Red Nightmares at Midnight

Douglass : For four hours she trudged deeper and deeper into the ravine, bound and determined to walk off all signs of anger and frustration. It was cold, very cold; almost too cold, but her skin was hot, as was her temper. Dawn would be breaking soon, how long had it been since she'd seen the sun rise? A month or so, she'd had a three day job just about that long ago. However, that didn't count, just knowing the sun is rising, isn't seeing the sun rise. Eyes adverting upward, she spotted a nice perch high above the ravine, would take a good hour to climb up there. Completely ready for that challenge, she scaled the cliff side, taking care to ensure hand and foot holes. Upon reaching the top, she was beat, body and mental fatigue settling in. Sprawling on her back she lay there, arms and legs opened in a spread eagle, chest heaving with each breath. Eyes settled lazily upon the horizon, glossed and lax. A smile bit at the corners of her mouth as the sun peeked from behind the edge of the planet; the whole spectacle lasted only a few minutes, but it seemed as though all the wonder in the universe was held in those few moments of serene pleasure. "And so a new day dawns." Eyelashes fluttered shut as darkness enveloped her mind.



Douglass : Something tickled her face; shooting into a sitting position, a gun was drawn and aimed in all directions at once. Startled and confused, she looked around her, for a moment forgetting where exactly she was. A blue-bellied lizard scampered across the rock face, apparently terrified for its life. "Thanks for the wakeup call." Rubbing her face with both hands, gun dangling from a single finger she arched and stretched her back. "Shit," she uttered low, almost under her breath. Knee cocked, she rested an elbow against it, and leaning forward partially eyes fixating into the belly of the ravine. Her mind went back to the previous night, the heated words and the look on Dante's face; God he was a difficult mother fucker; but then again, she could be just as bad. Sighing heavily hoisted herself to her feet, stretching her legs a bit as she did. Carefully she picked her way back down the ledge, uncertain of the way she came; the task proved slightly more difficult than first anticipated. "Serves you right Dee," with no one else around to state the fact, she did it for herself. Five hours later she passed through the hologram entrance, spouting off her little catch phrase and descended down to the living quarters. Sparing only a moment to glance at Dante's closed door, she moved into her room, already stripping when she was no more than three steps inside the doorway. She felt the dire need for a shower; the prior night still clung to her flesh buried inside the sweat and dirt that hadn't fallen away. This morning, the shower would be more than just another trivial part of life, it would be a reprieve. Turning up the heat from her normal piss war, she slipped beneath the spout, savoring the bite of the burning water. Stepping fully beneath the head, water spilled down on all sides of her, washing away the filth and grime. Rolling her head from side to side, she propped her hands against the shower wall, sighing deeply she watched the soiled water draining. After a long moment of such, something snapped inside her, quickly washing her hair and soaping down her body she finished the shower and stepped out, grabbing a towel and dabbing herself dry. Twenty minutes, holy shit. Going into her bedroom, she stopped, noticing finally that she hadn't closed the door. "Fuck." Walking to it quickly she swung it closed, slowing it as it neared the jam. Going to her closet she pulled out a charcoal colored sweat suit and tossed it to the bed. Going to the dresser she pulled out undergarments and a pair of socks. Dressing quickly she ran a comb through her hair left it wet and loose. Topping off with a pair of white running shoes she strode from the room, down the hall and entered the kitchen. Pulling a carton of orange juice from the icebox, she poured herself a large glass and sat down to drink it slowly.



Sleep did wonders for a bad temper. Unless it was interrupted with trivial bullshit, which thankfully all the cattle herds avoided Dante’s telephone that morning and afternoon. So it was he rose at Lucille’s gentle insistence; the mainframe chip had learned early on that to provide an obnoxious wake-up call for the lord and master of the manor wasn’t conducive to longevity. So, she merely woke him with soft words and a quiet demeanor. Rising from bed, he paused a moment, sitting on the edge, to stretch languidly, running hands through tousled hair and over his face, dragging blunted nails over his skin. A shiver ran up his spine at the hint of pain. God, he wasn’t even going there…not this early. Later, when he beat the shit outta Damien Sullivan he might consider it. A snort. Nah, he had work to do. Thus, he prowled to the bathroom, taking care of necessities and the like and then hit the closet to dress, not hurriedly but not taking his damned sweet time either. Lucille informed him of updates around the city; she’d read the news, bless her, and kept him informed. Expensive, was her programming. And he loved it. First the long crimson leather slid over ankles and legs, buttoned and zipped at his waist. Then the black t-shirt, tucked in. Followed by the sibilant red vest and jacket. Zipping the black vest, he threaded his belt through the loops, adjusting the skull belt buckle appropriately. Lips curled in a saturnine smirk. No one else on the planet would dare wear one. One of his trademarks, oh yes. Flaring the tails of his long coat behind him, he finger-combed white strands, bending to pull on his boots. Snapping the buckles, he retrieved gloves, guns and sword. Propping the blade on his shoulder along with the gunbelt, he sauntered to the kitchen, automatically noting Douglass plunked at the island, nursing a tall glass of juice. Not speaking, not even a nod, he crossed the kitchen and fetched a bottle of water and guzzled about half of it before recapping and returning it to the fridge. Not bothering with food; he’d eat later, he placed armaments on the counter and proceeded to strap on his guns, taking sensitive care to make sure they were perfectly placed on lithe hips. The huge blade, resting across the island, flickered dully, as if sullen and morose at the attention given her counterparts. Dante muttered under his breath, “Wait your turn, woman. Hells, I just woke up.”



Douglass : Dante's presence rendered little more than an upward turned gaze. His motions didn't disturb her, not in the least. Taking a long sip from her glass, she set it back to the counter, watching her own fingers as it went. As Dante's deep voice carried to her audibles, she only quirked a brow in response. His disinterest in her presence indicated that she was not on the receiving end of his address, and so she lifted the glass for a final time; downing the last of her drink, she stood, carried the glass to the sink, rinsed it and set it in a drain board. Without a word she left the room, following the familiar trek to her room, and changed in a matter of a few minutes. Same outfit as the last time they went out, only a fresh one; the only article recycled being the long black coat. Arming herself with the same weapons as before she pulled her hair back into a messy pony-tail as she went to wait outside the lift.



