Companions (not sure yet)

God, demon blood reeked. And splattered with it as he was, thus did he. But that didn’t stop the wicked grin that curved the leather-clad hunter’s lips as he gunned the throttle of his motorcycle, damn near pushing the thing over a hundred. Damn, he loved nights like this! Seems that little call Lucas had received proved profitable, he reckoned with a hellish laugh, lost on the wind. Nearly a thousand bucks lined the pockets inside his coat. Those folks had wanted their little girl back something terrible. Throwing his head back, eyes closed, he howled to the stars, feeling the exultation of having send over fifty demon trash on a no return Alastor ride straight to hell burn in his hot blood.


He gunned the bike down the dead-end road that ended at his lair, the old underground military base. Abandoned, decrepit, Dante had subsequently moved his headquarters from the infested city when he’d stumbled across the place. Renovated to his liking, he’d also reconfigured their computer and defense system, fondly naming it “Lucille.” Lucille ran the compound on his command; “she” could cook, do laundry, provided he loaded the washer and dryer, and run through his training simulations. She always agreed with him, never gave lip, never argued. The perfect woman. Save the warm skin, fiery kiss and strong embrace. But no one was perfect, he reckoned.


The dead end signs loomed and he took childish pleasure in rocketing the bike through the small gap between signs; he left them close together, one slightly in front of the other, proved more exciting to maneuver. The cliff face appeared in the single headlight, but he didn’t stop, merely grinned and kept his speed. The “rock” was in fact one of Lucille’s illusions, one had to actually go through it to enter the dangaangar of the compound. Dante broke through the hologram and slammed the brakes and spun the bike in a perfect half-circle, one boot planted firmly on the concrete. He smirked as he shook his head to clear hair from his eyes.


“Pleasgistgister voice print for analysis,” he heard Lucille’s familiar tone instruct. He sat back comfortably on his bike and replied, “Dante, Lucille.” There was a quiet moment as Lucille did her job, then another metallic command. “Please remain immobile for retinal scanning.” The arm extended and Lucille took measure of his placement and the small laser did what it had been programmed to. Another small moment of quiet, then Lucille’s voice echoed out of the dimness. “Welcome home, Dante.”R>


The floor beneath him began to move, lowering a lift large enough to fit at least two cars. Lights blinked as the lift went down, lowering Dante and his ride to the first sub-level, his garage and shop, where his vehicles and weapons were kept, modified and crafted. He purred the bike into its usual place and dismounted, absently striding across the garage to refill the bullets he’d expended and gather a few things for cleaning the custom guns. Whistling idly through his teeth, he strode for the smaller elevator lift at the other end of the garage, not seeming to mind that he was covered in blood and mud, the red leather streaked and filthy. Just another work night.


“To sublevel two, Dante?” Lucille asked as he stepped inside. The gate closed and he affirmed her words, hearing the gears grind and the elevator lower to the living area of the compound. Stepping onto the carpet, he heard and saw nothing, which made him idly wonder where his houseguest had slithered off to. Brows lowered as he snorted; damned if he care. Let her crawl back under a rock, the heathen shebitch.


After a shower and change of clothes, his downtime choice being the same mangled jeans as before, unbuttoned as usual and no shirt, Dante took his guns and meandered to his study, flopping behind his desk, throwing a leg atop the cluttered cherry top. The television mounted on the wall flicked on, some bullshit movie, or what now passed for such. He gave it a derogatory smirk and began to methodically dismantle and clean the twin pistols, their chrome and obsidian finish returning brightly under his skilled loving hands. But a very soft voice had him blinking in surprise, swiveling his chair around to see Jayden standing just inside the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. “Where’s Lucas?”


A slow brow flicked as he paused, just to annoy her, letting his eyes roam the the luscious female image presented for his viewing. Long, long legs, bared by the cutoffs she wore and one of Lucas’ shirts, sleeves rolled up and ends tied at her waist. She’d buttoned it wrong, he noted with a smirk. A bare foot idly played toes in the carpet as she wiggled a knee, obviously ill at ease in his presence. Teeth worried her lower lip as green eyes blinked slowly, near to glaring for his hesitation. Bitch she might be, but Dante had to admit she was extremely easy on the eyes. The hands too, he thought with a grin, remembering the little encounter before he and Lucas went out to work. Damned that he’d had his gloves on already.


Nostrils flared and he answered with a shrug as if in hopes to avoid any more fireworks for the night. “He slithered off to his own hideout,” he replied with a grin, seeing her eyes widen slightly. “Nah,” he leaned back in his chair, crossing bare ankles. “Said he had some other business to attend to, so I didn’t ask. None of my business, I reckoned.”


She gnawed her lower lip still, puzzlement and annoyance crossing her high cheekbones. “Look,” Dante said with a roll of his eyes, “don’t worry about it, all right? You’re perfectly safe here, Miss Jayden.”


She gave a snort. “You think I’m worried about it? Hardly, demon. Lucas is just the only friend I have left in the world, for your information. Besides, dumping me here was his idea, not mine. I don’t need anyone to protect me.”


