Lowen's mood darkened further when she realized that even the sizzling of grease and butter in the skillet caused the throbbing in her skull to flair up worse than it already was. Even the smell of bacon, which she usually loved, was threatening to overpower her senses. She clenched her teeth (but not too hard because of her headache) and did her best to contain the low growl in her throat that she didn't previously realize she was making until she caught Azazel look up from his book out of the tail of her vision. She quickly averted her eyes back to her task and tried in vain to soften her expression which she knew looked like that of an angry pig. No biggie, she thought. At least I'm in possession of food, now, regardless of whether or not I got it from him. She continued to grip the handle and shot her crimson companion a withering glare, hoping that he would see it. He didn't.

As luck would have it, they had teleported back to the abandoned motel, but this time, inside. As luck wouldn't have it, he was still there, and it didn't seem he would be leaving anytime soon. Water was whipping against the window and the wind was baying like an angered wolf, bending the trees and sending the rain splashing sideways, causing Lowen's fleeting plans of escape to take yet another walk around her mind until she squelched the idea altogether and brought her mind back to the sizzling strips of meat in the pan before her. It couldn't hurt to stay for just one night, right? She was super tired and hungry and bruised, after all. Just some food, shelter, and sleep and in the morning she would be-

"I will cook," came the smooth tone from the chair. The headache barked back into her skull once more.

"Quiet, you," she snarled. If she exerted any more pressure on the handle she assumed it would probably dent into the mold of her hand. Springs squeaked quietly and she spun on her heel to face him, but she noted that it's very hard to be intimidating when your face barely reaches chin-level. Looking up at her loathed adversary, she couldn't help but quiver only slightly under the steady gaze of those icy, luminescent eyes. Her throat constricted involuntarily as she stood firm and frowned up at him, but couldn't help but feel like a kitten trying to intimidate a bear. She parted her lips only for a second, but he spoke before she could get a word in edgewise.

"I will change the bandages on your wings." A statement. A command not to be challenged. Red hands reached out to either side of her, but she quickly stuck her arms out, her palms planted on his chest, a gesture that caused him to step backwards as well as raise his dark eyebrows.

"You-!" Lowen sputtered, the calm, composed speech in her mind slowly slipping away to be replaced with growing outrage. "Haven't you done enough? This blood didn't come from some random act of God! No, no, it was from YOU! And if you think for a second that you'll-"

"If it were random, would it be an act of God?"

All the words died in her throat and caused a sour aftertaste. She stared up at him for what felt like a very long time, her eyes wide and her expression blank. Where the hell had that come from?

"Azazel…" She had meant to sound threatening, but why had she ended up croaking it? Up until now, she had avoided saying or even thinking his real name. He was kept as "demon" or "demon-man" or even "sadistic mutant bastard" in her mind. Why was one little name so hard to say? Azazel. Crimson-skinned, dark-haired, masculine Azazel. She cleared her throat and averted her eyes. Her intimidation technique was obviously not working.

Before she could have a chance to recollect her scattered thoughts, a red, forked tail darted out and encircled her ribs like a striking snake. On impulse, she jerked her body into a backwards lean, eyes as wide as the forgotten skillet.

The headache broke out of her skull and erupted into her desperately suppressed mutation. She felt deathly feverish poppies bloom in the forefront of the deepest inside of her consciousness, their color and magnitude crushing her down and the scent overwhelming and choking her as it forced itself down into her lungs; A rush of ocean, the weight of heavy, unforgiving water and crushing cold invading her nostrils and stinging, burning her eyes and throat; Then, the blackness of open space took over, the bright flashes of light boring right through her eye sockets and out of the back of her spinning head. She had no control over any musing or thought; no comprehension of her own body. She could only remember his name as the heavy sound of steadily growing static gnawed at her mind.

Azazel. Azazel. Azazel.

Her fragile mind screamed it out like a mantra of salvation. What was going on? Her power was betraying her, spiraling manically out of control for some crazy reason. Could it be… could it be him…?

A low echo buzzed through the madness. Every fiber of her being reached out to the faint sound, hoping for escape. She strained to hear. Someone was calling her name.

"Lowen. Lowen. Are you alright?"

She bolted upright, throwing her body forward wildly in a reaction of sudden control. Thick arms caught underneath her arms as her face slammed into a wall of chest, causing sparks of pain to shoot through her nose as contact was made. Her knees on rough carpet, her arms wrapped tightly around a body, and her face held against safety, it was suddenly quiet; the sizzling of bacon, raindrops against the windowpane, and Lowen's own shuddering breath were the only quiet sounds that rippled through the silence. She closed her eyes slowly, realizing that she was back from her awful trip her mind forced her into. If she hadn't been so exhausted, the air, floor, and humble calm would have been screamed a hymn of praise. She had been trapped forever, yet she had only been gone for mere seconds. The lingering panic began to die down as she sat, inhaled and exhaled her breath slowly and simply absorbed the blessed peace…

…Before she became hyperaware of who that other body she was still clinging to was. Cue the panic again.

Her arms sprung away like a stretched Slinky, and her butt met carpet in place of her feet, which had leapt midway into the air before her eyes fixed on Him. Azazel.

"I… I… oh… it… I…"

D'aw, fuck. That was what she really had wanted to say in place of her stutters. Her adversary's red hand rose to cover his forehead and shield his eyes as he… laughed? Well, technically, it was a chuckle, but all the same, Lowen was struck dumb, but before she could gather up her words (and, boy, what words they were!), he put out one hand to stop her.