Well, let’s just ignore everyone, shall we? That thought romped through his brain as he finished adjusting his guns, he snorted a bit sourly and pulled on his thick leather gloves, wiggling fingers to make sure of their fitness. That done, he didn’t even look up as Douglass exited the kitchen. It wasn’t that he was still angry with her; he never had been in the first place. Most of his seething hatred and loathing was reserved for himself. A cauldron of mixed emotions. But it was a problem for another night; this one would see him ramming the barrel of one of his pistols down a certain Satanist’s throat. A visual he relished, actually. Every so often, Damien had to be reminded just who ran this city. Who was allowing him to keep his little church alive. Who tolerated the hell’s gate shit. So it was with a sly anticipatory smirk, he grasped the handle of the Alastor, the blade gleaming brightly to the touch of her master. Letting the hilt slide in his hand, he twirled the blade expertly and smacked the tip against his boot, sending it into a spin then snatching it out of mid air and sheathing it on his back. “Time to go to work,” he said to emptiness and Lucille clicked above him. “Good hunting, Dante,” she farewelled him. He smirked. “As always, babe.” The notion of hunting always made him feel better; it was the predator in his blood. Exiting the kitchen, a sharp brow quirked to see Douglass already waiting beside the lift. Shit, he’d forgotten to see about some more powerful handguns for her. Rifles were fine at a distance, but one got rather close-in this job. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow, he reasoned, stepping inside the elevator. She followed and they rose in silence. In the garage, Dante strode to his bike, purring the massive machine to the auto lift and sat back, waiting for the women to get their knickers situated.



Douglass : Straight to the Durango she went, whipping open the door as Dante rolled onto the lift. With more difficulty than originally anticipated, she lugged the dirt bike out of the back. Poor thing had been cooped up in there for a day and a half now. Sorry hun; walking the bike to the lift, she let it stand with the kickstand down, leaning against it slightly as the lift began its ascension, from a pocket somewhere inside the coat, she pulled a pair of sunglasses, opting to wear them instead of her helmet, which she'd forgotten downstairs anyway. As the lift settled, she straddled her bike, kicking it started it purred to life, ready and willing to go to work. Following Dante from the lift, she eased the bike around the barricades, the action becoming second nature by now. After reaching the road it was a different story, Dante tore away, and she followed in suit, not to keep up; but just to go.



Ah, the thrill of sunset and speed. The sinking orb blazed across the desert, landblasting the world with the last vestiges of light. But night would come soon enough, smoothing the jagged edges and rendering all in soft hues of gray and white. He loved the night. Particularly because he could see damn near better than a cat in the shadows. But the sun didn’t bother him, even though he was riding straight into the fading light. He knew the road enough to drive it blindfolded, so it wasn’t a problem. The light flared once more, beautifully, before sinking behind the mountain and finally disappearing. Dusk covered the landscape, enfolding the world in her gentle embrace. Once in town, Dante slowed just a hair, as to not get too lost in the traffic of Los Angeles at the beginning of the night. Damien’s hangout was deep downtown; he didn’t really relish having to drive down there if he could avoid it. Thus he pulled into a public garage and parked the bike, dismounting and retrieving the blade from its sheath. Safer that way, and the demoness liked it. Adjusting his coat to better fall around his ankles, he walked to the edge; he’d parked on the roof, and stared out over the skyline, searching and sensing for any stirring activity in the general vicinity. Damien’s place was about half a mile southwest, he heard it, of course, but that was his destination. Senses flared, listening and seeking as he leaned an elbow on his knee.



Douglass : She'd followed out of curiosity, he'd diverted his path from the place of destination, or perhaps he just knew more. Not like he ever really told her what was going on. Her bike settling into a parking space, leaving one between the two of them, she dismounted slowly, eyes fixating on Dante's back as he leaned out over the edge. Must be searching. She stood quietly, fingers flexing at her sides; so now what?



He took a deep breath, instinctively knowing Douglass had to be near to spiking him for her curiosity. A smirked grin. Wonder how long she’ll put up with it, he thought wickedly. But he rolled his shoulders, straightening from his stance and cracking his neck with an audible pop. Knuckles followed suit, even through the heavy gloves. A deliciously evil idea slithered through his mind. Giving her a glance over his shoulder, he asked nonchalantly, “You coming? Fastest way to Damian’s hellhole is that-a-way.” He gestured to the southwest, pointing out over the rooftops. A shrug. “That’s usually my way of transportation. Sidewalks are just too slow.” He turned and gave her a gorgeous grin. “Can ya jump that far?” The next roof in question was across the street and several stories lower; it’d be a helluva leap. “Or ya wanna lift?”



Douglass : Eyes of deadly sharp hazel dashed into him behind black sunglasses; dick. Confident strides clicked towards where he stood, eyes not yet averting from their previous point of interest. Upon reaching his side, she finally broke her stare, eyes moving to the building across the way. A quick calculation and she was ready, reaching back to somewhere beneath the dark coat. Something sparked, and she stopped, her own wicked thoughts twisting the situation. "Yeah, I could use some help."



Dante heard the snarkiness in her voice and bit back a grin. He knew she despised him and he didn’t really give a shit. But if she wanted to keep her ass alive, she better wake up and pay a-damned-tention. It was with no little bit of glee he took her up on her word and pulled his concentration inward, body bowing slightly inward as he shifted, red leather melding with diamond hard scale as he released his true form, wings ripping from his back. A sigh escaped his lips, a soft grunt of pain, but it was old pain; he’d lived with it for nearly a century now. Spreading the massive span, he just reached out and snatched her, pulling her into the curve of one arm and leaping into the air, banded arm like a vise around her waist. Swerving around, muscles pumped in his back and shoulders, propelling the wings in flight as they flew off southwest, heading for Damian’s pad. He’d shift back a bit closer, he didn’t want to be slap give out when dealing with the twit human.



Douglass : His actions didn't surprise her, in fact he was becoming increasingly predictable. As he soared through the air, she had to admit, the sensation was impressive. Looping one of her own legs around one of his, she steadied herself. This would probably irk him, but wasn't that the point? The city flashed by beneath her, and she watched almost in wonder. How many of them are actually demons? Perhaps Dante would be surprised, she didn't fear the experience, and so remained fairly motionless.



