Shortly after New Year's, Crowley announced that they were going out on another date. He had the whole day planned out, but he was being secretive about it. He told Marian to dress like she would on a hunt, and bring her usual weapons. Then he produced a pair of black handcuffs that were unlike anything she'd seen before: The cuffs were thick, like a chunky bracelet, and covered in strange runes: the chain between the cuffs was longer than normal, the links small but sturdy, like on a necklace.
Marian took a step back when he showed them to her. "Are those really necessary? I have to do what you say anyway—"
"We're going somewhere we shouldn't be," Crowley explained. "As long as you're connected to me through these, you'll exist in the same plane of reality as me: Just like your little winged rats, no one will be able to see, hear, or touch us."
She held out her non-dominant hand so that he could cuff her. As it clicked shut around her wrist, the hinge vanished, leaving a completely smooth circle without a keyhole.
"I'm the key, don't worry. You won't be attached to me forever." The demon thought for a moment. "Well, not through these." He snapped the other end around his own wrist.
"So we're sneaking around somewhere," Marian pried, wondering just how crazy this was going to get. She knew he wouldn't bring her anywhere where other demons might get to her, but it was a little intimidating knowing that they had to both be hidden.
"You seemed to enjoy our little date at the fox farm, so I thought, why not up the ante? I hardly ever get the chance to show off around you." He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the house was gone, and they were standing on the deck of a large ship. "Environmental activism, angel. It's right up your alley."
The deck rolled under her feet and she grabbed his arm to steady herself. The demon seemed completely unphased by the turbulence, but smiled at having his angel cling to him. Marian took in their surroundings: They were on one of several decks, with several doors lining the main body of the ship. Signs were written in both English and Japanese. Looking out at the ocean, there was nothing as far as the eye could see but more water.
"Where are we?"
"Japanese whaler. It's classified as a 'scientific' vessel, but the 'science' is how much they can sell whale meat for on the black market. They're currently after a sei whale—the 10th they'll have caught this year, but Japan as a whole accounts for about 50 sei whale deaths annually. And that's just this one species—they also hunt fin, blue…Anything that swims past them, really."
Marian's eyes narrowed. "You brought me here to watch some Japanese people kill a whale?"
"Of course not, angel. I brought you here to stop them. Come on."
He took her cuffed hand and led her onto the bridge, where half a dozen men were shouting excitedly into walkie-talkies. It took Marian a moment to remember that they couldn't see her.
"They've been hunting this one for hours, and they're finally catching up to it. Captain's just ordered the harpoons manned, and they're gunning the engines to get up alongside it."
"So what do we do about it?"
"You just sit back and watch the show."
They vanished again, reappearing in the engine room. Several engineers were shouting over the hum of machinery, barking orders back and forth and twisting important-looking valves. Crowley snapped his fingers, and the noise ground to a halt: The men looked utterly perplexed as they were suddenly audible to each other. Steam hissed out of pipes and boilers, but there was nothing else happening anymore. The cavernous space echoed eerily, bouncing every word back as it was spoken.
"Call the bridge," one worker said in Japanese. Call the bridge, the echo replied.
"Phone's down." Phone's down.
"Walkies are dead." Walkies are dead.
"Then MOVE!" Move move move move…
A wiry, soot-covered man pulled a loop of keys from his belt and began unlocking the side panels on the largest boiler. "What the Hell is going on here…"
A massive door swung open.
"See anything, boss?"
"It's just soot—No, hold on. Something's in there. I can see something mov—aaaaiiiEEE—"
The boss-man staggered backwards with a scream, flailing his arms as thousands of soot-covered spiders swarmed over him. The rest of the men decided it would be a good idea to contact the bridge in person, and there was a mad dash for the exit, with the spider-covered fearless leader taking up the rear.
"Oh dear," Crowley deadpanned. "It appears they're having some mechanical issues. I do hope it doesn't compromise their scientific research."
They popped back up to the bridge, where the crew was blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding beneath them. The first mate was staring at a computer screen that looked like a giant fish-finder. There was only one thing on it at the moment, a little dot that was getting steadily closer by the second. The rest of the screen read off the ocean's depth, which was…Well, Marian wasn't sure what a fathom was, but it seemed plenty deep here.
A scream came across one of the walkies, and Marian looked at Crowley curiously.
"Ah. They must have armed the harpoons."
"What did you—"
Something large and wet smacked against the starboard window, and then just…Stuck. Marian jumped in alarm, but Crowley squeezed her hand, holding her in place.
"They can't hurt you. They don't even know you exist."
"'They?'"
The thing moved on the window, and now she could see it: A giant, slimy blob, with lots of twisty limbs.
"A giant octopus?"
"Octopi," the demon corrected. "There's more than one harpoon."
"You—you turned them into those things?"
"Well, I could have turned them into something worse, but I know how you are about killing your precious little humans…"
The bridge was in chaos. One man was trying to reach the engine room, another the harpoons. The captain was breathing heavily into his own hat; and the first mate, vigilantly staring at the sonar, had realized there was another problem.
There was another shape, dead ahead. It was larger than the whale, and if he glanced out the window now, and saw past the octopus arms, it was just possible to see the iceberg that had no business floating this far south in the Pacific.
The first mate said some very bad words. When those words weren't bad enough, he made up some new ones on the spot.
"Hold on," Crowley said, and they were moving again.
Marian realized she was holding her breath, and let it out. They were no longer on the ship. They were standing on the iceberg, which the ship had just struck (or was it the other way round?), and both had taken significant damage. A whale surfaced for air off the starboard side of the ship, like a big middle finger from the sea.
She stared at the scene in front of her for a moment, taking it all in. The ship's crew were running around like chickens with their heads cut off: They'd trained for normal emergencies, but training had never covered "engines turn into spider nests" or "harpoons transform into giant, angry octopi," let alone "iceberg materializes in seasonably warm waters." They would all make it home safely, she had a feeling, but no one was going to believe what they'd seen. Maybe some of them would give up whaling for good. Hell, they might give up sailing entirely after an experience like this.
"Well?" Crowley said, nudging her. "What do you think?"
"I think…You like showing off," she replied, then laughed. "And you're very good at it."
He grinned wickedly. "I'm the best, love."
