A/N: Please read the author's note at the bottom you guys – I'm looking for beta readers for a new story!

I got a demon in my soul and a voice in my head

It's saying GO! GO! GO! I can sleep when I'm dead

There's a sonic revelation bringing me to my knees

And there's a man down below who needs my sympathy

Got a ringing in my ears getting ready to burst

Screaming "Hallelujah Motherfucker take me to church"

I Like It Heavy – Halestorm


I awoke with a gasp and a jolt, blinking up at the ceiling, my vision fuzzy but slowly focusing. My head ached, the pain stabbing but familiar – my body was pushing a bullet from it's skull. I narrowed my eyes, trying to recognise something about the roof above me, hoping it would give me a clue about where I was.

It was some kind of room in a spacious looking loft. I groaned, lifting a hand to my head, working through the pain as I tried to remember what was familiar about the room.

Derek. It looked like Derek's loft, only different.

I needed blood – my gums ached and my throat burned. I forced myself into a sitting position, a wince on my face as everything blurred again before coming right. The room I was in was dark, but that wasn't a problem for my eyes, which cut through the shadows like they didn't exist.

I sure as hell wasn't planning to stay where I was, so with a grunt I forced myself to my feet, shuffling in the direction of the large door that I assumed was the exit – only to stop abruptly, a familiar invisible barrier making it impossible for me to move any closer to the door.

"What the...?" I trailed off, eyes shifting down to the floor, where a clear boundary of mountain ash and vervain was sprinkled across the floor in a sharp line, keeping me boxed in the corner of the room. "Are you fucking kidding me?" the words were spat from my mouth with bitter fury. I let a scream escape my lips, the sound thick with rage as I slammed my hands against the barrier, furiously trying to break it down; it was no use, I was no Original.

The time passed slowly. I groaned with boredom, pacing the length of my prison like a tiger in a cage, an angry scowl on my lips, exposing my sharp, ready fangs.

The moonlight shone through the large wall of windows behind me, and it wasn't until the sun was peeking up over the horizon that I heard footsteps outside the room. The door was pulled open with a heave, revealing an unpleasantly familiar face.

Neither of us said anything, watching each other closely, waiting to see who would be the first to break.

In the end, it was him. "You're in one of the empty lofts in Derek's building," Deaton told me, something I'd already figured out myself. His scent wafted over me, human sweat and pheromones. It made me ache – I was so hungry. "Do you know why you're here?" he asked calmly, watching me with cool eyes.

I said nothing, watching him through my own narrowed eyes, observing every little move he made, waiting patiently to be given a reason to speak.

"How long have you been without your humanity?"

The questioned surprised me slightly, though I gave no indication that it did, merely tilting my head, fixing the Doctor with my cold stare.

"How many people have you killed?"

His words made me laugh, the first sound to leave my lips since he entered the room. The sound was deranged, much like I was, so it suited me.

"This isn't you, Juliet," he said mildly, a frown on his features.

I purred, my interest peaked. "I think you'll find that I'm more me than I have been since arriving in this pathetic excuse for a community," I finally spoke, shifting my weight to the balls of my feet as I once more inhaled his deliciously human scent.

"That isn't true," the doctor said patiently. "And you know it."

"What do you want from me, huh?" I asked suddenly, glaring at him suspiciously through the early morning haze leaking through the frosted windows.

"I want you to turn it back on."

I giggled again, his words predictable and amusing. "It's going to take more than a strongly worded request from an ex-emissary to make that happen," I told him, the dark amusement curling at my lips.

He decided to try another tactic. "The Nogitsune isn't Stiles," he said, a tightness in his voice. "It's possessing Stiles." I said nothing, giving no visible reaction to his words. "How can you be okay with that?"

"Stiles is gone," the decision to speak wasn't my own, but I rolled with it, deciding to go with my instincts on this one.

"The Nogitsune is suppressed for now," he told me calmly. "Stiles is himself again." I waited for the ache to come, but none did, making my lips curl up in a wicked smirk that would have frightened a lesser man, but Deaton's heartbeat remained steady.

"For. Now," I slowly echoed his words with a click of my tongue, the smirk licking at my lips.