It didn’t bother him; well, not to the extreme she no doubt wanted, he thought with a snarky snarl. He merely focused his attention on not being spotted from above. But they finally approached Damian’s building. It was actually a bit nondescript place, the traditional church architecture. No different than any other church across the country. In a rabidly progressive city like this one, it actually looked a bit out of date. Dante shook his head with a smirk. He was dearly going to love crashing this party. There were several cars parked around the block and parking lots; he figured the place was full. But what to do with his passenger? Hm. Contemplating, he just folded his wings a bit and dropped, pausing about ten feet off the sidewalk and just dropped her, letting her go and shooting back skyward. Flying over the building, he arced straight up, coming to a hover just over the huge skylight. In mid-air he shifted back to his human form, free-falling about fifty feet from naked air, crashing boots first in the church. Glass shattered and fell around him as he descended through the sanctuary, the startled shouts and cries of the worshippers falling on deaf ears. Guns were in his hands even before he entered the building, hammers falling rapidly as he fired, shooting the lesser priests at the front. The sea of humans split as he landed in the middle of the aisle, not even waiting for the glass to hit the carpet before he was moving forward. Hitting the altar at a full run, he drew back an arm and clouted the priest, sending Damian Sullivan crashing back through the baptistery. The shouts and turmoil he ignored; the humans were cattle and would behave as such. But he had issue with the head bull, and followed through the broken splintered wood, saying genially, “Evenin’, Damian. How’s it going, man? Surely you knew I’d be paying you a visit here shortly, hm? Come on, where’s the love, man?” Another backhand across the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling backwards yet again. Ears listened subliminally to all sounds behind him, a hammer click registered. Without so much as a glance, he pulled the black chromed pistol, aimed and fired, taking down one of the ‘bouncers’ of the place with a perfect shot between the goon’s eyes. “Call ‘em off, Damian,” he warned, “or I’ll really lose my damned temper.”



Douglass : The head priest pulled a hand across his bottom jaw, wiping away the blood that slid from the corners of slender lips. "Stand down," he did as Dante commanded, ordering the guards of the service to ease; a moment too late. Douglass had anticipated the drop, had prepared and upon hitting the ground, rolled into a sprint. Bolting through the door as the worshipers flooded out, she'd seen the guards aiming at Dante, and took out two, one as Dante shot the first, and the second in perfect succession. She stood near the doorway, boot heel kicking the door shut as gun moved towards Damian; eyes still shielded by the dark sunglasses. Damian remained kneeled upon the floor, intrigued by the young woman apparently accompanying the infamous hunter; "My, my Dante, quite the little peach you have there." Smiling a large handsome smile, the strong features of good looking man moved back to his assailant. High cheekbones crowned well almond shaped, deep brown eyes. Sandy colored locks were pulled back neatly into a short, tight, pony-tail. Donned in a long purple robe, it was difficult to tell his build, but by his face you knew he was in good shape. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my old friend? Perhaps it was Bellina's little fault, I told her not to get too involved." He rose to his feet, brushing his robe of any debris, "I must say, though, that I'm not in the least surprised to find you knocking at my door." Douglass advanced a few strides, gun unmoving from its target. If there was one truth about her, she never missed a target, and that meant NEVER. "Awfully friendly for a foe." Her comment was directed at nothing really, who, or whatever might be listening. "My dear, I assure you I am no foe," a deviant smirk passed his lips as he looked back to Dante, "Now am I?"



“Suck my left nut, Damian,” Dante told him easily, not moving the gun from the man’s forehead. A brow quirked. “The larger one.” After the aristocratic son of a bitch hauled his carcass to his feet, Dante hit him again, just on principle. But with a closed fist, not the gun butt. No, he wanted the pleasure for himself. He’d really like to knock the fucker’s teeth right out, make a necklace and hang it on the rearview of the GTO. But there was an unspoken deal here. One he himself had deemed to live with. Although that didn’t stem his loathing of the miscreant one iota. “What,” he drawled amiably, “you didn’t miss me, Damian? I’m hurt, really.” A hand flattened to his chest. “Here.” A snort. “Bellina finally met the sharp end of my blade, as I warned her if she ever tried to pull her shit in my city again.” Icy hard eyes narrowed. “I thought I’d just drop in, literally, and jerk your chain a bit…simply ‘cause I can.” But lips rippled over even teeth. “Don’t make me peel skin, Damian.” One black-gloved hand wrapped around the man’s throat and began to squeeze, lifting the priest to his toes. “Your master would hate to have to get a replacement for your sorry carcass.” A glare seethed from those sapphire-hard orbs. “Don’t make me renig on our little deal, Damian. I’d hate for you to make a liar outta me.” The man wheezed a bit, he was still only human, after all. “The grip lets go when I find out what’s happening down below.”



Douglass : Damian wheezed out a chuckle or two; his reaction causing a brow to arch slightly on Douglass's forehead. "My dear Dante, our little games should not be played in front of eyes so fair, I'd be happy to appease your hunger for my kiss in a more private setting." Joke aside, he shrugged slightly, "I'd be happy to tell you, only I haven't the faintest idea." Eyes turning towards Douglass, his smile broadened, "Besides, my master has already found me a wonderful replacement," no more than the words being spoken did a gun discharge, it wasn't loud, simply a scarcely audible gush of air as a tranquilizer dart entered the soft flesh of Dante's neck. Douglass turned in a flash, squeezing off a single round before the bite of needle pierced her neck as well. Eyes immediately went hazy, but not before catching the outline of a familiar shape, "Sam?" but darkness overtook her.



He nearly castrated the bastard on principle for that snarky remark, but demon ears suddenly picked up on the heartbeat of another human in the immediate vicinity. Jerking his head to look, his free hand followed, firing in the same direction, but he swore foully as he felt the damnable pinprick just as he squeezed the trigger. He knew exactly what the shit was pumping into his blood stream, to be eaten by his astronomical metabolism, and cursed himself several times over as he blinked, staggering and fighting it. Teeth bared as fingers tightened yet still on Damian’s neck, leaving harsh red marks on the man’s skin. With his last fading strength, he roared and heaved the man, sending the purple robed priest sailing through the air to crash into the hidden assailant before slowly falling to his knees, vision going blurry yet again. He heard Douglass say something just before she fainted and he peered through wavery eyes as an unfamiliar human appeared with the priest, coming to stand over him. He wanted to maim, so terribly bad, but just as he lifted his gun, darkness crashed over him as the drug broke over his natural resistance and he toppled over on his face, weapons still encased in a death grip.



