CHAPTER 8

Hazel couldn't get him out of her head, but she couldn't go see him either. Sam and Dean were both hunched over a book from the Men of Letters' library, trying to find a way to remove the key from her. They had been coming up empty. And she was in the proverbial dog house because when they go tback to the bunker they found a broken glass in Crowley's dungeon.

She'd heard Crowley tell them that he'd used telekinesis to fetch the glass of water, but they knew better. He was unable to do anything with the shackles on. The mess of the overturned table and the shattered glass spoke volumes and the two brothers shamed her for falling for Crowley's tricks. They'd told her to never ever go near the storage room again.

And even though she felt they were wrong about Crowley, she couldn't argue with them. They were protecting her after all. She'd tried to explain to them that he hadn't hurt her when he'd had the chance, but they weren't buying it. Their hatred of him was blind. Although, for all she knew it could have been well-deserved. What had he been like before the blood? Like the man who'd walked into her casino. Those encounters had been before Sam had injected him with human blood. Hazel couldn't see much difference between that Crowley and the one sitting down the hall with chains on his wrists.

She spent the last two days reading voraciously, hoping she could find something to remove the key or kill Abbadon or both. It was like searching through a library, unable to locate the specific book you wanted because it was out of order, on a shelf in the wrong section. Dean wasn't much for books and he'd almost given up. There were five empty beer bottles in front of him by noon. Sam was more studious, but still rubbing his eyes in frustration.

"Can I get some fresh air?" she asked.

"No," they both said in unison.

She licked her lips and swallowed. "Maybe I could ask Crowley nicely if he'll remove the key. I really don't think he's as..."

"No," they both said again.

"He didn't..."

"You don't make deals with demons," Dean told her.

"I didn't. I'm just saying that I think he might help."

"He won't." This came from Sam, the more level-headed of the two brothers. "You don't make deals with demons. Trust me. I know from experience."

All three of them jumped when Dean's phone rang. He said a few short words of acknowledgement into the phone and then hung up.

"Who was it?" Sam asked.

"Teddy, an old buddy of Dad's. He's got some trouble in Enid, Oklahoma. Pack of vamps preying on the high school kids."

They both looked at her. Hazel shook her head. "This is actually real life for you guys, isn't it? Like, every day. Demons, vampires, werewolves, ghosts."

"Every damn day," Dean said. "So, we have to go bail a buddy out. And you have to stay away from Crowley. Got it?"

She nodded. "Got it."

"Really, Hazel. You don't know what he is capable of. He's dangerous," Sam said.

"I know," she whispered. "I'll be okay."

She managed to follow them to the door and get a breath of fresh air before they shut it in her face and confined her to her own little prison. It was nearly dinner, so she heated up a can of soup on the stove and ate it quietly at the little table in the kitchen. The sound of the spoon scraping the bowl echoed through the empty bunker.

After dinner she changed into a pair of pajamas-heather gray shorts with a matching T-shirt-and settled into her bed to read a diary written in 1943 by a Catholic priest in Boston who specialized in exorcisms without Church approval. It probably wouldn't help her shed the key, but any knowledge was good knowledge. Except all she could think about was Crowley and how he'd been sitting in that dark room for two days.

The clock ticked and the minute hand moved, then the hour hand moved. It was almost ten o'clock when she sighed and shut the book. Feeling a bit like a criminal, she carefully made her way out to the main room and then down the hallway that led to the dungeon. She flipped on the light in the storage room and then pulled back one of the shelves to slip into the dungeon. She flipped the light switch and illuminated the sparsely furnished room.

He blinked and then smiled at her. The smile was warm and the edges of his eyes crinkled up. "Hello, love."

"Hi," she said softly.

