A/N: So here we are guys the next chapter. As always I don't own anything to do with Supernatural no matter what I with. Thank again to the fabulous Ciar for being my beta. Hope you guys like this and please please review. Thanks for sticking with me guys.
xox
Dinner Is Cheap When You're On The Menu
Blinding, body-shattering pain was the first thing he registered when he finally came back round, closely followed by a gut-wrenching stab of emptiness. Panic flooded through him, pushing the pain to the back of his mind, as he desperately tried to remember what had happened before the world had gone dark.
He had been hanging around outside some dive bar in Texas - where in Texas he didn't know, it wasn't that important - waiting for this sweet, little blonde thing to come out. He had been working her for almost a month now, flirting and even playing hero to her damsel in distress. By this stage, she was putty in his hands, practically swooning every time she saw him and that was exactly how he liked them: all trusting and compliant. It just made the pain and suffering so much sweeter when they couldn't understand why such a nice, caring person would commit such horrors against them.
He had been watching as she slipped out through the side exit, happy and smiling brightly as she parted ways with her work colleges. She had looked innocent, almost childlike, as she waved goodbye; tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, her simple white blouse standing out in stark contrast to her deep blue jacket. He had just been about to make himself known, slip out of the shadows and flash her his most menacing grin, when his skin had started to tingle. The feeling of someone's gaze boring into the back of his head sent shivers down his spine: he was the one who watched people, it wasn't the other way around.
He barely had the time to register movement behind him before his skull erupted with blinding pain. His cry of distress was muffled as he collapsed to the ground, his fingers clutching feebly as if they refused to give up on the intense urge to yank and wrench at the blonde hair of this evening's chosen playmate. Heedless of his urges, darkness consumed him quickly as the pain in his head spiked and his voice gave out on him.
The pain had been excruciating and like nothing he had known before. He had thought he was being ripped from the body he had claimed as his own, the way his very essence had quaked with fear, but it seemed he had been wrong. Now it was just him here, minus the pathetic thing humans called a soul that had inhabited this meat-sack before he moved in. It was strange being alone now, after so many years of having to share this shell with another slotted in beside him. He had grown used to the background noise of the original owner's constant screams and sobs as he begged to be set free; it had been pathetic really. But now it was quiet, so very quiet.
'Feeling lonely?'
At the sound of the gentle, playful voice he snapped his head up, eyes opening for the first time since he had awoken. He didn't know what he had been expecting but to find himself in almost total darkness was not it. From what he could make out, the room was large enough, the edges shrouded in shadows that obscured the speaker from his searching eyes. The floor was concrete, that much he could tell, and the walls were probably brick. He couldn't imagine his captor taking him anywhere that would allow people to find them, let alone hear him scream. The air in the room smelled like blood and dust, an odd combination but, then again, most of the places he went reeked like death and blood. Proof that he was a classy guy and knew how to show a dame a good time, well…a good enough time until he got bored with her anyway.
Deciding that he wasn't in the mood for these sorts of games, he went to stand up, his aborted movements causing him to realize that he was bound to the chair. He pulled against his restraints as he glared at the thick rope that had been wound around his exposed wrists and ankles, lashing him in place. The rope had been pulled tight, the coarse weave of the bindings digging painfully into his skin. The flesh of his wrists and ankles was covered in blood, the skin burned black and already beginning to scab over. Haw long had he been out? He knew of only one thing that could burn him in that way: Holy Water.
Groaning, he let his head fall back. The light overhead made his vision spotty and blurred for a second before it cleared. The sole source of light in the room, the naked bulb hanging above him, illuminated only the small area around him and cast the rest of the room in shadows. But it was what surrounded the swinging light that had him letting out a huff of annoyance and slumping down into the chair as much as he could. A devil's trap was painted on the ceiling above him, the thick red lines standing out in sharp contrast against the dirty and crumbling plaster. Squinting at the still slightly glistening paint, he let out a small chuckle as realisation dawned on him. He knew where the smell of blood was coming from now.
'Forgive the crudeness,' the unseen speaker continued. 'Didn't quite have time to pop down to the store, so had to make do with what I had.'
Letting his head roll forward, he glared at the patch of darkness from where he thought the smug, self-satisfied voice had come. Damned hunters were almost as bad as demons with their flair for the dramatics. Always wanting to put on a show, to prove how much better they were than demons, when the delicious reality was that in ten or twenty years, when they had been sent to the deepest, darkest depths of Hell - where all 'good' hunters went to suffer through eternity - and their hearts had been ripped out, they would end up exactly where he was now. Getting their ass handed to them by some smug, idiotic hunter that didn't quite understand that every road to Hell was paved with the broken and tainted souls of once proud and righteous men.
'And here I thought it was paved with good intentions. Must've heard wrong,' the voice drawled.
He jerked his head up, as that amused voice filled the air around him once more, his eyes wide and full of panic. The speaker had read his mind. That wasn't possible, not even an option in the game show of life.
'Oh, but it is.' That sweet, playful voice echoed around the room, seeming to come from every possible angle to surround him, completely inescapable.
Full-on panicking now, he yanked at his restraints in a desperate attempt to get free. The rope dug deeper into his already abused and broken skin, the rough material rubbing against his raw and bloody wrists as he continued to thrash around in his chair in a futile effort to escape. Futile because it didn't matter if he got free from the rope, he would still be stuck in the devils trap, unable to flee and unable to truly defend himself.
'STOP!'
As soon as the word filled the air, he froze, unable to even twitch his fingers let alone move any of his limbs, in spite of how much he willed them to. Growling low and menacingly, he yelled out into the darkened room, his anger and panic clearly showing as his voice wavered slightly, 'Show yourself!'
