THREE
THE SECRET LIVES OF HUNTERS
She wanted to look cool, calm and collected, but seeing him safe and sound – though bloodied and bruised – had her soaring. She had been about to approach him when the vampire had appeared, taking her spotlight. She had wanted to talk to him ever since Halloween night, ever since she ran out to leave the Winchester boys to clean up the mess. Then she'd spotted him leaving the bar with a frown set on his usually carefree features.
She'd acted on a whim, following him, but by the time she had caught up she'd had to duck into cover and watch that vampire bitch strut her gigantic behind up the street like she was the hottest piece of ass in the town, her ankles nearly twisting as she walked, attempting to put as much sway as possible in her child-bearing hips.
Okay, so maybe, just maybe, she was jealous of the vamp's figure, but no way would she ever admit it out loud.
She offered a softer smile, crouching beside him. She met his gaze, only able to lock onto the curious green for a moment before she glanced away, gently cupping his jaw with her hand to turn his head. He looked confused, but did not protest, something probing in his gaze when she captured it again.
'I think you've managed to avoid a concussion,' she said, standing to step to his side before he could speak. She tipped his head forward slightly. 'That wound, however, looks pretty nasty.'
'I've had worse.'
Oh, his voice…
She had revelled in the sound of it as he spoke to the vampire, the rough, gravelly edge to the deep tone a feast for her ears. Now, even with a harsh, unfamiliar rasp to it – likely caused by the pain of the wound that still bled on his neck – it sent a delicious chill down her spine.
One that she was still yet to understand.
She tipped his head back, careful that his already battered skull didn't hit the concrete again. 'So have I,' she said, holding the back of his neck, looking closer at the bite, 'I mean, she didn't even hit your jugular.'
'Good to know.' He offered a half-hearted smile, though there was still a surprising amount of warmth within the brief flash of perfect teeth. She found herself smiling back, hoping that it reassured him that he was in good hands. After all, he wouldn't be able to remember her, not with how different she had looked in the club in her best vampire garb, contacts and all. She knew she was a stranger to him, a dangerous one after her sword show.
She reached to her shirt front, tearing up the side before she took a strip of fabric from the bottom hem, folding it into a thick wad before she pressed it against his neck. He flinched, his teeth gritted as she held the fabric in place.
'Sorry I didn't get here earlier.'
'I'll be fine,' he said, but his words were clipped. He reached up, his hands covering hers. His green eyes captured her, her lips no longer forming words as he held her in his gaze for a moment, hand still over hers.
Finally, she pulled away, standing, trying to shake the warmth that spread from her hand to her arm and beyond, knowing it would do her no good in the end. 'Let me at least take you back to my car. I have the regular hunters' first aid kit,' she said, watching as he stood rather than helping, knowing that he would find even the offer of assistance irritating.
'Got whisky there?'
'Of course.'
He flinched as he reached back, gently touching the area around the wound. 'Great.'
She led the way, passing through another room and then pausing once they had made it up the stairs and into the building above. She went to a bag, crouching beside the opening that she had made her entrance through. She rummaged through it for a moment, the familiar sound of metal and wood meeting filling his ears before she finally pulled a bottle from it.
'What are you doing?' Dean asked.
'Burning the bodies,' she said, squirting the liquid through the opening, seemingly emptying the bottle before she finally stopped and reached into the back pocket of her jeans.
'But what about–'
'This building is condemned,' she said, standing as she slung the massive bag over her shoulder, the pack of matches still in hand, 'they're knocking it down next Tuesday, so why not save them the trouble and burn it. They'll just think a couple kids got a little crazy with matches or something.'
Dean watched her for a moment, watched the way she lit the match and dropped it down the opening, no emotions playing across her face as the light of the fire below brightened the room further, casting shadows. Even with the pain at the back of his skull, his vision was clearing, his thoughts less jumbled as he focused on her. She had found him, made one of the best entrances he had ever witnessed, and then saved his half unconscious ass, and he still only had one question that he wanted to ask her.
'Who are you?'
She looked up, expression blank for a moment, as if the fire had entranced her before that wicked smile took her lips. 'I'm a hunter.'
'Not what I mean.'
She hitched the bag higher on her shoulder, heading straight for him. Even in her heavy-soled boots, she came just past his shoulder. To think that this tiny little woman, so slender and fragile looking with her pixie-like features and porcelain skin had taken out two vampires with such ease…He had chills, and he wasn't sure if they were the good kind.
'I know,' she said, heading for a door that led them to an alleyway.