Douglass : They had worked quickly, stripping both Dante and Douglass of their weapons, Dante slightly more difficult than Douglass. Even the Alastor was removed from him, all of the items detained somewhere on the premises. More tranquilizer being added to Dante, they had not forgotten the last time, Sam turned to Douglass. She'd been tied up, bound to the wall with leather straps, ropes, and anything else available. Dante, on the other hand, was detained with reinforced steel binds, anchored to a concrete floor by foot long titanium bolts; each arm and leg, his middle, and his neck. Smelling salt in hand he shoved it into her nose, the scent immediately bringing her back to consciousness. "Wha… what the fuck?" Mind slowly clearing, she raised foggy eyes to the images before her, "Sam? It can't be." Her voice was low, like a person waking from a dream. "It sure is Dee, none other." She tried to reach for him, but found herself incapable of using her arms, "What's going on Sam? You were supposed to have been incapacitated." "Well plans change Dee, I thought you knew that?" He smiled that gorgeous smile of his, turning about and striding to where Dante remained unconscious, or so they thought. Kneeling beside him, Sam seemed to examine his face, "Why him Dee? I know you've had better." "Sam what in the hell is going on here?" She struggled against her binds, but to no avail. "You mean you haven't figured it out yet Dee? And I thought you were so smart." He stood, walking quickly to her, a single hand reaching forward, sliding light fingers down her cheek. "You know I loved you Dee, and I wanted you to go easy, it was too bad he had to interrupt." Her brows furrowed, the entirety of her face exposing confusion, "What?" Sam tossed his head back, laughter erupting from the depths of his vocals, "Don't tell me you still haven't figured it out! Come one Dee! Do you really think that the beast there that night was an accident? Do you think that the demons knew Conroy was coming? Come on Dee, we were better than that." Her eyes grew wider with every word; her body quacked with anger and disbelief, "You didn't." "Oh yes I did Dee, I did it with a smile. You were supposed to die first my love; I couldn't bear the thought of being without you. But noooo, stupid hunter had to show up and ruin everything!" Sam glared at Dante's motionless body, "So tell me Dee, how does he taste?" "I have no idea what you're talking about." She couldn't hide her feelings, they poured out in her voice, the normal steady, cold tones quacking as it passed through her lips. "Come on Dee, is he better than I was, huh? Can he satisfy you the way I do? I know how you like it; can he make you squeal like I could?" Sam snapped, kicking Dante's body once firmly, then bolted towards Douglass, pinching her face in his fingers, “Come on Dee tell me!" "I can't tell you what I don't know!" she shouted between clenched teeth. "Well then, you must need a little more incentive then huh? How about I end it now, hmm? Hold up my end of the deal." He aimed a gun right at Dante's head, and Douglass yelled, "What deal is that Sam?" Sam turned to her, smiling wickedly, "I have immunity, when the under lord arises and the demons raid all of the earth, I'll be rewarded with immortality. I'd have kept you with me Dee, but I knew you wouldn't go for it. I've been marked Dee, they already obey me." "Your full of shit Sam, demons don't obey anyone, or anything for that matter." "And how would you know? You're just fucking a half demon, he isn't the same as the rest of them, and he isn't the same as us Dee! It's not too late, all you have to do is say the word, just say it and I'll take you back, covet you like you deserve. Conroy didn't know how to treat you, but I do Dee; I could treat you real good." He was met by nothing but a cold hard stare from Douglass, the numbness had started to settle in. "Come on Dee, which do you prefer, me or him." "I'd take him over you any day; he's more of a man than you'd ever be." "I'm hurt Dee, so I guess you'll die with your new lover."



His vision was gone. His brain was pounding in his head, just like before. Every sound was agony. Another prick to his skin and he tried to curl lips to bare teeth, but his muscles refused to respond to his brain’s command. But his system, the ultimate fail safe, quickly began absorbing the drug. Dimly he realized he’d been moved and bound somehow. Didn’t matter right then; he couldn’t raise his head to save his soul. But the demon within his blood couldn’t be repressed; it heard everything and saw all with astounding clarity. The demon wouldn’t be taken by that damnable human drug a second time. He dimly heard someone speaking to Douglass, she responding; amazing, the woman was conscious. His lashes fluttered with the effort to pull out of the pain, but it was slow going. The demon processed all the conversation and passed it on to his sluggish human brain and he came to dimly realize that the assassin was a member of the same organization as Douglass or some shit like that. She knew the putz anyway. But it blurred for a moment and flipped back to stereo surround sound in his ears as he gradually came to realize this ‘Sam’ fucker had committed the ultimate sin; he betrayed his humanity for rewards on this mortal plane. Satan worshippers he could handle, but asstards that were marked by the devil himself…that was another different matter entirely. That bastard would meet his end at Dante’s hands, so help him God. And God would, for Jehovah looked with favor on the Son of Sparda. The chilling reality of this human’s betrayal served its purpose and flooded most of the drug from Dante’s brain, making him seethe and writhe. Teeth grit as arms strained against the steel bonds. He’d also pay the fucker back for those rather derogatory kicks to his person, as well. He growled, eyes bled to stark hellish crimson flaring open as his hold on his demon blood slipped and the devil in him burst forth, an echoing roar escaping his throat. Heaving up, he jerked and strained against the links that held him to earth, they trembling and straining with the massive amount of pressure. Dante yelled and heaved once more, freeing his arms and ankles. Using both for leverage, he screamed, pure fury and bloodlust in his cry and jerked from the floor in a wave of flame and hatred, burning orbs settled on the betrayer, still crouched in front of Douglass. He lunged, catching Sam in the shoulders and propelling the man across the room to slam into the wall with shattering force. The wall shook, but didn’t give. No words were needed, just the bloodlust to be sated, and nothing less than the male before him would ease the demon raging through his body and brain. Fire licked up his form, settling in the palms of his hands, curling around his fingers like lovers as he closed his fists, ready to send this bullshit human into the next world to meet his new master before his time, but the drug still coursed through his system, making him falter and fall to a knee, scales blurring and fading back into human flesh as he panted heavily, eyes slowly crossing. Determination writ across his face, however, as lips compressed over clenched teeth. No! Screaming incoherently, he lunged back at the dazed Sam, utilizing massive fists to just beat the shit outta the man as best he could. A knife clattered from Sam’s pocket, landing just within reach of Douglass’s feet as the two males crashed around the room behind the baptistery.