"I bet one or two of them might even sell their soul to get home safely after all this," Marian speculated, keeping her eyes on the demon.
His grin didn't falter. "That is a fantastic idea that had not occurred to me until right this second," he replied in a way that indicated it had very much occurred to him prior. "It would be terribly rude of me not to offer them my services. Excuse me one moment, would you?"
Crowley tapped the cuff and it popped open.
"Wait! You're leaving me here?"
He kissed the top of her head. "You'll be safe here; I won't be gone more than a minute. In the meantime, you can get a closer look at your little mammalian friend."
She did a double-take as the whale swam right up against the ice, sliding its massive flipper across the surface. Crowley vanished, but Marian was focused on the whale now. She scooted closer, careful not to slip. The whale was just…Hanging out, it seemed. She could see its eye under the surface of the water, looking up at her with a sort of magnificent disinterest, like a human watching an ant crawl across a table. The whale knew she was there, but she didn't register as a threat: she barely registered as anything at all, except that now a demon had somehow gotten this giant creature to come over to her. She reached out, waiting for it to turn and swim away, but it stayed in place, like a swimmer holding onto the edge of the pool for a breather.
She touched the flipper. She was touching a freaking whale, something she hadn't done in this life or even her past one, as far as she knew. An endangered whale that would have died today, but didn't, just because a demon wanted to show off in a very demonic, chaotic fashion. Hmm. An animal was safe, and bad people were one step closer to going to Hell…Was there a downside to this?
Crowley returned before she froze to the ice, looking pleased with himself, and they were off to their next destination. With the special cuff linking them together again, they reappeared in an abandoned factory, where metal and wood panels had been arranged into a circular arena. The insides of the panels were splattered with blood, as was the floor. About two dozen men were hanging around on the outer edge of the arena, smoking and talking. Marian could hear dogs barking nearby.
"A little work-related detour, I'm afraid. A man's brother was shot and killed by the leader of this…Gang, for lack of a better word. So he sold his soul to kill the leader and his followers. The gang mainly deals illegal weapons, but they have a lucrative side business as the leading dog-fighting ring in Detroit."
Two overly-tattooed men burst through the door, each holding a pit bull on a thick chain. The dogs snarled and snapped at each other. Their ears had been cut off, and they were covered in scars.
Marian started to back away, but she was hampered by the chain. "Crowley…"
"Don't worry, angel; I didn't bring you here to watch a dogfight. No dog-on-dog violence today."
The dogs were hauled to opposite ends of the ring; the makeshift walls were moved so that they could be shoved inside. Their handlers strained against the leashes to keep them in place as each tried to get at the other.
There are no bad dogs, Marian thought bitterly, Just bad people.
"Do you know the difference between a hellhound and a pitbull?" Crowley said conversationally.
Marian shook her head, ready to look away as soon as the dogs were released. The men were really riled up now, almost as much as the dogs: they reminded her of wild monkeys. Or werewolves. What they were not, she decided, was human.
"It's just…A touch of Hell," he said, and snapped his fingers.
The dogs' eyes flared red. They stopped barking and lunging, heads cocked like they were listening. As the men started to mutter about their strange behavior, Crowley made a small gesture. The dogs turned to face their handlers, and growled.
"Hey!" one of the men snapped. "Git your ass in there and tear that mutt to shreds! I got 500 riding on you, boy!"
"Don't worry about it, mate. You won't need money where you're going," Crowley said, rather cheerfully, and flicked his wrist.
Both dogs leapt at once, easily clearing the blood-stained barriers and latching onto their keepers' throats. The other men shouted and panicked; weapons were drawn. As one of the handlers let out a curdling death-wail, his buddy aimed his pistol at the dog's head and squeezed the trigger. Marian flinched, closing her eyes and hiding her face in Crowley's shoulder; but the gun jammed.
She looked up at the demon, and he winked.
There was a click, followed by another click, as more guns jammed. The doors slammed open, and half a dozen prized fighting dogs burst through, eyes glowing red. They went straight for the humans' throats, latching on with jaws that were made for tearing through much tougher skin. A few of the men tried running for the exits, but now the doors were jammed shut. They pulled knives when the guns failed, but the dogs weren't deterred. One by one, the men fell in a grisly bloodbath of fur and teeth, until every last one was dead. Marian supposed that she should be shaken by the sight before her: These were humans, after all, and they'd just been slain by hellish hounds.
Only…They were bad humans. Practically demons, really. And the dogs were…Well, they were just getting a little payback, really. She'd heard about what people did to fighting dogs, and it made werewolves look civilized by comparison.
Their task completed, the dogs assembled in front of Crowley. Some stood at attention, others licked blood from their legs. None of them showed any interest in fighting the other dogs.
"Good dogs," Crowley praised them. "Now, let's get you home." With a flick of his wrist, every dog's neck snapped in unison and their lifeless bodies slumped to the floor.
Marian let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a shriek. After all that, he was just going to kill them?
"Look, they were going to die either way," Crowley said. "Fighting dogs are always euthanized, you know that."
"But—"
The demon frowned. "You can't see them, can you? Hold on." He tapped her forehead.
Standing beside each body was another copy of the dog, only now it was bigger and even more scary-looking.
"You made them into real hellhounds. I didn't know that's…How it worked."
"Well, it's one way." Crowley whistled and the dogs' regrown ears sprang up. "Go on home, boys. And girl."
The dogs turned, started to run, and vanished. Marian looked down at the dead bodies.
"They're better off, and the people responsible are dead," Crowley reminded her, concerned by her lack of enthusiasm.
"Yeah," she replied flatly. "Good."
Hmm. She was harder to impress than he'd thought. Alright; no problem. Dog fighters and whalers weren't the only douchebags he had lined up for their day out.
He ported them to their next location: A barren expanse of road in the desert, littered with bags of trash.
"A common dumping ground for people too lazy to go to the dump," Crowley announced.
Marian scrunched her nose up. Surely he wasn't going to show her an animal here. There was nothing around for miles except a few crows looking to capitalize off of the bounty of trash. Was he going to make hell-crows? Was that a thing? It didn't sound like a thing.
He undid their cuffs and led her to a small pile of bags, toeing them gingerly. "It's also a dumping ground for…Other things." He nudged the bags a little harder, and something inside one of them whimpered.