He followed, keeping up as best as he could with a headache bouncing around in his skull, feeling a frown set on his lips. 'You know my name, so why won't you tell me yours?' he asked, catching her, hand grasping her shoulder to pull her to halt.
She turned to him slowly, the look in her eyes somehow intimidating, though she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. 'You're very lucky you're injured, Winchester, because I usually toss people on their ass for that.'
He dropped his hand, not needing another warning, but still he had to know. 'We're on the same side here. We're both hunters. How do I know who I can thank for saving my ass back there, when you won't even tell me your name?'
She relaxed her glare, offering a smile that was not wicked or intimidating, a regular smile that had Dean almost forgetting what he'd asked until she said, 'Kali.'
He couldn't help but smile back. 'You're not giving me an alias, are you?'
'No, my name really is Kali,' she said, continuing to walk, keeping in step with him now, 'Kali Saxton.'
'Dean,' he said, instantly cursing in his head, 'but you already know that.' He glanced to her. 'How do you know that?'
'You boys have made a pretty big footprint in this world as hunters,' she said, reaching into her pocket. She pulled out a set of car keys, glancing to Dean, spotting his eyes and the gleam that crossed them as they paused beside her car, parked just outside of the halo of light from a near by street lamp.
He reached up, rubbing a hand over his jaw before he placed it gently on the perfectly polished blue that was nearly black in the night. 'I can't believe this is your car,' he said, knowing he sounded a little breathless, and not because of the sore throat that still plagued him. 'Do you know what–'
'1970 Ford Torino Cobra, sportsroof, laser stripe and the most beautiful sounding engine you will ever hear,' she said, smirking at him as she went to the back of the beauty, dropping her bag into the trunk before she leaned in, rummaging around for a moment.
Dean couldn't snap his jaw shut; even when he reached up, attempting to nudge it with his hand, it stayed slack, as if begging to drop to the ground. He had seen the appreciation in her eyes, seen a gleam of knowledge that he knew was not just a reflection of his thoughts.
She really was an angel.
She straightened, handing him a bottle of whisky that he quickly uncapped, a portion of it soon burning down his throat. No, it probably wouldn't make any of the stitching she would have to do on his head and neck any less painful, but it would relax him, and damn did he need that. He handed her the bottle, knowing it would be rude to drain any more of it, no matter how delicious the burn in his throat felt. She took a quick swig before placing the cap back on, the bottle disappearing into the trunk before she rummaged around again.
He found his eyes caught on her; where she had torn her top so that he could have something to press against his neck to slow the blood flow revealed the smooth expanse of her stomach, showing more of that porcelain skin that he couldn't seem to get enough of. When she straightened, even more was revealed, as well as a piercing he hadn't noticed before. As she stepped closer, he nearly chuckled to himself, the piercing making it appear as though a snake was sliding from her belly button.
'Up here,' she said, and he snapped his gaze high, locking on to blue eyes that rolled at him as she had him sit on the bonnet of her car. 'You're a typical man,' she said as she had him lean forward, taking another look at the wound on the back of his head before she reached into the bag she had pulled from the trunk. She pulled a sewing kit from it, carefully threading what appeared to be proper medical thread through a curved needle. 'I know you're used to being in dangerous situations, but you could have died tonight,' she continued, pushing him a little further forward to get a better view with the light of the near by street lamp, 'and yet, rather than stepping back a little to say, 'holy shit, that could have gone bad, maybe next time I'll…' you're just ogling me as if none of it happened.'
'I'm alive and I've got a whole new appreciation for ow!'
She sterilised the wound. 'Oh, sorry, what was that you were going to say that may have objectified women, or, more specifically, me?'
He swore under his breath, wanting to look up and arch an eyebrow at her, but knowing that wasn't possible as he saw her sterilising the needle out of the corner of his eye. 'Nothing,' he said before he cursed again, the needle making its presence known, the sensation of the thread as it slid through his skin familiar but no less uncomfortable.
She worked quickly, silent as she finished the last stitch on his scalp and moved to his throat. He watched her as best as he could through all of it, swearing for a moment that concern lay in her eyes, but…over him? She didn't know him, wouldn't care for him.
Discarding the needle in favour of a sterilising wipe and suture strips, she quickly taped the worst bite marks to hold the skin together before covering the bite with a pad and taping it in place. He reached up to scratch at the tape, but she caught his hand, forcing it to his side before she returned to packing up her bag of assorted medical gear. He frowned, trying again, her hand like lightening as she caught his wrist once more.
