"Miss Ampora, please get back into the car," he called from the window in the back of the limo, his hair lightly slicked back and messed up in a very particular way.

She looked straight ahead, marching through the light night rain in obvious protest. He couldn't stand it and she knew it. He couldn't handle not having everything the way he wanted it, even if he vehemently denied it. Slipping her hands into her leather jacket she just slightly shook her head, her long black curls slowly releasing their form as they became damp with rain. This was another one of her temper tantrums. She knew how it was going to end and she wasn't really sure why she continued to have one every couple of months.

Suddenly, the limo stopped and he got out, moving behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders. Making a snide remark to herself on the inside about how he must be loathing getting his perfect hair ruined, she turned around, casting one of his hands away with her own. He clinched his jaw but stood still, almost too still. She crossed her arms, her eyeliner starting to run slightly down her face. He tried to keep his face composed, but he couldn't help but look down at his ward with rage dancing back behind his eyes.

"Darius," she mocked the way he spoke in a pointedly intelligent way, "you can't keep fuckin' makin' me behave like, some, some sorta," she stalled, frustrated that she could never think as fast as he could, "doll? Slave? Indentured servant? Maid? Which is it now, Cronus?" he finished for her coolly, his words dry.

She huffed harshly, almost stamping one foot but trying her best to seem like an adult as she lashed out, "Chief, you can't keep doin' this bullshit! I am twenty years old, I ain't some kid, I ain't the kid you picked up years ago. Why won't ya take me serious? Why ya gotta treat me like a fuckin' preteen or something?"

"One, watch your language. Two, when you were a teenager you didn't throw full scale temper tantrums in the middle of bad neighborhoods, so I suppose we could say that I don't treat you like a teenager, I treat you like a child because you have decided on multiple occasions to revert back to that sort of behavior," he responded to her, unable to keep back his scathing tone, which only caused her to be more furious.

"Did ya ever consider that maybe I didn't flip shit back then way because I was desperate?" she hissed, leaning closer to him and looking up into his face, which would have actually been comical if they didn't both seem like they wanted to commit heinous murder, "You ain't prince charming but you're certainly not my father. You may not break my ribs, but ya ain't a fuckin' fairy godmotha either."

He physically recoiled at the mention of her father, turning away slightly and running his fingers through his hair and biting his lip just slightly. She knew he hated when she did this, drawing up a mental venn diagram of him and her biological father. Regret instantly consumed her, knocking her out of her frustration. She put a hand on his arm and motioned to the limo and he nodded, following her inside of it.

Once inside, they both sat across from each other. Cronus reached over to grab a tissue to blot her wet face and Darius just stared at her. They had a queer relationship, convoluted by their distinct differences in mortality. A long time ago, Darius was not alone, he was with eleven others, but now it was just him and this girl he called family in the loosest way possible. She glanced over at him, crossing one leg over her knee and furrowing her brow.

Before she could apologize, he sighed and said, "You know I don't do these things to be hateful, little one," he crossed his own legs, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, "I just want to avoid trouble at all costs, even though sometimes I think you forget that it's out there, searching for you," his gaze was soft and almost a little sad, "you are soft, breakable, and utterly human. I don't pity you, I envy you."

She looked away from him, her eyes welling up. She couldn't cry, she couldn't allow herself that freedom. It wasn't that emotion was weak, but she couldn't physically handle another outburst. She didn't ask for this life, but no one ever asked for the life that they were given, so she supposed that was a pitiful excuse to feel so at a loss. Her eyes flickered to the windows on either side of the other, the night flashing by along with buildings and teenagers smoking on street corners. Her life was a privileged one, but she wished she could be with them. Darius never understood that. He couldn't wrap his mind around why she'd want to eat greasy burgers are shitty diners at one in the morning and smoke menthols with wayward kids. It was the normality of it, the lack of responsibility, the lack of fear. Shadows danced at every edge of her life, threatening to break in and consume her completely, and that was something she couldn't seem to get passed. For a long time she tried to romanticize and normalize it, but that stopped when she was eighteen and they had caught sight of her biological father. They'd avoided him by moments, but there wasn't confrontation. It wasn't what was at that moment, but what could have been. Darius could not have protected her, even if he laid down his life, and he would have.

