Warning: Really long explanation from Liz.

I've been churning this idea around in my head for months, but I knew I didn't have the skill to pull it off. Now I'm hoping I've improved enough to make this work, and pressure from certain people has encouraged me to write another Damien/Christophe story.

This is not going to be a happy story. The main couple is not going to ride off into the sunset together.

I am perturbed by some aspects of the BL fandom that condone rape as a romantic gesture. However, the concept, if done right (or, I suppose, deliciously wrong) can turn out well. I've read some examples of well-done rape-fic, and I am most interested in the emotional possibilities it opens up. (Those of you familiar with my writing will know I just enjoy torturing the shit out of my protagonists).

That aside, this is not a rape fic.

At least, not technically. If you're perturbed by non-consensual or dubiously-consensual sex, I suggest you turn away. Those of you who are masochistic fucks and will read it anyway - I hope you enjoy the heavy levels of angst and violence in this.

Oh, and tomorrow is my seventeenth birthday. I am too old for this. Please point any of my usual stupid typos.

Tl;dr: For the love of god, do not read this if you can't handle dub-con.

Music:

Don't Stop - Innerpartysystem

Every Me and Every You - Placebo

Heart-Shaped Box - Nirvana

Part 1 of 3

I prod at the dead body with the toe of my boot. After a few nudges, I manage to roll it onto its back. The bulging eyes protrude from the sockets. I recognize the face. Ms. Stevens', Bebe's mother.

"What did you see?" Gregory asks Kenny. The two of them stand a few feet away at the mouth of the alley. Their bodies are silhouetted against the street lights.

"I was tailing her back from their pickup, just like you asked me," Kenny mumbles through his hood. "She walked down this alley, presumably a shortcut back to her house. Then a dark bat thing whatever came out of the night and, like, cloaked her or something. I ran towards her, but it was gone by the time I got to her, and she was dead."

Gregory has that notebook of his out. He scribbles down notes, then turns to me. "Mole? What did I say about playing with dead bodies?"

"I don't know," I say. "I probably wasn't listening."

I can tell he's scowling just from his voice. "Can you tell how she died?"

I bend over and use my gloved hands to turn her over onto her stomach again. My flashlight is steady as I examine the back of her neck. A black circle the size of a quarter rests in the dip just above her shoulders. "Definitely supernatural. One of ze Tattoo Demons." I fish her wallet from her purse.

"Zis doesn't make any sense," I announce as I walk over to them. "Ms. Stevens was one of ze 'umans working wiz ze Tattoo Demons. Why would ze kill 'er?"

"Don't know." Gregory takes my flashlight, Ms. Steven's wallet, and uses one to look through the other. "Maybe she betrayed them."

Kenny is shifting from side to side, glancing around the alley nervously. The flashlight brings out the gauntness of his face.

"What?" I ask.

He looks at me, then back at the sky again, like he's expecting the same cloaked thing to kill us.

"I know you guys are paying me bank," he says, "but I still don't like all this supernatural shit, okay? I have too much bad experience with it."

"Go home for tonight. Thanks for all your help," Gregory says, absently digging into Ms. Stevens' wallet. "Wait, first, do you recognize this name? You've lived in South Park longer than us."

He holds up a card, blank except for a name printed in capital letters. DAMIEN THORN.

Kenny's face turns even paler.

"You know him?"

"Uh, not very well," Kenny says. "He's not very nice."

"Any idea why Ms. Stevens would have his card?"

Kenny shrugs. "Maybe she was working with him? I don't know." He glances around the alley again.

"Jesus-cocksucking-Christ," I snap. "If anyone is going to cloak you, we'll kill zem in return, and you'll come back to life anyway. So stop worrying about it."

Kenny shoots me something that might have been a smile behind his hood. "Sorry," he says. "It's late, I usually get killed if I'm out at this time. Look, he probably knows something. He's kind of supernatural."

"In what way?" Gregory presses the card to his lips.

"I - I don't know." Kenny starts stumbling down the alley. "I need to get home, okay? I want double for tonight. He lives on 659 Hemingway Street if you're really fucking curious. Just be careful. He's dangerous."

Kenny is gone before we can pry any more information out of him. Gregory watches the spot where he disappeared, then turns the flashlight on me.