Marian cocked her head. Crowley motioned for her to inspect the bag.
It was full of puppies.
What the fuck.
"Quite common for people to dump animals out here," Crowley said conversationally. "It's a slow, painful death by overheating and asphyxiation."
Marian removed the puppies one by one, checking them for life signs. There were twelve total: Four were definitively dead, four were a few breaths away from being dead, and four probably had at least another hour in them before they died. As she picked up one of the almost-dead ones, it looked her straight in the eye, wagged its tail once, and died.
Marian's eyes welled with angry tears. "Why did you bring me here?"
"Because I know who did it." He snapped his fingers and a bewildered man appeared beside them.
"What? Where the Hell am I? Who the Hell are you?" the man stuttered, trying to move around but finding himself frozen in place.
"Meet Donald Umbridge," Crowley said, ignoring him. "36 years old, DJs at a local strip club. He's single, if you can believe it, but he does have five kids he's supposed to pay child support on."
"Hey!" Donald snapped. "How do you know—"
"He also has a lot of dogs," the demon continued. "I don't think he knows how many he has, mostly because none of them are neutered and so they keep reproducing. Currently, not counting the ones in front of you, he has 16. Over the course of his life, however, he has been responsible for 57 deaths, either from dumping them here, or general neglect."
"Now hold on just a—"
"What would you like me to do with him?" Crowley asked.
"Who ARE you people?!"
Crowley finally turned his attention to the man. "She's a fallen angel, and I'm a demon." His eyes flashed red. "Now hush, adults are talking."
Donald's eyes went wide. He moved his lips frantically, but no sound came out.
"So," the demon said, turning back to Marian, "What do you think?"
Marian looked at the man, then down at the puppies. Some monsters are human. "An eye for an eye," she said quietly. It was a very 'angel' thing to say, and she hated herself for it, but right now she hated this man more. "I want to tie him up in a garbage bag and leave him in the desert."
A smug, snakelike grin spread across Crowley's face. "Excellent idea, angel." He snapped his fingers and duct tape appeared over the man's mouth and hands, taping his fingers together so he couldn't use them to break free; then his arms were taped to his sides, and finally his legs were taped together. He lost his balance and flopped to the ground just before he was swallowed up by a giant trash bag. He thrashed around a bit, his cries of outrage muffled by the duct tape and plastic.
Marian smiled, but her expression dropped as soon as she turned back to the puppies. She knelt by the ones that were still alive, but they didn't look good. Even if she asked Crowley to bring them to a shelter, they'd probably all be euthanized. She'd always hated hunts like this—even though they killed the monster, they hadn't been able to save the people…
"What's wrong, love?"
"I just…Wish I could've helped the dogs."
"You did! You got rid of that pathetic excuse of a—Oh, I see what you mean." Crowley looked down at the dogs: The dead ones hadn't been dead for long, maybe a few hours at most. Why did she even care about them? It's not like she'd ever seen these animals before. Then again, hunters were always saving people they'd never met before. It was just one of those things a demon wasn't meant to understand, he supposed. The man in the trash bag started to shuffle and roll away from them, letting out little grunts of exertion. Crowley flicked his wrist and the bag was suddenly populated with hundreds of maggots: The man screamed and the thrashing increased in intensity.
"I'll make a deal with you," Crowley said, turning away from the entertainment. He gently took the puppy she was holding, setting him back with his littermates, and helped her to her feet. "For each kiss you give me, I will heal one dog. If you want to revive all of them, that's twelve kisses. They'll all be alive, with clean bills of health, and we can take them to a shelter where they'll all get adopted." He had her full attention now.
Marian blinked. One kiss for one dog? That seemed…More than fair. It wasn't like she hadn't kissed him before. It had been like kissing a volcano, but with more tongue. He'd burnt her lips so badly, they'd peeled for over a week.
She'd gotten quite a bit closer to him since then, though. Maybe she just remembered it being so awful because she'd hated him at the time, for threatening other people and forcing her into this deal—not to mention all the people he'd hurt before. And even though he was still, technically, the enemy, she no longer hated him. He'd grown on her quite a bit—too much, in fact. That was the real problem, wasn't it? Not, 'what if it hurts me to kiss him?' but 'what if I like it?'
Crowley smirked, like he knew what she was thinking. Why even offer her a choice, though? He could just order her to kiss him. It's not like she could say no.
This way, though, it was more like she was kissing him…Voluntarily…
Still, she'd done worse things to save lives. It's just Crowley. He holds you while you sleep, she told herself, I think you can handle this.
"Deal," she said. She'd meant to sound strong and assertive, but her voice came out so quiet she barely heard herself. She glanced down at the dead and dying dogs and sucked in a nervous breath.
She kissed him before her brain could talk her back out of it, pressing her lips firmly against his. He wasn't as hot as she remembered, and the sulfur on his breath wasn't as overpowering to her anymore. Crowley slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. She tensed but didn't try to push away.
He licked across her bottom lip and nipped it gently, a complete change from his aggressive behavior before. He took the lead, sliding his tongue into her mouth. Her face pulled into a grimace, but she forced herself to reciprocate, using her own tongue and kissing him back. She felt like she was about to gag and drew back, breaking the kiss.
Crowley snapped his fingers, and one of the dying puppies perked up. It stood and started to sniff the ground, its tail wagging slowly. Its fur looked fuller and clean, without a trace of parasites or maggots.
She kissed him again. As he returned the kiss, his tongue once again exploring her mouth, her brain thought: You're kissing a corpse. Crowley is wearing a meat-suit. He is wearing a dead guy, and now you're kissing him and damn that's wrong on so many levels. She pulled away, trying very hard not to act like she wanted to vomit. Crowley snapped, and a second pup was revived.
Ten more, Marian thought. Maybe she didn't have to save all the puppies. But she'd done so much worse than this as a hunter: She'd been stabbed, bitten, shot, crushed, almost drowned, set on fire, and thrown through walls, all to save people. Surely she could kiss a demon a dozen times to save some dogs.
