Red Nightmares at Midnight

As exhausted and inebriated as he still was, Dante drifted into sleep quickly. Hot natured, he always kicked off cover about an hour into slumber and tonight wasn’t any exception. But his arm remained slung around Douglass’s hip, cheek still pillowed on her head. His sleep, for once, thank God, was restful and deep, unusually quiet. Six hours later, sometime around eight am, Lucille quietly spoke in the cool darkness. “Dante, I regret waking you, but Captain Harris is on the phone, needing to speak urgently with you.” He caught about three words of that; Harris, phone, urgent. And squenched his eyes tighter. No, just let me sleep, he devoutly wished, heaving a heavy sigh and, disentangling arms and legs, rolled over to his stomach, burying his head under the satin pillows. A morning person he was not.



Douglass : Every little twitch stirred her from slumber; when he kicked away the blankets, she almost went into panic upon waking. At first the rooms carefully kept chill sought her back; causing gooseflesh to erupt along her rear and shoulders; but Dante's warmth encompassed her; fighting away the chill of the night; gently easing her back into the Sandman's embrace. Hours later; as Lucille's mechanical words gently coaxed her companion to wakefulness; eyelashes batted against the pulse of his neck; Go to hell Harris. She almost laughed, picturing the man the way she'd last seen him; a warm puddle spreading over his pressed trousers; leave her mark she did. As he pulled away from her, her body bunched slightly; pulling warmth to her center. "Tell him to piss off." She couldn't hold the words back; grogginess and chill wouldn't let her.



Dante assented to her mumble, truthfully took the words right out of his mouth. But Lucille answered anyway. “He reports of a mass slaughter downtown in a dockside warehouse.” Dante lifted his head and blinked. “And I suppose I’m to run in and count the bodies, hm?” A snort. “Tell him I’ll run by the morgue later. It’s damned early, Lucille!” Lucille clicked reprovingly, but her voice faded. Dante muttered curses and returned to his burrow, eyes closing once more.



Douglass : Sighing discontentedly she blinked at him slowly; Jesus, why couldn't Harris just grow a backbone and take care of things on his own? Fingers reached for him, sensitive tips gently caressing the base of his neck, then drug down the center of his spine. "Guess it's time for work, no?" Pushing herself up to her knees, she quirked her head to one side; an audible pop erupting as pinched nerves found relief. The room still smelt of sweat and sex; a pungent odor so well defined.



A slow moan left his lips to the fingers working the knots in his neck, back arching slightly as they slid down his spine. Exhaling breath on a slow sigh, he pushed off the pillows and blinked blearily over at her, a sleepy grin curving his lips. “Yeah, but damned if I get up before noon. The rat-bastard can just wait. Not like there’s anything I can do about it now,” he finished with a snort. But his eyes twinkled a bit as he asked, “Sleep good? Or did you freeze?”



Douglass : "I was fine until you moved," she answered honestly. Shrugging slightly as she smiled at him; "I'll take care of it, go ahead and sleep; besides I have some errands I need to take care of anyways. Fingers passed once through tussled platinum locks as she bent down and kissed the top of his head before slipping from the bed, fetching the blanket she'd brought with her those few hours before.



Nodding groggily, Dante thumped his head back to the mattress and closed blue eyes, murring quietly as she slipped from the bed. He felt as if he could sleep for the rest of the week and not be bothered with the first little inane thing. Such a nice feeling, but he seriously doubted he’d ever get the chance.



Douglass : Skirting off to her room, she went straight into the bathroom; taking care of necessities before turning on the water. Warmer than usual; she slipped in; washing away lingering soil and smells. Ten minutes or so and she was out; drying and getting dressed in casual clothes; dull-green cargo pants over black boots and a charcoal colored t-shirt. The shirt clung and stretched over her bust, and loosened slightly as it hung over her mid section. Quickly pulling damp locks into a ponytail she slipped a gun into the back of her pants, the comforting familiarity dearly missed by her flesh. Hoisting a tan colored jacket over her shoulders, she slipped a pair of sunglasses into the pocket, they clinked as they met the metal of yet another hand gun; grinning slightly she grabbed the keys to the Durango off her dresser before moving into the kitchen. Her stomach growled at her; she'd neglected it nearly all day yesterday, and then all night; burning countless calories during the evening happenings. Quickly snarfing down half a turkey sandwich, she grabbed a handful of carrot sticks and a bottle of water for the road. In not time at all she was crossing the police tape into the warehouse; several people yelling at her and cursing her for disobeying them. Features were set, stern and cold as stone as she walked in; quickly taking in the body count; well what was left of the bodies; fifteen all together; Jesus. She was standing above the mangled corpse of a woman when Harris approached her, "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing here?" Tongue clicked as she turned her face to him, eyes shielded by the shades; more importantly the still slightly swollen and discolored left. "Seems like I'm investigating." "Where's Dante?" my wasn't he demanding? A strong grip took hold of the front of his shirt, jerking him slightly as she bent close, her breath rippling on his cheek; "Does it matter? Cut him some fucking slack." Shoving him away, she turned to stand off as he stumbled a bit. Two officers were quickly trotting to their captains rescue; "Back off!" he ordered, loathing eyes fixating on her face. "I sure hope he doesn't plan on getting paid for this." She snorted at him, "He doesn't; but I do. If the money isn't in the appropriate account… well let’s just say I hope you've had all the kids you could want." Grinning at him wickedly the consternation on his face pulling the smirk wider; an exasperated cry left his mouth as he turned away; swearing as he stomped off to cool down a bit; "Was nice to see you again too." She called after him; antagonizing him further. Less than an hour she spent studying the body; concluding that there would have had to be at least four individual demons participating in this slaughter. Shit; no clue pointing to just where they may have come from. As she strode to leave, Harris hollered at her, he hadn't let her leave his sights since she'd gotten there. "What you're just gonna walk off?!" Stopping, annoyed she turned her head slightly; "Nothing I can do about it till dark; you know that. Keep your pants dry." She smirked as she left; the sounds of him swearing drifting to her ears as she walked the two blocks to where she'd parked her SUV.