Douglass : Perfect, just fucking perfect; everything was falling apart before her. Dante, the being she'd blamed for the end of her life, the one who'd she loathed, and forced herself to deal with, even be nice to, for sake of taking her vengeance upon him; he wasn't even the one to blame. How could I have been so blind, perhaps I did love Sam, maybe that's why I couldn't see it. No, I could never, ever love something like that. She watched with blank visuals as the two scrapped about the room, the knife skating across the floor to just within reach of her boot. Quickly, mindlessly even she pinched it between boot toes, muscles churned and twisted under skin to cause the knife to turn, moving ever so slightly the binds were slowly cut through; luckily for the most part it was one long cord. Once cut through all of the binds loosened enough for her to worm out of them, Dante tossing Sam across the room again and again, Sam beating and slicing Dante repeatedly. Once free of the binds she stooped, taking up the knife and clutching it tightly; it was a familiar feel. She'd given Sam that very knife, the day she'd saved his ass and scared her own. "Sam, you will meet your maker; I swear it." Through grit teeth she uttered the words, eyes locking on Sam's figure. Flipping the knife in her fingers, she held it lightly by the tip of the blade, preparing to throw it the door burst open and several guards, along with Damian clamored in. Wide eyed and in disbelief they all paused, staring at Dante's new form. "Don't just stand there you idiots, kill them!" Damian shouted. He was the first to taste the blade, turning to face him Douglass threw the knife as it embedded itself in the soft tender flesh of his neck, "I've heard enough from you." Diving into the fight, guns discharged as Douglass stooped low, kicking out in a sweeping motion to knock a few of the guards off balance. Once down they were easy prey, pulling a gun from one of them she killed him with ease, a single bullet planting itself into his cranial cavity. Turing the gun to the others, she aimed high, for the head and abdomen, never missing a one of them. Dante was busy, so was she, but she couldn't miss Sam's death, she had to be there. It was her duty as an ATT member.



He wanted death. He could taste the fucker’s pulse in his mouth, racing with adrenaline. But he was going to pummel the sorry sonofabitch for ripping the red leather. Recovering from a rather nasty roundhouse, the demon hunter roared and spun around, changing forms in mid swing, scaled knuckles catching Sam across the neck just as Damian and friends entered the fray. Seemed the priest went for reinforcements. Dante missed Douglass catching the man with the knife, however, Sam demanded all his attention. Baring sharp canines, he lunged once more, barreling both of them across the new guards, taking out three in the process. Sam hit the floor with a loud thump, Dante rolling easily to his feet and howling in absolute rage. He wasn’t even thinking anymore. Merely needing to kill, to bathe in the spray of blood from a warm body. That was the demon thinking. It wanted blood. Dante knew better though, but he, for only the second time in his long life, let the human take a back seat to the demon and just watched. Claws extended from his hands and nails clicked against scale as he bared teeth once more and just dove straight for the human, all deadly digits extended to seek the heart. Sam tried to block the demon’s onslaught, but he was facing the righteous wrath of God, imbedded in the form of a half-demon princeling. Dante’s claws sunk deep into Sam’s chest cavity, slicing tendon, sinew and muscle alike, breaking through bone. Fingers closed around the frantically beating heart and ripped it from the man’s living chest with an audible slice! Sam shrieked, falling backward. Dante held the heart in one hand and finished the job with the other, growling and slicing sharp talons across the man’s carotid artery. But there was no heart to pump blood. Sam crumpled. Dropping the organ, Dante threw back his head and howled, a deep bloody sound that echoed across the church and rectory. But the hunter was damn well exhausted. The Surital still pulsed in his blood and he fell to his knees, panting like a spent bellows, slowly reverting to human once more, clothes ripped and torn. Where in God’s name were his weapons? But he couldn’t even see straight enough to get to his feet. The stench of blood was thick in his throat, about to make him gag. The corpse’s staring eyes just looked unblinking at its executioner; the princeling couldn’t find words scathing enough. But he coughed and breath rattled in his throat as he fought the last remnants of the drug’s effects.



Douglass : The last guard fell as Dante lay the final blow to Sam, the sight of the demon man holding the still beating heart weakened her knees and she dropped to the floor. "It's done," all she could say. There was a knowing hollow in her middle; she couldn't fight back the overwhelming emotions. "Goodbye Sam," her voice the cold hard stone that Dante had first been met with. Eyes never moving she sat there, a mindless slump, unseeing eyes staring deep into the hole upon Sam's chest. Where do I go from here? It wasn't Dante, he never wronged me. All this time, it's been Sam, Sam did it all. She began to shake involuntarily, unaware of everything around her. She found herself concerned, concerned about Dante; he dealt with me, even when it wasn't him.



Damnations, he needed sleep, supper and a few cold beers. Not necessarily in that order. But the scratches littering his body slowly fell victim to his healing processes and faded, leaving small streaks of dried blood on his face, shoulder, side and thigh. It took gallons of willpower to move, he felt like he’d been run over by a freight train. But he managed to get to his feet, wobbly albeit, but upright. First things first, he miraculously discovered his weapons. The Alastor blazed like an amethyst sun, calling for her master. His guns weren’t too far. It took him almost five minutes to get ‘em strapped around his hips. But he managed. Sheathing the blade, he looked around, spying Douglass sitting on the floor in a heap, staring at her dead comrade. Damian lay not too far from her, gurgling still. High contempt and loathing filled the platinum haired hunter. He picked his way through the debris, peering down at the dying man. A snort was all the emotion he allowed. “Die slow,” he said caustically, turning his back resolutely. Taking hold of Douglass’s arm, he pulled her to her feet. “Get up,” he ordered tersely. “Got to split before the cops get here. Harris’ll clean up,” he said, weaving on his feet. She still looked in shock. Aw, fuck this. Growling, he slapped her, hard enough to sting. “Move, woman!” he ordered, pushing her towards the sanctuary. Following, he kept her in front of him, prodding when necessary to keep her walking forward. They had to get the hell outta here, before he fell flat on his face.



