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Souls of the Night
119.
From one of the rooftops of the multi-storey buildings across the street from Destine Manor, Tachi, Nashville and Heather watched as Nathaniel's figure stepped back out the door he had entered more than half an hour ago. Those minutes had stretched like chewing gum for the three of them, not knowing how well their plan would work. But they hadn't heard a shot, and even firing a laser blast would have caused a flash of light or at least made Nathaniel scream. Now that he was clumsily climbing over the wall again and walking back to the nearest subway stop, they were still relieved.
"We should have bugged him to hear the conversation," Nashville muttered. Because of her own curiosity, Tachi agreed with him for once, but the option of Xanatos or Lexington (should he for some reason notice the disappearance of the radio transmitter and locate it) getting on the line and blowing up their whole plan was too great. For this reason they had left their cell phones at home and had put on clothes of which Tachi knew that no neurotic clan leader or tech geek had been able to hide any gimmicks in them. So everyone had to put their curiosity on hold. Tachi snapped her fingers and looked at her little sister. "Ready to go on your mission?"
"Always," Heather chirped. Tachi squeezed her shoulder and recounted her stage directions.
"Sweet, bubbly, subliminally menacing. You absolutely can't make her feel like you're trying to force something on her that she doesn't secretly want herself."
"Piece of cake for me," the child snickered, doing a few stretches like she'd seen the grown-ups do many times before.
"Don't get killed," Nash whispered as Heather leapt onto the edge of the flat roof, spreaded her wings and glided silently to the house across the street.
"And don't kill her," Tachi called after her.
Before her order arrived, Demona wanted to tidy things up a bit. In her study, she put the large desk back on its legs and carried it to its original place with gargoyle strength. Then the armchair, which she had also wanted to use as a barricade and had never needed thanks to Nathaniel Sharif's ineptitude as a gargoyle. She repositioned the good item next to the ebony table in front of the bookcase. Then she heard the flap of wings, burned into her memory for centuries, from the open window at the end of the room.
With deadly speed, Demona plucked a book from the bookcase, grabbed the laser rifle hidden there, and fired in the blink of an eye while turning around.
It was only then that she recognized the hue and the small shape of the intruder who had just landed on her desk.
The shot passed so close to the child's cheek that she perceived the smell of scorched hair where the beam grazed one of Heather's wisps.
Small claws scraped across the top of her Louis-seize desk with shrill sounds, ruining centuries-old but so far exquisitely preserved veneer before the child skidded across it and plopped to the floor on the other side. Where it squatted for a moment, then giggled and got up on all fours to hop through the room. In the process, she made an unnecessary circuit around the desk, clearly to make herself visible in the window again unharmed so that the others - whoever of the Manhattan Clan had come with her but didn't dare enter the lioness's den - wouldn't rush to her rescue because of the laser's beam of light.
Demona plopped down in the chair she had just set up. She almost blew her grandchild's brains out. She wasn't sure if it would have killed Heather, but it still horrified her. And it made her angry. What was the hatchling doing here!
The little monster came at her on all fours, grinning broadly.
"Hi Grandma! How are you?"
"You! Did the devil ride you? I could have shot you!"
"Yeah. Right." With a laugh that questioned her own mortality and that Demona didn't know if it was due to her abilities or simply because of her youth, the child hopped up on the-also very expensive side table next to the armchair and took the glass lid off the jar that had been placed on it.
Demona rubbed her brow under stress and growled.
"Hands off the bonbonierre. It's from Italy and it's antique."
Are the sweets in it antique too, Grandma?" Without waiting for an answer, Heather popped one of the pralines into her mouth. Even if she had answered yes, that wouldn't have been a deal breaker for the monster.
"Please don't call me grandma. "
"You're my grandma!"
"That's not the gargoyles' way. And you know it!"
"GranGrannygrangran-." The little creature crawled up the armchair behind her, and the hair on the back of Demona's neck stood up as she felt Heather on the back of the armchair above her.
"Stop it or-."
"What are you going to do to me?" She dropped into Demona's lap who raised her hands in dismay at this novelty. Heather smiled up at her and her expression was childlike where her words were not.