"Fuck! Ow! Not on my eyes, you cocksucking beetch!"

He snickers in that upper-class-twat way of his. "One of us gets to search the dead lady's house and one of us gets to talk to the possible-demon and hope we make it out with all our teeth," he says. "Shall we flip a coin?"

The bastard uses a rigged coin.

I ring the doorbell, shivering in the Colorado night. The snow has already soaked through my boots. I once lived in Canada for two years and it was warmer than this.

No one comes, so I hit the doorbell again.

I hear footsteps coming and reach back to make sure my shovel is still slung in the perfect position over my shoulder.

The door opens, and a pale face about my age pokes out.

"It's three in the fucking morning," he mumbles. "Go sell your shit somewhere else."

"Are you Damien Zorn?"

His glare settles on me. He has red eyes, which I take as a bad sign. "Who are you and why do you want to know?"

"Christophe DeLorne." I hold out my gloved hand. "Zere's been a murder and I want information about it."

"Straight to the fucking point, aren't you?"

"You shake it." I stick my hand in his face.

He laughs. His laugh is raspy, deep, and very fake, like he pretends to do it too often. "You're funny." He shakes anyway. "Yeah, I'm Damien. Come inside before you freeze your ass off."

I follow him into the house. I have my shovel if he turns out to be a murderous demon.

The living room is large for a twenty-something-year-old. With the beige furniture and stainless wood coffee table, it feels like it's never been lived in.

Damien shuffles into the kitchen and fiddles with the coffeemaker. I follow him at a distance. "You a cop or something?" he says. "You never actually said whether you were."

"Do I look like a cop?"

"No."

"Well, zen, congratulations on using your powers of obzervation."

He smiles wide. With his dark hair flopping over his eyes, I can almost ignore the red eyes.

"How long have you lived in South Park?"

"Per'aps six monzs. My partner and I moved 'ere after we were requested for 'elp on a string of murders." I don't ask how he knows I haven't been here long. In a town the size of South Park, you pick up new faces fast.

"Your partner - your boyfriend or something?" He hands me a cup of coffee.

"We're partners in work. We kill sheet togezer."

He freezes at the coffee maker. I sip my coffee casually.

"You kill shit together?"

"Mostly 'umans," I say, "but demons sometimes, too."

He pours himself a cup of coffee and leans back against the counter, facing me.

"At first I was worried I'd been found out by the locals," he says, "but I think I get it now. You're just some wannabee demon hunter or something who thinks he's found himself the grand prize."

I narrow my eyes. "I am a professional mercenary, and I am 'ere to do my job, which is not to kill you. I am 'ere to get some information. And isn't it a little arrogant to call yourself ze 'grand prize'?"

He snorts. "Hardly. I mean."

I wait.

"I mean, considering who I am."

"Who are you?"

He looks almost hurt. "I'm the son of Satan. The prince of Hell."

"Oh." I take another sip of my coffee again. "Well. Zat was not what I was expecting."

"You going to run away screaming now?"

I lean against the far counter. "No. I told you. I need information."

He laughs again, this time a lot more genuine.

"You're the weirdest human I've ever met," he says. "That's not particularly a compliment. How did you find me?"

"Kenny McCormick recognized your name on a card we found in a dead woman's purse." I don't mind giving Kenny his name; Kenny can die.

"Kenny?" He frowns. "I told Kenny to keep it quiet about my location."

"Zat bastard knows you?" And he didn't tell me I was about to visit the prince of darkness? Fucking bitch.

"We're acquaintances." He smirks to himself, like there's something I'm missing.

I set down my cup of coffee. "'Ow I found you is not important. Ze fact zat you are ze prince of darkness is not important. I need information, I told you. Alicia Stevens is dead. She was killed tonight by some sort of demon."

"Oh yeah. Her." He frowns. "She came over here a while ago and begged for my help. Said she needed demon power on her side. Said a bunch of people were going to die. I said she need something more substantial to offer me than her soul. Like, a lot of souls. I gave her my card for when she came up a bunch of souls."

"'Ow many souls is your going rate for aid?"

"Forty-three, paid in the form of willing nubile virgins," he says. "I didn't know how she knew I was the son of Satan. I assumed she was one of the Drinkers."

"You know about ze Drinkers?"