Suddenly, the world around him went silent. He could no longer hear the wind outside, as it swirled around the building, nor his own laboured breaths. It was as silent as Death himself, sending shivers down his spine and leaving him feeling sick to his very core. Normally, he was all for games and very much in favour of screwing around with your prey, until they didn't know which way was up and which way was down, but this? No, he had already had enough of this particular game. He was going to rip that bitch's throat out the moment he could get his hands on her. He would make her beg for mercy.
'Try it.'
His body jerked as the harsh-sounding words were whispered against his ear, her hot breath ruffled his hair, and his body went rigid, his eyes going impossibly wide. Quickly, he snapped his head to the side as he tried to look behind him, desperate to get a glimpse of his captor, but all that greeted him was gentle laughter and empty shadows.
'How does it feel?' she asked.
Snapping his head back round, he got his first look at his captor, finally catching sight of a face to go along with that stupidly smug voice. She was sitting in a simple, high-backed, wooden chair. Her body language utterly casual as she stared at him: she had one elbow resting against the chair's arm, her hand curled against her cheek, thumb resting under her chin and her pointer finger pressed against the side of her face with the fingertip just resting against the corner of her eye.
She looked young, still in her twenties he would guess. Her long, dark hair, which was curled slightly at the ends, flowed down over her shoulders. What he could see of her skin looked tanned, like she had spent her life outside in the sun. Maybe she was from California, although the fact that she was wearing plaid didn't seem to fit with that theory. The sleeves of her plaid shirt were rolled up to her elbows, exposing soft skin and slender-looking wrists. He could imagine them wound tight with rope and hoisted above her head. Or maybe handcuffs would be better. She would look so delectable with the shimmering, silver metal digging deep into her sun-kissed skin, maybe even splattered with blood, the droplets sparkling like rubies.
She was annoyingly pretty, just his type actually, and he wanted to do the most wicked things to her. He wanted to spread her out and cut her open, listen to her scream as he ripped out her insides and set fire to her bleeding carcass.
He noticed the anti-possession tattoo on her left wrist, the black ink standing out against her skin as though the mark was fresh, the ink looked as dark as his soul. As soon as he saw the tattoo, she shifted in the chair, her posture becoming more rigid as her arm lowered to rest her hand flat against the arm of the chair. She began to draw idle patterns against the wood with her fingertips.
Taking a deep breath he licked at his suddenly dry lips. He could feel uneasiness beginning to surface inside him, lapping at the edges of his consciousness. He hadn't felt any form of nervousness since the day he made his deal with the crossroads demon and that had been well over a century ago.
'How does what feel, exactly?' he responded, his parched throat making his voice sound low and rough. Tilting his head down, he looked at the young woman through his eyelashes. He had been told many times before, admittedly it had been mostly by the women he ended up killing, that this body had beautiful eyes. Women had called his eyes crystal clear and innocent, mesmerising even. Stupid, dumb bitches didn't have a clue. He tried to keep the tone of his voice sounding bored and unimpressed, sarcastic even, with a hint of charm thrown in for good measure, but from the way her lips quirked at the edges he knew she had heard his worry bleed through.
'Being toyed with,' she replied. Her voice was calm, gentle even, as she looked at him expectantly. Her green-eyed gaze fixed on him like she could bore a hole right through him with it.
For the first time in many a decade, he felt trapped. He couldn't move any of this body from the neck down, couldn't even twitch his fingers. No one knew where he was, not that he made a habit of letting anyone keep tabs on his whereabouts, and, on top of all that, he was developing a sinking feeling that he wasn't going to be getting out of this situation alive. Well, if you could actually call being a demon living.
'Whatever gets you off sweetheart,' he drawled, winking at her as he flashed her his biggest grin.
Her mouth twitched slightly, a small smile lighting up her features. 'That's funny,' she smirked. She was full-on smiling now, taunting him, and he couldn't have that, wouldn't stand for it from any human meat-puppet but particularly not from a woman.
'Why don't you get that tight, little ass of yours over here and I'll show what being toyed with reallyfeels like,' he purred. The low, seductive tone of his voice sounded attractively convincing to his well-practised ear, but she didn't even seem to notice. Didn't even acknowledge that he had spoken.
Darting his gaze around the shadowed space, he looked desperately for any sign of an exit or for something that he could use to help him escape. Anything that would let him get away from this hunter-woman before she had a chance to send him back down to the Pit. He may have been a demon, and he may have been born in the Pit, but that did not mean he ever wanted to go back there.
A slight movement in the corner of his eye pulled his gaze back to his captor, just in time to see her sinking back into the chair and getting comfortable. She looked so relaxed, so at ease, like this scenario was completely normal for her.
His own neglected thoughts slammed back to the forefront of his mind. What if this actually was normal for her? He had never heard of a hunter that could read minds, hadn't even heard a whisper about one that liked to play mind-games before she got down to the exorcism. Not in the last decade anyway and this woman was far too young to have been knocking around that long. It didn't mean it wasn't possible though; didn't mean that his kind hadn't stumbled across her before. But, if they had, surely some demon would have marked her on the list of souls to be broken, to be ripped apart, and desecrated.
'David, right?' she asked, knowingly, smug smile and all. 'Well…that's what that meat-suit of yours is called but he's long gone by now, so why don't you tell me your name, hmm? Your true name, that is, if you can even remember it.'
The request threw him. It had been so long since he had even thought of his human name, let alone used it or been called by it, that he realised it had been an effort for him to remember it.
Her green eyes narrowed, that smug smile growing even wider than before. She knew she had hit a nerve.