Another kiss. She didn't feel as nauseous anymore. Another dog recovered. And another kiss. Crowley was starting to be less gentle, but he still wasn't being rough with her: If she'd been in a romance novel, he would have been described as "passionate," but she didn't think that a demon could ever be described as "passionately" doing anything, except maybe torture. He was…Very good at kissing. He had a lot of experience, given his job, obviously—how many people had he sealed a deal with over the years? Wait—how old was he, anyway? She thought she remembered him saying he lived around 300 years ago. So, assuming he'd been tortured for a while in Hell and then worked his way up in the ranks, maybe he'd been a crossroads demon for two hundred. How many deals would he have made in that time? How many souls had he condemned to Hell?
She kissed him again. Did he seal all his deals so…Intensely, or were they more of a quick peck on the lips? Why was she even thinking about this now? Was she dissociating? That was probably a healthy thing to do. But now that she realized she was starting to dissociate, her brain dragged her back into the moment, and she was very much aware of sulfur and too much heat and his tongue in her mouth. His hands strayed down to her ass, and she huffed angrily but didn't try to swat him away: It wasn't like she could make him stop, so what was the point?
Another kiss. And another. She was getting used to the heat and the sulfur. She could get used to this.
No. DO NOT get used to this. That's exactly what he wants.
More kisses. Marian realized she could no longer hear the background noise of frantic scrabbling and muffled screams: Either the dog dumper was dead, or too exhausted to keep fighting. How long had Crowley had this meat-suit? Had he been possessing the same guy for two to three hundred years, or was this just the latest of many? Kissing a demon who was wearing a dead person was one thing, but if that person had been dead for hundreds of years, that made it feel more…Icky.
She realized she'd lost count. When she pulled away from him again, she glanced over at the dogs to see how many were left: Just three more. Don't think about the meat-suit. Angels used live, willing hosts as their vessels, and they made an effort to take care of the bodies and keep them alive. It still unnerved her when she thought about Crowley being inside of a dead person.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Crowley slid his fingers through her hair, gently gripping the back of her head. She felt kind of tingly. It could have been a lack of oxygen. Or maybe it was because that felt…Kind of nice…
No. She pulled her head back and pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss and creating space between them. He looked at her with the smuggest grin she'd ever seen and a glint of red in his eyes, and she turned away hurriedly, focusing instead on the puppies.
"I don't suppose you'll ever admit to enjoying that," Crowley said, suddenly all professional again.
Ash bit her lip and shook her head. She hadn't enjoyed it. She just had to keep telling herself that, like a mantra, until she believed it.
The demon didn't seem upset by her stubbornness. He continued to watch her watch the pups: They scampered around her, jumping on each other and nipping playfully. Their fur looked healthier and their bodies fuller, no longer malnourished or anemic. Marian sunk to her knees and they stretched their paws up onto her chest and shoulders, trying to lick her face and bite her nose.
Now this…This was worth it. The monster was dead (or would be soon), and the civilians were safe. As far as hunting was concerned, this was the best-case scenario, and it didn't happen often. One of the pups tugged on her hair, and she found herself lying on her back in the dirt while the rest of them dog-piled on top of her, licking her hands and face, wrestling with each other, and just being inescapably alive. She realized she was laughing so hard that she was crying—or maybe she was crying so hard she was laughing? How long had it been since she'd had a real win like this? Just this once, everybody lives. It was a line from some TV show, she couldn't remember what one, but it had always stuck with her. She'd had lots of 'somebody lives' and 'almost everybody lives,' but when could she say that everybody lives?
"Ahem."
She sat up, reluctantly brushing the dogs off of her. Crowley held his hand out to help her up; the puppies sniffed at him but did not attempt to jump up on him. He seemed to exist in his own personal puppy-free bubble, while they continued to latch onto Marian.
"Time to send them home."
The world lurched and she felt the mild sting of demonic energy as they moved from the desert to an icy parking lot outside the Sioux Falls Animal Rescue. The puppies were now in two large crates, yipping excitedly.
"Sioux Falls?"
Crowley shrugged. "Southern shelters have higher kill rates. They'll all be adopted from here."
Marian picked up one of the crates and he grabbed the other, and they gave the shelter a story about finding them out in the snow. She assumed they'd return home after, but the demon brought them to a decrepit double-wide trailer in a sparsely populated neighborhood. There were several broken-down cars in the driveway, one missing its doors and two missing their wheels. Behind a chain-link fence, half a dozen hot and scrawny mutts lounged in whatever scarce shade they could find. Their heads perked up at the new arrivals, and a few got up to bark at them. More barks could be heard coming from inside the house. As for the smell, well…She could smell the house from the street, and it smelled like not everything inside it was still living. She glanced at Crowley curiously.
"I told you he had more dogs," Crowley said. "I thought you might want the opportunity to save these ones, too."
She took a step back, eyeing him suspiciously. Another deal? Seriously? He'd said it was no fun just ordering her to do something if he could manipulate her to do it instead. It was like a game for him, but she wasn't sure she understood the rules or purpose. She imagined he would continue to up the ante for her: Save sixteen dogs for a blowjob, rescue this entire puppy-mill for sex, perhaps. Marian looked over at the dogs: There was no water in their enclosure, and not much in the way of shade. Would the neighbors notice their owner wasn't coming back, and call animal control? Surely someone would've called animal control already given the sad state they were in. So, if she didn't help them now, they would likely die. What would be worse—not helping the animals when she had the chance, or engaging in sexual acts with a demon?
Hopefully he didn't have anywhere to be today, because she needed a while to mull that one over.
"Angel? Hello?"
Marian blinked as Crowley waved a hand in front of her face.
"Sorry, I…Spaced out for a second there."
"I said, same deal as before. One kiss to save one dog."
She looked at him skeptically. "The same deal," she repeated.
"What's wrong, love? Afraid you might enjoy yourself again?"
Her eyes narrowed and she huffed angrily. She opened her mouth to contradict him but couldn't get the right word out, no, because all she could think in her head was yes, that's exactly what I'm afraid of. She looked at the sick dogs: The ones outside would be dead within days without water; the ones inside wouldn't fare much better. At least dehydration would kill them quickly, and they wouldn't have to suffer through weeks of flea-induced anemia, heartworm problems, mange, and dental disease before they finally passed away.
"Deal," she snapped, unintended bitterness lacing her voice. It wasn't directed at the demon, but at the human who'd neglected these poor animals. Hadn't God told people they needed to take care of the animals they'd domesticated? She was fairly certain Metatron had written it down somewhere.