"Not much, other than they're hooked on demon blood. Is that what this is about?" He narrows his eyes at me. "Give me an explanation."

I sigh. "About six monzs ago my partner and I received a request from an old friend to investigate some illegal dealings wizin ze city. Ze friend said ze drug problem was getting out of 'and, and we zought it was crack or somezing."

"But it wasn't."

"It wasn't. It was demon blood. Zere are about a dozen demons spreading the product zroughout Colorado, and zeir base of operations is in Souz Park, ze least we can tell. Zey 'ave about twenty 'umans working for zem. We only know zey are demons because we kidnapped one of ze 'umans and . . . convinced zem to talk."

"Mistake?" he suggests.

"Mistake. When we released zem, ze demons came after us. Fortunately, Gregory 'as enough contacts in ze 'uman and supernatural underworld zat killing eizer of us would be a mistake. Enough 'umans gang up togezer, we can kill a demon. So ze demons didn't kill us, just warned us zat ze next time zey would risk Gregory's contacts. We've been watching zem, gazering information." I shake my head. "But zey distribute at a different place every time and it's nearly impossible to get information. We don't know who zeir supplier is or what zeir motivation is. Demon blood is 'ighly addictive but what would demons want wiz a group of 'umans?"

"To make their slaves?"

"Oui, but why?" I slouch deeper into the counter. "Are you sure you're ze son of Satan?"

He just stands there, sipping his coffee and blinking groggily like the average human at three in the morning.

"Yeah," he says. "Why?"

"Because, I don't know. I've killed a lot of your demons, I zink. Are you mad?"

"They're not my demons and I don't give a damn about them anyways," he says. He puts the empty cup in the sink. "I'm not mad."

I roll my shoulders to feel the comforting handle of my shovel, just in case. "You must know somezing. You're ze son of Satan."

"I don't know about every little thing that happens in Hell. Besides, I don't spend a lot of time down there. The atmosphere is kind of stifling." He pulls an unopened pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Do you smoke?"

"Oui," I say, while my mind is going. It's been hours since my last.

"Cool. Let's go on the porch, I don't like to make the whole house smell smoky, sometimes I get guests."

The porch is half buried under two feet of snow. We clear away patches on the railing to rest our elbows. He hands me a cigarette and lights it for me with his finger.

This is when I realize, fully understand that I'm talking to what is possibly the most dangerous demon in the entire world.

Despite the cold, I start to sweat.

"I should probably get going."

He frowns. "Stay. Ask me questions. You must be dying to know about me."

It takes all my self control to snub out the cigarette before I've even had a puff.

"Don't be so arrogant. And I really should go. It's zree in ze morning. My partner probably zinks I'm dead."

Damien grabs my wrist. I stop and glare at him.

"You're interesting," he says. "Interesting people almost never come around. Kenny's been no fun since I turned him suicidal. Stay and chat with me."

"Let me go," I say.

"I'm the antichrist," he says. His eyes glow, and I can tell this isn't about him finding me interesting, this is about me telling him no. "You do what I tell you."

"Let me go."

His grip tightens.

I whirl and slam him into the wall. His back hits the wood and the air whooshes out of him. I'm on him in less than a heartbeat, grabbing him by the neck and holding him against the house.

"We were 'aving a nice conversation," I say. "You told me a few zings, I told you a few zings. I could tell we were on our way to a casual acquaintance. We can still 'ave zat casual acquaintance, you just 'ave to act civilly and let me be on zat way."

I glare at him, and I see flames flicker in his eyes, and I see how threatening him could be a bad idea.

But no one touches me without my permission and gets away with it.

I pull back, crack my neck in a warning, and start for the door.

He breaks my arm.

The pain is immediate and paralyzing. I stumble off the porch and hit the snow in the wooded backyard behind his house. I scream, I think. Only once. Then I manage to choke down the agony and make little grunting noises instead. A chunk of something white rips through my shirt. I stare at it and my head swims.

Damien squats down next to me.

"Sorry," he says. "I didn't realize I was that mad. Here. Let me heal you."

His fingers trace over the bare skin of my cheek. I jerk to my feet, staggering backwards until I hit a tree.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

"I'm trying to help you!"

"I said don't touch me-"

And then he kisses me.

