Summary: Derek is an assassin from the Edison Group. Chloe is an assassin for the St. Clouds. Who will survive when they are assigned to kill each other, or will a larger force take them both out. AU. Definitely OOC in some parts. Eventual Chlerek.
The wind as it drifted by his nose was laced with her scent. Perfume, the faint scent of cosmetics, and sweat. Under it, he could still smell something else; fear. It made him smile. He heard the leaves behind him rustle ever so slightly. She was here, and it was time to do his job.
He had heard of the girl long before he had been sent to eliminate her. He had heard from one of his associates that she had killed a sorcerer by posing as a girl scout and stabbing him in the back when he turned to give her money. He had heard from another that she befriended the daughter of a werewolf just to gain entry into the house and poison him. Neither knew she was coming until she came. She was a veteran. She was dangerous. It made no difference to him, he had been assigned her elimination and he would succeed.
"Elimination" was what he did best. He was born and raised in an Edison Group facility. After the other boys from his "pack" had killed their teacher and subsequently been killed, he had been the only one left. At first the staff had wanted to get rid of him with the rest of the subjects until they realized he was "the docile one", that's when they began to train him. At the age of ten his schooling, which then only occurred only once a week and contained lessons on reading, writing and math, morphed into something entirely different. Suddenly the teacher he'd had for years after the accident - who would sometimes sneak him cookies and bring her son to visit him - was gone. She was replaced with a man with an evil sneer and scars lacing almost every bit of his uncovered skin. This new teacher brought new material. In place of regular math lessons, he learned where major arteries and nerve clusters were located. Before English, he learned how to use his strength to break bones and force a person into unconsciousness. The purpose The Edison Group had for making him had changed, he became their weapon.
He was startled out his thoughts when he felt a presence beside him.
"The moon looks so beautiful when it's full like this, doesn't it ?"
He resisted the urge to start as her voice came from right beside him. It startled him that he had only just heard her. All of his life he was the one who crept silently and surprised his targets. The thought that he was losing his touch rattled him. He collected himself as he felt the need to startle her back.
"It does indeed…" What was her name? He thought back to the file he had received when he was given the assignment to kill her. "…Chloe."
He felt her start at his use of her name. An assassin was much better when they were anonymous and he wasn't going to grant her the privilege.
She sighed beside him. "Well, I guess it's time for this to end."
He smirked. In her file he had read that not only was he sent to kill her but the endeavor was reciprocated; she was also on a mission to kill him.
He heard rather than felt her hand slicing through the air on a path to his solar plexus. He dodged as if to run, then as she went to follow, he swung back catching her across the face with his left hand. The force of the impact sent her reeling back before she gained her balance.
She laughed. "Strong little dog, aren't you?" She raised her hand and he saw her wave a syringe at him.
He growled instinctually and charged toward her, but his charge was cut off as his knees threatened to buckle. He frowned and lurched toward her a second time but she easily sidestepped him. She had drugged him.
She gave him a fake apologetic smile. "Just leveling the playing field."
Adrenaline surged through him. He stood still for a moment regaining his strength, willing his body to fight the drugs. She drifted forward slightly, retracing the instinctual step back she had taken when he charged her.
He took a deep breath and steeled his resolve. He lunged again and this time she was too slow to move. He caught the collar of her coat and flung her to the ground a few feet away. He snarled as seeing her small body skid across the grass brought up an unpleasant memory unbidden.
When he was training to become what he was now, he had always hated his trainer. The man had been abusive, calling him names and beating him mercilessly in training sessions. But when puberty hit his powers grew and his trainer grew angry when he realized that he was being bested. In one particularly challenging training session, his trainer had beaten him, reveling in his long awaited triumph. That he had taken in stride; his body would heal and his trainer would get angry again. It was when the man backed him into a corner that he had snapped. Dogs hate to be backed into a corner and as loathe as he was to admit it, at heart he was a wolf, the physical ancestor to canines. He hadn't been able to control himself as he flung the man into one of the brick walls of the facility's training studio. He didn't get up. He was the first person ever killed at the hands of Derek Souza.