Douglass : She hadn't even felt him grab her arm, it was all just too much. Nothing really happened until he hit her, and that was enough. Retaliating she slapped him right back, flat palmed right across the cheek. Cold, dense eyes turned to him, brows creased in anger; would she strike again? No, simply turned and walked away on shaky legs.



Dante growled at her, showing teeth as she smacked him. Out of necessity, he refrained from shaking her until her damned teeth rattled. But first things first, one of them had to show some sense, and from the looks of it, he was elected. There was no way in all hells either one of them could drive, he was exhausted and she needed to snap out of it. So he just kept a hand on her arm, steering her away from the shell-shocked church. About two block later, he was rocking on heels, nearly comatose again. But thank God for LA and it’s multitude of hotels. While he didn’t really relish the Century Plaza, it would do. Pulling Douglass up the stairs and into the lobby, the usage of five one hundred dollar bills, tucked away in his coat expedited things immensely and he was given the card key. Wonderful, twelfth floor. He just hauled the woman across the lobby and into the elevator. When the doors closed and they started ascending, he released her arm and slumped against the wall, nearly losing his footing and groaning with the effort of standing upright. God, he was so tired, and the drug plus the adrenaline of his shifting was making him dangerously nauseous.



Douglass : The entire time she was almost completely unaware of what was happening, even inside the hotel she was like a mindless child. Once inside the room she slinked into a chair, slowly gaining the ability to rationalize. Eyes moved in a dazed fog, strange, it seemed a lot like the fog from the first night she'd really met Dante. The entire room was hazed, she didn't even know where she was, but she could see the red, that now familiar red. "Are you Ok?" she sounded distant, though her words were sincere. "You should rest."



Nearly losing consciousness as he closed the door, Dante fell against it, leaning his head back with a strangled groan. “Yeah, no shit, babe,” he answered her sourly, not even bothering to open his eyes. Words died in his throat as he just staggered across the room, methodically stripping as he went. Guns, sword, coat, gloves, vest and shirt all hit the carpet as he finally made it to the edge of the bed. Kicking off boots, the nearly comatose hunter just collapsed on the bed, eyes closed even before his head smacked the pillow.



Douglass : Finally she moved, yanking the covers from under him and placing them lightly over his fatigued form. "Sleep well." Crossing the room she cranked the air conditioner, it immediately poured out copious amounts of cool air. Retreating back to the chair, she slinked back into it, pulling her knees to her chest; bowing her head forward, tears began to fall uncontrollably, shoulders heaving with mournful sobs.



God, he felt like he’d been run through a hay baler. Waking was a bitch. But his body demanded it, so heavy lids fluttered open. It took about ten blinks for his vision to focus. At first he had no damned clue where he was, then he gazed around, a bit dazed and finally remembered. Ah, the church, Sam, Damian, hotel. Yeah, he remembered now. Craning his neck to look around, he spied Douglass curled in a ball in the large chair beside the bed. Damn, the woman looked like her night hadn’t gone so well, either. He recalled her shockiness and sighed. Betrayal sucked; that he could testify to first hand. But he needed to move, else he wouldn’t be doing such for about a week. Muscles protested but he managed to get to his feet, shrugging off covers he didn’t remember moving. Lifting hands over his head, he stretched, groaning as every vertebra in his back popped. Ah, better. Shaking his head to clear it, he judged it to be around two am or so; he’d had a power nap. Still a bit groggy, damn that infernal tranquilizer, Dante tottered around the end of the bed and crouched down before the chair. Clear blue eyes noted the tear streaks that littered Douglass’s face. He pursed his lips, sucking his tongue in thought. Aw, fuck it. Moving quietly, he pulled off her boots and coat, tossing both in a corner. Realizing she wouldn’t be all that comfortable in her fatigues, he carefully maneuvered her around, picking her up gently, as not to wake the exhausted human. Settling her on the other side of the large bed, he methodically stripped her, removing all weapons, pants and shirt, leaving her in underwear and bra. A brow quirked at seeing the orange and gold tattoo that curled over her torso. Interesting. Long sensitive fingers, tapered and calloused, trailed over the coloring along her side; the inking was so artfully done one would never notice the scars unless actually looking for them. But he let her nestle back on the mattress, dragging the sheet and spread to her shoulder. She’d apparently turned on the AC and the room was a bit on the cool side. Felt good to him; he could survive naked in the Artic, so hot natured was he. But a shower was on his list, to get the infernal stench of human blood from his skin and wake his sorry ass up, get the rest of the groggy out of his brain. Closing the door before turning on the light, he stripped off the torn leather pants and stepped into the scalding spray, the rush of water taking his breath. Showering quickly, ending with a cold icy blast to his heated skin, he toweled off quickly and, not bothering with dressing again in the dirty clothes, knotted another around his waist and left the bathroom, his otherly vision serving him well in the darkness. But he snorted quietly. Be damned he sleep on the floor when he’d paid for the room. So he returned to his side of the bed, nearly imperceptibly lying down on his back, a quiet exhalation leaving his lungs as he slowly let his tired body relax. Propping an arm beneath his damp head, he closed his eyes and slipped into a light doze, listening absently to Douglass’s rhythmic breathing.