"You wouldn't kill your flesh and blood if there was a chance I might still take after you."
"I can't imagine that," Demona grumbled, hoping the child didn't notice how fast her heart was beating. Calm down old girl. You're immortal. Unlikely Heather could hurt you at all.
"I'm still young. Hard to tell what's inside me, isn't it?"
Heather knew Demona knew she meant something different than character or physical strength. Heather sat up in her lap and wrapped her arms around her neck at what the murderer of thousands over the centuries stiffened.
"As nice as your unexpected, unannounced and unpleasant visit is- I'm about to get a delivery," the immortal said matter-of-factly and with little detail.
"Do you know what I'm here for?" the little girl asked, and Demona flashed fangs in displeasure.
"Nathaniel ... Sharif?" she asked, having to rummage in her mind for that pathetic human name.
"What did he ask you to do when he was here?", Heather wanted to know, and Demona considered whether it would be better to make up a complete tall tale out of thin air, or just tell this creepy kid the truth. But she couldn't read minds - at least Demona hoped she couldn't. She tried a middle ground.
"He wanted me to flip through my books to find a solution to his petrification problem."
"Ah," Heather made, looking up at her with an expression that couldn't be made out. She had grabbed Demona's hand and was stroking it. When was the last time someone had touched her so lovingly? The way a child would with its mother. Demona resented within herself at this false comparison. Don't think in human terms just because you've been forced to be one during the day for thirty years. However, deep inside her head, Demona couldn't help but think that Angela had been that small once, too. That she had laid in the lap of her foster mother - that disgusting human princess! What would she have given for once in her life to hold a hatchling like that again - any hatchling of her clan.
She had always been more a warrior than a mother to the younger ones. But ... it would not have been impossible that one or the other young one would have seen her not only as a respectable combat teacher but also as a caretaker. Which would have made such loving physical touches possible. If it hadn't been for the Wywern massacre...if the past...hadn't been the way it just was. Never would she come closer than a hatchling than she did at that moment. To a youngster that had her blood even if it was somewhat sullied by the blood of that fat fool Broadway. And yet Heather was more. There was no gargoyle child in her lap. She didn't know exactly what was in there but it wasn't quite gargoyle. And that's why there was always this shameful fear in the back of her brain. Fear of what Heather might do to her. Fear of what she might feel for this feisty hatchling apart from fear, and what she could destroy with one more wrong deed.
"Deep down, you want to help Nate," Heather finally broke the silence. Demona swallowed tensely, trying to make her voice sound cold. Tried to get back into the role she'd been building for centuries to hurt more than be hurt.
"God, you're just as naive as your mother."
"I thought everyone was a mother and a father."
"Don't try to beat me at my own game. I didn't plan for that fake Gargoyle to-."
"I thought you'd like having someone like that in the Manhattan clan."
"What would I like about increasing the number of enemies I have?"
Heather laughed, and though her voice was high-pitched and cheerful, it didn't sound like the laughter of a child.
"Sure? Sure it wouldn't help to have someone like him in a gargoyle clan?"
Demona thought. Someone like him. What had she witnessed of this figure that she might like if he became part of the Manhattan clan and became Lexington's mate for real, officially and forever. Very well- two males would not breed new enemys with each other- even if the brief thought of the mating act between them disturbed her. But what else? This Nathaniel Sharif was just nothing. He had no gargoyle pride, no dignity, was naive and suicidal even to the point of being mistaken for courage if he weren't so incredibly weak. Demona gasped for air. Realized what the hatchling, lying stretched out in her lap and grinning at her, had meant. Nathaniel Sharif was weak! So utterly weak. And that would never change completely, certainly not if he became human again. But either way-if the little nerd of the clan was so attached to his fake-mate, Nathaniel Sharif would be accepted into the clan. Like Elisa Maza. Like her cursed shapeshifter spawn. Another big, tasteless gulp of water into the precious drink that was supposed to be a Gargoyle Clan. Another step toward their destruction or subjugation. Yes- she would like that. Very much so, in fact.
She laughed now herself, plucked her granddaughter from her lap, set her on the ground, and stood up.