Growling menacingly, he barked out the first thing that came to mind, anger lacing every word that fell from his lips, 'Go to Hell!' How dare she speak to him in such a way, treat him with so little respect. He was going to get free and he would take so much pleasure in ripping her apart, slowly, limb by limb. He would make her scream and beg until she was nothing but an unrecognisable pile of flesh and bone on the floor.
'Been there. Done that. Got that fractured psyche to prove it,' she responded, calmly. 'Now, your name, please.' The last word was said with a commanding force that sunk deep into his mind and wrapped its claws around that almost-forgotten word, gripping it tightly and refusing to let go.
He gritted his jaw tight, his teeth grating against each other as he tried to fight against the urge to speak but it was like the word was being dragged out of him, balancing on the tip of his tongue until it started to hurt.
'WILLIAM…' he screamed at the woman in front of him. As soon as the word had left his mouth, the burning pressure that had been throbbing against the inside of his temples vanished, like it had never even been there. Slumping back into the chair, he let his head loll backwards, his eyes slipping closed. His body ached from where he had been straining against his bonds; the rope had cut deeper into his already bloody skin.
'Now that wasn't so hard, was it?' she asked, condescendingly.
Opening his eyes - he didn't even remember consciously when he had closed them - he glared at her with every ounce of rage he could muster. Oh Lucifer, he was going to ruin her, watch her choke on her own blood as he pulled out her heart. Once he was finished with her they wouldn't even be able to identify her with dental records.
Paying him no attention, she turned to her head to the side, something unseen to him catching her attention. Her smile slipped as she glared at the shadows. The slip only lasted a second before her head was snapping back round, devilish smirk in place, her eyes darkening as they fogund him once more. Something seemed different about her now, darker. He had felt the shift, her humanity not so prominent any more as something more sinister started to swallow it, like a shadow chasing away the light.
'William, can I call you Will?'
Glaring at her, and her irritatingly cheerful voice, William tried to remind himself that the worst thing she could do was send him back to the Pit. He had gotten out once, what was there to say he couldn't do it again? And, as far as anyone knew, the Winchesters were the only hunters that could actually kill a demon and that was only because they had that damn knife of theirs. However, he happened to know that the Winchesters were on the other side of the country right now, so he didn't have that to worry about.
'Yeah, sure, why not,' he drawled, sarcastically.
Impossibly, she smiled even wider, flashing him her pearly, white teeth. Her face looked like it might almost split in half from the smile and it had to be hurting her by now, maintaining that ridiculous expression. He wanted to smack it from her lips, preferably with the back of his hand. Her eyes were darker now; so dark they seemed almost black.
'So what's your name, sugar?' he asked. 'Need to know what to put on your tombstone.' He would carve it on the stone personally and make sure the world knew who had killed the crazy bitch.
She completely ignored his question, which had, admittedly, been more of a dig to try and get her to do something other than smile at him like she was a few fruit loops short of a bowl. Instead, she turned to once again look off into the shadows on her left, seemingly deep in thought.
Gritting his teeth, William growled loudly, the sound reverberating around the room, but the woman still paid him no mind. Obviously, the voices in her head were far more interesting than him, and that shouldn't piss him off as much as it did because every minute she spent off in her own mental la-la land was another minute he wasn't back in the Pit.
Taking a deep breath, he gathered as much will as he could and tried, once again, to tug his restraints loose but it was like his body had turned to stone. None of his limbs responded to his commands, his fingers remained frozen and curled around the arms of the chair. Mentally, he screamed at them to move, to twitch, to do something, but it was no use. The most he could do was turn his head and blink, say a few words, and hope she got this over with soon because he was really starting to get tired of this situation. There was only so long a guy could put up with the crazy hunter routine (something he had seen a hundred times already, since he'd clawed his way back up topside), before he wanted to stab himself in the eye with the nearest sharp object because, surely, gouging out an eye would be more entertaining than this shit.
The woman's head snapped back round, her dark eyes narrowing as she glared at him with a disdainful expression not all that different from the King of Hell's, though He was a lot more terrifying than the young woman in front of William, no matter what freaky tricks she had up her sleeves.
He felt her annoyance slam into him like a truck going 100mph down a wet road with no brakes to speak of. He could feel it curling around him until his skin started to itch. It pushed in on him, crushing him until he wanted to scream out into the night, but he wouldn't let himself. He couldn't give her the satisfaction of hearing him in such pain.
As suddenly as the pain had started, it stopped, disappearing as he pulled in a deep breath, the cool air stinging his throat as he gulped it down. With a soft sigh, the young woman's features softened, until she was smiling sweetly at him, looking very much like the innocent little girl she wasn't.
In a rather over-dramatic gesture, she smacked her hands down against the arms of her chair, the loud sound of skin slapping against wood filling the room. Putting all her weight on her hands, she pushed herself to her feet in one fluid move, the heels of her boots clicking against the concrete as they hit the floor. He couldn't help but watch her, almost entranced as she pushed a hand through her hair, shoving the long strands away from her face. For a split second her eyes slipped closed, her head tilted up slightly, an easy smile on her pale lips.
She looked so young, so delicate and all he wanted was to mess that all up, ruin her in the best ways and then the worst. He wanted to reduce her to a moaning, gasping, squirming, naked mess, begging for more. And then he wanted to peel off her skin and gouge out her eyes with a sharpened spoon. She would scream so pretty.
'Normally, I would take my time with things like this,' she said, her calm and playful voice pulling him away from his intoxicating thoughts and back to his captor. She was smiling brightly at him, her face still turned towards the ceiling but her eyes were open now, trained on him.