"Are you really saying you care more about the Nogitsune than you do about Stiles?" I didn't respond, tilting my head idly. "We both know that's a lie."

"You see, doctor," I said the word with absolute condescension. "I don't care about anything anymore, that's what having no humanity means – or didn't they teach you that at witch-doctor college?"

Deaton merely hummed, the sound contemplative as he watched me. I stayed perfect still, trying to predict his next move. "Okay," he finally murmured, abruptly turning and walking from the room, footsteps echoing on the wooden floorboards.

"What, you're just going to leave me here?!" I shouted after him, irritation curdling in my stomach. "At least bring me somebody to snack on, for fuck sake!" He said nothing, the groaning of the door filling the room as he pulled it shut. "Prick," I muttered bitterly, lip curling back in frustration.

Things once more settled into maddening silence. I had no source of entertainment, and I was starving, my body still healing from the bullet to the brain, needing blood to bounce back.

I sat down on the floor, boredom setting in as I lethargically scratched profanities into the floor with my nails.

Derek Hale has a small cock.

I smirked, pleased by the petty move, reminded of a time I wrote nearly the exact same thing on the wall in the bathroom at the high school, being caught by the great banshee herself.

Once I'd run out of witty things to scratch into the floor, boredom set in once more. I groaned, laying back and hitting my head against the ground, frustration over running me.

I missed Void – as much as I could miss someone in my state – at least he kept things interesting. What were they planning to do with me anyway? Keep me locked in this Godforsaken loft for all of eternity? I knew switching on my humanity was a sure fire way to get free – but it would be a cold day in hell when I complied to that demand.

The sun was out of view from the window when I once more heard footsteps on the landing beyond the door. I remained laying down, staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression, curiosity gripping me, though I remained nonchalant.

The door was pulled open, and I glanced over as the teen wolf himself slipped into the room, a rare sadness etched across his young features. "Hm," I purred lowly, returning my gaze to the ceiling. "If it isn't the boy who cried wolf."

"You're better than this, Jules," Scott said, his voice pleading. Clearly he wasn't going to beat around the bush, something I could appreciate. "Don't ruin all your progress now."

"My progress?" I asked idly, my tone bored. "You mean the thing that made me absolutely miserable for the better part of a year?"

"That isn't true."

His words angered me – it was the third time I'd heard them in as many hours – enough so that before the boy could blink I was back on my feet and slamming into the barrier, hitting it with a loud thud that echoed through the empty room. "Don't you dare tell me what is or isn't true about my life," I snarled, spitting the words with disgusted fury. Who did this dog think he was?

The rage rolled off me in waves, and you didn't have to be supernatural to sense how I was seething, a barely contained explosion hovering just under my skin. A week ago I could have reined in my anger, but now there was no conscience to keep me under control. What was the point? Why did it matter? I shouldn't have had to rein in my anger for anyone, let alone a self-righteous teen wolf.

"This isn't you, Jules," he tried again, but I was having none of it.

"You don't have a clue who I am, little wolf," it was a pet name I'd used before, but now it was said with clear revulsion, condescension and disdain, no hint of the fondness it had once held. My face remained coiled in an ugly snarl, eyes bloody and teeth glistening as I glared at him, daring him to step over the line so we could settle this like real creatures of the night.

"I bet you're hungry."

The words were so surprising that I had to take a minute, the snarl dropping from my features, giving way to a bemused scowl. "What?" I asked as I cocked my head. My throat burned, reminding me how ravenous I truly was. We both knew I was starving. "What game are you playing?" I asked dangerously, a rare warning in my tone.

He said nothing, and though I knew I was being baited, I still couldn't stop myself.

"You gonna starve me until I give in and give you what you want?" I asked sharply, my tone goading. Scott didn't react. "I think you'll find that I'm immeasurably and unyieldingly stubborn."

Scott frowned as I sneered at him, pressing my clawed hands against the barrier, fangs flashing threateningly. "Don't make me go to plan B, Jules," he said, and I was sure I wasn't imagining the slight plea in his voice.

A wicked grin formed on my lips as I suddenly bounced on my toes, cocking my head to the side, a thick leer on my features. "Oh, please go to plan B," I jeered, creeping forward as far as I could, the tips of my shoes pressing against the boundary.