Dante didn’t stir as she left, having slipped back into slumber once more. But finally, after about two hours worth of light snoozing, he stretched and rose, meandering to the bathroom for a long hot shower. Worked worlds for his sleepiness and post coital hangover. Lucille chirped and admonished him as he strolled to the kitchen afterwards. “Douglass went out alone, Dante, presumably to take care of Harris.” He shrugged. “She’s a big girl, Lucille. She doesn’t need me to hold her hand every damned day, shit.” Lucille clicked. “Perhaps not, but you are responsible for her welfare, are you not?” Dante thumped down the milk carton and leveled a scathing glare at the monitor in the ceiling corner. “Get one thing straight, Lucille. I owe Douglass nothing, you understand? She owes me nothing. If you continue to meddle, you’ll piss me off and we both know how that’ll end, savvy?” Lucille, her scanners indicating Dante’s temperature was rising, wisely backed off and spoke quietly. “As you wish, Dante. I shall refrain from ‘meddling’, as you call it.” Eyes flared under lowered brows. “Good.” That done, he took his munchies to his study, Lucille obeying his every whim with alacrity, no words offered.



Douglass : Twenty minutes latter she was guiding the Durango through the familiar streets of the slump around The Clinic. Memories of the years there flooded back; good times and bad. Sighing contentedly she pulled to the curb just in front of the main entrance just as a young mother and daughter exited the building. Douglass examined them for a long moment; both smiling. The daughter was young, couldn't be more than eight; childish innocence played upon her youthful face; the mother held the demeanor of a protective one; shielding her young from the dangers abounding around them. Nodding lightly as a petite smile pulled at the corner of her mouth; it was good to know that the building was serving a righteous purpose here; providing free medical care to unfortunate families. Long strides carried her up the stairs, the movements second nature as she flung the door open and passed inside; stopped just inside the door. People littered the now converted waiting room; children's faces lifting to look at the woman who'd just entered. Eyes blinked in amazement behind dark shades; holy crap. The receptionist behind the desk recognized her immediately; joy overcoming her plump features. A haughty nurse referred to as Windy in latter days nearly bobbed as she awaited the attention of the tattooed woman. Douglass's eyes finally settled upon her chubby smile; and a smile of her own passed full lips as she crossed the room to where the woman sat, seemingly ready to explode. "Hello Windy," her only greeting. The woman erupted immediately "Douglass, ma'am, Dr. Weston needs to speak with you ASAP. He's been trying to reach you for a few days now, something urgent has come up." Surprisingly, the woman chattered this all off with a smile on her face and glee in her voice; wow what a personality, no wonder Douglass had always liked her. "Where can I find the good doctor?" "He's with a patient right now; but I'll page him to your office, he'll be done soon." Douglass nodded, disappearing behind the swiveling door just off to the left of the reception desk. Each door along the long trek harbored another patient, a dozen all together; the only rooms attainable until she opened up the other floors again. Slipping into the main office of the primary floor, she settled into a cushioned chair; they were nothing like the furnishings she'd been living with for the past half year. Not more than five minutes after the page rang through the halls did the skinny doctor burst through the door. "I was starting to think you'd died too. Not even so much as a telegram…" A cold glare from hard hazel eyes stopped his playful teasing as sunglasses slipped from her face. "What's so important?" "Jesus, what happened to you're eye?" "Nothing; what's so fucking important?" Same old Douglass, why expect a change in her? He plopped down into a chair across from her, pulling a file out from under some medical papers. "We've had over two dozen calls in the last week; someone looking for ATT." She'd been looking at the file as he spoke, but eyes flashed up to his face as he mentioned the former organization. "Why?" "Apparently you're needed; our systems traced the number, it's from overseas." "Did you speak to them?" "Yeah, once. They wouldn't give up the details unless they heard from the boss; so I've been trying to call you. Had two of left three dozen messages for you." "Give me the number; what's the contacts name?" "That's the kicker, it's Pedro." Her eyes got a bit wide, "No fucking way." "Way. He's being very persistent. Insisting that this is something only ATT can handle." "Shit," she was defeated; how could she refuse? "Give me the number." He handed it over, the call was short; only settling a rendezvous. As she placed the receiver back in it's cradle; it felt as though the weight of the world was conjoining upon her shoulders. "I've got to go," "Yeah, we figured as much. Should we expect to see you soon?" She shook her head, "Not likely, keep doing what you are. I'll be back when I can." As she left the building, her face was dark and brooding; mind swimming over what lay ahead of her. There were demons here that needed attending; but there were demons abroad that were too deeply rooted into her to deny. She sped the whole way home; scarcely slowing down for stop signs, and running several red lights; not the smartest move in the middle of the day; but so long as there wasn't a cop around, who was going to second guess her? What in the hell was she going to tell Dante? The thought crossed her mind as she pulled onto the lift, she didn't have time to come up with a clever way; better to just lay it all out. "Hurry up Lucy, I'm in a rush." "What's the matter Douglass?" "I can't talk about that now, just hurry OK." The machine abided, anticipating her moves and quickly guiding her down into the belly of home. "Dante," she called as the elevator halted, not stopping to find him she went straight to her room; snatching a duffle bag from under the bed and immediately tossing a few changes of clothes into it as well as a second pair of boots and a few choice weapons.