A shiver of anticipation rolled down his spine, setting his nerves on fire as he waited for what would come next.
Letting her head fall forward she turned to look directly at him, her eyes piercing through his meat-suit and deep into his twisted core, seeing everything he had ever done. He did not like it, being laid bare in this way.
Slowly, she made her way towards him, her heels clicking softly on the concrete floor with every step she took. Her voice was a strange mix of excitement and disappointment. 'I could make it last for hours, days even,' she purred. 'It would be such sweet torture and I could make you feel so good, make all those little fantasies of yours come to life.'
Her eyes were bright, alight with excitement. It was like she was glowing - as though she could fill the room with a light that wanted to reach out to every dark corner - but couldn't penetrate the thick shadows that pushed in from the edges of the room, snapping and swirling around the light, crowding it back to where it had come from. With a soft sigh she came to a halt, teetering on the edge of the devils trap, her eyes darting up to the painted symbols and then back towards him, as she rocked on the balls of her feet slightly.
Everything snapped back to how it was before, as she let out a huff of annoyance. She wasn't glowing any more, and the shadows were no longer moving. Now that he wasn't so entranced by her, he couldn't believe how stupid he had been. Humans didn't glow and the only shadows that moved on their own were demons. He couldn't sense anything other than the two of them in the room. But, then again, she wasn't quite human. There was something else there, something tainting her and making it hard to get a good read of her. He had a horrible feeling he wasn't going to be around long enough to find out what she really was.
'But there just isn't time,' she mumbled down at the floor, her voice only just audible.
Tilting her head back, she looked up at the symbol painted on the ceiling. She stared at it for a long few minutes and he stared at her until he grew frustrated. He was just about to snap at her to get the hell on with whatever she had planned, when she started to speak, her voice soft and distant as she said, 'I don't like doing this, you know. It's not what I pictured when I fantasised about my future.'
Rolling his eyes at the sob story he was undoubtedly about to hear, William lolled his head to the side. Hunters were all the same, always trying to blame someone else for their misfortune. They should all just stop whining and go get drunk, have nasty, kinky sex with someone half their age and then get in a fist-fight, maybe even kill someone. He could guarantee they would feel ten times better afterwards.
Turning her gaze back to him, she smiled brightly, her voice once again back to that annoying, upbeat tone. 'But hey, destiny's a bitch right?' She winked at him, wiggling her eyebrow suggestively at him.
He couldn't help but laugh at her. 'Are you bipolar?' he scoffed. She had to be, or else she had a split personality or something like that, because something clearly wasn't right with this girl.
Laughing gently at his words, she shook her head, shorter strands of her dark hair falling across her eyes once again. Sighing, she glared at her hair and brought her hand up to shove the wayward strands out of her face. As her hand moved, something caught the light, shimmering slightly. It wasn't until her hand fell back to her side that he even noticed the knife she had clasped in her hand. The metal was shining softly in the dim light, the knife's blade clearly having been polished recently. He wondered if maybe that was what she had been doing whilst she waited for him to come to, but the thought quickly vanished when he finally got a good look at the knife.
The top of the blade was straight before it curved downwards towards the tip. The bottom was a jagged row of razor sharp teeth that straightened out at the tip, but it was the words scrawled across the middle of the blade that had his eyes widening, as panic truly started to set in.
It wasn't possible, not even probable. Those dim-wit Winchesters were supposed to be the only ones with a weapon like that and, by all accounts, they guarded their demon-killing blade fiercely. He couldn't imagine that they would give something that powerful to someone else. According to everything he knew, it just wasn't possible for another one to exist, but he could see it as clear as day. He knew his fate now.
'This is going to hurt,' she stated, bluntly.
His wide, panic-filled eyes snapped back up to hers as she spoke, her words breaking whatever trance he had been in. She was looking at him directly again but her eyes were nothing more than black pools of nothingness now. Now that he was confronted with it, he could feel the demon inside of her like a physical blow to the stomach. But that still wasn't quite right. There was something else there, something more. She wasn't a demon, well not completely anyway, there was something more crowding around the small slither of humanity that he could feel rolling around inside of her, but he couldn't tell what.
Taking a step forward she flexed the knife in her hand, pulling his attention back to the thing that could kill him.
'You're going to kill me.' It wasn't a question. Tilting his head back, he looked up at the young woman in front of him. If he had thought it was possible, he would have said she looked almost sad.
'Yes.' The whispered word sounded loud in the silence, cutting through the quietness like a hot knife through butter.
He had expected to feel panic, anger, hate, maybe even a little excitement as he struggled to get free, but all he truly felt was mind-numbing acceptance. This was going to happen, no matter what he said or did. He was trapped, unable to move, unable to defend himself. He was going to die. After decades of paying the price for a childish wish, he was finally going to be free. Free of this life, free of hell, free of his contract.
'Who are you?' he asked, his voice just as soft as hers had been. He wanted to know the name of the person who was going to execute him, before it was too late.
Frowning down at him, she inched closer until her legs were pushing against his. In one quick move she swung a leg over his and, slowly, sank down onto his lap. Eyes wide he watched as she moved the knife to her right hand, and, once her left hand was free, she brought her palm up to rest against his cheek in a tender gesture, her thumb rubbing gentle circles against the soft skin.
He wanted to jerk away, wanted to scream for her to get off him but he found himself unable to do anything but stair into her eyes, trapped in the dark pools.
'It's not who I am that you should be worrying about,' she whispered, softly.