Douglass : Had she fallen asleep? Sure seemed that way; she was awake before her eyes opened, what was the point of getting up? Lids peeled back slowly, revealing swollen and slightly red eyes, brows furrowed to find that a pillow was resting beneath her head. Sitting up slowly her head began to pound, the night had left her completely drained and hollow; but how in the hell did she end up here? The chilling breeze being pumped into the room by the high powered air condition sent gooseflesh up and down her body, but why was it originating from her middle? Eyes moving down to her own flesh, she noticed for the first time her near nakedness, what the fuck? Still slightly dazed and very much confused she looked about the room, expecting to find Dante standing in a random corner, or seated at the desk across from the bed; neither was the case. He lay next to her, naked to the waist and then donned by nothing more than a simple white hotel towel. Resourceful; quietly swinging legs over the side, she stood on wobbly legs, walking to the window; she peeked behind the curtain, watching the city lights twinkle under the night sky. What time was it? Five am, she'd lost all sense of time after seeing Sam. Her body began to quake as she thought of him, shaking uncontrollably she slipped to the floor, no longer able to stand of her own accord. Lacing her fingers together, she squeezed her hands together as tightly as possible; pressing her thumbs to her forehead she fought back the tears that refused to be stifled. They slipped from her eyes silently, marking trails down the painted doll's face. They trusted you Sam, I trusted you; and you betrayed us all. You let me believe that an innocent man was the cause of my pain, you let my body live even after you killed my soul; God will take my vengeance for me, I hope you rot with your new master.



He dozed lightly, unable to truly sleep anywhere but his own bed. He heard Douglass’s breathing patterns change after a few hours but didn’t move. Better let her find her own balance and way of coping. He remained motionless after she slipped from the bed, the merest slit of sapphire gleaming from his lashes as he watched idly. He’d put an arm over his eyes earlier, so he just kept his stillness as she wobbled to the window and pulled the curtain back a bit. Hm, about dawn, he’d figure. Fuck the daylight; hurt his eyes. But the sharp scent of saline greeted his nose; he realized she was crying again. Silently swearing curses laced with animal parts, he debated on once more getting out of bed and offering her a shoulder to cry one, but pfft, she’d probably slap the shit out of him. But he knew how it was to bear pain alone. It sucked. He’d been doing it for so damned long. And she was human. Fragile things they were. So delicate and breakable. His muscles refused to move, much to his thanks, but he did speak quietly. “Douglass,” he said, unmoving. “If it’s any consolation at all, he’ll suffer. Lucifer and Mundus don’t tolerate failure very well.”



Douglass : As he spoke, she slightly gasped as face shot up, his words taking her off guard. Damnit, I don't fucking cry! Wiping her eyes quickly with the back of her hand she forced herself to her feet. "Thanks," the word was forced and low; her voice refusing to work for her. Steadying herself with one hand pressed lightly against the wall, she loitered a moment at the window, eyes venturing over the city streets. When she'd regained a fraction of composure, she took a few steps forward, pausing once to regain her balance, her head was congested and her mind couldn't focus on any one thought. Upon reaching the bed, she slinked down to a seat on the side opposite Dante, back facing him she bowed her head, taking deep even breaths, her voice needed to work. Long moments passed as she prepared herself for a task so simple it should have been reflex, not something needing prep work; at first her voice was cracked, a mixture of vocals and air but her voice finally broke free and poured smoothly once reaching the end, "I'll pack my stuff and leave when we get back."



A brow arched. “And go where?” He dropped his hand from his forehead to his chest, yawning a bit. Cracking his toes, he sighed and shook his head, closing his eyes once more. “Let all the hatred for me and my blood just wash away, hm? Thanks to one demon worshipping bastard? Hm, I’d have thought you made of harder stuff.”



Douglass : She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly, the movement causing the pounding to return. "It's not like that, the point wasn't to learn how to hunt; it was to learn how to kill you." She stopped for a moment, letting her own words sink in. "I'd thought that it was all your fault, that you were the cause of my pain, of the emptiness inside; the only feeling I had left was to hate you. But that's not the case; it's not the case at all. I can't stop hating you, not so fast; but I can't ask you for anything either, and I can't stop hating myself."



Why wasn’t he surprised? One would think he’d learn, after nearly a century. But he didn’t reply, to do so would rend the flesh from that tender little back. So he merely compressed his lips and swung legs out of bed, rising and striding to the bathroom. Hauling on filthy ripped pants, he shoved the black shirt over his head. Snatching the coat and vest from the floor upon his exit, he fought to control his rapidly rising temper and retrieved his gunbelt. With angry jerky movements, he took the silver plated pistol from the holster, picked up her hand and slapped the heavy gun into her palm. “There,” he told her shortly. “Use what you’ve learned, if any damned thing. Put a bullet in my brain, Douglass, let me bleed to death right here on this damned floor!” He nearly slapped her. “Do it!” he shouted. “That’s all you’ve ever wanted to do, goddamnit!” Seething, he stood there in front of her, booted feet planted apart, a hip cocked arrogantly. “Because I’m a fucking demon, Douglass!” he snarled. “I’m just like what your buddy Sam was on the verge of becoming!”



Douglass : Her blood began to boil as he stood before her, the weight of the gun becoming lighter and lighter in her hand. As his accusations flew, she could smell the pungent odor of his breath as he hollered in her direction. She bolted straight up, aiming the gun right at his forehead as she cocked the hammer back, "What does your being a demon have to do with anything!?" Her voice boomed from her chest, and her lips curled into a snarl like state, "You killed Johnson and Luis, and for that I couldn't forgive you! Until last night it was all your fault, you killed them and then the next night you were there when the rest of my world died! What the fuck was I supposed to think?! As far as I could tell you killed all of them, inadvertently but you did!" Tears streamed down her face, but because she wasn't fighting to hold them back they did not corrode her vision. "I found out last night that you didn't do it, if I killed you now, then I'd be killing the only part of me that's still alive." She lowered her hand and dropped the gun, letting it slide from her fingers it thudded upon the lush carpeting.



If he began to see red, she’d probably die. He dimly saw the gun slither to the floor, the heavy pistol thunking the carpet dully. “Sure, Douglass,” he snarled. “I just took it upon myself to slaughter innocent humans. Stupid, no less, but innocent nonetheless. Just ‘cause I’m that much of a heartless bastard.” Unfazed by her tears and self-loathing; he had his own, by damn, he continued his words, they laced with enough anger and pain to choke an elephant. “Lemme letcha in on a little secret, babe. I do have a heart, and it’s been broken more times than I can comfortably count! Do you think it’s easy, this life?” A snort. “And of course, I was the only one good enough to be left alive, after the fuckers had been warned not to poke their noses in it, so naturally it was all my fault. Just damned typical.” Shaking his head, he retrieved his gun, slamming it into its holster, shaking his head. “What the fuck do you want, Douglass? I don’t read thoughts too well, flunked that hands down. Spit it out, for God’s sake, or stay here.”