He heard the whine of the gears and deduced Douglass’d returned. But she left the lift yelling his name and a brow quirked as he replaced the old file into his desk cabinet. Watching as she veritably flew past his room as if Makkind Devils were on her heels, a puzzled frown creased his brow and he left the study, calling, “What?” after her. But she didn’t stop, so he went down the hall to her open bedroom door and leaned inside, watching with a bit of puzzlement at all the packing going on. “What in hell?” he asked. “Fleeing Poland?”



Douglass : "Rome; actually." Eyes flicked up to him as hands moved, folding shirts and bottoms and stuffing them deep into the recesses of her bag. Two uniforms sprawled across the bed next to the bag, and the long; bluish vial that had sat undisturbed under the bed for half a year now glinted in the lights of the room. Sighing heavily, she turned to her work at hand, "There is a flight leaving in an hour and a half from LAX; I have to go, Dante, the ATT is needed abroad."



He blinked, then said slowly, “Correct me if I’m wrong…but you’re the only member of that organization, and you’re ready to go haring off across the world by yourself.” Sucking on his lower lip, he shrugged. “All righty then.” There wasn’t really anything else he could say; he knew from experience how stubborn the woman was, besides it was her God-given duty, seemed like. And he had his own to attend to.



Douglass : "There are two tickets reserved," she didn't look up as the last of the casual garbs were stuck into the bag, hand immediately moving to the uniforms, folding them as small as possible to make room for a few other necessities.



He lifted eyes to the ceiling and then looked back at her. “Douglass, I’ve got a job to do right here. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the kind of operative that’s beneficial to your organization. I don’t follow orders well.” Making excuses wasn’t his forte, but he didn’t feel right in just haring off on a jaunt to Italy. He’d always been the one calling the shots, taking the backseat and just being the damned ‘muscle’ just didn’t sit well with his temper.



Douglass : "I'm not asking you to go with me; just stating the facts." Truth was she wanted him to come along; to have someone there with her, but it was his choice; fact was he did have a job to do here. Darting into the bathroom, she pulled a hairbrush and a few ties from the vanity top and deposited them into the bag, sliding the zipper shut soon afterwards. Dropping to one knee she fished a smaller bag from under the bed, carefully placing the blue cylinder inside. Dropping in a single change of clothes as well she closed that zipper too; ready to depart. Turning around to face him, hazel eyes locked onto his deep cerulean visuals; her gaze was dark and foreboding, laced well with the intent that the near future would involve.



Well, there was a moment of refreshing honestly. And there was nothing more sullen than a male’s pricked pride. Stating facts, was she? “Fine,” he growled back, pushing off the door jamb. Hard eyes bore back for a minute, before he turned and walked stiffly to his room, planning to dress and get his lazy ass over to placate Harris, actually earn his money for once. He didn’t even lace the air with annoyed curses, a relative first for him. Just strode to the closet and retrieved red leather and black boots, changing quickly.



Douglass : She'd carried the bags to the lift, dropping them outside the opening; quickly she went to his room, time was running short. "Dante?" she inquired at his door, not daring to pass the threshold without his permission.



After black silk shirt and pants graced his long lithe form, Dante hauled on his boots, snapping buckles and zipping zippers. Shrugging on the red leather jacket, tails flowing damn near his heels, he zipped the vest and was just pulling on his gloves as Douglass appeared in the doorway. “Yeah?” he asked, not turning around, merely retrieving guns and belt from the dresser and strapping them to his hips, fingers quickly and expertly buckling the buckles and making sure they rested comfortably.



