Comments: Some elements have been changed
*Chapter 2—Cheap Tears*
While running away from Dante had made the best sense at the moment, Trish was now having second thoughts. The fact that she was unarmed, lost, and did not seem at all intimidating was helping her little.
"Stupid demon," she muttered crossly while kicking a stone out of her path."
Immediately she scolded herself. 'Keep calm, Trish, don't forget...they can feel vibrations--'
The damage, however, had already been done. Marionettes integrated out of nowhere, limping, shrieking, and all but herding towards her.
Biting her lower lip, Trish backed away hesitantly into the darkness. Dante. Where was Dante? Shouldn't he be able to detect those blasted demons just as easily as they were able to detect him, or was that ability limited only to full-bred hellborn? She smiled bitterly. Of all the qualities not to have…
"Da..ante--" Trish breathed out, unsure if speaking loudly would further attract the marionettes. Dropping to her knees, the young woman lightly patted the ground, eager to find anything that might serve as a weapon.
"Shit!" she cursed violently, cringing as blood oozed through a fresh cut in her wrist.
Before she had a chance to further glare down the guilty rock, Trish became aware that the marionettes had stopped their advance. Their deformed faces upturned, they began to sniff feverishly.
'No...Oh no--'Dante's eyes widened despite himself…that metallic aroma—he had little doubt about it, that smell was blood. Pushing down the familiar desire to take a human life, Dante bounced back to reality. Blood? No demon could bleed—at least not blood that pure, no—the scent he had picked up had definitely been human blood. But—there…
'Trish!'Dashing through the woods like a beast propelled by its prey, Dante thrashed around viciously, paying attention only to his instincts—and his remarkable sense of smell.
It was not long before he found her, backed into a tree and holding a bleeding wrist to her chest. Though alarmed, Dante noticed she had managed to keep much of the marionettes at bay with a crude branch.
'Trish...'
Suddenly aware of the presence of another, Trish lifted her gaze upwards. She paused, her breath momentarily leaving her body as she caught sight of his towering form. Trish had always admired Dante from afar—but never before had she been aware of how beautiful he was, and now, even as he fought, he had an air of fairness about him. And he stood there, demon half taking over pitilessly as he used Alastor to slice every dead being to shreds. Trish found herself enthralled by his demonic persona; there was a certain beauty and grace in his every action—in the way his wrist supported the weight of his sword…in the way his eyes would blaze a scandalous red in his anger…in the way he would impatiently push away silvery tresses from his eyes…
Having finished the battle, and sure no other enemy was left, Dante turned to Trish and scanned her for injuries. Aside from the swollen wound running the entire length of her wrist, there were none. Feeling the familiar demonic desire for blood within him return, Dante shook his head briskly and stretched his arm in her direction.
"Give me your hand."
"Dante...I--"
"I didn't ask you for explanations--I said to give me you hand!"
Trish, a bit surprised at Dante's outbreak, outstretched her arm, wincing as blood pulsed evenly out it. Letting out a low whistle, Dante eyed her wearily. The way things were, she'd end up giving every blasted citizen of the underworld a vibrant blood trail to follow. He had to heal her.
"Close you eyes, Trish."
Obediently, the young girl closed her eyes. However, despite Dante's apparent attempt at gentleness, Trish let out a small whimper as his fingertips slid over and around the cut, rubbing and poking it in various places as if experimenting. Then, summoning his strength as he had done many times before, Dante let his hands emanate the power handed down upon him at birth.
After a few seconds, Dante dropped his hand, turned, and trudged forward. "Come on, I'm not in the mood to fight for the rest of the night."
Trish swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and faced Dante with defiance. "But, Dante--"
"What?" he gritted out, not at all interested in starting a conversation.
Raising her chin in obstinence, Trish turned her back on him and spoke, "I can take care of myself--I will no longer be of help to you..."
"Fine. Just don't bother coming in the middle of the night, shrieking to be left alone by marionettes. "
"What?"
Dante sighed and rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes wearily. "They know you now, Trish. Your smell. Your fear of them. They know how you look, places you frequent--everything. If you leave now you'll end up seeing them again on your way home."
Stiffening, Trish pretended not to care for what she had been told. "I have no fear of them, Dante. And if I do encounter them, I shall do what I can. Do not think I will come and ask for your assistance."
Dante let himself smile. If there was anyone who could see through her ill plated facade, it was he. Trish was the easiest person to read, and at times, extremely vulnerable in his eyes.
Like now, for example.
The two had walked into a dark alleyway, quiet and cross. Dante lead the way, while Trish sagged behind, taking care of the back. Halfway through, however, Dante felt her body press close to him, her breathing erratic and rapid. She was afraid. Or was it something else? He wondered...
Stopping abruptly, Dante tugged on Trish's arm with moderate strength. Not expecting to be pulled, and much to the demon's luck, she lost her balance and ended up in his arms, red faced but knowing well what he was up to.
"Is that the way it is, Dante?"
"Perhaps," came the hoarse answer, coupled with a gentle nip at her ear. Not satisfied with is response, Trish prompted impishly, "Perhaps? Now, Dante...when did you begin to develop tact?"
Smirking at her comment, but not particularly bothered by it, Dante pulled her closer, feeling the silver pendant that perpetually hung around her neck slightly graze his cheek. Catching Trish off guard, Dante leisurely pressed his lips against her collarbone, enjoying the small gasp that escaped her lips.
Liking the contact, Trish was quick to hide her surprise and opted instead for angling her head, giving him more room to experiment. Much to her disappointment, however, Dante took that opportunity to break away. He surveyed his prey jealously and unconsciously licked his lips. His prey. Smiling somewhat bitterly, he pressed another ravaging kiss to her lips before turning away.
Frustrated at the silver-haired youth's quick end to the session, Trish ran quivering fingertips over her mouth, wiping at it absently. Dante caught the action and brought his eyebrows together, frowning almost undetectably at her dismissal. Or, at least, at what he though had been a dismissal.
"You give up too quickly, Dante," Trish commented once her breathing returned to normal, hastily turning in hopes of hiding her blush. The young man shook his head in slight resentment, the image of her rubbing off her lips still fresh in his memory.
"There's nothing to give up on, Trish," came the cold reply, product, no doubt, of his belief that she had found his kiss distasteful. Though insulted by his last words, Trish managed to remain calm. She had always known that the best way to attack Dante was through indifference.
Though insulted by his last words, Trish managed to remain calm. She knew the best way to attack Dante was through indifference.
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