Part 1:
She was pretty, the girl. She was wearing a light yellow sundress that dipped into a low v-neck, and her hair was the color of raw honey, falling down her back in loose curls. She was shivering as she stood in the empty parking lot, and her lips were pursed into a frown, "or more like a pout," thought Dean with a little smile.
She was definitely a tourist. Dean could tell by the way she had pulled a town information pamphlet from her oversized purse to examine it. She had flipped it this way and that, most likely trying to make sense of a map, but she must have decided that she was too far from her destination to walk in her three-inch stilettos, because she had tucked it back into her bag after only a few moments with a little huff of dissatisfaction.
He had been watching her from the shadows for about twenty minutes now, fascinated by her almost otherworldly beauty as he imagined his fingers wrapping around her slender neck...her eyes as they widened in confusion and terror...her soft skin as he catalogued every inch, claiming it, marking her before he cut her open.
He could just slit her throat and be done with it, but where would be the fun in that?
Clearing his throat pointedly, he stepped out into the shrinking light. The girl spun to face him, her mouth opening into a little "o" of surprise.
"Excuse me, miss," he said, taking a few steps closer. "I didn't mean to scare you. I couldn't help but notice you standing there. I wanted to make sure that you were alright. It's getting late, and this isn't exactly the safest place to be alone after dark."
It was perfectly safe. There was almost no violent crime in this area of town...well, at least there hadn't been until Dean had arrived a few days prior.
She squinted her eyes in confusion.
"I...you...I didn't see you come in from the street," she said, glancing around a bit nervously. "Where were you? Have you been...watching me?"
By the time she had finished her last sentence, her voice had risen almost an octave, and her entire body had already snapped into defense-mode.
Almost (but not quite) thrown off track by how quickly she had arrived at the conclusion that he was up to no good, Dean gestured vaguely toward the woods to his left, giving her his most charming smile.
"I walk through this area every night around 8," he said coolly, twisting his expression into mock concern. "My cabin is just through the trees, there. Three minutes away."
He paused for a moment before pretending to have been struck with an idea.
"Hey," he continued, keeping his voice calm and friendly. "I've got a truck at my place. If you want to walk back with me, I wouldn't mind giving you a lift home. You seem like you're not from the area, and I wouldn't want you getting lost out here so far from town."
The girl immediately shook her head, taking an uncomfortable step back that turned into a stumble as one of her heels caught on a loose piece of gravel.
"I'm fine," she said coldly, reaching down to grab her purse by the handle. "And even I wasn't, I'm not stupid enough to walk into the woods with a total stranger."
She tried to look intimidating as she extracted her cell from her bag, holding it poised like some kind of weapon. "I actually just got off the phone with my friend," she added, glancing toward the street as if deciding whether or not to bolt. "She's only a minute away."
Jesus. This girl had some serious trust issues.
Dean always enjoyed a challenge, but he was admittedly a little put off by the fact that she had so quickly pegged him as possible creepy pervert/potential killer. She hadn't even done a double-take when she had seen him. Well, not the kind of double-take he was used to anyway. He knew very well by now that he could easily capture almost any woman's attention (single, married, hell...even gay), and it wasn't that he was vain, but...okay, he was vain.
However, he also had a fail-safe...a damn good fail-safe.
Of course he knew that she hadn't been on the phone with her friend, but he shrugged casually with another bright smile, cocking his head a bit as he watched her.
"Alright," he murmured. "No need to take offense. I was just trying to help. My name's Brian. Brian Johnson. I run the Thunderstruck Diner downtown. You should stop in sometime and try our pancakes. They're unrivaled around here. You have a good night, ma'am."
He held out his hand.
The girl looked a little abashed, obviously feeling badly for assuming the worst about him.
"I'm...sorry for being rude," she said hastily, putting her phone away. "You can never be too safe, though, you know? I'm sure you understand."
With an apologetic little smile, she reached out to meet the handshake.
As soon as her fingertips brushed his, however, Dean gripped her hand like a vice, his eyes going jet black and his mouth curling into a satisfied smirk.
"Not as smart as you thought you were, hmm?" he thought, using his hold on her to pull her close.
For a split second, she seemed stunned into stillness, and then she tried to yank back in fright. It was no use, though. Dean's strength was unmatched, and as the girl realized that, she kicked out with her right leg, her foot connecting with his groin painfully.
Spitting out curses, Dean struggled against the urge to just kill the bitch and move the fuck on.
"No," he thought stubbornly, reeling himself in. Killing wasn't enough for him lately. He had to consume. He had to...own.
Refocusing, he allowed that strange energy to swell within him like a great wave, rushing through his stomach, his chest, his legs, his arms, his hands...bubbling up and out like lava as it pushed its way right into the struggling girl in front of him.
He pulsed the energy into her over and over again, reveling in the high he felt under its power, and after only a few moments, the girl's face went slack, her eyes glazing over and her body relaxing before his eyes.
This whole "touched by a demon" seduction thing was still a big mystery, not only to Dean, but to Crowley, too, and to every other hell-creature that Dean had met for that matter. It seemed to be unique to him, and damned if he was complaining. He usually didn't need to use it to get a woman to "open up," but...every once in a while, it sure came in handy.
"Now," he purred victoriously, leaning in close enough so that his lips brushed against the top of ear. "Isn't that better, sweetheart?"
The girl shivered at his voice, her chest rising and falling heavily.
"Yes," she said slowly, leaning into the touch of his mouth. "Yes. Better, now..."
"What's your name?" Dean asked, snaking out his tongue to lick a stripe down the side of her face.
"It's...it's Haley," she managed, moaning a little, and Dean smiled against her skin.
"Haley," he murmured, massaging her fingers a little with his own. "I'm Dean Winchester."
She looked at him, confused.
"But, you said..." She trailed off, and Dean chuckled, the sound low and deep in his throat.
"Brian Johnson, bless him, was the lead singer of AC/DC, Haley. Fun fact. He actually was on the highway to hell."
Haley didn't respond, crinkling her brow a little. It seemed that every part of the reference had gone completely over her head, and Dean sighed, tsking at her.
"Forget it," he said, sending another burst of power through his arm into hers.
She threw her head back with a loud groan, and Dean used his free hand to snap his fingers, the sharp noise jarring as it cut through the air.
"Stay with me, Haley," he hissed. "Look at me. Come on."
She stubbornly writhed a little, soft mewling noises escaping her lips, but she obeyed almost immediately, forcing herself to straighten her posture and staring at his face with wide eyes.
So pure. So...corruptable.
"Alright, Haley," Dean continued, emphasizing the syllables of her name. "When I let go of your hand, you won't remember anything about the last few minutes."
He paused for a moment before continuing.
"You will, however, find that you suddenly trust me. You will believe that it is not my intention to harm you in any way. Do you understand?"
Her eyelids fluttered prettily, and she nodded her head, her breath heavy with desire.
"No, Haley," Dean said sternly, tightening his grip until her face distorted with pain. "Say the words. Say, 'Yes, I understand, Dean. I trust you, now. You're not going to hurt me.'"
"Y-yes, I understand, Dean," she stuttered, rigid from the bruising ache in her hand. "I trust you, now. You're not going to hurt me."
"That's my girl," he purred, his eyes briefly darkening again, and he let go, stepping back.
He could have said, "and you're going to let me fuck you, no questions asked, right here, right on the dirty pavement like a good little slut."
But...again...
Where would be the fun in that?