Douglass : He answered; he didn't tell her to just go, to leave and not look back. She dared to step forward, legs crossing the distance between in a few slow strides. A single hand reached forward, fingers touching the leather of his coat lightly; shaking. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out; she wasn't afraid of the job, she wasn't afraid of being alone, she was afraid that she might not come back; that possibility always lingered at the back of her mind. Could this be the last time they were together; could this be it? She was sure of her capabilities, confident in her success; but an accident long ago left a lasting reminder that things went wrong; that not everyone made it back.



Fingers caressed the sibilant red leather and he turned, looking down at her. She was trembling lightly; a brow lifted in silent question. “What, Douglass?” he asked again. Better hurry, he thought sourly, both our damned jobs are a-waiting.



Douglass : She peered up into his eyes as he turned around, her lips moved again but nothing came out. Words had never been her ally, not in any language. She took a single step forward, filling the gap that separated them; the trembling hand that had touched his jacket, came to rest upon his chest as she shifted to her tip-toes; neck strained upward as eyes closed slowly; so scarcely did her lips press to his. As she eased down, back to a normal standing position eyes opened again slowly; "Take care of yourself."



It surprised him more than anything, the soft press of lips to his, when before she’d disdained his kisses. But he blinked and just stood there, a bit of confusion writ upon his features, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. But to her statement he nodded, returning the sentiment. “Do the same.” Stepping away, he retrieved the Alastor from the wall and set her on his back. Taking shades from the dresser, he hooked the glasses in his jacket and strode past her, ready to go to work.



Douglass : "The seat was meant for Conroy, Dante. That's partly why I can't ask you to go with me." She turned around to watch his back as he strode away, "If you chose to come, and to aid, you'd have to kill humans; and I can't ask you to do that." Eyes moved to the crumpled sheets, still soiled by their sweat and lust. She'd refused his kiss, and on good grounds; to kiss was a devotion, a devotion she now understood to be forming; be it one sided or not. She'd refused to accept a false kiss of lust; instead offering a kiss of promise; a promise to return if God willed it.



The words halted him at the bedroom door, he looking back over his shoulder. “I don’t murder, Douglass. Humans do that well enough without my help. And you didn’t ask, so it’s moot anyway.” Looking back down the hall, he said, “Just watch yourself,” and strode on to the lift, Lucille clanging open the doors without any instruction from her master. He understood, he did, but it still didn’t keep the nails from grating along his spine. Damnable male pride and all that went with it. In demonic proportions, at that.



Douglass : The job had gone off without a hitch; adding a rather tantalizing sum to one of the numerous Swiss accounts she controlled. For five days now she'd been gone; all the while mind bouncing back and forth between her old life and her new. The day of her flight she rose early for a short reprieve; a golden day played out with lazing in Italian café's and strolling the central shopping. She didn't care much for outings of the like; but with her flight leaving at eight that very evening; she didn't really have much else to do. While out, she'd come across some of the fine Italian sheets that donned Dante's bed; and she couldn't help but smirk. Jesus fucking Christ Dee; you're turning into a sappy mush bag; but the truth was, she missed him; hell she even missed Lucille. Purchasing not one; but two sets of the sheets as peace offerings for when she got home; she'd lounged in a quaint little park. The sun felt heavenly upon her faded flesh; so long now she'd lived in the cover of night, rising seldom before dusk as was Dante's way; but her fair skin sang in glorious thankfulness at receiving the sun’s golden touch. Hours later she found herself seated in a hard; plastic chair in the airport terminal; waiting with impatience for her flight. The airport was overly busy; hundreds, if not thousands of people passed in and out; got on and off flights and rummaged through the seemingly too narrow corridors. Every sense of her body was peaked; she hated people; especially when in crowds. Fingers twitted nervously in her lap as eyes moved about; concealed under dark shades. Something wasn't right; she could feel it, deep in the back of her mind visions of demonically rent bodies lay clustered all over the airport terminal. That's what she was going back to; the hunt. A particular gentlemen caught her attention, a short stout fellow with thick, dark hair on his arms and chest; but scarce any upon his head. Brows furrowed as she watched him, had she imagined it? As he skitted about in his blue janitors uniform there was a way about him that seemed off. He led, not with his eyes, but with his nose; and every so often the slightest of jerks tinged at his muscles; 'They handled the cases abroad,' Dante's words entered her mind. Yeah, there was no doubting it; not any more, this guy was demonic. She stood up, just as across the terminal two shaggy haired minions of the organization whose plans she'd just faltered, pulled guns and aimed them right at her figure.