Scott shot me a heartbroken expression, like he was wondering how I could have fallen so far from grace. It meant nothing to me, and I smirked back, eagerly awaiting the next phase of their brilliant plan.


The room was silent and the air was still. I sat, legs crossed under me, hands placed lazily on my knees in a stereotypical meditation pose. At first the boredom had eaten away at me, but eventually I hit what you might call a 'wall'. The boredom came to an abrupt halt, instead I found peace in the silence and calm in the stillness.

It had been hours since anybody had come to see me, I was completely and utterly alone, something I hadn't been used to since coming to this Godforsaken town.

The sun had long since sunk below the horizon, and I was once more plunged into darkness, though I found it more comforting than most. Not quite comfortable enough to sleep, I merely sat, my eyes closed as I focused on my breathing.

Footsteps on the landing interrupted my exercise, and I cracked my eyes open, peering at the still-closed door with suspicion. There were hushed voices on the other side, but I couldn't quite make out what they were saying – I had yet to fully recover from the shot to the brain, what with no blood supplied to help the process along. Unfortunately, this left my senses dulled.

I let my eyes slip closed again, once more portraying a care-free atmosphere as the door was yanked open, the hinges screeching in protest.

His scent hit me before anything else, and my muscles coiled, preparing to lunge, though I successfully held myself back.

"Jules?" his voice was then next thing to reach me, and instantly I knew this wasn't Void I was speaking to, but rather the vessel he inhabited. I purred loudly, the sound curious and pondering as it bounced off the walls of the loft, my head tilting to the left, stretching my neck which had begun to ache from lack of use. "Jules," he repeated, tone pleading.

I reluctantly snapped my eyes open, my emerald green stare pinning him where he stood in the doorway, noticing Scott and Deaton standing behind him, watching the scene with caution. "Hello Stiles," I spoke quietly, my tone as hollow as my chest.

Stiles turned around, glancing at his protective detail. "I'll be fine," he assured them softly, the sound carrying in the large, empty space. "She won't hurt me."

"This isn't the Juliet you know, Stiles," Deaton warned him seriously, keeping his eyes on the meek boy's face, not meeting my eyes. "This is a demon that thrives on chaos. Someone without inhibitions, without a conscience."

Stiles hesitated. "But so am I, aren't I?" he asked, and his words were met with silence. "I'll be okay," he told them once it was clear neither had a response. "I need to do this alone."

They looked reluctant to allow it, but Scott's eyes slid across the room to meet mine. I stared back blankly, my expression giving absolutely nothing away. "It's okay," Scott told his boss in a gentle voice, chocolate gaze moving back to Stiles. "Let him do it."

Deaton agreed on the grounds that the door remained open and he swore not to cross the barrier of mountain ash – a wise decision, because I couldn't guarantee he'd leave unharmed if he did.

The two of them backed away, no longer visible in the doorway, though I could hear their heartbeats from the other side of the wall.

The room once more fell into silence as Stiles turned back to me, grimace fixed on his face, like speaking to me was causing actual, physical pain.

I probably should have been hurt by that.

I wasn't.

"How are you?" he began awkwardly, a crease appearing between his brows. I didn't answer, listening to the wet thumping of his heart, following the dip of his adams apple as he swallowed. "You don't look so good."

His words were slightly confusing. I felt fine, why wouldn't I look it?

He seemed to sense my question without words, something I was mildly surprised he could still do. "You look like you feel…sad…"

"I don't feel anything," I couldn't help but correct, my voice sharp and cutting, making the boy wince. It was the second time I'd had to remind them of that fact. "That's the point."

"What happened, Jules?" he asked desperately. There was fear in his honey eyes, shining clear as day. I would have had to have been blind not to see it. It didn't bother me. "I need you. Don't go all Angelus on me now."

I frowned confusedly, mildly irritated by the use of phrases that obviously didn't make sense to me. "I don't understand that reference."

His handsome face lit up like I'd told him the best news possible, a spark of hope igniting in his gaze that made me wary. "You're still in there," he whispered the words this time, these ones even more puzzling than the last. "I knew it, you're still there. You're just...buried."