'Want some pain killers?' she asked, as if she hadn't just ninja stopped him a second ago.
'I have a better idea,' he said as she went to the trunk, placing the bag inside before she closed it and headed for the driver's side door. He leant on the top of the car, watching her, ignoring the throb of his skull and the itch of the tape on his neck. 'Will you have a drink with me?'
She paused, staring at him for a moment before she leant on the top of the car as well. 'Do you really think that's a good idea?'
'I think it's an excellent idea,' he said, knowing that he must have looked desperate but not caring; he had to get to know this girl, to unravel the mystery of his crimson angel, 'I didn't exactly get a chance to ask you after you left me with the body of a wraith.'
Again with the my?
He ignored his brain, needing her to say yes, praying that she would.
'Won't your brother be wondering where you are?' she asked, though inside her heart soared at the knowledge that he remembered her, that he recognised her even without the Halloween garb.
'Not for a while longer,' he said, hoping that the flash of reluctance in her eyes was just a figment of his imagination as she nibbled at her bottom lip, making the plump skin even more mouth watering as she met his gaze.
Slowly a smile lit her lips, and he felt a flash of victory ripple through him, a grin lighting his features as she said, 'alright, we'll get a drink. It is Miami, after all. There's bound to be a bar open somewhere.'
She slid into her car, Dean glancing to utter a silent thanks to the sky before he joined her, hand instantly sliding over the interior. The leather of the seat was worn, but maintained; the whole car felt so beautiful, and when she turned the key and the engine roared, he knew that she felt the same pride he felt whenever he started his Impala.
He settled in, shifting until he found the perfect spot before he leant his head back, hanging it over the seat as he took a breath. His neck protested, his skin stretching uncomfortably as the stitches tugged, but he didn't care. He enjoyed the roar as she revved to each gear and then the gentle purr as she glided onto the highway to head towards Miami Beach. She guided the car effortlessly through traffic, the ease she felt radiating to him as they sat in companionable silence.
Soon, the ride ended as she pulled up by the curb. He sat up, blinking, wondering for a moment if the purr of the engine had sent him off to sleep in his weary state, but he shook it off. He'd been aware of everything, of every moment even though his eyes had been closed, the flashing of street lights painful to his tired gaze.
He flinched at a sharp stab in his side. 'What are you poking me for?'
She smiled, a hint of the devil within her pale eyes. 'Just checking you're awake,' she said and he rolled his eyes, climbing out of the car.
'Course I'm awake,' he said, wishing the thump in his head would dull, but knowing he would have the feeling of hammers on his skull for quite some time. Despite the pain, he jogged to catch up to her, her slender legs – clad in the tightest denim he had ever seen – somehow reaching what he liked to call "Sammy pace" with her strides. 'Don't take this the wrong way,' he said, fixing the collar of his jacket as he caught up to her, 'but how the hell does a girl like you get so strong?'
'A girl like me?' she asked, looking to quirk an eyebrow at him.
'You know…small.'
'Whatever do you mean?' she asked, Dean pleased he caught the feigned ignorance before he brought a hand to the top of her head, thinking to measure her up against himself.
'Let's face it,' he said as they entered a low-key bar with few patrons, heading for a booth in the corner, knowing that their topics of conversation would catch too much attention at the bar. 'You're not exactly built for the work of a hunter, but you took out those vamps like you were the chosen one, Buffy style.'
She smirked, sliding into the booth, leaning on her elbows as he sat opposite her. 'I'll take that as a compliment, the Buffy part,' she said, reaching into her jacket. She held a thin tin which she placed on the table before continuing, 'as for the small, I guess I am rather petite, but fourteen years of gymnastics and ballet do wonders, and not just for flexibility'
He nearly gawked. 'You're that strong because of ballet?'
'And gymnastics,' she said, popping open the tin, 'and not just because of that, but it was a good base of strength when I started training as a hunter.' She smirked, taking a cigarette from the tin before she reached into her shirt – bra – pulling out a carved Zippo lighter. 'Guess that's why people always sprout that "can't judge a book by its cover" crap.'
She pushed the tin towards Dean, who shook his head. She shrugged, leaning back, a slow plume of smoke rising from her lips as she exhaled.
'And Sam thinks I'm unhealthy,' Dean said, though he couldn't help a smile as she sent a perfect ring of smoke drifting to the ceiling.
She smiled. 'An occasional guilty pleasure after a hard night,' she said, 'not one I'm particularly proud of, but not one I will quit either.'
'How occasional?'