Unbeknownst to the shaggy Neanderthalic moron traipsing about the airport concourse, that particular demon was prey. A rather diffident chap, blending easily into the crowds followed, sporting thick sable hair and dark sharp eyes. Tall and lean, he was just another middle-aged businessman on his way to his terminal, briefcase in hand. Dressed in a fine business suit, dark leather overcoat falling to his knees, he walked on, purposeful stride easy and confident. Looking at his watch, as if seeking the time, Lucas Whitt spoke into the small piece with flawless Italian, “Thirty yards and closing. Do not engage unless necessary.” A series of clicks whirred from the piece and he returned the arm to his side. But hunter’s instinct zinged up his spine and he caught sight of another potential problem; two overdressed buffoons with automatics under their jackets. He’d been in the business too long not to recognize the signs. Swearing fluently in Portuguese, an apt language for such, he drifted off course, trusting to his hunting protégé to track the demon. Pausing beside a column, on the other side of which the goons lurked, he followed their sight lines and quirked a dark brow to see the woman across the terminal. Hn, she seemed to be rather interested in …his prey? This was getting stranger by the second. Although he had to admit that the demon was a bit conspicuous to anyone who knew the signs. But his curiosity was peaked. And confirmed as he heard the slides of Uzi’s being jacked. There would be no way to save this one. Fuck. Sighing in part contrived, part real consternation, the lean businessman stepped around the column, running smack into one of the buffoons just as they both drew their guns. “Oh!” he exclaimed in Italian. “Do pardon me, gentlemen, I am so clumsy.” But he didn’t wait for a response, merely knocked the gun barrels towards the ceiling with his briefcase, their rapid fire crashing glass and sending people screaming. Smacking one with the case, he flicked a blade from his sleeve and quickly cut the other’s throat, neatly professional. His protégé, a young lad by name of Brian Sanders, cursed and broke from his position, keeping eye on the demon, which slewed around and was pushed along with all the human cattle. Lucas whirled around, planting his boot in the larynx of the fallen baddie, throwing his briefcase aside and drew two automatics from shoulder holsters, charging into the crowd, one eye on the woman who’d been the target and the other seeking and finding the demon, spying Brian amongst the throng. Pushing and shoving, he did his damndest to get to the kid before the feds got there, but the beast suddenly howled, slipping human skin and Brian arrived a minute too late. With a roar, the demon made quick work of the aspiring hunter, opening his chest completely. The lad screamed and died, all in the same motion. Lucas swore colorfully in three languages; he couldn’t get a damned shot off thanks to the fucking human cattle!



Douglass : Head snapped away as the commotion broke out; reflexive fingers reaching around to the small of her back for the comforting metal nestled there. Scarcely she recognized the soon to be dead bitch-boys; "Shit!" a single English word lapsing her tongue. That's the last time I leave any of them alive; but her mind yanked back to demonic presence, eyes narrowing as the beast mauled a seemingly innocent bystander; somewhere in the back of her mind she knew there was more going on here than met the eye; but for the moment her job was clear. Strong legs pushed away from her stance, angling her body off towards the fiend no more than fifty feet away; but as she tried to make a move in that direction; a frantic airport-goer slammed into her; knocking her slightly off balance; "Move!" she hollered in the common tongue; swearing obscenities laced with animal parts; shit, seemed like Dante was rubbing off. Gun held low against the back of her thigh, she forced her way through the damnable crowd, pushing person after person from her desired path; shit like this made her not want to be around people more and more; but how could you blame them with a demon staring you in the face? In no time she'd closed the gap between her prior perch and the demons sulking stand. The beast hissed and gnashed at every and all persons that tried to run past; but it seemed intent on focusing across the overly crowded terminal; good it wouldn't be focusing just on her then. Within ten feet of the damned thing; she lifted her gun, aiming right at the damn things temple, but another frantic body slammed into her outstretched arm; sending the gun cascading across the floor. Oh how the obscenities flew, numerous languages billowing out of her mouth. Stooping down, she was nearly toppled over as people continued to bombard her with themselves; good God you stupid fucks, look where the fuck you're going. Finally able to lift the leg of her pants, she removed another hand gun; from her stooped location she aimed at the demon just as it grabbed another person and rent flesh from their hide; "Fuck," but the trigger was pulled, sending even more panic radiating through the crowd. The bullet sunk deep into the neck of the demon, the beast howled as it threw it's head back, enraged that anyone dare to disturb it. Its hell bound eyes fell to the gun, still smoking in Douglass's hand and it charged. She didn't move, people dashed away from the line between them; finally a clear shot. As it leapt at her, teeth seething for her blood she squeezed off several more rounds; planting hollow tip silver bullets deep into the cranial cavity of the monsters head; but the damn thing wouldn't give up. As it took a final leap, intentions to land atop her, she ducked to one side; rolling out from under it's grasp; knife slipping from it's nestled position on the side of her boot it she whirled around with a mighty back hand; planning the blade into the back of the demonic skull, all six inches of it, right to the hilt. Twisting it the beast roared, claws swinging about and slicing through denim jeans; leaving deep scratched just above her knee. "Go back to hell," English again as she yanked the blade from its new sheath and cut the throat; god how she wished she had her ripping blade, would have been easy to cut the damn things head off. As demon blood splayed about, tiny droplets landed upon her person, staining blond tresses and pale skin as well as dark colored top light colored jeans.