Crowley felt only relief when he heard the door to the storage room open and the sound of her bare feet cross the floor. No heavy footfalls of the Winchesters and their constantly flapping lips that whined and complained and threatened at every turn. Just his sweet Hazel. When she flipped on the light, he immediately noticed her bare legs. She had on a pair of shorts that covered less than half her thighs and a loose T-shirt that only hinted at the gorgeous curve of her breasts beneath.

"You look fetching today," he said, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table.

"Stop it," she told him, pulling the chair closer to the Devil's Trap.

"No Moose and Squirrel today?"

"No, Boris," she said with a smile. He returned her grin, recognizing her reference to the children's cartoon he had pulled the Winchester's nicknames from. Being King of Hell didn't mean one couldn't keep up on pop culture. "They had to leave for a job," she told added, sitting down. He looked at her bare feet on the floor. Her toenails were a bright, fiery red.

"Getting ready for bed or just getting up from bed, my little minx?" he asked her.

"Getting ready for bed."

"Mmm, how I wish I could join you."

"I'm sure it isn't so comfortable in here with just the chair and the table. Is there something I could bring you to help? A cushion or blanket or something?"

"Darling, Moose and Squirrel would not approve. They were very upset about the glass of water," he admonished her.

"I think they are cruel to you."

Her gentle green eyes were deceiving. Yes, she seemed to believe that he was being mistreated in some way, but she also wasn't stupid. Her heart didn't bleed for him, but her sense of fairness was ruffled. "Perhaps I deserve it. I am a demon. I have killed people they called friends. I've even tried to kill them. Though, it never seems to stick."

"Don't you think you can change?"

"What makes you think I want to change?"

"I didn't say you wanted to change. I'm just..." She wrinkled her nose and looked up at the ceiling. "In the Urth of the New Sun Gene Wolfe wrote this beautiful line about finding yourself or shedding the expectations of others." He watched her sigh and look up at the ceiling again. She started quoting it, hesitantly at first. "Imagine a man who stands before a mirror; a stone strikes it and it falls to ruin in an instant. And the man learns that he is himself, and not the mirrored man he believed himself to be."

"I'm not man, darling."

She nodded in agreement. "But you were. A long time ago. And maybe you had a raw deal and maybe you made some bad choices. Or maybe they were the only choices you saw so there wasn't even a decision to be made. I think we all see ourselves through the eyes of others. And that can be a heavy burden."

How old was she? She was a child. Where did this wisdom come from? "And what do others see when they look at you?" he asked, truly curious.

She crossed her legs and absently chewed on her lower lip as she honestly gave his question some thought. "I... I think they see a shy bookworm who doesn't know how to make small talk and seems awkward around people. I think they see a girl who probably will never make much of herself beyond being a good employee and living a quiet life. Someone... forgettable."

"Love..." he said softly. She looked up and met his gaze, her eyes clear and truthful. She'd meant every word she'd said. And what was worse was that she had accepted and made peace with it. "I'm afraid you are very wrong."

She laughed softly. "No, I'm afraid I'm not. You gave me the key because I was innocuous. I blend in and you thought it would take someone a very long time to connect the dots and realize you'd left the key with a boring girl in Albuquerque."

He opened his mouth to dispute her, but in a way she was correct. He had counted on her ability to fade into the background as a protection to the key. But she wasn't completely right. "And yet I noticed you," he said.

"Because you were looking for a place to keep this key of yours."

"I didn't have a need for a hiding place until the night I walked you to your car. Those other times I flirted with you? They were because I wanted to."

She shook her head. "Flattery won't get you out of this room. What do you think people see when they see you?"

He felt those emotions stirring, rising, almost choking him. It had been too many years and he was very much out of practice. "A demon."

"That's a cop out answer," she pointed out quickly.

Crowley leaned back and put his hands behind his head. He saw the way her eyes darted up to trace his arms and down his chest. Yes, little girl, he thought, it's all yours if you want it. Instead of baiting her like that, he said, "A ruthless entrepreneur who rewards those of quick wit and business acumen and wipes the floor with anyone who opposes him. A duplicitous demon who always honors his deals, but makes sure he has a way to benefit from a losing situation."

