The surge of power I felt burnt hot through my veins. I couldn't see my way past the creeping urge to shed blood, to rip every living thing apart. The knife felt wrong in my hand, cold and stale.

The demon laughed as I hacked into his flesh, black eyes flashing with pain. I remember laughing and smiling, the cruel twist of muscles a feral grimace on my lips. His laughs turned into screams as I gauged, ripped, mangled his meat suit until he was unrecognizable.

"What have you done now darling?" The smooth British accent accompanying the low gravelly voice had me snarling as I whirled. Crowley. I knew the king of Hell by scent-a mixture of scotch, blood, fear and anger all rolled into one. I whirled to turn on him but he flicked his fingers and I went flying—literally—back-first into the nearest wall, the knife skittering into a corner far from my reach. I growled at him, gnashing my teeth. He raised his voice, as if to be heard by someone on the other side of a wall. "Come in, boys."

The door to my left opened and two men walked in. I've met hunters before—all had tried to kill me—but these two were different. They didn't look straight to me, but they assessed Crowley with wary, almost hostile glances. One was massive-six-four and broad shouldered, strong and sturdily built with long brunette hair and steady hazel eyes. He gripped a silver knife in his right hand. The man stalking in behind him could only have been his older brother. Although standing at six-one with more muscle, he was definitely worse for wear. His dark blonde hair was more rumpled, rough stubble along his strong jaw. His eyes, however bright and candy-apple green were haunted and feral and had a very similar gleam to the ones I saw in the mirror. I knew that look. His hands held no weapons, but his fingers I knew itched to hold the hilt of a knife, the butt of a gun—something that could kill.

Crowley stared down at the disfigured demon writhing at his feet. "She did that?" The taller one asked.

"Squirrel shut your moose up." The king of Hell snapped.

The older brother clenched his fingers into fists. He launched his whole weight at Crowley, form tackling him to the ground. The younger brother sprang into action immediately, prying his brother from the demon who had, upon being dropped, let his hold over me go. "Dean! Hey, hey, buddy—calm down!" While Dean's younger brother held him back I found my short nails raking the wooden floorboards. My muscles coiled and I leapt just as my eyes found my knife.

Something silver clattered at the edge of my vision, and I paused, frozen to see the knife the tall man had been holding, now abandoned on the floor. I scooped it up and stepped over to the barely conscious demon, which whimpered for mercy as I drove the blade into its chest over and over, orange light flickering through its skin. When I found the heart and plunged the knife in it screamed louder than I'd ever been able to make a demon scream—the orange light flickered a few more times before the wriggling body lay completely still.

The rush of power overshadowed everything—my remorse for killing an innocent human inside the demon, my caring about the human in the first place—and replaced all that with pleasure. I enjoyed killing. I needed to.

I remember Dean telling his brother he was fine. I remember Crowley's screams and shouts echoing in one ear and out the other. The brother trying to calm the king of Hell. Dean crouching in front of me, prying the knife from my rigid fingers and asking me if I could hear him.

His eyes were devoid of power and the predatory fire I could recognize in my own eyes. There was only concern. He pushed my hair back from my face with a tender hand, his grip on my shoulder firm as he squeezed the muscles. He could see my eyes assessing him, the tiny movements quick and sharp, reading his body language and expression. He's a friend, an ally. He squeezed my shoulder slightly before standing and walking to his brother—the giant of a man—who was now eyeing me with suspicion. Every muscle began to tense as Dean handed the knife over, his brother wiping the demon's blood on his sleeve but not taking his eyes from me.

My ears tuned into the conversation. "What were you doing here with her Crowley?" Dean was asking. "And what the hell have you done to her?"

"Nothing!" He hissed, glaring at the brother when he advanced on Crowley. "Control Samantha, squirrel."

"Chill out, Sam. And you, Crowley, are going to tell me what exactly I'm seeing in this girl's eyes or I swear to god—"

The king of Hell smirked at Dean's words. I could tell he wasn't threatened by them in the slightest. "What, buttercup? What will you do to me?"

Dean grabbed the lapels of Crowley's coat and yanked him to his feet, holding their faces mere inches apart so Crowley was forced to look into Dean's eyes, so he could see just how serious the hunter was.

"I swear to god First Blade or not I will tie you down and skin you alive." His voice was low, a cold, menacing growl, his fingers white-knuckled as he gripped the demon's coat. The brother—Sam—placed a large hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezed the muscles, the other hand attempted to pry the coat free.

"Dean, let him go."

But Dean's fingers were iron, clamped over the material. Tension began to wind up his arms, muscles clenching, and shoulders curling as the muscles in his back became taut. A vein in his neck pulsed and his whole body began to heave in time with his breaths. Something was happening to Dean, but I couldn't concentrate.

I tuned out of the present. I couldn't seem to move my legs, my body felt as if it were slowly freezing up from the inside out. I let out a gasp of panic I didn't realize was being held in by my ever-tightening throat muscles. My stomach roiled and fought to regurgitate that one meal I had four days ago. I tried to use the wall to support my weight in a feeble attempt to stand but my muscles wouldn't work and I fell heavily to the floor. All I knew was my body wasn't working.

I had no idea what would become of Crowley or what Dean was going to do to the king of Hell, I didn't know what Sam was going to do or how Dean would react, whether they'd leave me here to rot—which would be the smart thing to do—or if they were going to help me, all I remember next was my eyes refused to stay open and I slipped into unconsciousness, welcoming the black.