Lucas Whitt, also known here in Italy as one Giancarlo Pancrazio, successful businessman for the TechCorp Administration, realized this cover was blown all to shit, but he’d continue it for all it was worth. Keen dark eyes took in the chit slaying the damned devil; a surprise in itself. He snatched her arm and yanked her to the side of the concourse, out of security’s way. A bit nonplussed that his kill had been taken, and by a damned woman no less, Lucas’ lips thinned, but only for a moment. He’d known some quite capable women in his time. But he frowned down at her, speaking without preamble in his irritation. If this chick had the gall to come on his grounds and just kill without permission, heads would bloody well roll. “Why were they after you?” he asked in fluent crisp Italian, fingers still tight around her arm. “Who do you work for?” he demanded. “What organization?” If someone else was hunting around here, by damn he’d put a screeching halt to that! He ran the only successful demon hunting operation in these countries. And if someone was poaching territory, he’d make ‘em sorely regret that little jaunt.



Douglass : Clean Italian sprung from her lips as she yanked her arm away; "I work for no one," her eyes took in the man speaking to her; tall, lean, but his grasp had been firm; there was more strength in him than his thin body hinted at. "And I don't know what you're talking about; I'm just trying to get home." Stone hazel eyes watched him carefully, every muscle fiber of her being ready to react should he threat; but for now it was best to remain in a stalemate. Something amidst all the commotion tugged at her attention; eyes darting over his shoulder and scanning the walls; oh shit; surveillance cameras. Her language shifted; to french no less; scattering obscenities as her idiom shifted to irritation; "Just fucking once." As uniformed officers darted past; quickly attending to the dead and injured she swore again; this time in flat English; "Fucking goat balls; perhaps this conversation is best taken somewhere else." She didn't like the idea; hell she just wanted to plant a bullet in the middle of the guy’s forehead right this very moment; but with so many officials around; that wasn't a wise idea.



Lucas snorted and echoed her curses in Greek, snarling lightly. Retaking her arm once more, tight fingers ensuring a firmer grip, he just began to escort her through the littered concourse, only to swear one more in English, his native language with a hint of British aristocracy laced through the heated words as he spied more uniforms. At this rate, the press would be here soon. He scowled harder as he realized no one was leaving the area; all witnesses were being detained. Shit and hells. “Faint,” he growled down at her, tight grip threatening worse if she didn’t comply. Putting his other arm around her shoulders as an office approached, he suddenly broke out in a babble of rapid fire Italian. “Oh dear God, my sister’s been hurt! Please,” he said, bending the woman backwards over his arm, “help me get her to the paramedics! Please, save her, she was struck on the head during the incident! Please, I beg of you!” Acting came naturally to him, he even fluttered his hands helplessly over the girl’s face, as if trying to revive her. The uniform, a young man, immediately forged a look of concern and gestured wildly as Lucas hauled the chit in his arms. Clearing a path, the officer escorted them to the exit, telling him politely someone would be here shortly; the ambulances were on their way.



Douglass : She snarled at him slightly; a low growl at the back of her throat; but she played along; knowing well the means of improv. Once outside, the officer ushered them to a section poorly set off for anyone who would be requiring medical assistance; but as soon as the officer’s attention had been pulled away; Lucas diverted course, depositing her into an awaiting automobile and quickly tearing off down the roads. Eyes had snapped open as soon as she was seated, gun being drawn and aimed right at the side of his head; hell this day was not going well. "You're turn; who the fuck do you work for?" Perfect Italian.



Foregoing the façade of Italian decent, Lucas switched to the Queen’s good English. “I wouldn’t advise that, madam,” he cautioned, meaning her gun. “Should I press a little button here on the steering wheel, that small switch on the glove compartment will activate and shoot a dart filled with enough tranquilizer to take down a dinosaur,” he finished blandly, maneuvering the streets of downtown Rome. “But as to your question, I work for myself. Sort of, department head, you might say.” Gears screamed as the black car sped through the streets, merging quickly and quietly with traffic. This was horseshit, no woman carried hardware and could kill that way without belonging to something. He’d find out, just as soon as he parked.



Douglass : "Yeah, but by the time it hit me there'd be a nice little piece of metal in you're head." She couldn't stand down, not now, not ever. She'd made a promise; had sealed it with a kiss and by God in Heaven she was not going to break it. She too had slipped into English; she'd give him that much. Eyes firmly fixated on his face; slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes hinted at age; but there was something oddly familiar; as though she'd seen him somewhere before. Sure she'd looked at him in the airport; but she hadn't really 'looked' at him; now she was doing that; but it only made her more consternated, why did he seem so damn familiar?



Of all things, Lucas had to chuckle. My, did this bring back memories? But he merely kept driving, a grin curling the corners of his mouth. “Then we’d both be dead and neither find out just who’s employed by whom, now will we? Put the gun down, people think you’ve kidnapped me.” Humor he couldn’t help; besides, if this chit was going to pull the trigger, she’d have done so by now. Besides, he figured she had another reason for being in Rome than simply vacation. Nay, this little tart was in severely deep cover. And fraying fast, if he didn’t miss his guess. And seldom did he.