The memory filtered away as the drugs tinged the edges of his vision gray. He went after her, his steps jerky as he struggled to maintain control of his body. The drug must have been powerful, because his metabolism - as it was with all werewolves - should have purged it quickly from his system. He knelt next to her as she struggled to regain her breath and flee. The only reason she had survived was because his throw was weak from the drugs. Even as it was it would have knocked out a person not used to that kind of pain.
He patted his pockets and his sheath. He had lost his knife. He mentally cursed himself about not bringing a gun. Every Edison Group assassin had a gun- except for him. He had told the other subjects that he didn't carry a gun because he thought it was barbaric to kill someone before they even knew they where going to be killed -which was partly true- but really he liked knowing the scent of the people he killed. It helped him imagine what they were like when they weren't fighting him or begging him not to kill them. Smelling of flowery perfume, cosmetics and sweat, he would have pegged the girl before him as a regular teenaged girl, probably right out of the mall or school. He looked down at her. Her blue eyes which had been wide were squeezed shut as she tried to pull herself away from him. He sighed. He had to finish it somehow. He moved toward her meaning to knock her out quickly so he could get his job done with when he felt something wrap around his legs.
He started and looked down. The skinny pale arms of a man clashed against the matte black of what he called his hunting ensemble. There was a bloody hole the size of a quarter on the right side of the man's head; his stomach roiled.
A little more frantically than he would have liked, he kicked the body off and walked toward the girl. Her blue eyes were open and wide, but she wasn't looking at him. He turned as a mass of fur launched itself at him. He stumbled and fell then kicked out, striking what felt like its haunches. The figure pulled back momentarily and he saw something metal flash around it's neck. He looked, finding a small metal plate with the name Rex engraved on it. It was a dog. A rottweiler by the smell of it.
The dog recovered, lunging for his neck. He rolled and tried to rise but the dog landed on his back pinning him. He let his arms stop propping him up and tried to put some distance between him and Rex. The dog followed eagerly and he struck at it again. The force of his blows, he realized, were the reason the dog moved back when he hit, not pain. Fighting off the dog, he felt a sharp pain in his leg. Attached to his leg solely by it's teeth was the skeleton of what he assumed was a badger. He picked it up with his right hand, fending off the dog with his other, and launched it into the woods where it promptly tried to crawl back to him. He kicked the dog and it retreated a few paces. He felt a cold and slimy hand slither around his neck and tighten. The dead man was back. Things were getting out of hand.
He heard a low groan beside him and saw the girl stand up stiffly and come toward him. Her right leg dragged slightly as she walked, making her limp. Something in her right hand glinted and his saw her clutch the handle of a double edged knife. She was going to kill him.
The memory of the first time he hadn't killed his target came. A boy lying on a hospital bed, tubes snaking in and out of his body. A man came in with a silenced gun, placing it against the boys temple and turned to him. The man told him if he failed again he would shoot the boy, if he failed after that he'd kill the boy's mother, after that he'd kill him. He never failed again.
"No!" He croaked, trying to breathe with the arm of a corpse cutting off his oxygen supply. The girl kept coming, clutching the knife.
"Please!" He gasped. "They'll kill him! They'll kill him!"
This gave the girl pause. She looked at his frantic expression and tilted her head. "If I let you go, you leave me alone and go."
He nodded desperately.
The girl sighed and closed her eyes. The corpse trying to strangle him let go and went limp. The dog stopped biting into his leg. The badger stopped crawling.
" Now-" The girl began.
As swiftly as he could manage, he swung around grabbing the wrist of her hand that held the knife, pinning it to her front from behind. He stiffened two fingers and jabbed them into her solar plexus. She staggered as the air rushed from her lungs. He let go of her and she fell to the ground, gasping. As her consciousness slipped away she looked up at him, eyes incredulous and filled with anger.