Slowly, she slipped her hand back, running her fingers into his hair, her palm resting against the top of his cheek. Shifting slightly in his lap, she brought her other hand up until the jagged edge of the blade was resting against his jugular. The metal was cold as it dug into his skin. He could feel a small drop of blood sliding down his throat and disappearing into the collar of his shirt. His mind flashed with a brief thought of 'well that's not going to come out' before everything, but this moment and what it was leading up to, vanished from his mind.
He was breathing deeply, his eyes slamming closed in a vain attempt to hide from those bottomless pits she called eyes. This was it, he was about to die and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
'Now what I am, well…that's a whole different matter,' she whispered, seductively, her voice cutting through the silence.
Before he could even react, the blade was yanked across his throat, the skin splitting open and his blood gurgling over the edge of the wound. His mouth fell open as a silent scream of pure agony was ripped from him, as a hungry mouth closed around the wound and sucked deeply, pulling more of his blood from his protesting body. He heard a faint clattering, it could have been the blade falling to the floor but it was hard to be sure over the sound of his own pained sobs.
It hurt, oh fuck, it hurt. Blunt teeth dug into torn skin, a probing tongue worked its way deep into the wound and forced it open, ripping the skin and making the flow of blood greater. The woman moaned in pleasure, sucking harder as she pushed her body tight against his, her fingers curling until she had a fist full of his hair. She yanked his head to the side; opening the wound up more and giving herself more room suck desperately at his flesh.
He felt weak, like she was sucking the energy right out of him, and she probably was. He didn't know how much more he could take, or even if he would survive much longer. All he knew was that it hurt and he would rather be dead right now than living through this. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull, the world around him going foggy. No, he didn't suppose he had long at all.
She growled against his blood-covered skin, shoving her face harder against his neck, desperate to get every last drop from him. He couldn't have that much more left to give her, his pulse was becoming slow and almost unnoticeable.
As he finally began to slip into darkness, a bright pain shot through his skull. Burning, his head was burning. He could smell it, the unmistakable stench of skin and fat being heated beyond the norm, almost like bacon. He could feel the intense heat against his temple and then suddenly it wasn't just his head. It was inside of him, twisting around the blackened remains of his soul, burning him up from the inside. Screaming out, his eyes shot open, frantically rolling around in their sockets as his own screams echoed around his skull. It was like no pain he had ever known, like no pain he had ever heard of, and it was only getting worse.
A bright, white light erupted behind his eyes, blinding him as the burning pain spiked. The now empty meat-suit, that he had called a body, slumped down as the soulless shell took its last ragged breath before its heart stopped.
With a loud gasp, Hope yanked her mouth away from the dead body's neck, throwing her head back to gaze unseeingly at the ceiling. Pulling in deep, gasping breaths, she tried to slow her frantically beating heart as it thumped loudly against her ribs, her blood rushing past her ears.
With a loud groan, she slumped forward, her head landing on the corpse's shoulder. Oh gods, she felt alive, she could feel the power thrumming through her veins, tingling in her fingers and curling around her mind. She felt like she could reach up and pull the stars from the sky or reach down and touch the molten core of the earth. She felt invincible. Finally, her breathing returned to normal and she let out a soft sigh. Turning her head, she nuzzled against William's neck, her tongue darting out to lap at the slowly drying blood that was seeping from the jagged wound.
Once the skin was clean, she pulled her head away, swiping her tongue across her blood-covered lips as she sat back up. She savoured the taste, rolling it round on her tongue like it was a fine wine, not that she had ever had wine; no one had access to that sort of thing in her time. The blood was tangy and left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. It tasted like all the sins of the world along with the desire to always commit them. It was disgusting and addictive all at the same time. It had once made her sick to her very core, but not now. She had spent far too many years being force-fed the stuff to have negative reactions to it any more.
Slowly, she uncurled her fingers from where they had been clutching tightly at the body beneath her. Her nails had ripped through the fabric of the man's white shirt, digging deep into the soft flesh of his arm. They came free with a soft squelch as blood started to ooze slowly from the five crescent-moon cuts she had left behind. Her left hand came away easily from his hair, a few strands of blond hair falling to the ground as she moved her hands to rest on his slumped shoulders.
Gently, she used the fingertips of her left hand to turn his head, giving herself a better look at the fresh scar she had left on the side of his temple. The bottom of her palm was as clear as day on the side of his face, her fingers disappearing into his hairline. She could make out every swirl, every line, even the small gap where her ring was. She had no doubt that the police of this time would be able to get a print from it but it would do them no good. She was in no database, no records held her name. She hadn't even been born yet.
Her thumbprint was burned across the top of his forehead, just brushing against his hairline, and she knew that if she even bothered to move his hair she would be able to see a mass of scared and mangled flesh from where her curled fingers had dug into his scalp and burned their mark into the skin. Sighing, Hope let her hands drop from his chin, both her hands sliding down to press gently against his chest. She didn't know why she left the mark behind, didn't even know how she did it, it had just always happened. Ever since she had taken her first hesitant gulp of body-warm blood. Leaving the mark seemed to be an automatic reaction to the lack of blood in whatever body she was draining. Subconsciously, she knew she had to kill whatever scum inhabited the body, leaving an empty shell behind, the soulless monstrosity only lasting a breath before it died too.
With a disgusted grunt, Hope pushed herself off of the dead man's lap and staggered to her feet, determinedly not looking at the bloody handprint she had left behind on his white shirt. She didn't need to see any more evidence that she was a monster. With a well-practiced, flamboyant gesture she flung her right arm up into the air, hand high above her head, and clicked her fingers as she walked away from the still warm body and back towards the chair she had vacated only a few minutes ago.
Lights snapped on all at once, bathing the warehouse in a hazy light. Letting her hand fall, she caught a glimpse of her blood-smeared skin and her stomach dropped, the realization of what she had just done sinking in.
