Whatever Lawrence was, he had strength far beyond that of a human and took control of Kit’s body like a malevolent puppeteer. His eyes became black, and his teeth were like those of a shark.
Kit knew, deep down, what he thought Lawrence might be.
He just didn’t want to admit it to himself.
He took in the house as they entered. It was similar to an old manor house Kit had once visited on a school trip; dark wood panelling, gaudy gilded paint, and old-style gas lamps placed along the walls.
To Kit’s surprise and unease, Lawrence moved behind him to take his blazer off his shoulders. Every touch on his body made Kit shiver, as if spiders were crawling across his skin in the wake of Lawrence’s fingers. Lawrence left Kit in his thin shirt. He put his arms around his waist, hugging himself, but that jostled his broken finger. He gasped as pain shot up his arm.
After a blink, Lawrence was in front of him. “Does it hurt?” He sounded more intrigued than concerned.
“Yes.”
Lawrence cocked his head. “Would you like it not to hurt any longer?”
Kit swallowed. “Yes.”
Lawrence grabbed hold of Kit’s other wrist and pulled him through the house, up the wide staircase, and into a bedroom. It was grand—all the furniture made of rich cherry wood, the four-poster bed decorated with vivid scarlet drapes, and a patterned rug of knotted textiles in a similar colour on the floor.
Kit felt not only out of place, but out of time. Now that they were in the light, he studied Lawrence’s impeccable appearance. He had no wrinkles on his shirt and suit trousers, unlike Kit in his crumpled school uniform. Lawrence was tall and, though he was slighter than the bodybuilders Kit saw on TV, the way he held himself exuded strength. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, but applying such an age felt inaccurate. Lawrence looked like he could have walked out of one of those old Austen novels, or starred in a golden-era film, or appeared in a black-and-white photograph from times gone by. And yet, here he was, standing in front of Kit, real and present and dangerous.
Lawrence grasped hold of Kit’s face, nails digging in. He turned his head left and right, inspecting him.
“You’re flawless,” Lawrence said, though it didn’t sound like a compliment.
This was Kit’s chance. If he was going to get out of this, it would have to be now. So, with everything he had, he struck out, his fist connecting with Lawrence’s face. Lawrence hissed, but Kit didn’t wait to see how he reacted.
Kit bolted for the door, but he didn’t make it more than a few steps. Kit’s shoulder threatened to pop right out of its socket as he was yanked backwards.
“And to think I was going to be nice and heal you as a show of good faith,” Lawrence said, tutting.
“Please,” Kit said, begging.Breaking. “Please just let me go.”
Lawrence dragged him towards the bed. Kit dug his feet into the carpet, and when that failed to stop the onward movement, he attacked again. He kicked at Lawrence, but only found himself in the air, weightless, before landing on the bed. The soft, luxurious sheets were like the most comfortable of traps.
Lawrence was on top of him before Kit moved a muscle. He’d often wondered what it might be like to feel the weight of a man pressing him down into a mattress, enveloping him. He’d always imagined it to be intoxicating.
This, however, was suffocating.
His school tie cinched tighter than ever around his throat, choking him. Lawrence used it to pull Kit’s head up off the bed as he stared down at him, eyes black, teeth bared.
“Go on, then. Fight me. I’m enjoying it,” Lawrence said.
Rather than obeying, Kit went limp.
Lawrence looked disappointed for a second, but then grinned. “Fine, have it your way.” He pulled at Kit’s shirt collar,ripping the fabric as he freed Kit’s tie. Instead of removing it, he kept it around Kit’s neck and tightened the knot so that it pressed against his throat. The material was cheap and scratchy, and Kit couldn’t pull it free, no matter how desperately he scrabbled at it.
Kit looked down at his own body, helpless, as Lawrence undid the buttons of his shirt one by one, a mockery of care being taken. He almost wished that Lawrence would just rip them open. This slow removal of his clothing was much, much worse. But Kit’s hands were useless against Lawrence, and his focus was on trying to undo the knot that was stealing his air.
Lawrence pushed Kit’s shirt over his shoulders and down his arms, baring his chest. He’d not undone the buttons at the cuffs, so the material trapped his arms underneath him, leaving him exposed.
Lawrence raked a nail—aclaw—down Kit’s sternum, his chest heaving as Lawrence moved to circle a nipple. A helpless whimper escaped Kit as Lawrence pinched him.
Lawrence hummed. “Your reactions are delicious.”
Kit closed his eyes, unable to watch any longer.
“Open them, darling,” Lawrence coaxed. The words didn’t have the layer of coercion of some of his other requests. Lawrence wanted Kit to follow the instruction of his own volition, he realised. So, he kept his eyes shut tight.