"Pretty sneaky for a people-pleasing thing, you are."
"Must run in the family" said the little girl, placing a card on the side table next to the chair. "That's Uncle Nate's number."
"Don't call him uncle, little one! Now get out of here, I'm about to get my delivery. I'll take care of that worm everyone's so attached to tomorrow."
"Thanks. Love you granny!" exclaimed Heather the second she spread her wings and jumped out the window she had crawled to. The small eighteenth-century table clock smashed against the window frame without hitting the child. Heather's shrill trilling of victory, which was like music to Demona and would make the blood run cold in the veins of anyone within a half-mile radius, resounded through the night.
"Little monster," Demona hissed, but had a delighted grin on her lips at this new task, the successful completion of which might lead to the downfall of the Manhattan clan, perhaps not tomorrow but in the future. But what did that matter. She had nothing more at her disposal than time.
.
And speaking of time, she peered out the window as a dark limousine pulled up in front of the gate. Briefly she pondered whether she was still amenable to this kind of order. After the last visit. She was now in a completely different mood than before - but she wanted to treat herself again. And Niklas was good at putting her in a different mood. That's why she pressed the gate opener and saw how the driver led a figure wrapped in an almost floor-length hooded cloak across her property.
Demona took another deep breath, brushed back her hair - although her appearance was the last thing that mattered - and strolled down the stairs. The doorbell did not ring. After a few moments she looked through the peephole to make sure the driver was gone. He had taken her order to the front door and then left the property. He would wait in the car down the street until the job was done. Everything was covered by her Gold membership card.
She opened the door and Niklas lifted his head just enough for her to see his Sonnyboy smile.
Bright straight teeth sparkled between this time velvet blue lips as he echoed his usual lines.
"Good evening. Your delivery from Guilty Pleasure - the High Quality Passion Club that never asks questions. Bestiality special with no time limit, I'm Niklas."
He extended his hand - not purple this time, but Prussian blue- velvet blue. Decorative, though sadly non-lethal, silver claw rings adorned each finger and matched the skin tone excellently. Coincidence that they had hit the hue so well when they had made him up. She reached for his hand, pulled him over the threshold, closed the door, and led him down the hall to the downstairs bedroom. He searched for the back of the chair, which was always in the same place, and only when he had this safety line to orient himself in the rest of the room did he put his hands on the black hood and pulled it back. She also closed this door - not necessarily because she had to close it but just so he knew where she was. His eyes were not ice blue, but milky and hazy - but that was always the best thing about him. He looked through her with that wonderful, unselfconscious smile while he also took off his cloak and laid it over the armchair. As always when he came to her, he wore no shoes. He wore nothing at all except a leather loincloth. With a slow movement, savoring every second, he opened the silver clasp over his blue chest, and artificial gargoyle wings lifted. Not like Nathanials but not even Guilty Pleasures could respond accurately to such last-minute customization even if she had described her wishes to Koji in more detail. Niklas turned slightly to give her a good view of the order - he had confidence in himself and in the skill of the people who cared for him. The dark blue tail, attached to his body like the wings by a custom-made harness, moved gracefully through the AI chip in it.
"Acceptable?" he asked, as he always did.
"Acceptable," she returned, and when he heard the mattress and comforter give way beneath her with his keen ears- which could rival those of a gargoyle- he followed those sounds. He waited while he heard clothes rustle as Demona took off her jammies and underwear and tossed them aside. Following, he gingerly stroked his artificial sparkling claws from her leg higher to make out her exact position in the bed before he himself crawled onto the sheet and she saw him above her. And only his blind eyes and the fact that he was a fake himself, where panic and the effort to kill him out of pure instinct would be a bit exaggerated after all, kept Demona from following her natural impulse to fight back against being physically dominated with fangs and claws.
"I've missed you, Miss Destine," he whispered, stroking a claw - really just one! - over the full curve of her breasts.
"I've had a lot of work," she returned just as softly.
"I'm not purple today. Am I playing a different role? "he asked, tweaking one of her already erect nipples. Not hard or rough but firm enough to make Demona instantly wet.