'A couple times a week,' she said, taking another drag, 'depends on what I'm hunting.'
Dean leant back. 'I can't figure you out, and that's a rare thing to me.'
'Ladies man, are you?' she asked, kicking up booted feet, resting them on the far corner of the table. She held his gaze, the blue so pale he wondered if she might still be wearing those contacts, but before he could decide she looked away, her focus drawn to a waiter to order.
Dean used her distraction, his eyes wandering leisurely over her features as if determined to memorise them. After all, he had thought he would never see her again, never gaze upon her porcelain skin or crimson lips, yet somehow she sat before him.
Lucky bastard.
Even when her eyes fell to him again, he couldn't stop staring. She really was beautiful, though she looked so fragile. Normally, he seemed to go for strong women, or at least women who looked strong with sinful curves and sun kissed skin, but Kali…She was something else entirely; seemingly fragile, but tougher than many of the hunters he had encountered over his many years trapped in a life he wanted to escape.
She waved a hand in front of his face, clicking her fingers at him until he shook the glaze from his eyes, clearing his throat. 'Sorry,' he mumbled, 'must be this headache getting to me.'
'Sorry I didn't cut in from the start.'
'Doesn't matter,' he assured her, 'I've taken worse knocks.'
A sad smile. 'Haven't we all.' She placed what was left of the cigarette between her lips and shrugged her jacket aside to reveal her shoulder. The light was dull in the bar, but still he saw the puckered skin of a scar, a line that went from her bicep, along her shoulder and then disappeared beneath the singlet top. 'A demon with a fetish for knives did this to me in Tennessee, right before I could exorcise the bastard.' For a moment, he wondered how she'd managed to speak so clearly with the cigarette still firmly seated between her lips, but his attention shifted as she fixed her jacket before she pulled the sleeve up, showing him her wrist. At first, he saw only a tattoo of a heart, but as she placed her arm on the table in the light, he saw the ragged marks that marred her skin.
'Are those–'
'Teeth marks?' she finished. 'Yes.'
Dean reached out, tracing them before he met her gaze again. 'Vampire?'
'Ōkami, actually' she said, drawing her hand away to push her sleeve back down. She took the cigarette between her fingers, smoke drifting from her lips. 'That scar is over four years old now. Bitch bit deep, tearing skin and even catching veins, nicking my artery. I was lucky not to bleed out.' She scratched absently at it. 'Still hurts sometimes.'
'And that happened four years ago?'
She nodded and Dean frowned. He opened his mouth, meaning to ask her a question, but a beer was placed in front of him. Instantly his mouth watered, and he reached for the glass. No, the alcohol would probably not help his dry throat, but hydration be damned, he was at least taking a sip of that nectar.
'We risk a lot, don't we?'
He placed the near empty glass on the table. 'We protect people.'
More smoke drifted. 'People we don't know. People we've never met and never will meet. People that may very well have found entertainment in some of the pain we have witnessed as long as they were not the ones experiencing it. This is turning into a rather cruel world, after all.' She captured his gaze, literally held him hostage within the pale blue that guarded so many secrets, so many emotions that he could not decipher. Another drag before she said, 'why should we save them? Why should I continue to hunt when no one was there to save me?'
'Save you from what?'
The last of the smoke drifted, a ring circling his head before vanishing into nothing. She smiled, but it was empty, so very different from before. 'Doesn't matter,' she said, the butt of the cigarette crushed in the ash tray before she reached for her beer. 'I guess I just wonder why I do this sometimes, but it is worth it in the end. If I hadn't turned up, you'd be a bloodless corpse right now.'
'True,' he said, unsettled but still just as curious as before. Even behind the genuine smiles he had seen, she was hiding pain, deep and scarring. This was the type of woman he should distance himself from, the type of woman he should smile at and then walk away because it would only lead to trouble, but as they began to share more stories, about their bad hunts and their good ones, he felt himself leaning closer. He told her of his life under the wing of a hunter, of the moves from motel to motel, from school to school all through his youth. He spoke of his life after school, when he hunted with his dad and eventually the pain he had felt when Sam had left to go to Stanford. It had felt like a betrayal, but even still he could not hold his anger at Sam, not when he wondered if he too could ever have something else.
She even opened up to him. Though she would not admit it, he could see the misery in her eyes, the desire to go back to the life before hunting, to the two things she had held so dearly; ballet and gymnastics. She revealed that most of her life had been spent in good schools and eventually a gymnastics academy after graduation, that whenever she needed comfort she would find a gym to practice her old routines or snippets of performances.