"I am not mocking you, on-ghel," his voice and facial expression slowly reverting back to the typical somber mask. "Please, just rest for now. I will take over cooking." His command was met only with a defeated sigh, followed by weary "Don't burn the bacon," as he turned his back to her to attend to the stove. Normally, there would be at least one "motherfuckin'" in there and would be ended with "you bastard," but, for once, Lowen didn't become angry, only because all energy had left her. The silence stretched between them. Lowen watched the black-suited back of Azazel and followed the swishing of his long tail with her eyes as it hovered inches from the floor.

"What is 'on-ghel'?" she spoke up. His back still turned, Azazel looked to his left, but didn't fully turn his head or body to make eye contact.

"It means 'angel' in my language of Russia. But I now know you are not one of them." Lowen was superficially inclined to be offended, but she knew that it wasn't meant to be an insult. Even so, she couldn't help but be curious about this whole wild and confusing situation and decided it was time for answers, the civil, old-fashioned way: talking.

"Angels aren't really real," she pointed out.

"No?" he turned his neck to glance over his shoulder at her. "And by looking at me, you can say that there are no such things as demons?" Lowen paused to mull over the answer to his question and left Azazel to the cooking once more. Of course, he wasn't technically a demon, and there probably was someone somewhere with big, white, feathery wings who could be called an "angel", even though it was just their mutation, but they would be called an "angel" either way.

"Okay, fair enough." Her long unused conversational manners and civility were coming back, though they still felt foreign and awkward on her tongue. "I'm actually a gryphon, though, so you were right about me not being an angel."

"Gryphon? A half-eagle, half-lion beast?" Sometime in his tone tipped off his interest. Lowen resisted the urge to smirk and continued.

"Well, less like a beast, and more like a muse, I'd like to think." She paused a moment, and when Azazel did not look back at her and remained silent, she continued. "Like in 'Alice in Wonderland'."

"That is a children's book," was his blunt retort.

"Well, not really. A lot of people read it, not just kids. Anyhow, there's a gryphon in there, and he's not a monster; in fact, he actually takes Alice away from the Red Queen and listens to stories with her." She paused on a whimsy for a moment. "You know, I think the gryphon felt bad for Alice… maybe he was trying to calm her down or make her feel more and at home and comfortable or something. I guess maybe he…" another pause. "…sympathized with how she felt."

A plate clacked onto the table in front of her, bringing her out of her momentary haze and into the vision of the blue-eyed man, both still, eyes locked. Uneasiness jolted over Lowen.

"What?" she asked in yet another failed attempt to sound confident and sure. Azazel seemed to squint, though it was barely noticeable and finally nodded his head forward.

"May I re-bandage your wings?"

There. A question; a request. You could have blown her over with a sigh. For a full second she had no reply, but finally nodded her head and tried to get her eyebrows to go back to their normal position. Warm hands wisped gently around her stained feathers. She quickly looked to her plate as she felt herself getting flustered at the contact, and for the first time, she realized what it was she was eating.

An array of crispy bacon, some type of thick meat, green grape, and eggs were arranged nicely on her dish when her mind registered a much-needed subject change.

"Devil eggs. How appropriate," she grinned for what seemed like the first time since the two had been in each others presence.

"I knew it would not be wasted on you," his musing floated over her shoulder.

"Oh, so you know me now?" Was she teasing?

"Nee-yet," he rumbled softly, as Lowen leaned forward to scarf more of her meal. "I can hardly say I have idea of who you are. Your mutation," he inquired, "Is it all looks? Or is there…" he paused for a quick moment. "…more of what you are capable?" Lowen chewed thoughtfully, once again trying to block out his touch as she felt his fingertips slide rough fabric off her delicate feathers.

"Well," she began slowly. "There seems to be a problem with my powers right now." She frowned at her plate as if it was the item that caused it. "Along with the appearance of my ears, tail, and wings, I also have the ability to tune into people's feelings. But, um, for some reason, it's been kind of haywire lately."

"Haywire?"

"Oh, uh, you know, acting weird, kind of 'out of control'?" She felt his strong hands go still.

"I… I've been suppressing for about two days now. It's just… headaches and weird episodes. I, I think it'll go away soon." Those hands still hovered on her wings, rigid and unmoving. Not knowing what else to do, she managed to awkwardly take another bite of her eggs.

How bad could this get? She wondered meekly.

xXxXxXxXx

HELLO. Long story short: housemates made life hell, I lived off relish, ice, and old carrots for a week and a half (they padlocked on the refrigerator when we told them that we were planning on moving), my husband and I packed and left the state in a tiny car, broke down with all our worldly possessions (and our 3 month old baby), finally got to our northern destination, got loved up on, and are happy. And we're buying a house here! I've never had my own place! So it's getting better. My little family is happy that we're finally out of that sadistic little hole. Still, I probably can't even express how sorry I am for making people wait this long for the story!

~Anyhow, about the story, it keeps getting off track from what I wanted it to sound like in my head. It sounds a bit more awkward than how I intended it to be. Well, I guess it is after a dry spell, so it's nice to try to get back on track with it. Does it sound awkward and/or forced..? I know the "they stayed together at a motel/hotel" is a LOT cliché, I only realized that after I had written it in, and I'm not up for changing it after how long I worked out this chapter. I'm sorry! Also, sorry for kind of cutting it off at the end, but, trust me, I have twists and turns and fun things planned, so please stay tuned! Keep the favorites and alerts coming! It makes me pretty happy. Don't forget to review, if you can.