I watched him closely, observing every little move he made. I could see why it might be easy to love him, but for the life of me I couldn't bring myself to feel anything beyond a voracious hunger for the optimistic looking boy.

"Come back to me Jules," he said suddenly, kneeling down on the ground just shy of the barrier, meeting my emerald gaze with hope and desperation, looking for something I knew he wouldn't find. "Jules, if you're in there – come back to me."

I managed to keep a straight face for a full ten seconds, before I could no longer contain myself, a hysterical giggle escaping my chapped lips. I closed my eyes to laugh, and when I pried them open again, the boy's shoulders had sagged in disappointment.

"That's rich," I giggled, dropping from my meditation pose, instead manoeuvring onto all fours and crawling over to the boundary of mountain ash, a dark and amused smirk on my face. "You think I'm possessed," I said the word with a cackle, nose crinkling at the thought. "You're wrong," I sang the word, delighted when fear flickered in his eyes. "You're the one who's possessed, darling," the pet name was dripping with condescension. "Not me."

His eyes began to glisten, and he dropped back onto his ass, arms curling around his knees as he tucked his head out of sight. I didn't let this deter me, intent on ripping into him verbally, since I was currently unable to do so physically.

"It's me, Stiles," I hummed, my voice turning breathy and innocent. "It isn't a demon, or a ghost, a witch or a dark kitsune. It's me as I truly am." Stiles sucked in a shaky breath, face still hidden from sight, though his shoulders shuddered heavily. "The other me, the one you fell in love with? She doesn't exist. She's a lie. And she is never coming back to you."

"You're wrong." He spoke without lifting his head, but his voice was stronger than I'd assumed it would be.

"Rarely, little boy," I sneered, creeping closer to the barrier, our skin only inches away from each other, separated by the magical boundary that I so very loathed.

He picked up his head, meeting my eyes. I was mildly surprised to see his eyes wet, though a single tear had yet to spill over. His jaw was tight, like he was clenching his teeth in an effort to keep control. "This isn't the real you," he said, chin tilting up defiantly. "This is a curse. And it will be lifted."

Another coil of amusement curled in my gut, and I tilted my head, a lazy smirk smeared across my lips. "Oh Stiles, you're always the one to figure it out," I told him patronisingly, dark laughter in my eyes. "But not this time."

He was silent, watching me through damp eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly. "Do you love him?" The question threw me, and for a beat I struggled to hide my reaction. Instead I pasted innocent intrigue across my face. "The Nogitsune," he elaborated, though it was hardly necessary. "Do you love him?"

I giggled again, genuinely entertained by the question. "Stiles," I sighed condescendingly, reaching a hand out as though to touch him, only to be inevitably stopped by the barrier, my fingers splayed against the boundary as though it were glass. "I'm not capable of love."

I met his eyes, mildly surprised by the amount of pain in his expression. I tilted my head, finding it curious that it was affecting him so. I didn't even know that sort of emotion was possible in general, let alone possible to feel for a soulless, selfish, bloodthirsty monster like myself.

I bounced back from the negative thought process, jerking away from Stiles, unable to stand the emotion in his honeycomb eyes. It made me angry, and I couldn't resist a snarl in his direction as I crept backwards, once more putting much needed space between us.

His mouthwatering scent was driving me insane and my eyes flooded with blood, a natural response to the displayed meal. He didn't look frightened by my threatening body language, instead he seemed only more saddened, an emotion I could only describe as agony crossing his face.

He baffled me, not reacting as I assumed he would.

How had we once been together? I seemed to barely know the kid.

"Unless you're going to offer to tap a vein, you can go," I said with clear dismissal, lazily waving him away with my hand as if he were no more than an irritating insect.

"What am I meant to do without you?!"

The question was hardly contained, more so shouted at me from where he was crouched, the boy suddenly rearing back only to stumble to his feet, a look of complete and utter desperation and heartache on his features. I leaned back in slight surprise, my own face giving nothing away, instead watching his every move through narrowed green eyes.

"I need you now, more than ever before, and you're just...leaving me?" he sounded incredulous, like he couldn't fathom my actions. "This isn't fair!"

"You know what's not fair?!" I hissed back, leaping to my feet and pressing against the barrier, a furious snarl curling at my lips. "Trying to tame a vampire."