I freeze with shock for a second. He uses the opportunity to pin me to the tree. One of his hands grabs my wrists together and I make a sound of protest into his mouth. Then honey warmth spreads up my broken left arm, from my lips and my wrists and wherever he's touching me. The pain fades. He pulls away, smirking.

"There. Better?"

He still has me trapped against the tree. I stare at him. His face is dark in the dim moonlight. The only vivid part of him is the eyes.

"You broke my arm," I say, a little breathlessly. "I don't care 'ow angry you were, 'ealing it up does not give you fucking permission to kiss me, let me ze fuck go."

He kisses me again.

This time I struggle. My legs kick up but his uses his to trap my further. My arms grab onto his shoulders but he just uses one hand to hold them to the bark above my head. He tastes of ash and char and coffee and cigarette smoke. I gasp for air when he pulls back to let me breathe.

"I'll scream if you don't let me go," I say as calmly as I can between pants. Fear is rising in my stomach, making my throat constrict and my heart rate accelerate. It's not an emotion I feel often, and since it's here now I know I'm in trouble.

"I'm the prince of Hell," he says. "I can do whatever I want."

His free hand wanders over my chest. His smile widens.

"Let me go."

His hand reaches lower - and lower - and past the waistband of my jeans - and I can't help it, I flinch a little when he grabs me.

"Damien," I say, and I'm proud of myself for sounding so steady. "You don't want to do somezing you'll regret."

"I doubt I'll regret it." He kisses me for a third time, and his hand below starts to move.

I finally break my calm, and cry, "Stop! Please!"

He laughs, the motherfucker, his hips beginning to grind against mine as he strokes.

Desperation lends me strength. I manage to yank my left hand free. He uses both hand to try and pin me. I grab my shovel off my back.

Slam!

He stumbles back, hands going to his bleeding eye. "What the hell-"

Slam!

The whole side of his head dents in, so that the eyes are crumpled and falling out, that the nose mashes up into the cheek and a good portion of his skin comes off to reveal crushed muscle underneath.

His jaw starts to work and the skin grows right in front of my eyes. He glowers at me as he heals. I run past him and for the door.

Gregory is already back at the apartment when I let myself in. He's drinking tea at the kitchen table. He raises his eyebrows as I stagger over to sink.

"Good to see you're alive, albeit covered in blood."

"It's not mine, I don't zink." I drink straight from the faucet, spit, drink again, swish. I still taste ash.

"Was he helpful?"

"No." I shut the faucet off and turn to face him. I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. I think that's when he sees that I'm shaking.

"What happened?" He's by my side in a second. As much of an asshole as Gregory can be, we're each other's' only friends and he knows it. "Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? Was Kenny right? Is he dangerous?"

I shake my head and reach into my pocket for my cigarettes. He doesn't even protest when I start smoking in the house. "No," I say, and from the way I'm trembling it comes out as a stammer. "I'm okay. 'E didn't 'urt me."

"Something's wrong," he says. "Was he-"

He touches my shoulder and I jerk away.

He stares at me, and I've got a feeling he knows or at least suspects what almost just happened to me.

"I just want to forget about zat beetch," I say. "'E didn't yield anyzing useful and 'e was a waste of time. You don't 'ave to worry. I want - I want a fucking shower. Please don't bring zis up, ever."

We both have secrets and fears and past traumas we've agreed to 'never bring up again.' His forehead bunches when he sees I'm adding another one to the list.

"Okay." His hand rests on my elbow, and this time, I manage not to flinch.

I start down the hall for the bathroom. Before I enter the room, I turn back and ask, "You searched Ms. Stevens' 'ouse. Did ze search yield anyzing useful?"

He searches my eyes for some confirmation that I'll be okay. I give it to him with a glare.

"I found her calendar. It was written in notes and supposed to be cryptic, but I think there's going to be another meeting for distribution down at Stark's Pond tomorrow night."

"We'll be there for surveillance?"

"We'll be there for surveillance." His forehead is still creased up, eyebrows still knitting together. "Get some sleep."

I wake at noon and spend about an hour with the sheets pulled up to my neck, staring at the wall and thinking. After debating the issue with myself, I decide that what happened last night wasn't my fault, as he is a demon who is infinitely stronger than me, and the fact that I almost got raped does not mean I'm a weakling.