"Fair enough," she told him. "Gene Wolfe also said that an angel is only a demon that stands between us and our enemy."

He laughed loudly, the sound filling the small stone room. It had been ages since he'd had such an enjoyable conversation. Perhaps part of that was due to these pesky human emotions, but he was sure most of his enjoyment was from the lovely woman who sat there in her little gray shorts and her bright red toes. "Darling, that is more accurate than you know. Ask Moose and Squirrel the next time you see them and they will agree."

"So, you don't want to change. But have you changed?" she asked.

Crowley thought about the question and finally decided to answer honestly. "Yes, I have."

"And have you changed because of the blood or because you want to?"

"Because of the blood."

"But you asked me for my blood. Which means you choose the blood. Which means you want to change." Her face looked so serious. Her eyes were clear and wide and watching him intently. And she had him. He had asked for her blood and the blood did change him, made him less removed from his distant humanity.

"It's a drug," he told her. "I'm looking for my next hit."

"Or you're looking for a way out."

"Out of what, love?"

"Your life as a demon. Don't you miss your humanity?"

He snorted. "No. Why would I? It was just weakness and life within the constraints of a society that shit on me."

"You can be better than where you came from," she said quietly.

"Why should I be better when I can be greater? Have more power? Command more attention?"

"Ahh, attention," she said. "Adoration of your followers? Love?"

He felt like she'd punched him in the gut. "Demons don't need love."

"But do they want love?"

"No," he snapped. "Do you?"

"Do I want to be loved?" she asked, raising her brows.

"Is there anyone else here, darling?"

She smiled. "Of course. Who doesn't?"

"Would you settle for lust?" His smile was a grimace. He was treading on thin ice. Just below the surface was that swirling, rough sea of emotions that threatened to consume him. Longing, desire, need, regret. Love, a foreign thing that had always seemed to elude him in both life and death.

"I don't think lust is for me."

"Why?" he asked, leaning forward.

She shrugged. "I'm not much of a one-night kind of girl. I thought I made that clear when you asked me upstairs."

"Don't you wonder, love? Don't you wonder where that kiss a few days ago could have gone? You on this table? My hands, my mouth all over your body. Parting your legs and sipping from that sweet nectar the flows from your body. Sliding myself deep inside..."

"Hush," she said, cutting him off. "I'm not... That's not me." She was aroused. He could smell it all over her, hear her rapid heartbeat. See the way she licked her lips and the way her eyes dilated when she looked at him.

"It is you. You just like to deny it. Don't you want to be bad just for a little while? I can show you."

"It's... That's empty," she replied. "Besides, it's all make believe. Sex isn't like that."

Crowley grinned. Was she so innocent? "Like what, love?"

"Like the movies. Like in the smutty romance novels." She uncrossed her legs, pressing her thighs together tightly. She was very uncomfortable having this conversation with him and the sadist in him loved it. It was such a welcome distraction from his own crisis of guilt and regret.

"You're not a blushing virgin, are you, Hazel?"

She scoffed. "No. Not that it is any of your business. That's why I know that sex isn't like that, though. Been there, done that."

Crowley licked his lips. "Darling, you've been tricked by a very poorly performing man."

"Four," she snapped. Her cheeks were flaming red now.

"Four?" he asked, feigning shock. "You hussy. But still... four and not one of them got it right?" He clucked his tongue. "Such a pity."

Hazel stood and crossed her arms over her chest. It was a defensive gesture, but all it did was present her breasts on a platter for him to behold. "I'm done with this conversation," she told him. She could poke and prod at his weakness, but she couldn't stand when he found a soft spot on her. Well, not so fast.

"Come here and sit on my lap, darling. We'll keep our clothes on, but I'll still make you come harder than you've ever come in your entire life."

"Absolutely not!"