"I never-"

"You all did," I snapped before he could finish. "Tried to tame me, then expected me to behave like anything but myself." Stiles looked like I'd punched him in the stomach, but I barrelled on, taking pleasure from his reaction. "This is who I really am, this is how I really act, and I'll be damned if any one of you naïve little children are going to stop me!"

Stiles' eyes once more watered, but he was stubborn, teeth grinding together to try and rein in the emotion.

"I'm a wild animal, Stiles," I said, my voice calming down, though I still glared daggers at the kid. "You can't domesticate me. Eventually I'm going to bite someone." I couldn't have stopped my smirk if I'd tried. "Quite literally," I added gleefully, amused by my wordplay as I snapped my jaws, my teeth gnashing together with a threatening sound the echoed around the room. He stared at me through pained, narrowed eyes, watching my every move carefully, like I was an escaped mental patient whose moves he was trying to predict.

Like he didn't trust me – which should have hurt.

It didn't.

I stared back coldly, no hint of a spark in my dead gaze. Something seemed to change in Stiles. He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his forehead before once more sitting down on the floor, crossing his legs under him and propping his chin up in his hand.

"My dad almost didn't let me come," he began conversationally, only serving to confuse me. "But I begged – didn't tell him what was wrong with you, of course, him hating you on top of everything else isn't something I think I can deal with right now."

I snickered at the thought of the Sheriff hating me. Of course he would, especially if he knew about my steadily rising body count.

"What's funny?" Stiles asked, genuinely curious, staring up at me through the barrier where I remained on my feet, enjoying the illusion of power it gave me.

"Just thinking about how little he will approve of me if he discovered my growing body count," I mentioned casually, something between a sneer and a smirk spread across my lips.

Stile's heart stuttered in his chest and his face drained of the blood I craved so very much. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice suddenly raspy, like he'd just finished gargling nails.

The amusement was sitting in my chest, warring for dominance with my hunger which clawed at my insides like the beast it was. "Hm," I hummed, the sound contemplative and hungry as I eyed him, watching the blood pump so close to the surface, just barely under the skin – his heart beginning to race in his chest as panic no doubt gripped him. "Why don't you step over the boundary and I'll tell you all about it, handsome?" I purred enticingly. I knew it was pointless, but I made my pupils contract anyway, my voice soothing in a way that greatly contradicted the reality of the threat I posed.

Stiles looked frozen where he sat, his muscles tense and spine straight. Scott, sensing the panic he was exuding and no doubt listening in on the conversation, darted into the room, coming to a stop behind Stiles, glaring at me something fierce, his eyes glowing red. Deaton appeared behind him, stony faced and apprehensive.

"How many?" Stiles asked numbly, brow furrowed as he tried to process what I was telling him.

"I'm not an ancient knight with a heart-of-gold and a moral-code, Stiles," I sneered condescendingly. "I don't count."

"A lot, huh?" he murmured, sounding resigned and pained in the same instant.

"Do you want me to talk about it, Stiles?" I asked, my tone soft and gentle. He glanced up in hope. Scott shifted anxiously behind him, eyes focused solely on me. "Do you want me to tell you how I just couldn't control myself. How I just snapped." His eyes were wet, and I took pleasure in evoking such a strong reaction.

I was like a school-ground bully – I only did it for the reaction.

"Or how about I tell you how their blood was slick and hot as it ran down my throat. How it smeared on my skin, leaving stains for days that made me smile every time I saw them. Oh, I could tell you about how they struggled and begged for their lives, each and every one of them – you know how I like it when they scream."

Stiles was getting more pale with every word that passed my lips, and Scott crouched down, pressing a comforting hand onto his shoulder, though the boy barely registered that he'd appeared at all.

I was thrilled, feeling more alive than I had in weeks. I hated him, I hated him so much because he was the one who left me. He was the one to domesticate me like some common house pet. He was the one to force me to be something other than what I was. He was the one who forced me to feel love.

"Or how about I tell you that this isn't a new development?" I added gleefully, life finally appearing in my bloody eyes, a sick enjoyment that only a vampire could understand as I tore into him with everything I had. "The first person I killed came weeks before I flipped my switch," I told him through a leer. "The only difference now is that I feel no guilt."