So I go downstairs and make myself breakfast. I eat in front of the computer. Gregory enters the apartment at about one, scuffing snow off his boots.

"It's snowing," he says.

"Of course it is."

He peers over my shoulder. "Are you playing farmville?"

"Oui. Go away."

He turns to monitor off. I turn the wheely seat around to scowl at him.

"Don't give me that look. If I just leave you to your own devices in front of that thing you'll be at it for five days straight again. Are you planning to put on clothes today?"

"I'm wearing boxers. That's enough."

"I could have had Wendy with me."

I snort. "So? Let her see me. She should know what a real man looks like, since all she's gotten to compare to so far are you and ze Marsh kid."

"I told you, no one is allowed to mention him in this house." He sits down in the chair next to me and steals a strip of bacon.

"It's an apartment."

"That's irrelevant. Just don't mention Marsh." He eats my bacon. "I was scouting out the pond, by the way."

"Uh-huh." I start to dig into my pancakes.

"Found some good places to hide in the trees."

"Zat's nice."

"So."

"What are you getting at, Gregory? Go away and let my soul-sucking farmville addiction fester."

He sighs. "I just want to make sure you're up to it, after whatever happened to you last night."

"I said we weren't talking about it."

"Sorry." He waits anyway.

I sigh. "I'm sure."

"You're sure you're sure?"

"I'm sure, you stupid British son of a beetch. Stop asking me if I'm sure."

I hit the power button on the monitor and it squeaks as it starts to reboot.

"Damien is ze son of Satan," I add after a few seconds.

He blinks. "What?"

"You know. Antichrist. Prince of darkness. All zat."

"The son of Satan is living in South Park?"

"Zink about zis logically. Where else would he live?"

He gapes at me. "Why didn't you tell me this last night?"

"Because I wasn't in ze best of fucking moods last night, okay?" I snap. I grab my computer mouse and wave it in a fruitless attempt to make it power up fast. "And I don't zink 'e's intending to make a scene. From talking with 'im I got ze feeling 'e was a normal asshole."

Aside from being stronger than me - so goddamn much stronger than me.

"This is huge, Christophe. How could you just sit on this-?"

I whirl on him, grabbing him by the collar. He holds his hands up slowly, eyes narrowed.

"If zat cocksucking beetch tries to 'urt anyone else," I snarl, the else coming out by accident, "you won't 'ave to worry about 'im anymore, because e'll be dead. Do you understand zat, Gregory Chandler?"

He nods. I release him and turn back to my computer. My web browser demands I upgrade it before I return to my game.

"Just," I say, "focus on ze mission at 'and. Ze demon blood. Ze tattooists. Bebe Steven's mozzer dying. We 'ave surveillance tonight, don't we?"

Crouched behind the trees, hidden in the snow, we watch the demons rise up from Stark's Pond.

The water slides off their clothes. The moonlight drips over their skin. They move up from the water as one, then walk towards the bank where the humans are waiting, their footsteps creating tiny ripples.

There are about twenty humans standing at the shore. They each clutch a duffel bag to their chests. I know every single one of them by name and address and social security number. The only one missing is Ms. Stevens.

"Shh," Gregory murmurs as we watch the demons join the humans.

"I'm not an idiot," I growl back. "Stop being my fucking mozzer."

He grins in a half-apology. We're squished up next to each other, shielding ourselves from view, less than twenty feet away from the gathering. My heart beats loudly enough I'm afraid they'll pick it up. But we can hear their conversation.

The demons are grim-faced and pale. Even from this far away, I pick up a feeling of other around them. They each have a tattoo on their foreheads, a black circle the size of a coin. They wave their fingers and boxes appear next to them. The humans unzip their duffel bags obediently. Tweek Tweak, one of the youngest of the crowd, twitches wildly as a demon dumps the contents of several boxes into his duffel. I've never gotten a good look at the actual drugs before they were transported before. Inside the boxes are vials, the size of a pen, made of a substance that looks like glass. They must be made of stronger stuff, because I don't hear any breaking sounds as the vials are dumped into the duffel bag together. Tweek makes a squeaking sound and closes his duffel, but not before I have a chance to get a glimpse of the dark red liquid inside it.