She inhaled deeply, smiling a forlorn grin at him, one side of her mouth raising with an eyebrow, "Ain't it funny that way?" she questioned him rhetorically, "you envy me or whatever, but ya only envy me because of the sweet release of death. Ain't that a little," she paused and tapped her cheek softly, "I dunno, that's just a little emo, Darius. Ya sound like an angsty pre-teen. Ya sound like bad Twilight fanfiction," she shrugged a little and leaned back into the seat, "I mean, ya do drink blood. I think I'm fittin' the pieces together here, champ. I really do," her tone was completely serious, but at this point she was wiggling her eyebrows at him slightly, "did old lady Stephanie Meyer deny ya the role as the suave Edward? Did it really hurt your self esteem that much? I mean, if ya ask me, you're even more pretentious than him, so you shoulda gotten the part."

"Would you be surprised," he replied, "if I said that wasn't the first time I had ever heard that?"

She shook her head, "No, no real-" and suddenly the moment changed.

The limo jerked forward harshly, causing them both to be knocked around, a soft yell coming from behind the privacy window that divided them from their driver. The door beside Darius was ripped open, cool air flushing into the space. In that moment, Cronus knew what was happening. She tried to scramble out the door next to her, but the demon moved into the car.

Darius was a man of poise and calm collection. His shirts were always pressed and lipstick never touched his collar. He spoke with a point, as if he was a poet deciding on what words to use in a limited space. He cloaked himself in a typical type A personality, but it was but dove feathers taped to a vulture. Cronus knew how hard Darius tried to keep his composure, it meant everything to him, and she was usually glad he did. Today, though, was not the time to keep up pristine self images.

Things happened quickly, as they usually do in actual physical fights. Darius moved forward, grabbing the demon by the back of the neck and throwing him out of the car. He briskly removed himself as well, leaving Cronus in quite the daze. She was breathing heavily, unsure if she really wanted to see what was about to happen. She moved to the door, looking out at the scene that lay before her. The street was dark and they were alone, the street light down the street turned red. She was numb inside but all the physical sensations felt so much more real. The rain was still falling, it was cool outside, the beginning of the east coast fall. Her guardian was before her, his back turned as he had a hand wrapped around the demon's throat. He wasn't ugly, but demons rarely were from her experience. Darius told her one time that Lucifer was the most beautiful angel ever created as an explanation for their beauty, but she knew he didn't actually believe in the Christian lore, so he probably just said it to make it sound more reasonable and less awful.

The shadows seemed longer around him, though that was probably a trick of the light. His nails were digging into the demon's throat, especially near the jugular. He stood there for a long moment as the demon scratched at his arm, fighting for release. Darius was bleeding, his nice white sleeve ripped and the skin underneath becoming flayed like fish. He didn't flinch. Cronus slowly removed herself from the car, which was an unwise decision but that's what she was made of. She watched all of this, her hands shaking at her sides.

"I'm unsure of what I want to do with you," Darius spoke, his voice seeming almost removed from his body, "there's just so many options."

He behaved as if he was a doctor talking to a patient about treatment. Overly casual and relaxed, a soft smile spread on his lips.

"You see, I just, well," he paused, choosing his words, "you see I just don't take fondly to people trying to take things that are mine. I suppose I wasn't raised correctly, I just never learned to share my toys."

Cronus didn't know what to do. She'd seen Darius behave like this three times before this. You never forget seeing such a stark personality change from well dressed fashion designer to sadomasochistic demon. The first time was when he had taken her from Dualscar. He had ripped a man's head straight off his body and considered bringing it along with them for a midnight snack before coming back to reality and realizing Cronus was right there. The second time was when she was a junior in a private school he had forced her to attend. Her father had found out where she was and sent someone to come pick her up. Darius removed their eyes with his car keys and then poured bleach inside of the empty sockets. The third time was not long after that, but she didn't really see it as much as hear it. People don't make screams like that, at least she didn't think they did before that.

"I have never ravaged a thing doomed for death," he cocked his head to the side as if this was the funniest joke he had ever made, his smile widening, "do you think you would feel more intensely as you died? Or do you think you would go numb, unable to process the things that happened to you?"