Scott decided he'd had enough while Stiles appeared to be frozen on the cold floor of the loft. The werewolf had to curl his fingers around Stiles' arm and forcefully tug him to his feet, beginning to drag the possessed human backwards from the dimly lit room.

"That's right, pup – run away!" I yelled after them, jeering with pleasure as Stiles' eyes had yet to leave my face. I forced even more blood to my eyes, the dark substance filling the veins surrounding my orbs, inky black lines crawling over my porcelain skin. My fangs burst forwards and I pressed myself as absolutely close to the barrier as I could, the deadly weapons glinting in the moonlight. "Bring me a child to snack on next! They always taste the sweetest! I love to feel their little hearts flutter in their chests like butterflies as I drain every drop of blood from their body!" I screamed after them, making sure the horrified human heard every last word.

As the door slammed closed, the last sound Stiles heard was my deranged cackling and the last thing he saw were my bloody red eyes glinting with hunger and hatred.


The days wore on, and I got impatient.

The only person to stop by and visit was Deaton and his sociopathic sister, and even then it was only to watch me for a solid ten minutes, the woman's intelligent eyes irritatingly calm as I hissed threats at them.

Nobody gave me any blood, so I was starving. And where the fuck was Void?

My boredom grew by the hour, and I'd taken to pacing a hole in the floor when I was strong enough, and trying to sleep when I wasn't. The lack of blood was doing me in, I was growing weaker with each tick of the clock, and if I didn't feed soon, my body would begin to shut down completely.

It got to the point where I was fairly certain I was going to rot there like the vampires in that motherfucking tomb in Mystic Falls, when suddenly the door was dragged open, a familiar and entirely welcome face appearing in the early-morning light.

Void stood in the doorway, one hand braced on the door, the other wrapped around the neck of a young man, no older than fifteen. "I believe you said something about children?" he asked in Stiles' voice, cocking his head to the side and smirking up a storm.

"You'd better not be teasing me you son of a bitch," I growled, and the boy tried to rip away from him when he noticed my fangs, but Void was strong, not letting go for a moment.

He stepped into the room, dragging the child with him and all but throwing him down to the ground at the barrier. "Break the line," he ordered the meal as I watched on, shamelessly salivating in anticipation.

"W-what?"

"You heard me," he snapped impatiently, a sentiment I could relate to. Confused beyond belief, the boy held out two violently shaking hands, breaking the line with a jerky movement and barely taking a breath before my fangs found their place in his neck.

He tried to scream, but his own blood flooded his throat, making the noise come out as gurgled grunts. I pressed my hand over his lips anyway, the action more muscle memory than anything.

I drank until no more blood came, the boy sucked dry.

His corpse hit the floor with a thud that echoed around the room, and I took a beat to savour the warmth and power flowing through my body, before raising my bloodied face, meeting Void's amused blackened eyes.

"What the fuck kind of time do you call this?" I demanded furiously, blood smeared lips curled back in a vicious snarl. "I've been rotting here for days."

"I happened to be rotting in Eichen House," he spat the name with revulsion.

The made me pause. "The nuthouse on the edge of town?" I asked in subtle surprise.

"Stiles checked himself in," he said, gaze hollow. "Seemed to think it would help."

"Hm," I hummed in half-interest.

"I came as soon as I could," he added as an afterthought, waving one hand disinterestedly, making me doubt the words.

"What do you need from me?" I asked instantly, knowing he didn't break me out out of the kindness of his heart.

"Funny you should ask," he smirked, and suddenly the dynamic duo were back, both ready to raise hell, cause mayhem and watch as the streets ran red with blood that we had spilled.


A/N: Completely original chapter here. Hope you guys like it, it was a lot of fun to write. Send me a review and tell me what you thought – as always, I thrive off your words!

Also – in unrelated business – would you guys rather a (Harry Potter) Fred/OC or a Draco/OC from me sometime in the future? I'm working on both, but it's draining me – so I wanna know what you guys are more interested in reading so I can focus on just one.

If anyone's interested in maybe being a beta reader for the first chapter of this new Harry Potter one, let me know – I'd like to start collaborating with other authors on this site!