The demons finish passing out the last of their vials. The humans are already gulping down the contents of vials. From our interrogation, Gregory and I found out that the demons hooked all their humans on the blood. By the time the demons began to ask them to distribute it, the humans were perfectly willing to do what they say.

Tweek sighs and rezips his duffel bag. The demons step back in a group. "Try to focus your efforts on more athletic bodies this time," one says in a low growl. "College-aged kids and younger. We only want top-notch humans."

The humans on the bank murmur their agreement. The demons continue to step back into the lake.

"Wait!" Tweek squeaks. "Where's Ms. Stevens?"

The demons all look at him at the same time. He squeaks again and jerks back a foot.

"She disobeyed us," they say together. "But you all are obedient, so you will not meet her fate."

Then they dissolve back into the lake.

"I knew zey were part of 'er deaz!" I hiss to Gregory.

He snorts. "Congratulations, Christophe. You have the observations skills of a three-year-old."

The humans at the bank are shuffling towards the road, in the opposite direction. Tweek and Kevin Stoley trail behind, muttering to each other.

"Disobedient? How do I know if I'm not being fucking disobedient? Huh? Huh? They're gonna find out I don't sit facing north during the day and then they'll hang my guts like halloween decorations!"

"Just don't be stupid, like her." Their voices fade as the group arcs around the lake. "You know she was trying to get out. She even asked me if I knew about anyone strong in South Park."

"You told her about the guy?" Tweek's voice comes out a high-pitched squeak. "Oh, Jesus, no! I told you not to tell anyone about him! He said he wouldn't like it if I told anyone I'd discovered the prince of hell in our Senior class! He said they would all think I was crazy!"

"I was trying to be nice!" Kevin says defensively. "Anyway, it's not like I'd ever go to him for help, so we're safe from the demon guys. He doubt he'd help us, anyway. They all think we're a bunch of -"

The sound washes away completely. Gregory and I sit in silence for a second, adrenaline racing under our skin, heartbeats throbbing hard enough to hurt our chests.

"He knows something?" Gregory demands. "You said-"

"'e said 'e talked to her and refused to 'elp 'er."

"But he could know more and just not have told you." His eyes are bright with reflected moonlight. "He could know more about the demons who are distributing. You said he wasn't helpful. We should go demand information."

"No!" I snap. He stares at me.

"We're not talking to 'im. Kenny is right, 'e is dangerous."

His eyes soften. "I'll go over there alone if-"

"No! You are not going near 'im!" I grab him by the collar. "Please, for ze love of zat beetch God, stay away from 'im!"

I'm trembling now. He grabs my hand, a gesture he only gets away with in times like this.

"Christophe," he says. "If you're scared, it's okay-"

"I'm not scared," I mumble. "I'm not. Just please. We don't need any information from 'im. We are close to getting zese guys on our own. Just. Please."

I stare up at the ceiling of my bedroom and think.

Because Gregory's right.

Damien could no doubt give us some useful information. He might even be able to take us to their ringleader.

But I'm afraid of him.

I consider Gregory and I going in pairs in our approach to him. But some part of me knows that Damien won't give a damn if I come alone or with a partner or in a group of a hundred. He is strong enough to face down any army. I have to confront this fucking fear alone.

I leave a note on the bed saying I've gone out for some air, and make sure to grab my shovel.

"Are these three-in-the-morning visits going to be a regular thing-?"

"Shut up. Just shut ze fuck up. I 'ave a taser and a gun on me and I'm not afraid to fucking use zem. Try anyzing and I'll make sure to baze you in 'oly water."

"Mad about last night?" He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, yawning.

"You fucking beetch, you would 'ave-"

"I'm sorry. It got a little out of hand. I didn't mean to go that far."

I glower at him. "If you try-"

"I won't."

I can't figure out if he's lying or not.

"I need information."

"Of course you do. Come on in."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I said I won't touch you. I'm making dinner, you want some?"

"I still have my taser. And my shovel."

"Of course."

I follow him into the house, wondering what I'm getting myself into. The son of Satan saunters into the kitchen in front of me. His head is perfectly healed and whole. It occurs to me that no matter all the force I bring with me, he could still defeat me in seconds. Running won't help. All I have to depend on is his goodwill.

"Why are you making dinner at zree in ze morning?"