“Right. That’s why you were running for your life with the hordes from hell hot on your heels. Wake up, woman.” Shaking his head, Dante thumped one foot to the floor, sitting up slightly in his chair, placing the silver pistol reverently on his desk. “And my name is Dante, not demon.” A mischievous smile spread his lips in a snarky grin. “You had no trouble pronouncing it earlier…you even moaned it so prettily…”


It was worth it, he decided, pissing her off, just to see the flush that crept up that lovely neck to stain her cheeks with soft color, even as her brows lowered and she drove tiny spikes into his sensitive bwithwith her eyes. Twisted them bastards, too. He wouldn’t have been the least surprised to see her burst into flames just from the force of her anger at his little reminder of that past incident. Gleefully he watched as she fought to control her temper, doubtless, waiting for the scathing retort which would flay skin from bones.


But to his mild amusement and surprise, it never came; she just jerked up her chin and whirled, long red hair lashing with her abrupt movement as she stormed from the room, trailing icy offendedness behind her. He only grinned insanely and took another long swig from his beer. Bitch, he thought, chew on it for a while. Picking up the other gun, the plating a sheen of finest ebony, he commenced to cleaning the huge hand-cannon, whilst entertaining rather evilly pleasant thoughts of following her and shoving her fine little ass against a wall and continuing the interrupted tryst. Heh, she’d try to dismember him, which would make it all the more sweeter.


Finally done cleaning his guns, he slipped them back into their holsters and returned them to their proper place; he might be a pig elsewhere, but he took damn fine care of his weapons. Professional habit. Meandering back from his room, he idly gnawed a toothpick and scrounged around the fridge for a bit, extracting another beer. Emerging into the living room, a brow flicked to see her curled in a corner of the couch, seemingly engrossed in…what was that, a book? He grinned; seemed she’d discovered the old boxes Lucas had brought a while back. Dante had taken one look and snorted to the contents. Books, waste of time. The ones dealing with the occult and supernatural he’d taken to read; favorites decorated his nightstand even now. But the others, blathering nonsense he didn’t want nor need. He grinned mischievously and moved to lurk over her shoulder, propping his arms on the back of the couch. Peering at the pages, his cheek next to hers, he chuckled under his breath and commented. “Melville. Impressive…you can read.”


He heard her teeth gnash and ducked the volume she closed and tried to slam against his nose. Laughing, he merely snatched it from her hands, stepping back a few feet as she growled and jumped to her feet. “Give it back, damn you!” she hollered, picking up the nearest projectile weapon, a pillow in this case, and flinging it at his head. Dante grinned and ducked, still retaining his grip on both book and beer bottle. She only ground her teeth; he could hear the musical enamel from this distance and flung another, as many as she could reach, pelting him with the ones he missed dodging in order to evade the others.


Finally she ran out of fluffs to throw and just glared at him. He couldn’t resist a further jibe, just to goad her more. “Come on, Miss Jayden, is that all you got? I’d thought better of a woman with such guns.” Deliberately he let his eyes roam to her chest, they nearly crossing imagining the flesh that lay beneath that checkered shirt, still buttoned haphazardly. The action provoked the wanted reaction; she screeched in fury and charged at him. Both book and bottle were dropped in response to catch her outstretched wrists, fingers bent to claw his face, no doubt. Dante grinned evilly as he jerked her, letting herwardward momentum carry her past him and then he snatched her arms, yanking her off her feet, only to whirl and plant her back against the wall, both arms slammed over her head, his massive hands immobile on her wrists. She bucked but he planted his feet; she tried to kick him but he thwarted that by wedging a hard thigh between hers, lifting her to her toes. He kept his nose out of biting range, but remained pressed so very tightly against her; good Lord what role imagination plays in visions, he thought with a smirk down at her, rather enjoying the outraged and heathenish expression that marred her lovely face.


“Now, this is nice, hmm?” he asked conversationally, deliberately sliding against her a bit, taking extreme delight in seeing her eyes dilate just fractionally. He’d dearly love to ravage her mouth again, but she’d bite his tongue out of his head right now. Thumbs rubbed at the pulse in her wrists, noting without meaning too the speeding pace; hmm, was he getting to her? He dearly hoped so. He’d love to make her writhe, lean her head back and moan his name, arch against him…shit, the very thoughts were making him dizzy. Blinking, shaking his head, he reluctantly returned to the present, wondering just what he was going to do with her now that he had her; whatever it was, he’d prefer it not end with him missing mb omb or other necessary body part.


It took about three seconds for the fear in her eyes to hit his brain. Green eyes suddenly went wide and her breath seared in her lungs, making her chest heave. Jayden began to fight him, truly fight him. Stunned into surprise, Dante reflexively held her wrists, even as she flailed and thrashed agaisnt him. "Let me go!" she screamed, ringing his ears. She truly looked like a deer in rifle sights, he thought wildly, trying to release her, but her own thrashings kept them twisted and entwined. She suddenly lashed out at him, catching his jaw with her fists and he swore at the punch, his own unbalance as his feet were tangled with hers sending them both toppling to the carpeted floor.


