Well, I finished my book a week ago, which means I have more time to do my other projects while I'm editing my book with a few close people. I've made a promise to myself to update DOR every so often even when I'm busy. Hopefully I'll get some more done in the summer on my days off from work. The chapter is a little shorter than the rest, but it was an interesting write up.

Enjoy and thanks for the comments! I love reviews!

-Caitlyn

10: Conspiracy

"It's evident," Mercury mumbled harshly.

Deacon, with an ice pack pressed against his head rolled his eyes for once, although the icepack was not doing any good. This huge quagmire with him being hurt was fake anyhow.

"What is evident?" He asked.

"That you did that to the girl." Her fingers caressed his forehead as she glared up at the girl moping on the couch across from them. Quinn had the woman propped on a marshmallow like pillow, her head sunk inside with her hands covering her face from showing her recent painful experience.

Deacon grumbled when Mercury mentioned Chanel. "It not entirely my fault she's cringing now from the aftermath."

"Yeah?" Mercury questioned him with a frown. "So what happened to you?"

Yes, he wondered. What the hell did happen to me?

"I don't know." He said. "I'm fine now — why don't we instead do something with Chanel?" He glanced up from underneath the cold icepack and asked Quinn hovering above Chanel, "How is she doing?"

He bent down mumbling to the girl for a moment and responded back to Deacon. "She said her head is still hurting."

Chanel sealed her eyes shut as the pounding grew intense inside her skull. Her wish of wanting the pain to go away didn't come true even when Quinn was given the ice pack from Deacon to put on her sweaty forehead. When he placed it, her head was throbbing more than before. She pushed it away immediately on approach.

Quinn frowned at the poor girl. "Geez, Deac, what did you do to her?"

Deacon darted up from the couch. "Fuck what you just said and help the damn girl."

"I'm trying, but she says it hurts more with an ice pack."

She twisted in her seat, still with her face shield away from Deacon. He bit his lower half lip musing to himself. Did I hurt her that badly? I didn't mean to — what am I saying?

"Put her in my room and I'll check up on her later — if she's alive then." He hissed and ordered Quinn to do as he said.

Quinn nodded, walking over to the front end of the couch and scooped Chanel up in his arms; her head jolted back along with her arms dangling from the side. Her eyes were sealed shut, and her breathing went dim. After, the door which opened up to Deacon's room was shut silently against the pale walls.

Deacon leaned back with a moan. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"I wonder the same." Mercury added.

He glared back. "I didn't need your compliment."

Her shoulders relaxed when she sighed. "It's too much of a conspiracy."

"What?"

"This whole problem — you're not the same as you used to be."

"You mean me being an asshole?"

She grimaced. "Yeah, but also the influence talent you got."

His eyebrows lowered, confusion struck his face. "You don't think that was manipulative?"

"The girl you're saying?"

"Yes."

"I'll take that as a yes by the looks on your face." She mumbled.

He rose up again as he rubbed his forehead. "Let me get back into my daily routine and I'll be fine." He got up from the couch and stripped off his button down shirt in replacement of a Harley Davidson t-shirt. His trousers were wrinkled and creased from their recent expedition, dirt and grime clung on to the cuffs of his pants and came off when he moved.

Mercury maneuvered to his side and picked up the wrinkled shirt, wrapping it in her arms. "Now, how will we treat her?"

He grinned. "As we did before, make her feel welcome, but understand we're the ones in control."

Her smile turned villainous. "This will be fun."

"You bet so," he laughed. "It'll be easy getting that USB from her."

Her eyes looked questionable. "Why not just snatch it by searching her as they do at secure places."

"She'll be a pain." He mentioned. "And beside, it'll be harder to get."

"Not with me." She said.

"You'll fucking kill her instead. Treat her a bit nicely than you did last time."

"I treated her as nice as possible, but I don't want this phoniness to continue on especially when I'm not interested."

He sighed. "You're a pain in the ass — I'll do it then."

Quinn had emerged from behind the door by then; Deacon stomped over and avoided contact with him by brushing by with a straight face and afterward, he shut the door behind him quietly. His room was silent unlike the living room uproar, the walls plain in color of a shade of gray; the black satin covers on his bed were imperfect from Chanel's posture, cuddled up in a ball form with her head between her knees.

Deacon smiled from the view, and knew one deed was one, thus it was shaking Chanel in fear of his manipulative talent.

Her face was muddled, covered in drying black tears on her flushed out cheeks. Her brunette hair was spread out into a pool of hair on his pillow, tangled and knotted. The sight of this was different from what he seen of her before. As he approached the bed leisurely, her posture stiffened.

She looks like a mess, he mused. Of course, with his mind not in the right place, he couldn't determine whether it was good or not. He sat down carefully on the mattress and sunk in as he looked upon Chanel's muddled face.

"How are you feeling now?" He asked her.

Her head moved an inch and her mouth appeared as she removed her hands from her face. "Better than before."

Fuck me, he mused again but this time harshly to himself. I'm acting like a childish jerk — the good jerk.

"You're a mess. Why don't you clean yourself up?" He mumbled.

Her face perplexed.

