outspread .

"It's alright, Samara," he said. "Please. You'll be alright. You're stronger than this. Stronger than them."

"So. Scared...please...She's...coming..." Her voice shook, and her dark eyes grew wide, and she seemed to struggle with herself with herself for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice had grown deep, a snarl from deep within her chest. "Don't. Don't. Follow."