He felt her spread her legs open and responded to that invitation by guiding his hand down without hesitation. It took a lot of practice to be able to use artificial claws without hurting the other person. And it took even more practice but much more professionalism and a certain amount of nasty fetish to do it with a gargoyle. His hands were his eyes. Therefore, of course, he knew what she was (by day and night) and accepted that she was the real deal just as she tolerated that he was NOT the real deal.
Nevertheless, his blindness had made the first contacts of this kind more pleasant for her. It had never bothered her that he did not see her (not with his eyes at least). He did not see Demona, the enemy of humans and gargoyles alike, he did not see Domenika Destine, the cold-hearted businesswoman. He "saw" only someone to whom he could give a few pleasant hours - in whatever way. He was - unobtrusive, uncomplicated and adaptable. He gave her no problems and no grief, did what she wanted until she had no breath left to say WHAT she wanted, and when he let himself be guided only by his instinct, he usually still did the right thing and almost as passionately as a real gargoyle would have done. That was enough for her to forget her disgust. It had to be enough for her. Because she had not been granted more and that for many years.
And for the first time in several years she felt like playing a different program than the usual bestiality-gargoyle fetish game that well-heeled human creeps have been asking for since the two thousands. She stroked Niklas' soft hair while he kissed her flat belly, ignoring her missing belly button, and whispered:
"Just be good to me. Be gentle. I want to feel like I'm good."
"Gladly," he returned, professionally skipping over her strange words as he began to caress her, slowly working his way down. Not rumbling and snarling like usual and his movements not like the ones she had taught him years ago. Among the hundreds of cheap and high-priced whores in the States who played a gargoyle, he was certainly the best (not that native-born humans would appreciate that)-but also the only one who had had a mentor like her. Only once - during his very first visit at her place - her non-humanity had been a topic. When he had hesitated for a second when he had sat at her feet, kissed her lower leg and then hesitated for a second when his fingers had found her heel spur with the claw. And she had already raised her gun and held it close to his forehead to make the evidence of her horniness and her longing to be touched disappear. But only a second had passed. Then he had smiled and covered her foot with tentative kisses, each claw separately. According to her request today, he was very gentle. Not like a beast, not like a conspecific driven by lust for his mate, who has trouble to control himself and wants to penetrate as quickly as possible to transfer his scent to her so that other males should not even think about breeding her. Rather, like a man who wants to give a young girl her first climax without getting anything in return. That was really something else. Maybe later she would instruct Niklas to get rougher. But the first time she wanted it differently.
No questions. No leaks. Just play and no work. She really needed that after the last hour.
So - those were my three chapters on Demona.
I'm probably not exaggerating when I describe her as the most interesting character of the series. She is such a tricky, broken and stubborn character with whom you can do anything, move her in any direction, which is why there are just as many fanfics that treat her as a more or less "good" character as those that take her as a postergirl for "evil". My demona- in 2023 is by and large still wrathful, but mostly tired. Maybe she's slipping back into one of her depressive phases (Kimberly T. did a great job of that in her fanfic when she let Demona drown herself in high-proof alcohol when she realized that there are also good humans in P.I.T. and was so rotten drunk all the time that Mac Beth had to call her to get her shit together, because he was constantly tipsy because of her bond).
MY Demona is just not there - I think she lives her current decades like most of us - work, occasional pleasure but mostly routine. And her "business relationship" with Niklas - well, in a world where EVERYONE knows about the evil Demona and no other gargoyle would touch her with a pair of pliers - what else could she do but look for a human being who would fulfill her needs in the best possible way. Someone without demands, someone who would not blackmail her with anything, someone who would not even LOOK at her as if she were somehow wrong or crazy or pitiful. Only at first glance it is out of character for Demona to look for someone so weak (HUMAN! and even disabled) - because she basically detests everything weak even herself when she is weak. But humans as gargoyles are not perfect - they are sometimes vulnerable - yes, even Demona - and just Niklas` disability gives Demona a security, which she needs so much. She can be "weak" in front of Niklas and still be the stronger one.
Thanks for reading Q.T.