"What?" he asked. "Afraid I can make good on my promise?"

"Not that kind of girl," she said again.

"That's a flimsy excuse and it won't last you much longer," Crowley warned.

"Besides, you'd probably do it by manipulating my mind with your... demonic powers."

He couldn't help but laugh. Once his chuckles died down, he said, "You have my word that I will not use any supernatural powers on you to make you come. Just my hands and maybe my mouth."

"You said I could keep my clothes on."

Got you, he thought. "I did and you can. Don't you want to find out how I can make good on this astounding claim? Aren't you curious?"

She shook her head. "No. I should go to bed. Goodnight." Hazel quickly turned and walked out the door of the dungeon before he could even formulate a reason why she should stay. Such a slippery little thing she was. He'd thought he'd had her on his hook, but she'd escaped at the last minute.

"Sweet dreams, love. Won't you come visit me tomorrow and we can pick up where we left off?"

She didn't respond. Instead she hit the light and shut the door.

Hazel couldn't fall asleep. Not after speaking with him and listening to him talk about sex and what he'd do to her. He'd been fueling her fantasies for months and now that they were alone and he seemed more than willing to do to her everything she'd imagined, she couldn't hang. She'd practically ran away at the very thought.

Well, he WAS dangerous, after all. He was a demon who could seriously hurt or even kill her if she got too close. Dean and Sam had warned her more than once that he wasn't to be trusted and she should stay far away from him. And she understood why since he was a handful both mentally and physically. The day he had caught her in the trap and pulled her into this body... She'd barely had time to react before she was pinned tight against him.

Hazel flipped over onto her back and sighed. The stupid thing was that she trusted him. She actually believed if she stood there beside him or even sat on his lap that he wouldn't hurt her. He seemed to have this strange affinity for her, even if it was born out of boredom and hope of escape. And he'd been telling her the truth when she asked him questions. Or at least mostly the truth from what she could tell.

As if she wasn't enamored of him enough, getting to know him made it even worse. Sam and Dean would probably tell her that she wasn't getting to know him; that she was getting to know the person he wanted her to see. But, call her stupid, she felt different. She felt like he was being authentic and honest. And that made her find him all the more attractive, even with those flaws.

He was just down the hall. She could walk down there right now. She could leave the lights off and feel her way around the table. She could touch his shoulders and sit down in his lap. And he'd probably guide her, help her find her way to him in the shadows of the room. And she could ask him to make her understand what it was supposed to be like. She'd had sex before and she'd had orgasms before, but it was never anything mind-blowing like he'd offered. Then again, he was probably a typical man who thought he was a gift to womankind when he was really just average. She'd done her share of performance when it came to making a guy feel like he was really satisfying her. Maybe with his position as the King of Hell, all the underlings wanted to make him believe he was the best.

Yeah, that was probably it. He'd been tricked into thinking he was a sex god when really it had just been the fantastic performances of fake orgasms from those who shared his bed. Orgasms were easy to fake. Just a little heavy breathing and a little moaning with your eyes shut. Easy.

There was just something about the way he looked at her, though. All the cockiness and bravado. He looked like he could walk the walk, not just talk the talk. And the way he talked... The way he described what he would do to her body... It sounded like he would relish it...savor her. Damn.

Hazel slipped a hand beneath the waistband of her shorts and panties to brush against the damp hair on her mound. He'd done that to her. She hadn't been thinking of sex at all until she went into his room and he'd talked about sitting her on the table in front of him and licking between her legs or touching her as she sat on his lap with his erection probably pressing up against her ass.

Speaking of which... Three inches. He'd sold his soul for three inches more on his penis. Really? How big was he then? Eight, nine? Ten? She dipped her middle finger between the lips of her sex and dragged the wetness up to where her clit was nestled between the folds. She shouldn't be doing this, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Thinking of him was driving her crazy and she couldn't go down there tomorrow feeling like this or she'd do something she'd regret.