At Your Service

Chapter 41- Heat

 "How much time does something like this take to complete?" How little Ansel knew about what they were about to go through terrified them, but he trusted Carlisle wholeheartedly; he was bound to them, after all.

"Under an hour, if all goes smoothly," Carlisle responded without looking back at the witch he led by the hand down the corridor, his grasp on their hand firm but gentle. They both smiled at Marjorie, who grinned at them as she carried some towels down to the guest bathroom in a speed walk.

"So, what happens to me when I drink the blood?" Ansel wondered once the maid was out of earshot.

Carlisle suddenly turned and pushed open the door to his bedroom. Once he closed the door, he said, very quietly, "Lie down over there." He pointed to the bed. Ansel did as instructed, staring up at the canopy, but looked to the door when it suddenly closed; Carlisle was no longer in the room. Ansel sat up, adrenaline coursing through his body. He was terrified, but he knew that he wasn't ready for the other option. He didn't want to have sex with Carlisle just for what they were facing that night, not to turn into a demon. He wanted it to happen when it was just them with no agenda when the time was right. Carlisle seemed to understand, but Ansel knew he was upset that his master chose the more painful option to put themselves through.

Carlisle suddenly returned with a bandage on his forearm, a goblet from the study, and short chords from the garage. He set the goblet down on the nightstand. "Lie down, my Lord." Ansel nodded and swallowed as they did as instructed. They watched as Carlisle took their wrist and used the chord to tie it to the bedpost with about three feet of chord between the post and their wrist.

"Carlisle?"

"Hmm?" He crawled over the bed to the other side to tie Ansel's other wrist.

"I want you to make a contract with me."

Carlisle froze. He stared at the rope in his hands. After a few moments, he finally spoke, "You want to..."

"I want to make a contract with you," Ansel repeated.

"What for?" He started tying Ansel's other wrist.

Ansel was quiet for a moment. "If I am to die before I am old, I want you to turn me into a demon... permanently."

Carlisle listened silently as he tied the rope. "We can discuss it later." He finished it. "There we go." He started walking around to the other side of the bed.

"You didn't answer my question from before, about what happens when I drink the blood," Ansel murmured as he watched Carlisle pick up the goblet.

"Yes, my apologies." He paused as he sat down on the edge of the mattress. Ansel looked into the goblet to see dark purple blood rather than the red blood that Carlisle possessed in his human form. "It will corrode at your soul and mask it, so you appear soulless. That is why it will hurt so badly," he explained. "If you turn into a demon, I am to devour your soul before giving you my blood to drink. It will hurt just as badly, if not more, because the blood will have nothing to work on except for your body, and your blood mixing with mine will not be a pleasant feeling at all."

Ansel scowled as Carlisle tilted their head up so they could drink. "How did you become a demon, then?"

"I had a contract, same as your parents, and then the demon I had the contract with saw potential in me and made me one when our contract expired."

"What was your contract for?"

"Bringing the love of my life back from the dead," he answered softly, melancholy thick in his tone and eyes.

"Is that demon still alive?" Ansel asked.

Carlisle shook his head. "I killed him after he raped her about a year after we made our deal," he replied coldly. Ansel had never been more intimidated by their butler, but it melted as the demon smiled and raised the goblet to their lips. "Now," his voice had softened and warmed significantly, "get it all down as fast as possible. My blood doesn't taste as great as I wished." He watched the witch down his blood in three big gulps. The demon quickly but carefully set the goblet on the nightstand before straddling Ansel's hips and waiting.

For a solid ten moments, Ansel felt nothing, just traces of the disgusting, warm demon blood in their mouth and throat. It even felt wrong in their stomach. The witch stared up at the demon, who stared right back in dark anticipation, like someone expecting a tornado to come and wreck their life.

Then, a heat, comparable to the one Ansel felt with Carlisle the night before Ashley's curse tore them apart, ignited in their stomach. Carlisle tilted his head with wonder as Ansel scowled. The heat burned and stabbed their abdomen as if the witch were about to throw up, but it spread up to their chest. It ached in their bones, and they could almost feel it scorching their veins. Their body tensed up, muscles locking.

"Are you all right?" Carlisle whispered, staring, as he gently laid both hands on the witch's stomach. Ansel could only hum back as their eyes scrunched shut. "It's working quickly." Ansel nodded quickly as the fire in their chest flared, causing them to let out a small whimper. The witch suddenly let out a harsh cry as they writhed in pain. The butler quickly clamped his mouth shut. "You have to be quiet, my darling," he whispered, stroking their hair with his other hand. Ansel fought against him and against their bindings. The bedframe creaked and groaned in agitation with every tug of the ropes on the witch's wrists. Carlisle climbed on top of them to immobilize them to a degree. He straddled their hips so they couldn't kick as much without hurting him.

The witch felt like all of the fire that had engulfed the warehouse what felt like forever ago was trying to burn through his skin in an escape attempt. They screamed, but with Carlisle keeping his mouth closed, it would not carry beyond the bedroom. Tears streamed down their cheeks. The demon had his mouth set in a deep, uncomfortable frown and his eyes were scrunched shut as he held Ansel down for dear life, begging for the transformation to be over with soon.

Half an hour after drinking the blood, the worst of the pain was over and turned into a deep, throbbing ache that seemed to pound through every fibre of the witch's body. Ansel had passed out, which was not uncommon and was actually preferred during the process. Carlisle sat at the foot of the bed with his legs criss crossed as he stared at the witch, calm but ready if they were to suddenly wake up and start fighting again. They looked much like they did when they slept in the hospital after surgery: pale, beaten, worn out, and suffering. If not for the shallow rise and fall of the witch's chest, Ansel would have looked dead, but Carlisle knew better; he could sense his blood mingling with Ansel's as it coursed through their veins, corroding their soul like acid. It was a terrible thing to watch, such a brilliant, powerful soul be destroyed; Carlisle was thankful that it was temporary, and that, when his blood ran its course and vanished, Ansel's soul would be as intact and bright as ever.

Forty-five minutes after the process began, Ansel suddenly stirred and tried to sit up but was immediately tugged back down by the wrists. Carlisle crawled over them and cut the ropes with his teeth alone.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, running a hand through the witch's hair and down their face.

Ansel looked up at him, panting. "I don't know." They didn't know what to expect to feel. They just felt wrong, out of place, like something was missing. "I feel... empty... just not myself."

Carlisle wore a small grin. "Then, it worked. Welcome to your first, and hopefully only, round of demonhood."