"Yes," he sighed, "a shower exists in this place."

"Didn't think so for a moment." She grumbled.

"I'll find something for you to wear in this place — you're clothes look as if they were dragged from hell."

He is right, Chanel wondered, when she glanced down at her old clothing. "I guess so then."

He got up from the sunken bed and showed her the bathroom across the room; he opened the door for her, revealing a dark blue tiled bathroom with a white shower curtain in place and toiletries placed on the toilet top. Two clean white towels hung on the towel rack next to the tub shower, and the sink was shinny clean.

Deacon exited while asking Chanel, "What size do you wear?"

She spun around from his reply. "I'm a medium."

He nodded. "All right." The door shut afterward.

Chanel frowned and started to undress, when then the door opened again and Deacon stood still with a new pile of clothes in his arms.

Awkward, he mused.

Chanel winced and threw on her top again although her bra was clearly seen through her shirt.

"Sorry," he said, and he tossed the clothes at her. "I didn't know you were changing."

"Yeah," she sighed, still holding onto her bra revealing shirt.

Deacon nodded. "Yeah." And he shut the door after from embarrassment. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me for having no manners…

He covered his face with the palm of his hand, and his ears perked up when he heard a beeping noise. Yet, although he was able to decode which phone was whose in the penthouse, he knew whose phone it was ringing at the moment. On the bed where Chanel was curled up before, a phone was vibrating and the lights were flashing on and off, a familiar ring tone to the one he heard a while back.

Why didn't she use her phone when she contracted the department? He wondered. Was it secrecy? It was odd how Chanel had used the payphone to call to her department when her phone was working fine anyhow. There had to be a reason…

He walked over to the beeping phone and picked it up from the silk sheets, and examined the number flashing on the tiny screen.

Joseph.

"I swear, if this phone has a tracking device, I'm screwed." He said to himself.

He answered it, and a male's voice was heard through the phone.

"Whoa," the man said, noting the difference in tone. "Where's Chanel?"

Deacon grinned. "Chanel is quite busy at the moment," Deacon said. "Can I take a message though?"

The man paused for a long moment. "Deacon?"

"Long time no see, Joseph?"

"What happened?"

"Who the fuck would know?" He replied with a smile. "Did some prophecy decide it was my time to be resurrected?"

Joseph groaned from the other end of the line. "I hope you're not speaking of the prophecy I know is bad."

"Gee, as if I didn't know. Why don't you ask Blade?"

The phone went dead all of a sudden, and a new voice was heard. It was Blade, and Deacon was impressed.

"What is it, Frost?"

"Blade, nice to hear from you again—"

"Which prophecy?" He asked unsympathetically.

Deacon snorted. "The one you let off — the one in which all dead vampires come back."

Blade groaned from hearing of it before.

"I know," Deacon added to his quiet response. "Isn't it a surprise how quickly you screw things up? I should have taught you before you let the cat out of the bag."

Blade roared into the phone as Deacon cringed away from it. "I am going to kill you by the time I get there."

"Good luck then. Does this mean the war is about to begin?"

"It already has."

Deacon smacked his lips together. Idiot. "Indeed, it has begin." He flexed his fingers out while he continued to talk to him. "We'll be sure you are out of our way and exonerate you while I…" He looked back at the bathroom door. "..Play with my new toy I found on the streets today."

Blade grumbled. "Chanel."

"It was a chase to find her when she got loose."

"She did? When?"

"Last night — she thinks she knows her ways around vampires, but she doesn't see the risk ahead."

"You place one finger on her and I'll be sure I shoot your head off."

Deacon frowned and his eyes went dark. "First of all, you don't know where the fuck I am."

"You're in Concord." Blade answered.

Deacon nodded, amused by how stupid Blade was. "You are stupid. We were there."

He heard Blade cuss under his breath. What a pleasure it was to hear him know he was at his faults. "And secondly," Deacon continued. "You're facing someone who may be a lot stronger than before." His hint had to hurt Blade all over, but somehow it didn't.

"I doubt so." Blade replied.

"Well then, I hope you enjoy this battle between the odds." He let loose of his grip and pushed the phone's off button. All at once, the phone went flying at the gray wall; it shattered on impact and landed on the floor with a thunk.

Deacon had heard the shower turn off before he had thrown the phone against the wall; as he turned around on the balls of his feet he saw Chanel standing at the open doorway of the bathroom with fresh new clothes on, an appearance of utter shock along with her eyes flashing at the dissembled phone.

"Did you have phone problems?" She wondered as she tightened her pants to a nice fit.

He frowned at her. "You can say I did." The frown disappeared and transformed into a devilish grin, he approached her slowly with his arms relaxed to his sides.

Chanel started to wince away from his approach. What is wrong with this man?

Deacon continued with his talk. "Along with the fact that your boyfriend and Blade are heading into the wrong direction and now proclaim war."

Chanel grinned. "They might as well proclaim war."

He frowned again. "You shouldn't have said that. Do you realize what I'm made for?"

"I can guess, but I'm not going to."

"That is fine," he said with his shoulders relaxed. He smirked a little. "I can answer it for you." He hovered around her as she moved out from the doorway. "I'm made to get girls like you to like me."