Douglass : Lips curled into a silent snarl; God damn it all he was fucking right. Shoving the gun into her lap; and not nicely either; she swore in an African language. One thing she'd been required to do was learn languages; she handled much of the diplomacy that involved the ATT; most of her contacts didn't care for her much; couldn't tell why. But as the small smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth; brows furrowed deeply, and she looked harder at him; no it couldn't be. "Lucas?" The word dripped with confusion, uncertainty; she hadn't known the man, just seen a picture; but that was enough to leave a lasting image in her mind. For a month straight Lucas's face, as well as the faces of Trish and Jayden, had haunted her dreams; staring at her with icy dismay; but it wasn't until this man smiled that she could see the semblance; mind you it was dark and this guy was older; but wouldn't Lucas have aged?



He went cold, automatic battle reflex. But only for about a space of three heartbeats. Abruptly exiting the main highway, he pulled onto a side street and roared the car into a private garage, killing the engine. A smooth motion brought a sharp gleaming dagger from his sleeve, point instantly aimed at the woman’s throat. No one knew that name. Brown eyes went icy cold at the very mention of it. Snatching the gun from her lap, he spun it and flicked the hammer back. “Don’t play with me, little girl. How do you know that name?” He wasn’t kidding; the tip drew blood. “Tell me!”



Douglass : Teeth clenched in natural reflex; she'd trained for torture; to keep silent even when death was prominent; but images faded behind her eyes; images of her father, Conroy, Sam, and Dante. Forcing wired jaws open, "I saw a picture once."



He couldn’t help but grin once more, but it was cold. No warmth reached his eyes. “Do you think I won’t kill a woman? Trust me, honey,” he drawled, accent switching something akin to that of a red-clad demon hunter as he continued, “you really don’t know me all that well, now do ya?” Face resuming its lines, his voice snapped back to the pissed off British agent. “My patience, what there is of it, is rapidly thinning, my dear.” Grunting in annoyance, Lucas opened the driver’s side door and got out, hauling the chit across the console and dragging her with him. Kicking closed the door, he kept the knife to her side and nearly frog-marched her to the elevator. “Better think of some more sweet lies, missy,” he drawled once more, hitting the down button. “I’m curious, but not overly so. With you dead, I fear me I’ll get my sleep at night.”



Douglass : If there was one thing Douglass couldn't stand, it was the cockiness of a guy hiding behind a weapon. "So how's Trish doing?" Her own words were cold, and she even scoffed a bit; death she wasn't afraid of. "Oh, that's right. You ran off without so much as a farewell didn't you?"



He hit her. Spun her around and delivered a smart backhand to her jaw. Lucas wasn’t above hitting women if they deserved it, and that below-the-belt blow had quite escalated his temper. The doors dinged open and he all but threw her inside, wanting to take off a few fingers or three and then start with all joints thereof. But the doors hissed closed and he snarled, words tinged with the very acidic pain that hid behind his eyes. “Mouthy, are we?” Fingers wrapped around her throat and lifted her to his height. “I’ll ask one more time,” he hissed as the elevator descended, “who do you work for?”



Douglass : Her face didn't alter; set in stone it was. She showed no sign of pain, regret, fear, or hate. Dead, apathetic; that was her demeanor; well practiced and honed. "I work for no one;" this was going nowhere fast, if she had any intention of keeping her promise, the time for a mood swing was now; "but I work with Dante."



Lucas blinked. “Dante…?” he breathed, a moment’s reflection as he stared somewhere above her head. “That bastard’s still alive…?” A shaky breath. “How in fuck’s name…?” But his eyes refocused for a moment before he said, “God, and Jayden and Jax.” The doors hissed open just then and he blinked, returning to the present. Catching her arm once more, he hauled her out into a rather secluded storehouse. “Well,” he said snarkily, “since you know just all about me, just who the fuck are you, pray?” He idly fingered her gun, the blade still in his hand, resting idly.



Douglass : She caught herself, just as her hip jolted from the impact upon the table; had it been any other situation she'd likely have winced. But not now, not in the present situation; she only straightened up; back of one hand dragging across her neck; smearing the blood. "A reluctant student; at best."



An exasperated snort and eye roll. “Are you always this obstinate, woman?”



Douglass : She only arched a brow; head quirking slightly as if to say "Yeah." Dry hazel eyes moved to her hand, blood dripping down the back of such, then they moved back to him. "I didn't come here to hunt, I had other reasons."



Finally. Getting somewhere. Hauling up a metal folding chair, Lucas perched on it comfortably, knees crossed, both weapons still in his hands, resting in his lap. Brown eyes focused on the woman’s face, eerily giving her his undivided attention. That happened when one was so unfortunate to have roused his curiosity. “Oh? So…killing demons is a pastime, hm?” Dry sarcasm. He was known for it. Among those still alive that knew his name.



Douglass : She remained where she was; "A new profession, the switch seems to be taking a little longer than first anticipated." Her words were dry, cold, reluctant; true this man had once been Dante's friend, quite possibly she could trust him, but she couldn't.