"Don't you know anything about demons at all?"

I raise my eyebrows.

"Okay, okay, I was playing World of Warcraft from like six until five minutes ago and I haven't eaten yet," he confesses.

I roll my eyes and follow him into the kitchen. He leans over a pot and pokes a wooden spoon into it. A wrapper on the counter gives his meal away.

"You eat instant ramen for dinner?"

"And breakfast. And lunch, too, if I'm too lazy to go out."

"'Ow are you still alive?" I ask in disbelief.

"I'm a demon, remember?"

He pours himself a bowl and perches on the living room couch. I stand against the wall, shoulders up, glancing around for traps.

"I really am sorry," he says again.

And I don't give him an acceptance, because I still remember the way he broke my arm just because I wouldn't do what he told me. I've decided he's a liar.

"You must know somezing about ze demon blood trafficking."

He scowls. "This again? I really don't know who killed Alicia-"

"Ze ones who mass produce the blood. 'Ow would they get so many demons to give up zeir blood?"

"What are the humans paying them?"

I frown. "Ze aren't paying zem anyzing."

He freezes with the fork halfway to his mouth. "What? They aren't? What demon would give up its blood for free? Blood giving hurts."

"It does?"

"Well, you gotta stick a needle in yourself, you know."

"You've done it?"

"Couple times, only when I really need to."

"Like when you're trying to get someone to do what you say?"

He frowns. "What?"

"Ze time after we, ah, 'interrogated' one of ze 'uman distributors, ze demons retaliated by 'aving every 'uman who 'ad 'ad any of ze blood in ze past week or so in ze city converge upon us and drag us to zem. Zey explained to us zat zey controlled people who 'ad 'ad the blood recently, and it would be best not to fuck wiz zem."

"That doesn't make sense. Normal demon blood can't do that. Unless-" He frowns again.

"What?" I demand.

He sets the ramen on the coffee table. "Nothing."

"Don't fucking say nozing. You 'ad an 'oh!' moment."

"I did not."

"Yes you did. Tell me what you were oh!ing about."

"No." He pouts childishly.

"Fucking bastard. Tell me what you know."

"What are you going to do for me?"

"What do you want?"

He looks at me, gaze trailing over every inch of exposed skin, and I'm afraid of the answer.

"Make me dinner."

"What?"

"I'm sick of ramen. Make me something to eat. Can you cook?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Do you want my 'oh' moment or not?"

"Fucking cocksucking faggot-assed son of a beetch-" I stalk into the kitchen and yank open the refrigerator. "You 'ave marinara sauce and you can't even make your own dinner? Are you a fucking zree year old?"

"I told you, I can't cook." He starts to follow me into the kitchen. I turn to glare at him.

"You don't get anywhere near me, beetch."

He steps back and sits on the couch again. "Okay."

He has several boxes of pasta in the cupboards. I curse him out again. While I set the water to boil, I start to demand answers.

"So 'ow would one go about getting down to 'ell?"

"You die," he says.

"While you're alive."

"Unlikely."

"Kenny does it all ze time."

"Kenny dies all the time. It's different."

"Are you going to give me a straight answer?"

He shrugs. "I could take you, I guess."

I look back at him. "You could?"

"I'm the prince of darkness. Yes, I could. You would have to convince me to help you, though. And it would require more than dinner for me to go back there." He shudders.

"What, you don't like 'ell?"

"It's not that," he says.

"What is it?"

"It's stifling. I'm the prince and future ruler so I have to keep up good PR. It was too much pressure."

"So you ran away like a rebellious princess?"

"Shut the fuck up. And I did not run away. I took a vacation."

I feed the pasta into the water. "Zere. It's boiling." I stalk over to my place against the wall again. "Now tell me what I want to know."

"Not until I have my pasta in my hands."

"Son of a beetch. It'll take a while. I don't want to spend 'alf an 'our wiz you."

"It'll be fun. You can tell me your life story. Explain how you got into the mercenary business."

I snort. "I was a kid, I was good at beating ze shit out of people, and it sounded like a financially secure and vaguely interesting part-time job."

"That's it? No drama?" He chews on a strand of his hair. "No angsty backstory? No burning desire to do good?"

"If you want a burning desire to do good, go to Gregory. I just want to be paid."