Douglass : "I'll never have what I want, they're all dead." She spat the words through clenched teeth, "Apparently you know how that feels." Turning her back to him, she scanned the room for her clothes; spotting them in a pile upon the floor, she fetched them and quickly pulled them on. Shit, I never retrieved my weapons; she shrugged slightly, not the most important thing. As she snapped and tightened the buckles and straps of her boots, she sighted, closing her eyes for a long moment. "I don't want to leave the hunt Dante, you know that. But I can't, and I won't ask you for anything; not anymore." She opened her eyes, lifting them to him, "Do you want me gone?" It was a simple question, but it held her future. Either he'd say no, and she'd stay; learn to cope with what happened and move on, or he'd say yes and she'd leave, set to wonder the world alone; damned to the same fate that he himself had endured.



“Typical female,” he snarled to empty air. “Just have to answer questions with questions.” Snapping on his gunbelt, he leveled a look on the woman. “Pride’s a weakness. A weight some can’t afford to bear. You better get used to it, cause from what you’ve said, you’ve got nothing. Nothing.” Outfitted once more, he tucked gloves into his belt, crossing the room. Looking down at her, he took her chin in a firm grip, forcing her to look at him. Hard sapphire glittered into defiant hazel. Leashed strength radiated from those long skilled fingers. “I’ll say it one more time, Douglass, then I’m done talking about it. You better keep up, if you plan to hunt. I won’t wait.” Releasing her, he abruptly turned strode for the door. Hand on the knob, he turned and looked over his shoulder. “And anytime you wanna duke it out, just say so.”



Douglass : "Kiss my ass you sadistic fuck." Snatching her coat she pulled it on, following him out the door and down the hall to the elevator. As they rode silently down to ground level she silently thanked him, if it wouldn't have been for his usual cocky ass attitude, she'd likely still be in a dumbfounded stupor. She needed to scream, but now wasn't the time.



“Sadistic?” he asked as the elevator lowered them to ground level. A soft snort. “Hardly, baby. I’m just masochistic. Worlds of difference, there.” A rumble of his stomach reminded it’d been ages since he ate last. Oh well. Getting home was first priority. Wouldn’t do for him to go trolling early morning café’s looking like he did; torn pants, coat and shirt. He growled softly at the thought. He’d like to maul the fucker over again for that blasphemy. But he couldn’t resist another smart-assed comment. “One day, maybe you’ll learn the difference.” The doors dinged open and, just for meanness, smacked her butt before striding out. He figured she’d squawk and try to maul him, should she do so, he’d dump her in the fountain in the middle of the lobby. A grin spread his lips, cerulean eyes lightening with male mischief, making female heads turn to stare at the tall hunter as he sauntered for the door.



Douglass : The feel of his hand upon her ass irked her in a way that at the moment couldn't be rivaled, closing eyes she inhaled deeply, swallowing back anger and annoyance. God damn you, you fucking ass hole. Shoulders back, she strolled from the lobby, finding her sunglasses in the pocket of the coat she thanked an unseen phantom for them as she slipped them over her eyes. Sticking hands deep into pockets, a foreign touch met her fingers, "Huh?" Pulling a slip of paper from her coat, she unfolded the yellow sheet; in a neat hand scrawled across the page was an address, 1616 West Los Angeles Blvd. Brows furrowing she folded the slip and stuck it back, keeping fingers upon it as she walked. Muddled hair billowed behind her, tear streaks marked her face, Jesus she was a mess. Oh well, not like there was anyone she was trying to impress. The slip of paper had not been in her pocket when she left, the only rational explanation was that Sam had placed it there; no point in telling Dante right now. He'd shown her kindness, in return she'd given honesty, not that she'd ever been dishonest with him, just never evolved a conversation that far. Her honesty had rendered him angry and rash, he was quick to assume; guess that's what she got, be honest and get attacked, didn't seem too far from normal.



Walking through the revolving doors, he nearly swore violent curses at the foul sunlight that bombarded his lids. “Goat balls,” managed to leave his lips in any case, he squinting in the now blazing sunlight. Shaking his head a bit, he just turned and started walking the few blocks back to the garage. She’d either follow or not. What did she expect? Him to take over as her new lover and no doubt fawn over her precious little self as that blazing asshole had done? That thought made him laugh out loud. He was a mean bastard with a shattered empty hole where his heart used to be. He supposed he’d long ago lost his faith in humanity. Right about the time Jayden…eh, fuck it, he thought with a snort. Leave it buried. Where it needs to be. Finally locating the garage where he’d left his bike, he was tired enough to forgo any theatrics and just ride the elevator up to the roof level. Settling back on his bike, he crossed arms and looked over at Douglass, who was no doubt still fuming. “Look,” he said, raking a hand through platinum, “if we’re gonna keep up the animosity, we might as well throw down right here and now, cause all the seething’s giving me a headache, Douglass. I’m a mean son of a bitch, I’ll admit that. I think I’ve earned the right to be. You’ve been hurt, and I respect that. But I am not used to having someone on my heels. Step up, and walk beside me.” There, his only offer of an olive branch. It wrenched his gut to even grate that out.



Douglass : "I wouldn't want to hurt your precious pride." She kick started the bike, the motor rumbling loudly in the garage. Fishtailing the ass end of her bike with one good push of a strong leg, she peered at him through dark glasses, "Yeah, you've earned the right to be an ass hole, and I've earned the right to be a cunt. Don't respect me for being stupid; Sam wounded me but it's not the first time." Sighing heavily she let the bike roll forward a little more, she was within four feet of him now. "If you'd just wake the fuck up and realize that I don't give a fuck about your demon blood then we might be able to move past this happy horse shit, but all you can do is dwell on the fact and assume that everyone hates you for it. Well here's a newsflash, people hate each other too, and most of them don't have anything to do with demons, imagine that." Shaking her head she gunned the throttle, not ready just yet to spar with her new alliance, that's what it was now, an alliance; a poorly bonded one but still. Tearing down the garage, upon reaching the second level she just gunned the motor and leapt from the story, landing easily into traffic, she whipped the bike around and headed for home sweet home.




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