He breathed his words, leaning in and in one quick moment his free hand went straight through the demon's chest, pushing his heart out to the other side and then quickly pulling his arm back through, showing it to Cronus's assailant as the life left his eyes.

"Though I care deeply for life, I just can't care for yours," he told him, shaking his head and moving his gaze towards the heart.

Cronus closed her eyes tightly as he bit into it. As he turned to rid himself of the body, his eyes caught sight of her. He had been so consumed by cold rage that he had forgotten that she had a tendency to not stay where she needed to be. He cursed under his breath, angry at himself for being unable to restrain his behavior. He opened the trunk of the limo and tossed the body in it. He couldn't leave some strange, dead demon entity laying in the middle of the street. He tossed the half eaten heart in there with him. He went to the front, retrieved the dead driver and put him in the trunk as well. He brought out his white handkerchief from his back pocket and frowned as he wiped his bloodied hands off on the white towel.

When he was cleaned up, he looked over at the obviously disturbed Cronus. Her eyes were now open and she observed everything he had done. They locked eyes and he frowned softly to her and she knew that meant he was sorry. He motioned to the car and she got in the passenger seat in the front of the limo since Darius was clearly going to be their new driver. He slid in and she watched his movements as he looked around before taking off.

"It's a little odd whoever would only send one person," Darius commented to her, his voice back to normal, acting as if he hadn't just devoured someone's heart, "I'm a little offended, though not too much."

She was trying very hard to be as casual as he was, she wanted to seem in control of herself this time, "Don't ya think it was my fuckin', well, you know, Dualscar? Chief, listen I don't think there's a whole lot of other people who'd be interested in me."

He shook his head, "Not this time, I'm pretty unconvinced it was him," he furrowed his brows, "which is very concerning when I think about it now," he waved his hand slightly to her, "he'd send much more people, his spitefulness for me knows no bounds."

The lights passed them, the city blurred to her as she took in what he had said to her. There was no one else in this world who would threaten her that she knew of. There was obviously missing pieces of information here.

"Who else would come for me?" she questioned him, confounded by this new found chapter in the never ending fantasy that was her life.

"Hm," he paused for a moment, "I would take a guess, throw a dart in the dark, and say that it could possibly be The Condescension, or maybe even Mindfang, they both have motive," he looked over at her, sighing, "it's really such a shame your essence is put in between a man and his demons."

"Why ain't ya ever tell me about these people? Are they demons too?" she inquired, frustrated that he had been leaving large portions of important information out of the picture.

"Well, you never asked," he responded with a slight shrug of his shoulders, "and they are. Two more parts of twelve. I hope no more become involved," he sighed, "Highblood is a senseless beast, well, all of the upper class demons are really. At least Dualscar has the decency to hide his behind jewels and fine whiskeys."

She scoffed, finding it ironic how he would comment on Dualscar hiding his monstrous behavior behind money and sensual behaviors. Darius was a hedonist, though he didn't use that word. Her eyes danced across his face, tracing his high cheekbones and sharp jaw line. He was so beautiful, the most beautiful of his kind that she had ever seen as of yet. He rode this odd line between feminine and masculine, pulling both aspects into himself and spitting it out into art. He confused her most of the time, she was really unable to grasp why he was like he was. He never talked about his past, or really anything about himself. She didn't know why he protected her.

When she was twelve years old he showed up on her doorstep, asking her if she wanted to know what life really felt like. She remembered it vividly. The night before her father had tore into her like a wolf into his prey, sinking his hands into her flesh like teeth into meat. Cronus wasn't a demon, something about the biology between a demon's humanoid body and a human's body didn't allow for that creation. It was probably because it was some sort of sin against nature. Her mother had died when she was very young, she didn't remember anything about her.

Cronus had been covered in bruises. Two ribs were broken and her whole face was coated in purples and blues. She was still in her nightgown when Darius had swept her up into his arms and carried her out to his car. He sat her in the back seat and buckled her in. She heard yelling from outside of the car and Darius left her inside. She watched him tear the head off of the guard who was tasked with making sure she stayed inside all day. He didn't do a very good job, obviously. She watched him dismember a man for her, for a girl he had never met prior to this. From that moment on she trusted him, even when she didn't always trust herself.