She kissed him again. The slight tang of sulfur on him was like a breath of fresh air compared to the odor of decay coming from the dogs' house. He drew her against him, one hand on the small of her back and one on the back of her head. He tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled just enough to tilt her head back a little, giving him a better angle and maintaining control. He was more aggressive now, like he'd been showing restraint earlier but couldn't be bothered anymore. His tongue explored every inch of her mouth, invasive but not antagonistic. He nipped at her lower lip, gently at first, then with an increasing amount of hunger.
Marian jerked in surprise and whimpered as he bit down hard, drawing blood. If he'd been anyone else she would have smacked him, but she didn't dare to hit Crowley.
The demon released his grip on her hair and let her pull away. His eyes were red, but faded quickly to the vessel's natural brown. Marian pulled her head back but couldn't move away, as he still had his other hand pressed into her lower back, pinning her hips and torso against him. Crowley gave her a look that was part concern and part confusion, like he was trying to understand her sudden objection. He spotted the drops of blood beading on her lip and leaned in to lick them off: Marian froze, unable to get further away from him without wrenching her spine back painfully.
He was back to showing restraint, gently swirling his tongue over the broken skin as he kissed her. She felt the familiar burn of his energy, and the slight throb from the cut disappeared as he healed her. His tongue slid back into her mouth, but this wasn't an invasion: it was more like an apology, sorry I hurt you. His hand returned to her hair, but he didn't pull, just massaged her in the way that made her head all tingly. When he finally drew back, she was feeling light-headed, and might have pitched backwards if he hadn't been holding her.
His smug smile returned, and he snapped his fingers. Two of the sickest dogs perked up, walking to the edge of the fence and wagging their tails. Marian kissed him again and again: Sometimes Crowley released her quickly, and other times he prolonged their contact, but he was gentler, as if he was afraid of hurting her again. By the time all the dogs had been restored to good health, she was so disgusted with herself that she was ready to peel off her own skin. And, truth be told, some of that disgust came from a teensy tiny bit of her mind that wasn't all that disgusted, and had, in fact, thought that it wasn't that bad, really.
She was also feeling a bit light-headed from lack of oxygen, because Crowley kept forgetting that she needed to breathe. When he let go of her, she stumbled backward and leaned against one of the dilapidated vehicles, cringing at the amount of dust and rust she picked up.
Crowley looked even more smug, if that was possible. "Animal control is on its way. They'll give the dogs food and water, and seize them when the owner doesn't show up in 48 hours…Or when they find out what's in his freezer."
"What's in—"
"Best not to dwell on it. I'd hate for you to think you let him off easy with the trash bag."
And they were off again, the trailer replaced with a frozen country farmland. Or…It had been a farm, at one point, but now it was just a few saggy buildings and acres of snow-covered fields. There was a farmhouse in need of new…Well, everything, and a barn with a hole in the roof, glass missing from its windows, the siding peeling away from the walls. There didn't appear to be any animals in need of rescuing.
"Where are we?"
"Darlene and Jacob Montgomery," Crowley replied. "More business, I'm afraid, but I thought you might want to see. Ten years ago, Darlene—who is not what you might call 'conventionally attractive'—made a deal with me. She wanted the ruggedly handsome and charming Jacob Montgomery to fall in love with her and marry her."
"You can do that?" Marian interrupted. "You can—can manipulate people's emotions like that?"
"Darling, demons can do anything for a deal. We're not like your feathered friends upstairs with their moral codes and all that nonsense." He cleared his throat. "Three years later, Jacob took one too many hits to the helmet and had a stroke. Lost all function on his left side, and Darlene's been taking care of him ever since. Do you know, she even tried to get out of her deal because he wasn't as attractive to her anymore? Anyway. She squandered his fortune on everything from vacations to sports cars, had a slew of affairs, and essentially bankrupted them. So now she runs a puppy mill out of that barn. Would you like to have a look?"
Before she could respond with an adamant 'no,' they had teleported inside. The smell here was…Well, it was worse than the last man's property, that was certain. The stench was so thick it was almost physical, thick like fog, and it settled in Marian's lungs. She choked and coughed, immediately feeling the urge to vomit.
Crowley gripped her shoulder and the odor lessened, along with most of her stomach discomfort. She was still sickened by the sight around her: Cages were stacked three or four high with dogs of all shapes and sizes, some with hardly enough room for them to turn around or even stand up in. Many of the dogs looked up at her and barked or wagged their tails: others cowered into the backs of their crates, unused to human contact. The floors of the cages were packed with old urine and feces, which certainly contributed to the smell: compounding the unpleasant aroma were the dogs themselves, who were suffering from every infection imaginable thanks to a lack of vet care, unhealthy amounts of inbreeding, and their unsanitary living conditions. There was so much discharge coming from their eyes, some could barely see at all, or had an eyelid glued shut; dried green gunk ringed their noses; and angry pink and red bald patches on their paws and bellies hinted at ammonia burns and subsequent skin infections. Kibble had been dumped onto the carpet of excrement, and water dishes were empty or soiled beyond viability. Every long-haired dog was sporting painful-looking mats, while the short-haired and double-coated breeds looked mangy and scruffy, having never had a brushing or a decent day in the wind in their lives.
Then there were the more disturbing cages: Shoved to the back and sides, or just left next to the still-existing dogs, were crates that held nothing more than fur and bone, testaments to the ones that hadn't made it out alive. The dogs here were bred until they died, which seemed to be quite a common occurrence judging by the amount of lifeless yet not quite empty crates. Their pups, raised in filthy conditions with their anemic mothers, would be sold out of the back of a pickup along with some sweet story about the family pet who 'accidentally' had a litter, or the tale of a loving pet parent just looking to do the breed justice. When the pups fell ill a week later with parvo, or their new vet diagnosed one of many other health issues, the loving breeder's number would prove to be an out-of-service number from an old self-storage company. Oops, so sorry, no take-backs or refunds if you can't find me!
Upon closer examination (which she really didn't want to do, but couldn't stop herself either), she discovered the moms and dads all had horribly long nails that would snag on the cage bottoms, resulting in torn nails (a great entry point for more disease) and even torn toes. Their teeth were in various stages of decay, missing entirely, or cracked from gnawing on the wire slats. Some of the flat-faced dogs had bulged eyes, or had a hole where an eye should be.