With a strangled cry, Hope ran across what was left of the room, and headed straight towards the small, black door hidden away in the corner. Shoving it open with her shoulder, she flung herself at the grubby-looking sink, the faucet handles turning of their own accord and dirty water gushing from them with a rusty-sounding groan. Hope shoved her hands under the cold spray, frantically scrubbing at her blood covered skin, and scraping her nails over her skin as she desperately tried to get the demon's blood off.
No matter how frantically she scrubbed, she could still feel the blood, hot and sticky against her skin, the metallic tang filling the air and forcing its way down her throat. Oh gods, she felt sick. A loud, gargled groan filled the small room, the taps spluttering slightly as the muddy water turned a deep red, the cold liquid warming slightly as it hit her hands. With a startled gasp, Hope flung herself backwards, slamming into the doorframe with a loud thud. Blood ran thick and fast from the tap, splattering across the dull white porcelain. She could feel it dripping from her fingers, could hear the drops splashing against the floor, but, despite the growing horror that was welling up inside of her, she couldn't tare her eyes away, watching as it swirled down the drain.
Her heart thundered in her chest, beating so fast that she felt like it would give out at any moment and she would end up crumbling to the floor in a lifeless heap. It seemed fitting that fear would be the cause of her death; nothing else had managed to kill her yet.
This shouldn't be happening, couldn't be happening. She had fed; the hallucinations should have stopped the moment she took her first gulp of blood, so why the hell was she seeing this? Logically, she knew it was a hallucination, blood didn't run in the plumbing, even in her time. Knowing this didn't stop her from wanting to throw up though. Oh gods, why was this happening to her?
'Funny you should say that.'
All panic disappeared from Hope as soon as that familiar calm voice filled the air. Glaring at the sink, Hope shoved herself away from the wall, wiping her hands on her jeans as she took a step back towards the sink, glancing over her shoulder slightly. Of course it would be him; it was always fucking him.
'Go away,' she snapped at the man leaning casually against the doorframe. Hope quickly twisted the faucet handles and the flow of blood-red water stopped with a loud groan. Spinning on her heels, Hope barged past the older man. He stepped back, moving out of her way, smirking at her as she quickly slipped past. Glaring at the floor, she stormed across the room, heading straight for the body that was lying slumped in the chair, its head lolling to one side.
'That wasn't very nice,' the new arrival called out to her in a sickeningly, cheerful, sing-song voice. His words echoing around the room made it impossible to tell if he was still standing where she had left him.
Without stopping to mentally prepare herself for the pain that was about to come, Hope pushed through the invisible barrier that flowed down from the devil's trap. Her skin burned, feeling like she was being stabbed all over by thousands of pins, each one laced with acid. She hated devil's traps. Standing inside one always sent a sharp stab of pain through her core, like a blade of ice being thrust into her soul and twisted. But, unfortunately, they were a necessary part of her line of work and she had been round them enough by now that she was good at hiding the discomfort she felt. No one would ever know how much the traps affected her and that was how she would like it to stay.
Sinking down onto her knees next to David's lifeless body, Hope shoved her hand into the pocket of his pants, looking for anything that could be considered useful in this time.
'Well, neither are you. So, hey, guess we're even,' she growled, in response to the newcomer's taunting. She didn't even bother to look up at him as she spoke, fervently willing him to just go away already.
Hope felt a small measure of triumph as she yanked out the dead man's wallet, the cracked and faded leather rectangle getting caught on the edge of his pocket before it slipped free. The leather was soft in her hands, worn down from years of rubbing against the cotton lining of his pocket. Flipping it open, Hope was confronted with a small plastic card that bore the man's photo and some of his basic information. She had seen these a thousand times before; she even had a small collection of the things. No, she had had a small collection but they had been left behind, not important enough to bring with her.
Looking down at his date of birth, Hope wished she had just left the damn thing in his pocket. David Summers had been 19 years old. He had been so young, his whole life still ahead of him and it had all been taken away as soon as a demon had forced its way down his throat. He hadn't stood a chance, poor guy.
'They have those here, you know,' the newcomer drawled, interrupting her thoughts. 'Maybe you should consider getting one.'
Hope glared down at the photo of the pre-demon-possession David Summers and tried to ignore the man behind her as best she could. Thumbing the back of the wallet open, Hope pulled out the small wad of notes William had been carrying, going up on her knees to shove them into her back pocket.
'Stealing from a dead man; classy,' the irritant declared, sarcastically.
With a low growl, Hope snapped round, throwing the dead man's wallet at him, with considerable force, but it sailed right past him and hit the wall behind him with a dull thud. He hadn't even flinched, just stood there, calmly watching it come towards him. With a smirk she could only call sleazy, he pushed off the wall and started to walk towards her.
'Ugh', the disgusted noise Hope made sounded loud in the room and did nothing to deter him.
Turning back to the body, Hope shoved her hand into its other pocket, her fingers instantly closing around a cool, hard, plastic rectangle. Tugging it free, she stared down at the small device in her hand, her thumb absentmindedly rubbing along the side, the seam of the plastic digging into her skin slightly. She remembered these, had seen them scattered, broken and forgotten, amongst the debris of fallen buildings and burned-out cars. She knew that they were mobile phones, knew that people had used them to make calls and to talk to one another when they couldn't speak in person, she knew that much about them.
She hadn't seen a working one in well over a decade though. People didn't make calls that way in her time. To speak to someone who wasn't nearby, all you needed was a fresh pint of blood, and a bowl, and you were good to go. Simple really, and guaranteed to work every time.