It was strange, how she seemed to speak only of the time before she became a hunter or some time after, when she began to train in martial arts. He wanted to ask how she had come to know the cruel world of the supernatural, but he knew that he would regret it. She was careful in her words, avoiding the subject just a he avoided the subject of that night in 1983. It was too soon to reveal the bloody events of their rebirth as a hunter.
Too soon, still with so many stories to tell, they were kicked out of the bar. It was four in the morning, both tipsy only because of the shots they had indulged in a half hour before the barman became sick of their laughter as Dean recounted the night he and Sam set off a box of fireworks in an empty field, having to make a break for it as the field burned.
The drive back along the highway was filled with more laughter and more stories, many from her school days. He enjoyed them, a part of him wishing he knew what it was like to truly have been a part of a school, though he had never particularly been interested in education. No, it was the idea of being brought together by a football game or another win that intrigued him. He wished he had stayed long enough in one place to experience that unity. Even more intriguing though, he had learned that in her senior year she had become a cheerleader, using her skills as a gymnast and dancer to forever change the style of cheerleading at her school.
Okay, so maybe he just liked the idea of her in a cheerleading uniform.
'God, I wish I could go back sometimes, even if just to relive a day,' she said, still smiling as she pulled up in front of his motel. She climbed out of her car, walking with him to the door, telling herself that she was still worried about the injuries he'd sustained, nothing more.
They paused, Dean knowing he should just go inside but wanting nothing more than to prolong the little time he had left with her. He looked down at her, his gaze drawn straight to those pools of pale blue. 'I guess this is it,' he said, all his usual smooth operating sprinting from his muddled mind.
'I guess it is,' she said, glancing to the door. 'I hope your brother won't be too mad.'
'Sammy? Nah, he's probably asleep at his laptop,' he said, smiling, an urge creeping into his mind, one that he so desperately wanted to act on.
Distraction?
Oh, the suggestion was weak at best, but he grasped it, rummaging in his jacket pockets, surprised but pleased to find a scrap of paper and a pen. He leant against the door, quickly scrawling digits onto the page before he held it out to her. 'This is my number. If you need anything…' He smiled. 'Well, I doubt that you'd need anything, but if you ever do, call.'
She smiled, reaching out for the paper. She covered his hand, a flush that she tried to hide coming over her cheeks, one that instantly had that urge reigniting in his mind.
No, no, no, he said whilst another part of his mind screamed, yes, yes, yes!
He reached for the door knob, pausing, looking to her for what would have to be the last time. They were hunters, their work leading them all over the country in an effort to protect people from the Supernatural. Oh, he might hear from her, but see her…He could only hope.
He pulled a half-hearted grin over his lips. 'Thanks again for saving my ass.'
Again that smile, so captivating. 'Guess you'll have to look after yourself better from now on.'
Yes.
The door forgotten, he reached for her. His elbow – still displeased with its earlier mistreatment – protested, but as he claimed her lips the pain was forgotten. He wrapped her in his embrace, tasted those wicked lips and revelled in the feeling of her gripping at his shoulders. It was potent; her scent – a mix of vanilla and cinnamon – was a delightful invasion in his senses as she pulled herself closer.
When he pulled his head back, they were both gasping for breath, those crimson lips plump, so ready for another kiss, but before he could claim it she kissed his cheek and pulled away. She disappeared into the darkness, out of sight, but he heard the revving of her car and the spin of tires as she drove off, leaving him standing in front of the door, dumbstruck.
He reached up, tracing a finger over his lips, still tasting her kiss, but all too soon the bliss of the moment was replaced by regret and a string of curses as he realised that he hadn't asked for her number.
He wasn't dumbstruck, he decided as he reached again for the door knob, he was just plain dumb.
She pulled up, the car still purring as she reached for the paper she had placed on the seat. Her fingers, usually perfectly still, shook as she unfolded it, staring at the number, feeling as though she could memorise it. In the dim light, she looked at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, reaching up to trace her lips with her fingers. She could still feel his arms around her, his body so warm, his embrace so inviting.
She shook her head, reaching across to stuff the page into the dash compartment, needing it out of her sight. The world and their job were too dangerous. She did not form connections, attachments, because as she had learned five years ago, it would only hurt her in the end.
Dean Winchester, no matter how much she wanted to know him, to hear more of those stories and share more of her life with him, was not a man she could befriend, no matter how desperately her heart desired it.
She wouldn't – couldn't – see Dean Winchester again.
Next update: Saturday the 23rd of April.