Marian had been feeling pretty good about things so far: She'd gotten to watch Crowley take down a whaling vessel and save a whale; she'd seen the end of a dog-fighting ring, even if the dogs hadn't exactly won that round; she'd seen a heavenly sort of justice come to an animal abuser, and ensured that his dogs would live happily ever after.
But this…This was too much. How could anyone look at this and not immediately see a problem? How could anyone, no matter how desperate they were for money, think that this was an acceptable thing to do? Hell, steal from people if you're that desperate, she thought—at least other humans can take care of themselves, for the most part. But these guys? Totally helpless. Totally at your mercy.
She made a strangled sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper, furious that there were humans that did this and upset that she might have defended them at some point in the past.
"Angel?"
"I fought for these people," she growled. "I gave up the life God had given me because I believed in them. I know they fight each other, they hurt each other. All they have to do is take care of the things they create—and this—This is what they do." She sagged against him. "I should never have put my faith in them. I should never have put my faith in—in people." She turned into him, hiding her face in his chest. "They're not worth it."
Crowley smoothed his hand down her back. This was not how he had expected things to go. They'd been having fun, bonding over torturing and killing people, and the angel had gotten her hunter 'fix' by rescuing things. He'd enjoyed himself immensely, especially with his new favorite game of 'kiss the demon to save the dog.' But evidently seeing a whole barn full of rotting dogs was too much even for the hunter—maybe if he'd found something human she could save, she wouldn't have gotten so emotional over it, but he hadn't dared expose her to other monsters and risk something snatching her up again.
Still, he could fix this. He was King of selling sin to saints, and if he couldn't sell a human angel on the value of humans, he really couldn't call himself a salesman anymore, could he?
"So there's a few bad apples in the bunch. That doesn't mean it wasn't worth it for the other six billion, does it?"
"More than a few," Marian's muffled reply came through his suit.
I can't believe I'm defending humans to an angel. "Alright, yes, but you have to remember: Most of them aren't inherently evil. Or inherently good, for that matter. Most of the world's problems come from people just being…People. They're stupid and impulsive and illogical, and I can't say it was exactly fun to be alive back in the day, but it beat the hell out of being a demon. Every demon is, inherently, an asshole. Your humans here—for every one that keeps its dogs in shit, there's a thousand that condemn places like this. Darlene Montgomery is not the majority, love. And people like her always get what's coming to them in the end, even without a demon deal. Only good dogs go to Heaven."
As if to drive home his point, there was a loud crash from the nearby house, following by screaming and the blood-curdling snarl and howl of a hellhound. Marian looked up reflexively and reached for her blade, but Crowley grabbed her wrist to stop her.
"She won't come after you, angel. Hellhounds only fetch the souls they're sent for."
Her hunter's instinct wanted to go after it anyway—hellhounds killed people, they were monsters from Hell, and should be fought—but honestly, after witnessing the state of the barn it was hard to feel guilty about leaving this one alone. She let go of the angel blade but couldn't relax knowing the powerful beast was so close.
Crowley could feel the frustration and anxiety radiating from her, and he didn't like it. She was happy before, and when his angel was happy it was intoxicating: He felt things demons weren't meant to feel, like joy and love. It was better than getting drunk (which took a lot of alcohol for a demon, by the way). Hell, it was better than sex. It was the ultimate demon drug, and now that the feeling had faded he needed more. Maybe there was still a way to impress her.
He snapped his fingers and Marian jumped as every cage door swung open at once. She turned her attention away from the grisly noises coming from the house and focused on the dogs, which were now creeping cautiously from their fetid prison cells to inspect the two humanoid figures before them. She was surprised to see that their fur looked nicer now, no longer matted or missing in clumps, and their eyes and noses were clear and healthy. Teeth were white or only slightly yellowed, and open sores had miraculously healed.
"That's all sorted," Crowley said. "I think we should call it a day."
She stared slack-jawed as dozens of dogs continued to pour out of crates, the ones on the top levels landing on the backs of their comrades as they hopped down. There were a few growls and nips, but the dogs seemed too stunned by their sudden change in health and circumstance to bother fighting with each other.
It was like a switch flipped in her brain. Though she was still feeling bitter about humanity in general, she was elated to see the sick and dying animals healthy again. Some were walking a little funny, but it was only because they'd never set foot outside their wire cages before. She turned to Crowley, happy but confused.
"But—I didn't even kiss you—"
He shrugged off her concern; the warm fuzzy feeling was returning, and that was all he cared about right now. All he had to do was keep his angel happy, and he was happy. "Eh. This one's on me."
She cocked her head to the side, not sure if he was being serious or if this was another sort of 'game.' But he looked…Well, she wasn't sure he could look happy, but he was at least content. So. He healed the dogs out of the non-existent goodness of his non-existent heart? It didn't make sense to her, but gift horse, mouth…
"Let's get you home, angel."
The world went out of focus for a moment, and she found herself back in her room. She'd never been so relieved to be back in her 'prison,' but she'd seen enough dead and dying dogs to last her a lifetime, not to mention the accompanying smells. Still, overall the day hadn't been half bad. Crowley may have had his own motives for helping the animals, but he'd still helped them. And the people he'd killed had all been bad people, so that wasn't so horrible. And yes, he was just trying to impress her, but what really impressed her was that he understood the things that were important to her. That was more than she could say about most of the humans in her life.
Marian slipped her hands around the back of his neck and leaned in to kiss him. For a split second he was too stunned to react—he hadn't expected an unsolicited display of affection, as welcome as it might be—and she almost pulled away from him, afraid she'd done something wrong. But before she could, he had his arms wrapped around her waist and was kissing her back.