Darius might have saved her from her father's physical abuse, but she was intelligent enough to know that the damage had already been done. He always commented on her beauty, he always told her she was a work of art that no one could capture, but she knew on the inside she was melting. It was shown by her temper tantrums and her disconnect from the words she spoke and the way they'd make people feel. She knew that no matter how many times Darius tried to save her it wouldn't matter all that much. Unfortunately, she was the only person that could really save her. The demons she feared most did not walk the streets at night, they clawed her flesh from the inside at all times of day, begging her for release. Though most of the times she did not give in, there were moments when the facade fell and she did. They did not speak of those times.

Her thoughts were disturbed by Darius's phone wailing in the soft silence. He looked at it and groaned to himself before setting it aside. He could have answered it and driven fine, but he never liked to. She knew it was because he was trying to set a good example for her, but he couldn't really do that. You don't view someone's actions the same when you know that deep down they take pleasure in devouring the pain of others, filling the voids in their soul with it. Luckily, they were home soon. Darius owned a large home in the Golden Triangle of Greenwich, Connecticut which was conveniently only about thirty five miles from Manhattan, where he did most of his work.

It was a lot like him, large and opulent, with a rounded driveway, tall spires, as if it was taken straight from the gothic period of architecture. She knew the pattern as he parked the limo. He got out first and moved around to open her door, helping her out even though she didn't need it. He put a hand on her shoulder and she let him this time and he lead her inside. She knew that this time it was less about control and more about worry. He never really exuded large amounts of anxiety, but she knew that he felt very out of place feeling as if he couldn't properly protect her.

As they moved into the living room, he took out his phone and sat on the black leather couch, crossing a leg over his knee as he put it up to his ear. She sat on the other side of the couch after shrugging off her leather jacket, looking at him with mild concern. Something was going on and she didn't understand any of it. She supposed that Darius had hoped that he could keep her blinded to all the horrible things that danced behind closed doors, but she knew that life wasn't bright and cheery like Grease, which was really as unfortunate as it sounded. The thought left he dismayed. That was one of the only times John Travolta looked attractive. Well, there was Pulp Fiction too. She shook her head, knowing that now was not the time to judge John Travolta's level of attractiveness in his various movies.

"I know I didn't answer, there is no need to have that sort of tone with me," he said now that the other person on the phone had answered.

He was still sounding a little pretentious so she supposed that this couldn't be all that bad.

"Yes, she's fine. Yes, I am fine. I am alive as I will ever be, do you not hear the words leaving my lips?" he replied snidely, though he took the time to angle the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could roll up his shredded sleeve up and examine the arm he had just remembered that was disfigured.

He was obviously discontented with the physical part of the damaged, but he didn't seem too concerned with the pain, as if it was just some mild irritant. She was a little revolted by the whole scene. Chunks of flesh were missing from the meaty part of his arm, as if a bear had swiped deeply at him. He saw her reaction and rolled his sleeve back down, using his hand again to hold the phone to his ear.

"So do you know which one of Dualscar's erratic ex-lovers want to kidnap my, I mean his child?" he questioned, masking his mistake in words quickly, but Cronus noticed all the same. He made that mistake more often than he'd like to admit.

"Signless, don't take that tone with me, I will hang up this phone and fly three thousand miles to in order to set your manners back in place," Cronus almost laughed from the practically visible finger that was shaking in the tone of his voice, "see, was that so hard to answer for me? Please message me with any more information you have. This obviously isn't going away any time soon. Why do the high bloods have to have such nasty temper tantrums?"

She couldn't hear what the person on the other side said but she imagined it was them pointing out Darius's own capability for nasty temper tantrums. Darius hung up without a word. She knew she was probably right because she couldn't have been the only person to have taken notice of his occasional bad behavior.

"So, uh, what did ya learn, chief?" she questioned, shifting her weight, anxious about the answer she was going to receive.

"Well, it seems that your father's misdeeds have finally caught up with him," he replied, looking out the large window in front of them and into the blackness.

"And what does that take the form of?" she pushed, not liking the answer she was given.

"The Condescension," he solemnly replied.