"I'd doubt it will ever happen." She grimaced.

He chuckled. "Between you and me, it's something I can get no matter how a woman despises someone."

"What am I? A freaking trophy for your winning?"

"For now and until I get rid of Blade, yes."

"Then don't hope for me as a welcoming guest."

He smirked again. "I wasn't aiming to do so." He said.

He grabbed her wrists tightly as she winced away from his painful grasp. She felt a pair of cold handcuffs clinging to her wrist again, which was a moment she wasn't enthralled to go through all over again. Deacon spun her around to face him face to face.

"I expect more from you for the time being until this war is over." His hand shoved Chanel further away from him, and Chanel topped over landing on the floor with her knees bucking together. He smiled. His hands slid onto his right pocket, and he pulled out something silver in color, but had the appearance of a camera. What is he doing? Chanel wondered.

"I believe if we give Blade a direct message as to what is happening, he will understand our proposition." He explained further into his reason. "For some reason the boy doesn't get how stupid he is. I would never let my son be that way, but turns out it happens at the wrong time at the wrong places."

Her face scrutinized at him. "I don't get what you're telling me."

"I didn't think so." He said.

Chanel realized she hadn't notice from the time being he had pulled out the camera it was on, recording each and every moment of their conversation about Blade. The light on the camera flashed, causing Chanel to blink. "How will this message be proposed as?"

"What?" Deacon asked baffled.

"In the cases I do with video interrogation, it usually has a direct message as to propose the problem."

He shook his head slightly. "I don't get you and your police like talk."

"You should," she advised. "Haven't you been through interrogating in your lifetime?"

Again, he shook his head. "Never have been." He walked up to her and tossed her head back with his cold hand. "And never will." He started to speak into the camera as though it were his best friend doing the criminal act. "Blade doesn't foresee the problem he will face once I start to have fun with you."

Her lips fumbled to make works come out as she remained perfectly calm. "What will you do?"

He answered her in his polite tone, the one which usually turns to woman on. "I'll just have fun with you around — maybe in terms of making Blade pissed off and fierce." His thumb pressed again the surface of her skin and he caressed it by removing the dry salty tears originally clung to her skin. "Why would someone like you, so beautiful, be stuck in this fucking mess? Why the innocent?" He backed away a few inches from her face. "Nobody gives a damn who is in a mess or not."

Chanel mumbled. "Some do though — people like me don't want the innocent harmed."

"Well, you're an agent…" he stopped himself to think. "Or whatever you might be in the police world."

"An investigator." Chanel answered for him.

He groaned. "Okay, investigator." For a second time he stopped himself to think. "You're not a cop, though, so why do you care?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I do."

"You are strange." He quoted. His fingers pressed her cheek again; his index fingernail suddenly grew in sight of Chanel's view, and it then cut through her flesh. Her eyes broadened when she saw her own blood on his white finger. "But you aren't strange enough like me." The blood once on his finger was now in the mouth of a monster.

She cringed as he licked his lips and smacked them together; they changed into a rose like color after he devoured his snack.

He held the camera closer to her face and asked her, "Can you top that strangeness?"

She shook her head. "I think you have already."

"Nay," he said. "I think the credit goes to Blade."

"How is Blade strange?"

He was happy enough to answer her question. "Why must I wonder would someone kill their own kind?"

Chanel again shrugged her shoulders at his question. "Maybe to get rid of people like you."

Deacon's expression changed from her answer, and it wasn't a pleasant change. His hand flashed out and it grabbed Chanel's throat; her eyes twitched when his face got closer and his clamp got tighter, soon enough it was hard for her to breathe. She gasped for air.

"I see we will have trouble." He mumbled.

"Well," she gasped, "isn't it what he's trying to do?"

His grasp grew tighter. "Yes, but you reminding me is getting on my nerves." He glared at her intensely. "So is Joseph."

"What does Josef have against you?"

"He's hunting me down."

"Good for him then! You deserve whatever punishment the group has for you."

Deacon grinded on his teeth as he threw aside Chanel and dug his knee on her chest, by pinning her down it was his way to frighten her how strong he was then she had originally thought. She started to fidget, exactly what he wanted. "This is what I want Blade to see." He hissed. "I want him to see what happens when you and the others mess with me." Chanel had saw the same hand which grabbed her by the throat land directly in her face and he pushed her down so the camera could see his pinpoint: her neck.

His chin caressed her exposed neck and whispered into her ear. "If any of you mess with me, you'll never see the god damn day again. Do you get the message, pumpkin?"

She shook her head.

"Good." He said. The camera lifted away from her neck and now was facing directly at Deacon before he shut it off. "We are going to have loads of fun." He said sarcastically, and then the camera light went off. So did Chanel's calm attitude.

"You are an idiot." She mumbled.

"And you're my pet. Get used to it." He hissed. He tossed the camera about while pondering to himself. "What shall we do next?" He asked himself, although the question was meant for Chanel.

Chanel's eyes widened in disgust. "Nothing disturbing, please." She snorted.

Deacon grinned while teasing her. "I like disturbing things."