Crowley was in Heav—well, he wasn't in Hell, at least. She was kissing him, and he hadn't told her to. He could feel the love radiating from her soul, and so what if it wasn't meant for him? It was a soothing balm for his twisted, tortured shell of a soul. He felt safe, and cared for, and appreciated, and loved—all the things he'd hardly felt when he was alive, let alone dead. Yes, Marian really loved the animals, and her friends and family, and all of the other living, breathing things she'd fought Heaven to protect, but right now he could pretend that love was meant for him. He deserved to be loved; he needed to be loved. He couldn't get enough of that feeling, and he couldn't get enough of her. He wanted to touch all of her, taste all of her, reach inside of her and touch her soul…
He needed to exercise restraint, or the good feeling would go away. He'd been really good at restraining himself, so far. He doubted another demon would have done half as well. But it was hard to remember what he wasn't supposed to do when he was drunk as hell on this feeling he wasn't even supposed to feel.
Marian tensed as Crowley's hands slid down her lower back to grab her ass. He pulled her tighter to him, grinding her pelvis almost painfully against his hard-on. Her breath caught in her throat and she froze, suddenly terrified that he was going to make her have sex with him.
It was like he'd been doused in ice water. The intoxicating high was gone so suddenly that it stung, and he didn't understand what had gone wrong.
Ah. Perhaps he'd gotten too physical. Reluctantly, he slid his hands up to her back, allowing a depressing number of air molecules to come between them again. But Marian was still tense, even shaking slightly; he'd have to change tactics completely.
He gave up on kissing and got her to sit down on the edge of the bed. "I just realized, you haven't had anything to eat or drink all day. Sometimes I forget that you're only human."
She thought back to the bones and fur cemented to the empty cages with feces. "I'm actually not really hun—"
Crowley vanished.
"—gry." Marian sighed and scooted up the bed to lean against the headboard. She picked up a stray newspaper in an attempt to think about something other than rotting dogs. No rotting dogs, no sex with demons…Ah. An article on backyard gardening—that seemed safe enough.
She jumped as Crowley reappeared beside her. He set a to-go cup of coffee and a wrapped sub on the nightstand, then sat down next to her, turning the TV on with a snap. Perhaps if he could take her mind off of all the cute little defenseless animals that had died, her mood would improve.
Marian picked up the sandwich and gave it a curious sniff: Buffalo chicken, lettuce, tomato, homemade ranch, and extra pickles. It was her usual order from her favorite sandwich shop. "How did you know…?"
He winked. "I know everything about you, love."
The rotten odors and horrible sights were momentarily forgotten, and her appetite returned. She wolfed down the sub, then leaned back to watch TV and sip on her coffee.
The TV was playing a news story about local coyotes killing neighborhood cats. Crowley changed the channel, only to land on an ad for the SPCA. The following channel was playing a movie about a stray dog that no one wanted.
Finally, he landed on a program she would like. It was a sporting event he wasn't familiar with, but it looked interesting: Two men in a ring, with very thin gloves, and though there appeared to be a lot of rules, they weren't limited by traditional boxing or wrestling moves.
Marian leaned forward to read the screen. "Mixed martial arts. I've never heard of that."
"Neither have I," Crowley admitted.
The contestants were punching, kicking, grappling and wrestling. As someone who routinely had to fight her way out of a situation, Marian found it not only entertaining but educational as well. Of course, a vampire wouldn't accept the explanation that a full-nelson takedown was against the rules, but she still might learn a thing or two.
…Not that she would use it, now that her hunting days were over. But still.
There were two color commentators, and even they didn't know everything about the sport. One would announce the name of a move being used, and the other would correct him; or the ref would call out an illegal maneuver, and the commentator would say it was a bad call, only to check his rule book and say it was a good call after all.
Crowley watched the men with interest. This was a brand-new sport, and it was much more exciting than, say, cricket. There was a small cash prize for the winner in each weight-class, but if MMA caught on, it could be big—get its own Olympic event, have tournaments with large payouts—the champions could become celebrities. It might be worth his while to keep an eye on the second-best players, see if any of them were willing to pay the ultimate price to become the best…
Marian leaned against him and the happy, human feeling started to come back to him. He slipped his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. She was still holding onto a lot of tension, but she'd had an intense day, so that was probably alright. Maybe if he could get her to relax, she'd radiate more of that positive energy. He needed to soak up as much of it as possible before going back to work as a soulless, inhuman monster that angels routinely trod on for fun.
He squeezed her shoulder, moving her forward just enough to get his arm between her and the headboard. He traced his hand up and down her back, lightly at first, then with more pressure, and finally felt some of the tension in her muscles let go.
"Why don't you lie down, love, and I can give you a real massage."
She tensed for a moment but moved onto her stomach obediently. Crowley pulled her shirt over her head and set it aside; she shivered and sunk as far into the bed as she could. Her bra unhooked itself as he moved her hair off her shoulders.
She rested her head on her forearms, and he began kneading the tension knots out of her muscles. Even though he'd done this before, she still felt uncomfortable about being half-naked with him running his hands all over her. What made it more uncomfortable was that it felt pretty damn good.
Any decent demon had an excellent knowledge of human anatomy, because stabbing places at random and hoping they hurt was amateur at best. Crowley could explain the origin and insertion point of every muscle (because it was satisfying disconnecting them one at a time), and knew exactly where the small intestine ended and the large one began (because who doesn't love entrails). It was just a small matter of changing one's mindset from inflicting pain to causing pleasure, and the knowledge could be used for good.
As she relaxed under his touch, he basked in the cool glow of humanity and love that now radiated freely from his ex-angel. Thank Hell he felt more human, because that humanity was the only thing holding him back from ripping her pants off and ravaging her. Intellectually, he knew it would undo all the progress he'd made with her, but as a demon it was hard to imagine another way of expressing affection. He worked all the knots out of her back and shoulders, but he didn't want to stop touching her. He continued gliding his hand over her skin, laying down beside her so that he could plant kisses all along the back of her neck and shoulders.
Marian was so relaxed, she was half-asleep when she felt the demon's hot breath on the back of her neck. Suddenly she was wide awake, her breathing shallow as his lips moved down and across her shoulders. He licked and nipped gently at her skin, working his way back to the top of her spine, sending a shiver through her nervous system. She shrugged her shoulders up to her ears and he kissed the same spot again, nipping her and swirling his tongue over the bite. This time she shivered and rolled into him slightly in an effort to make her neck harder to reach.