'You should probably get one of those as well, while you're at it,' the annoying voice behind her suggested.
Hope sighed, slumping slightly, and turned her head so she could glare over her shoulder at the speaker. He had moved from his spot against the wall and was now lounging in the chair she had been sitting in a good few minutes ago. It worried her that he was sitting in pretty much the same position she had. He was leaning back casually, one elbow resting against the arm of the chair, his hand curled against his cheek with the thumb resting under his chin and his pointer finger pressed against the side of his face, the fingertip resting against the corner of his eye. He looked so damned smug, and far too comfortable, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief and lips curled up into a smirk, taunting her.
Quickly, her eyes roamed over his body, taking in the pale skin stretched over firm muscles and the powerful thighs spread wide. A slight shadow of stubble covered his chin and his short, dirty-blond hair just screamed out to have her hands shoved into it and pulling at it.
Slamming down on her traitorous thought, Hope quickly flung her head back round, facing away from him. The phone clattered to the floor as she brought her hands up to cover her face. That whole train of thought was dirty and wrong, sickening even. It didn't matter what she had done in her past, she was not going down that path ever again: even if it was just in her mind.
Letting her hands drop to the dead man's knees, she pushed herself up off the floor, tilting her head back to glare at the symbol above her. She should really get rid of it. All it would take was a simple snap of her fingers and it would be like it was never there. But, then again, she should also move the body, and try to make the dead man's passing seem a little more peaceful than it had been. It would be the right thing to do; it wasn't the young man's fault that a demon had chosen him to be a puppet. Demons forcibly take whatever they want, with no regard for the lives of those they choose. The young man, David, deserved to be put to rest properly; to be at peace. She had done it for the others, so why stop now?
'Because he was a useless, pathetic parasite and he deserved everything he got,' her companion's venomous voice filled the air, his words cutting into her thoughts like poisoned talons.
Something flickered through her mind, something dark and twisted that demanded her attention like a gun to the head. Humanity: pathetic, weak, mindless parasites that clung onto anyone or anything that thought themselves better than the herd. Dependent on Kings and Queens, gods and goddesses, never standing up for themselves, never taking responsibility's for their actions, just cowering at the feet of those who stood fearless and proud. It was still the same in her time, they were still snivelling cowards; a disease on the planet that they had squandered and left in ruins.
The sharp sting on her palms pulled Hope from her dark thoughts, as she glanced down at her hands. She had clenched them into tight fists, her nails digging into the soft skin of her palms. Oh gods, what was she thinking?
She didn't truly believe that, not for a second. Humanity was a beautiful, fragile thing that was full of potential. They were worth saving. If she didn't believe that then she wouldn't be here, wouldn't have risked life and limb to get back to this place, to this time when the world had still been whole. This time when humanity still covered the world like a blanket of bright lights, each little sparkling dot a soul shining brightly.
'Ugh, here we go,' her companion snarked.
Turning her head round, Hope glared at the older man still lounging in the chair, a bored look on his face as he inspected his blunt nails. Without thinking, she stormed across the space between them, her footsteps echoing loudly. Slamming her hands down on the arms of the chair, Hope leaned in, breathing deeply as he flicked his dull, blue eyes up to hers, the anger clear in her voice as she forced out her words between gritted teeth, 'Shut. Up.'
She stood staring at him, trying to calm her growing emotions before she blew every bulb in the building. She had done it many a time when she had been younger, had even taken out a few windows, and, on one memorable occasion, every piece of glass in a two-block radius. That had been a particularly bad night.
He was watching her patiently, a small smirk quirking his lips. As she watched him, his smile widened, his eyes burning with triumph. Realisation sliced through Hope's anger like an angel blade carving through an angel's grace. Groaning, Hope let her head fall. She had given him exactly what he wanted. He had been looking for a reaction, sticking his knife in and twisting until she could no longer ignore him. He wanted her full attention and would stop at nothing until he had it.
Stupid. She was so stupid for not realising what he had been doing, beforehand. Now he would never shut up. Sighing, Hope pushed herself away from the chair, and its annoying inhabitant, her hands falling to her sides as she took a step backwards, the sound of his mocking laughter ringing in her ears. Turning away from his wide smile, her eyes once again found the limp body of the man she had killed. Another one to add to the long list of souls she had sent on their way long before their time. She was a monster. Even though she tried, she really did. She always sent the human's soul on its way before she got her hands on the thing that had slipped inside the person's body alongside them. But that didn't change the fact that she still killed them.
She killed people to survive. Killed them for power and for the strength she needed to carry out the role that life had given her. She was no better than the things she hunted: a monster.
'You're nothing like them. You are so much…better,' he purred, his voice sending shivers down her spine that would have left her shaking if she wasn't already so cold; as cold as the devil himself.
Ignoring her tormentor as best as she could, Hope clicked her fingers and the blood on the man's clothes and skin disappeared as the wound on his neck healed shut, becoming nothing more than a faded scar. She could still see her palm print on his temple, she hadn't quite figured out how to get rid of those yet but she would, eventually. All she had was time, well, six years to be exact; surely that would be long enough.
Hope made her way back over to the small bathroom without looking at the scowling man in the chair. Keeping one hand on the outside wall, she leaned round the doorframe to pull her jacket off the hook just inside the door. As she pulled back, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror that hung above the sink. She had been told once, long ago when she had been young and still enchanted with this time, that the eyes were the windows to the soul. If that was true, then there really was no hope for her. Staring at her own eyes, she was greeted with deep, dark pools of nothingness. Oh gods, she truly was a monster. She should be the thing being hunted.