Instinctivly he twisted to take the brunt of her fall and hands caught at the small of her back. Forces of nature, gravity, some other unknown element brought the material of her shirt higher and cerulean eyes widened as fingers encountered, not smooth flesh, but raised marks and welts. "What the fuck...?" he muttered, trying to calm her unsuccessfully. Jayden whimpered and flailed, beating at him blindly, long hair falling over their faces as she disentangled and tried to skitter away. He released her, letting her seperate their bodies; clearly she needed the space. But by damn, he was going to have some answers, and going to have them now!


Getting to his feet, he watched her sternly as she hurriedly returned to a far corner of the room, almosterinering in a corner. "Jayden," he demanded, "just what in hell's going on?" She didn't answer, nor even turn to look at him. Simply remanied on that corner of the couch, huddled with her legs drawn to her chest, chin on her knees. Haunted eyes stared at the floor. He sighed. Another one with issues. Hells. Retrieving the pillows from the floor, some of them anyway and crossed to the couch, kneeling in front of her, offering a pillow wordlessly. When she didn\ake ake it, he merely laid it beside her and placed a hand on either side of her, gazing silently up at her shattered face. He'd seen corpses that had looked more animate. Lowering his eyes, he then encountered the rather inconspiciuos marks that ringed her wrists. Iron bands. Christ. Mentally slapping himself, he sighed and decided to do the stupid thing and press his luck more.


"Iron chains?" he asked softly, gentlygazing at her , willing her to come back to life and try to beat him senseless. He'd even stand still and allow it. She was much more beautiful when she was fuming at him and contemplating search and destroy missions on his entrails. But the words brought a response; she lifted her eyes and looked directly at him. With a small nod, she confirmed his words. He sighed again and, greatly daring, reached for one hand, threading fingers with hers. "What happened?"


She allowed the touch, although her fingers felt like wood beneath his rough palms, no life, no animation. Simply warm sticks under skin. Bur vor voice, when she spoke, resounded like a hollow drum in his ears. "My first husband sold me as a pit slave to cover his gambling debts," she said shortly. Dante blinked. Her words registered incredulity in his mind. "Was the ass dunderheaded of just plain stuipd?" he muttered, not realizing he'd said the words aloud. But they won a small smile from her lips, gratidude, he realized awardwards. His thumb rubbed across the back of her knuckles idly as he asked, "I trust the bastard's dead?"
She nodded, fingers flexing just slightly under his slightly rough caress. "Yeah, Lucas and Jacksom got me out two years later..." Colorful curses flittered through his mind. He'd been in a few, not as a customer, but to put an end to the disgusting practices, so he could well envision what she'd suffered. "Jesus, Jayden..." he sighed, "I didn't know..I'm sorry..." The human part of his soul ached for her misery, wanted to comfort her, while the demon within him raged in anger and fury that some jackass would dare do such to such a lovely woman, any woman, for that matter.


Jayden shrugged a shoulder. "My wrists aren't the only places I carry scars." She lifted her other hand and pulled thick hair from her neck, tilting her head for him to see. "I wore a collar as well, like a damned dog," she finished acidly. Dante could clearly see the marks that lined her skin, ringing her throat like a necklace, deeper on the nape, where the iron had lain, no doubt. "My back they lashed whenever I grew too unruly," she went on, but he prayed she would stop, he was seeing red already. Or at least dark pink. But she seemed to not notice and kept going with her monotone. "The front of me they spared, cause I would lose value if the goods were spoiled," she said sourly, rolling her eyes with gnashing of teeth. "I was one of the tempermental ones, I was beaten often for my stubbornness. Lashed to a wall...whipped...then-" she choked off, but he had already moved, sitting beside her on the couch, pulling her head to his shoulder. "Don't, Jayden. I understand, just leave it in the past." He shushed her soothingly and she let him, which said louder than words she was in severe pain, to tolerate his touch.


But she leaned against him, as if the weight of the very world rode her slim shoulders. Fingers disentangled from hers to stroke fine red tresses down her back, unobtrusiely feeling the markings that scored her skin. Christ, he thought acidly, and he'd been an idiotic hardass moron and made her live through it again. Way to go, champ, he smacked himself. But to her shivering and sniffling he sighed lowly and pulled her across his lap, she boneless as a wet rag. Settling back on the couch, he merely heer aer as she cried silently, continously berating himself for being such an ass with her in the first place. Smooth, real smooth, Dante, he groaned. Heaving a sigh, he absently wondered when he'd started to care about how she felt, then to his amazement, realized that he did indeed care. Sure, he liked to rile her up and have her swearing at his head, but only in fun, seeing her thus now almost beat him down. After a moment of inner reflection, he realized what he'd really like to have her do was return his feelings, provided he ever make them known in the first place, that he didn't see her as just another brainless woman amongst the throng. But after what he'd just heard, he was whisg ing in the wind. Oh well, he sighed once more before leaning his head back and closing his eyes, at least he could provide a small service here, to let her have non-threatening arms to lean on for a while.