You seize onto the blanket before it slips to the floor.

'Do not be afraid.' He's trying to sound gentle but all it does is make everything worse.

'What's wrong with your face?' you say without thinking.

'Don't be afraid.'

'How-how can I not be afraid?'

The fire flickers against his expression, making him seem just that little bit more terrible. You speak about his face but it's not really his face you're referring to, though that doesn't look quite right either: his jaw is too broad, his forehead to wide, his nose too long. He almost looks too masculine. As queer as that is, it's what's under his hood, only partially concealed, that your mind can't quite digest.

You take a step back. 'What are you?' With the flames dancing behind him, he almost looks ... 'Are you ... are you the devil?'

He raises his eyebrows, then laughs. More than laughs--he cackles, throwing back his head as though it's the most hilarious thing he's ever heard. His laughter is so deep and booming you swear you can feel it vibrating through the floor.

In one swift motion he stands. You scramble back, gripping your blanket hard to your chest.

'Keep away!'

He's so massive! So much bigger than those already big men with the batwings. He towers over you like a building, like a Goddamn mountain. How he found a cloak to fit him must have been a feat, and you suddenly realise why the castle and everything in it is so big. It has to be to house someone like him.

He grins at you with all his teeth, and you realise there's more to him than those God-awful things on his head. He has fangs too. No. Canines. Like a dog's. Like a wolf's. They gleam against the flickering light.

Is he going to eat you? Is that why you're here? Maybe you're an offering, like Fay Wray was to King Kong. Is that why those men kidnapped you? Is that why they slathered you in that lotion? Maybe it's supposed to be like mayonnaise. Maybe you're just a sausage in a bun.

Prepped to be devoured.

'Didn't you hear?' he says amid his laughter. 'Satan is dead and hell is a pile of rubble.'

He takes a long stride towards you and you scramble back further, edging your way closer and closer to the doors, though little help it will be. 'Keep away!'

'No.'

'Keep away!'

He pauses. His hood still covers his head and all the terrible secrets beneath. Not for long; he whips it off.

'Take a good look at them,' he growls, 'because you'll be seeing them every day for the rest of your life.'

Your chest goes tight. Your throat feels like it's closing over. You're breathing fast and hard but no matter how much you try you can't seem to catch your breath.

You shake your head, your eyes locked onto his horns. They're black and thick and long. Starting above the ears, they curve towards the ceiling in a half U shape in front of his face, like those of a goat. A monstrous goat.

'Please ...please ...'

This isn't real! Something like him should only exist in nightmares and horror stories. You must be dreaming. You must be!

You turn and flee towards the doors. Your blanket puddles around your feet as you try and push them open with all your might. Come on! Come on! How can they be so heavy? You're not that weak!

You can see his shadow growing against the wall as he approaches. You turn and raise your fists but everything turns to a startling blur as he grabs you and swings you up in his arms.

He's walking back into the middle of the room. Screaming, you beat your fists against his chest, but you might as well be beating at a rock for the amount of good it does. You punch him hard in the jaw. It doesn't seem to affect him at all. You, on the other hand ...

With a cry, you clutch at your throbbing knuckles. Then you see where you're headed. Your eyes widen. The bed! Ignoring your aching hand, you wrap your arms around his neck and grip on tightly. If he can't get you on the bed, he can't ... do anything to you.

Your face is pressed into his neck, and you suddenly realise something—he smells familiar. It takes a moment before you realise--like the lotion.

What does that mean?

He grunts as you lock your arms around him more tightly. Instead of wrestling you off, he wraps his arms just as tightly around you. It shocks you. You don't know what to do. He's standing by the edge of the bed and doesn't seem to want to go any further.

Neither of you move. Neither of you speak. At a stalemate. All you know is the sound of his breathing and your pounding heart. He grunts again as he presses his nose into your hair.

You jerk away. 'Stop!'

'As you wish,' he says and throws you on the bed.

You scramble away, but the bed is large and he's fast and by the time you reach the opposite edge he's already there, bearing down on you with his demonic horns and huge strength and gleaming, wild eyes.

You stare at those eyes. They're far from normal, more like a cat's than a human's: slitted with elongated pupils. You blink, trying to clear your vision. It's hard to be certain against the light but they look almost yellow.

Impossible.

Heinous.

On your knees, you continue to stare up at him, waiting for him to react, waiting for him to do something.

Your heart leaps into your throat as he drops his cloak.

You don't want to look but you can't help yourself, unable to believe your eyes. He's so muscular: his legs, his arms; his abdomen is like a Goddamn grater. Little wonder he's so fast. His thighs are probably bigger than your waist.

But that's not the worst of it. His skin—it's a deep red and there's a shine to it, which gives you the impression that it's very thick, like leather. If you were to scratch him, would he bleed? Little wonder your punching did nothing.

Then there's that between his legs. He's naked. Utterly naked. It's been a while since you've been with a man, and it's a shock. What's worse is that it's huge, just as he is huge. It's standing up, thick and tall like one of the bed posts. It's even redder than the rest of him.

You shake your head. There is no doubt now what he intends to use you for. You have to push back the tears. He would tear you to pieces with that thing. You look away with a gasp.

'Look at me,' he growls.

You shake your head.

'Look at me.'

You don't move.

He takes a step towards you and before you can jerk away, he has your head in his hands and is forcing you to look up at him.