Here is chapter 7

hope you like it!

For what seemed like hours they sat opposite each other, not saying a word. Every now and then one of them would open their mouth to speak but never did.

Finally, after the long drawn out silence, she finally said, "My name is Emelina, what's yours?" She felt silly, like it was her first day of school and she was trying to make new friends. He thought about it for a second 'Who am I? What should I tell her? I can't tell her I'm Jonathon Christopher Morgenstern, word might get out... that's it!'

His lips curved at the edge, "Christopher Fairchild."

Curiosity twinkled in her eyes, "Fairchild? That sounds like something out of a fantasy book, like the name of a pixie or werewolf."

He chuckled under his breath and smiled at the irony, "No, no. Just a name – it's a family name, actually."

Emelina blushed at his smile, though he could hardly see it under the bruises.

He focused his gaze on the bruises on her cheek, and any joy that was in his eyes was gone, replaced with a dark oddity. "Who beat you?" He demanded softly, desperate to know yet cautious of how to approach her.

She looked down at her hands, trying to avoid his eyes - and the question. When she looked back up at him, she pushed out her chin. "Who whipped you?" She retorted in the same manner as he had.

"How do you know they're whip marks?"

Joshua's face flashed across her mind, and, once again avoiding his eyes she looked to the side, "I've seen and experienced my far share of beating to know the difference between hits, beltings and whippings." She slowly pulled the side of her shirt up, revealing long, almost-healed gashes that covered her side.

He'd seen them before when he cleaned her wounds, but he hadn't realised there were so many. He mentally started counting them, 'one... two... three... four... five... six... seven...' A sudden urge to hurt... no… kill the person who did this to her rose inside him. He managed to suppress it before she noticed however.

"You still haven't answered my question." She said as she gently pulled her shirt back down.

He bit down on his lower lip, contemplating whether he should tell her or not. But as soon as he met her gaze he was filled with a feeling he never felt for anyone before... trust.

He swallowed. "My Father,"

He was stunned when she didn't look shocked or surprised that his father had done this to him.

she calmly and softly asked, "Why?"

He couldn't tell her that he had demon blood in him, for one she's a mundane and two she'll freak or worse tell someone, so he lied, even though it made his stomach turn lying to her, he continued, "He blames me for my mother's suicide." That wasn't a total lie.

This time he saw something flash across her face, like she was remembering a similar tragic experience. They sat for a moment staring into each other's empty eyes, both trying to peel back the layers of defence the other one was and had been holding up their entire life.

Jonathon broke the silence, "You still haven't answered my question... Who beat you?"

She hesitated for a moment; her eyes fluttered fighting back tears, "My father."

It made sense now that she wasn't shocked when he told her his father whipped him; she knew how a father can treat their own flesh and blood, no matter what.

"Why?" still staring into her empty eyes.

A flicker of anger sparked in her eyes, "Because he's the devil!"

Jonathon was taken aback by this; his heart beat quickened at the thought. 'Her father was Lucifer?! He can't be!' Then he remembered a book he read when he was 11 called 'Mundane metaphors', and his heart steadied again.

The sparks of anger in her eyes were replaced with curiosity as she recalled Christopher's accent, "Where are you from?"

He didn't quite understand the question, "What do you mean?"

His accent made her ears tingle, "Your accent; you're not from here, are you?"

Where was he from? He couldn't tell her Idris and his accent isn't strong enough to say England, so he decided to the mysterious guy. The edge of his lip curved into a small smirk, and replied simply with, "Around."

She tilted her head a little as she looked over him with her eyes, looking for something that pops out about him, aside from his muscles. Jonathon looked around the empty room, looking for something that might tell him about her, anything; a book or a photo. As her eyes noticed the stele poking out of his pocket, he noticed the sun was rising.

'I have to go!'

He stood up, still looking at the sky through the cracks.

Her eyes flicked away from the stele and landed on his face, concern and confusion spread through her. She joined him on her feet; slowly, on account of her injuries, and asked, "What's wrong?"

He looked down to see her concerned beautiful blues looking up at him, with her tousled golden hair resting on her shoulders, her lower lip pouted from the beating. He kept glancing between her eyes and lower lip; the temptation to kiss her was unbearable. Most people would only see the cuts and bruises, but for some strange reason all he could see was the hidden beauty beneath them.

As he stared into her eyes, everything melted away for a second. But he was brought abruptly back to reality by her voice, saying, "Christopher? What's wrong?"

"I have to go."

As he headed to door he felt a soft tough on his arms, her turned to see her hurt and confusion, "Why?"

"I have to get home... but... but I'll be back as soon as possible." With that he bolted out the door.

He really didn't think about anything as he sprinted back to the anchorage, jumping the fence with ease. He slowed to a jog as he crossed the field to the apartment. He entered the apartment; his heart pounding so hard it forced him to his knees and clawed at his chest. He couldn't breathe. His legs gave in and collapsed onto the floor, suffocating. As everything started to blur, his father stepped into the room, clutching a contraption that was producing a black mist.

"Ah, good, it works!" Valentine announced in a joyful tone.

He then pressed the small circular button on the side. Everything started to fade back to normal again, slowly he could breathe again. He slowly brought himself to his knees.

As he gasped taking in as much oxygen as possible each time, "What... was that?!"

Valentine grinned wickedly, "Do you like it? I bought it today, it's a Defuser. I thought I'd see if it worked with demon metal dust!"

Jonathon gasped again, rage in his voice, "What the Hell! I haven't done anything wrong!"

Valentine narrowed and hardened his eyes on Jonathon's, "You don't have to do anything wrong; you are wrong! You're an abomination! A disgrace! Remember? You need to always remember what you are! A filthy disgrace! "

Jonathon watched as Valentine walked out on the room, and just before he exited he placed the defuser on a nearby ledge and calmly requested, "Enjoy!"

Jonathon's eyes widened in horror as Valentine pressed the button on the side. 'No!' he screamed in hopeless desperation, knowing it wouldn't phase him but unable to stop the pleas of mercy that ripped from him.

Valentine's wicked grin returned as Jonathon collapsed to the ground once again. He heaved and clawed at his chest as it contracted. Everything started to blur again and then slowly faded away into a black abyss. The last thing that flashed across his mind was Emelina's face of sorrow. But that was quickly dissolved into his father's wicked grin as he was swallowed by the darkness.

did you like it? Please review.

Chapter 8 will be put in the next 5 days.