He wasn't going to object to that. Crowley put his arm around her waist and pulled her the rest of the way onto her side so that her back was pressed to his chest. Now he could access the side of her neck, and he wasted no time covering it in kisses as well. Marian shrugged her shoulder again, bringing her arms up to her chest in an effort to prevent the front of her bra from slipping away entirely—not that it mattered, she knew; if he wanted, he could just make it disappear.
For the moment, though, the demon was more interested in the bits of skin that were currently exposed. As she shortened her neck, he moved to her shoulder, then down her upper arm, while his hand traced over her ribs and torso.
Three hundred years' time had certainly given Crowley ample experience in the art of seduction. If he'd been human, and not a demon hell-bent on aiding Lucifer with the destruction of Creation, she might have encouraged him to continue, but she was doggedly determined not to give in to this whole Abomination business. He could make her do whatever he wanted, but as long as she didn't want it, Hell couldn't win.
His arm tightened around her waist. A blanket unfolded itself from the foot of the bed and was draped over them, and a pillow slid under her head. He kissed her cheek, then the side of her mouth, and she turned her head toward him to kiss him back. When it felt like her neck was about to snap from the strain, she rolled onto her back. But now Crowley was able to lean over her, wedging a knee between her legs and sliding his hand under her ass to grip it gently but firmly as he continued to nibble on her lower lip.
Marian whined in the back of her throat and went still as a statue. I will not give in to you. You want to fuck me, fine, but you can't make me like it.
…Well, maybe you can. I mean, you are very good…
No. No, you will not find any part of this pleasurable, Marian. This is a demon wearing a dead person, trying to help Lucifer destroy the universe.
Crowley nuzzled her cheek. "Too much?" He squeezed her glute tighter, then released it. "Mmm. You do have a great ass, though. All those years of running for your life really kept you in shape."His hand returned to her waist and he turned onto his side, removing his thigh from between her legs.
Marian turned into him, hiding her face in his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head.
"You're alright, love. I told you, I'm not going to force you into sex. It doesn't do me any good if you don't want it. I just wanted a little quality snuggle time before I went back to Hell."
She leaned into his touch. "You say a lot of things, that doesn't mean they're true. Like that you want to kill Lucifer, not help him—"
"I am going to kill him. Or have him killed, I suppose; I can't do it myself. Hmm. I can see how you might have 'trust' issues, given our long history of trying to kill each other. But we're a team now—I wouldn't lie to you."
Marian snorted.
"I applaud your skepticism as part of a greater survival strategy, but in this very specific instance it's unwarranted. Perhaps it's time we updated our contract?"
She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. "What?"
"You know I keep my deals. So let's make it official." He snapped, and the physical manifestation of their contract appeared in his hand. The words started to shift, crossing themselves out and rewriting themselves. "In the event that you become pregnant with my child, aka the Abomination, I will do everything in my power to ensure that it grows up to destroy the Adversary, Lucifer. I will protect it from all malicious forces, be they angel, demon, human, or supernatural. And as long as we're talking business: You are hereby released from my control. You're free to do whatever you wish."
Marian's jaw dropped.
"Assuming you wish to stay with me, I will continue to take care of you and protect you from malicious forces, which are essentially every demon on Hell and Earth. I'm sure I don't need to remind you what they're like…"
She bit her lip and looked away from him. Yes, she was well aware of the alternatives to Crowley.
"But you're welcome to leave at any time. I believe this qualifies as that 'free will' humans are always carrying on about."
"…I can say 'no' to you?"
"Have I ever really made you do anything you didn't want to?" As Marian opened her mouth to reply, he added hurriedly, "Recently?"
She scowled at him for a moment, but then her expression softened as she glanced at the paper that seemed to be done editing itself. "You're serious. You're actually serious."
"Always. So, what do you say? Make it official?" With another snap, the contract vanished.
"What's the catch?"
"No catch. I already died once, and I don't plan on doing it again. Not to mention, taking the Devil out will put me at the top of the food chain as far as Hell's concerned." He shrugged. "As for everything else, I think your mother had a point: You need to feel like you're still in control. I have no problem with that, as long as you're at least entertaining the thought of this whole prophecy business. It's not like I'm on a time crunch here."
Marian stared at him.
"I'll take that as a yes?"
She swallowed. "…Yes."
He kissed her. At first everything seemed normal, but then his lips started to burn, like when she'd made the first deal. She could feel the original words burn hot under her skin, then freeze away, before the new text was seared onto her. Her tongue burned like she'd scalded it with boiling coffee, and her lips split and blistered.
Crowley pulled away, and the painful searing across her body vanished, but her mouth was still burned.
"I can fix that." He kissed her again, and there was only a mildly unpleasant tingle this time as his energy healed her lips and tongue. "Better?"
She nodded. Her head was still reeling from everything that had happened that day, from dead and not-dead dogs to, well, whatever the Hell had gone down in the last thirty minutes. Honestly, this new deal wouldn't really change much for her: She still had to stay with Crowley, or risk being snatched up by another far less kind demon and getting everyone killed anyway. And it was true, if only recently, that he hadn't really done anything seriously objectionable, but it was still nice to know that, officially speaking, she could object to him. The biggest thing was the prophecy: He'd actually been serious about creating this half-angel half-demon to destroy Lucifer, and she could hardly object to that. She still didn't want to have sex with him, and she certainly wasn't 'in love' with him like the prophecy said. But if, God forbid, that changed, at least she would be saving the world and not destroying it.
Crowley could tell his little angel was exhausted. He kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair back affectionately. He made a small gesture and her bra clasped itself. "Sleep, angel."
Marian turned onto her side, pressing her back into his chest, and closed her eyes. "You're going back to work?"
He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "Yes. I'll be gone for a while, I imagine: there'll be mountains of paperwork to catch up on, people who need to be tortured, hellhounds to feed. I'll be back as soon as I can." He kissed her cheek. "Remember you can contact me through that coin if you need anything. If you're lonely, you can always call your family or your well-endowed friend. I wouldn't tell them about our little agreement, though—if word gets out that I'm anti-Satan, every monster in Hell will be looking to take me down."
She couldn't tell Erica? It made sense, of course: another demon could torture her for intel, or she might tell her hunter friends and then they'd be tortured for intel, and then Crowley would be Hell's Most Wanted. Still, it was hard knowing Erica thought she was still in danger of destroying the world via an old apocalyptic prophecy.
"Okay."