She had done such terrible things, both in her own time and now. She was stained with the blood of thousands, was responsible for so much death and destruction. She had even committed genocide. By now, her soul was probably a rotten, black mess, tainted and twisted beyond recognition. She had done it all to herself and for what? Was humanity really worth the price she had paid?
'No, not really,' his matter of fact voice rang out in the silence.
Her eyes shifted in the mirror until they met cold, blue ones. He stood behind her, his frame blocking the rest of the doorway. He wasn't as tall as her but that didn't matter. His mere presence oozed power, demanded respect, and called everyone's attention towards him. And so what if she was the only one that could see him? She had heard tales of what he had been like when he had walked the Earth and she knew from bitter experience the kind of power he commanded.
She knew the things he could do, had learnt so much from him, so what did that make her? She had been taught how to handle her power by the devil himself, had gone to him willingly too.
'It makes you mine,' he growled, menacingly. Closing her eyes, Hope sighed in resignation.
Hope slipped past him, tugging her jacket on as she walked away. Even though he was a figment of her own broken mind, she still treated him like he was real. Like if she walked into him, she would hit solid flesh and not just pass right through him. She really was crazy.
A low growl sounded behind her and she froze, her posture rigid and eyes wide. She had spent enough time with him to know when she could push her luck and when she should do exactly as he wanted. She didn't hear him move but she felt it when he came up behind her. Close, but not touching, never touching. Hope knew it was impossible, but she could feel his breath hot on her ear, could smell the faint stench of sulphur hidden beneath the distinct smell of earth and ash, her overactive imagination supplied everything needed to make him seem real. Well, real to her anyway.
His voice was low as he spoke, managing to be gentle yet commanding, 'All this bullshit about guilt, about what's right, and for what? For hope, glory, love?'
For what? What had she done it all for? She didn't believe in hope, it might be the name her foolish godfather had given her but it was for the weak-minded and she had no desire, or need, for glory. Maybe she had done it for the sake of humanity, done it to ensure that the world kept on turning as it should? No. She did it for love.
An unrequited love, a love that had no chance of becoming anything more than a hopeless crush on the only person who had been a constant in her life, on the only man that mattered to her, more than anything. Mattered more even than the fate of humanity. She was so silly, stupid even. She had become the worst thing possible, one of the greatest monsters to walk the earth, all because the man she loved had asked it of her. She was a fool. No, she was worse than that, she was a fool in love and she knew, from the books and stories she had read as a child, how that ended and there was no 'happily ever after' at the end.
'This is who you are,' he growled. His words were harsher now, so much conviction behind them that Hope found it impossible to ignore them. To ignore him.
Squeezing her eyes closed, Hope pulled in a ragged breath, her skin tingled where his hands had moved to hover over her shoulders. She could feel her heart pounding in her rib cage, her blood rushing through her ears so loudly that she almost missed his whispered words.
'It doesn't matter if you succeed or fail, you will always end up here, like this, with me,' he whispered seductively in her ear.
Hope tried not to cry, willed her legs not to give out beneath her. The weight of his words felt like a tonne of bricks crashing down on top of her; her fate sealed. She felt like she was back in that field, standing on the edge the precipice and looking down into the swirling portal that led to the Cage, faced with a choice that would either ruin her or make her. With a huff of resignation, Hope gave in, just like she had given in all those years ago.
He was right, he was always right. It didn't matter what she did. Even if she managed to change the world's destined path she was still always going to end up here. Broken, crazy, and alone. It was inevitable really, scrawled so deep into her DNA it was a miracle she hadn't gone entirely off the deep end yet. She was heading that way though; it wouldn't be long until she was locked in a padded cell, rocking herself back and forth, huddled in a corner as she mumbled about demons and deities, about the end of days and failed destinies. Her only company the twisted and grotesque hallucinations of the one person who had promised never to leave her, had promised to stay with her no matter what.
'It's your destiny,' he murmured.
Her destiny. Gods, she hated that word. Everyone was always banging on about her damn destiny. How she had to do this and do that: murder these people; save these ones; no, wait, kill those ones too. You have to, it's your destiny. Well, they could all go fuck themselves. Destiny meant nothing to her; it wasn't even an option. She wasn't going to follow some pre-determined plan that had been decided long before she could have a say in it. She wasn't going to become just another compliant character in the Book of Life. She was going to write her own story and anyone who got in her way would end up like everyone else that had crossed her or gotten close to her: dead and buried.
Shrugging out of the imaginary hold that her hallucinated Lucifer had on her, Hope stalked towards the door in the far corner, determination evident in the set of her shoulders and the glint in her eyes. Without stopping she shouted back at the man who still stood in the middle of the room, 'You coming?'
She didn't need to see him to know he was smirking triumphantly. It was a redundant question anyway, he would follow her wherever she went; after all, he was a part of her.
'Where we going?' he asked, smugly.
Glancing up at the door, Hope smiled devilishly. He was leaning against the door, arms crossed over his chest, eyes boring into hers like he could pick every thought from her mind before she even had them, and considering where he came from it was likely he could. Hope stopped just in front of him, leaned forward, and reached round him to grasp the door handle. Looking up at him through long eyelashes, she gave him her best innocent look, one that she had perfected when her age had still been in single digits, her slightly seductive smirk ruining the image slightly.
Staring at her in amusement, Lucifer raised a questioning eyebrow at her. This was an old game of theirs, constantly flitting between flirting and fighting, it's how they functioned.
'To raise a little hell,' she drawled.
With that, she shoved the door open and walked out into the cool night air, shoving her hands deep into her pockets. She had spent too long doing what others told her, being what they wanted her to be. It was time to have a little fun and she knew exactly where to start.