This was getting nowhere. Snorting, Lucas rose and shook his head. “Look, really nice to meet you and all, considering you haven’t given me a name yet, but I seriously think it’s better if you just forget all that information you seem to have bottled up inside that head of yours. Stuff like that could, and will, case in point, get you killed.” He gestured with the gun. “Before I shoot you, there any friends, relatives, that sort you’d like me to visit? Final good-byes and all?”



Douglass : Eyes misted, but only for a moment; did she dare, should she try to call his bluff. Still the cold demeanor so daftly afforded her; "Just tell Dante Douglass said later; Lucille will take care of the rest." Hazel eyes locked on his; she'd sworn so long ago that all her secrets would go to grave with her; and they nearly had; Dante was the only one who knew; and she trusted him. "Before you kill me; just tell me one thing. Why did you go?"



Lucas blinked. Then frowned. Not a good combination. “Long story. Quite none of your business, you-who-have-evaded-my-questions-at-every-turn. So why should I tell you shit? But know this, I didn’t have much choice.” He tossed the gun away, the metal clattering to the floor about fifteen feet away. “Guns,” he said, lip curling, “so easy.” Twirling the knife, the blade dancing over his fingers, he reached out and snatched her arm once more, spinning her back to him. Placing a kiss to her temple, he said, the edge of the blade at her neck. “My love to all, pet.”



Douglass : As his last word erupted from his throat a foot twisted between his legs, yanking at just the right moment to throw him off enough to scarcely scratch her neck; but his hold was firm, and he'd retaliate soon. Her own hand latched onto his arm, and she bent forward, yanking his arm giving him thrust; in his off state he went toppling over her; such force for a woman. As he landed, off to one side more than his back or stomach, she quickly side-stepped back, stooping to a near crouch she removed yet another hand gun from her other boot; shooting forward quickly, a boot to the center of his spine sent him to his stomach. Dropping one knee on the back of his neck gun pressed firmly to his scalp, blood stained blond tresses falling into her face as she looked down at him; on leg pinning him to the ground, the other off to provide balance and support. "They've always happened to be a favorite of mine," features were set in stone, still no different then when they'd first arrive. "I appreciate you saving my ass and all; but I've got shit to do." Long strands moved with her breath as she spoke; eyes burning into the back of his head; "God must be one twisted fucker to have set this shit up; I knew I should have killed them all." She wanted so desperately to plant a bullet in his head, to just have it all be done and over with; but she just couldn't do it. Pushing off, she stepped back, quite a few feet, providing much fluff between them. "I didn't evade any question; I answered in truth; if you wanted a name, why the fuck didn't you just ask for one?" Gun remained on him as she spoke; "In the states, the names Douglass; here it's Daniela. Now, I'm a hunter by profession and I work for myself. Dante taught me, really against his better judgment; shits just kinda happened since then, and I saw a picture of the five of you once; that's when I learned the names. Satisfied?"



Lucas knew that into every life some rain must fall; therefore he took her retaliation to his knife at her throat. Falling easily, as he’d learned ages ago, in a life long forgotten, he merely let her flip him as she would; not very bad for a female. But then, the females he’d known had been bloodthirsty bitches, able to kill with a look, so this one was still a child in the woods. He laid on his stomach for a moment, regaining his breath and balance, before lifting his head and grinning at her, gun in his face, even. “Douglass,” he mused quietly, tapping fingers on the concrete. “Hm, interesting. But I’m afraid I have little more time to spend in this…lovely banter, so I’ll just bid thee adieu and call it a night, hm?” Flipping easily to his feet, he gave her a scathing glance. “Worry not, little one, I’ll see you again. Probably one of the last things you will see.” Chocolate eyes glinted. “But that’s for me to know, hm?” Straightening his coat, he gave the woman a jaunty mocking salute. “Farewell, and don’t forget your other gun, senora.” He nodded in the direction of the pistol. “Must have our hardware, now mustn’t we?” Another mocking chuckle and he turned and just vanished, disappearing as easily as a shadow.



Douglass : Snarling at his fading shadow, she was a bit beyond irritated. Swearing profusely, she kicked the damned chair he'd been sitting in, sending it across the room; snatching up her gun she looked around the room; spying what seemed to be an exit, she darted in the direction. Blood stained and fuming, she picked her way out of the building; quickly finding a public latrine in which to wash away the scant of the night; the demon blood as well as her own, and the smell of Lucas. The only reason a bullet didn't find its way into the soft lobes of his brain was the mere fact that he was Dante's friend; or had been: that's what was troubling her now, how could she tell him? The cold water of the public sink tantalized her skin into gooseflesh; and she wiped away the discolored water with paper towels. Shit; she'd left her bag at the airport; not like she'd had time to remember it. Not to worry; any hardware she was carrying was on her person; everything she'd brought with her had been disposed of for sake of keeping a trace away. She'd lost one gun in the ruckus, but it would only be traced to Italian government, not to her or the States. When she looked presentable enough to go back out into the public eye, she faded into the crowds, quickly flagging down a taxi and directing him to the bus station; she'd get home one way or the other. After a few long hours; and a heated call to Pedro, she found herself boarding a plane back to LA, a one stop flight with a thirty minute lay-over.


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