"Gregory is your partner, right? English, blond, looks super gay but isn't."

"'Ow did you know 'e's my partner?"

"I've seen him around town."

"Oui, but 'ow did you know 'e's my partner?" I narrow my eyes at him. "You fucking beetch. Stay out of my life."

"How, when you won't stay out of mine?" He sits up from his slouch on the couch.

"Give me some goddamn information and I might."

"Jesus, you don't have any hobbies, do you?"

"You don't exactly bring out ze best qualities in me, cocksucker. I know you know something about zis particular demon blood and you won't tell me anyzing."

"I will. As soon as you get the pasta out."

He shrugs and smiles under the full force of my glower.

"Fine, zen," I say. "Fine. I'm going out for a smoke. Tell me when it starts to boil."

I shiver my ass off in the snow for twenty minutes until he calls me with a "Christ-ophe!"

When the pasta is on the plate and in his hands, I cross my arms and stand in his way, blocking his return to the couch.

"Tell me what you know."

He sighs and shakes his head, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

"Fine. Demon blood is extremely addictive when ingested by humans, but it doesn't usually brainwash them. The lesser demons who have been distributing the blood probably have no part in the mind control. Their higher-ups do. The only kind of demon blood capable of that effect on humans is the blood of a royal demon."

"You mean-"

"Yeah."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you-"

"No, I'm not. Don't be an idiot, Christophe, you don't strike me as overly stupid. Whoelse could it be?"

"Your father."

He shrugs.

"Satan is trying to create an army of 'umans."

He shrugs again. "Looks like it, doesn't it?"

"Try to be any more ambiguous, won't you?" I step towards him, weight shifted to be as threatening as fucking possible. He glances at me from under his bangs and smiles that self-assured smile of his, and I freeze.

Because I know Damien can crush me.

"I'll be back," I snap as I leave the house. "Enjoy your fucking pasta."

My breathe is steam in the night air. My boots crunch the snow and ice. Soft flakes patter down on my shoulders. I walk maybe a little too fast. After a few blocks I spot Kenny McCormick leaning against a lamppost.

"Kenny?" I stop a yard from him and hug myself. "Kenny, it's four in ze morning."

He pushes his head off his head. His voice comes out clear. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Sorry about what?" I demand.

"Damien asked me about you. I told him."

My heartbeat increases. "What? What did you tell 'im? Why did you see 'im? Do you know 'im better zan you let on?"

"He wanted to know what you were like. How good you were at fighting. Any weakness you have."

"Son of a beetch, why does 'e-"

"Where you live. Who you live with. Which bedroom you sleep in. How many neighbors would be close enough to hear you scream."

My skin prickles. "You're joking."

"I'm sorry."

I grab him by the neck and force him back against the lamp post. "Why would you tell him anything? Why?"

"You didn't have to visit him every day in hell for years," he hisses. "Damien owns me, Christophe, and I lead him to you, and I'm sorry. I didn't know he would take an interest in you."

"Why would you-"

"You're just his type. Smart-ass, tough, don't give a shit. Same height and build as me, and I know I'm his type." He laughs. "He's probably going to rape you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I wish I could make this easier on you, but I can't. He acts nice, sometimes, but it's a lie. He's a liar. He's a liar and he always gets what he wants. Never forget that. Let me go, please."

I release him, and he rubs his neck.

"Go on," I say, a little faintly.

"You can't fight him off. Don't even try, it won't work when he's serious. He'll hurt you back if you scratch him. My advice? Just consent."

"Why would I -"

"Because, Christophe, listen, please, for the love of god. I was you, okay? It was six years ago but I was you once and he made certain insinuations and I said no. He made more overt insinuations and I told him no with a knee to the groin. So he got pissed, and he broke my legs so I wouldn't run, and he made it hurt. You have no idea, Christophe, how bad he can make it hurt." His face is expressionless as he talks.

"It would-"

"Shut up. Listen. As bad as the actual act hurts, it won't hurt as bad as what happens next. He was mad that he didn't get my consent and he wanted to get back so he got told his buddies down in hell how much I screamed and of course they had to try me out to make sure it was true, right?"

He's shaking now as he talks. I reach out to touch his shoulder. "Kenny-"

"Don't. This is the important part. Because the second I started consenting and giving him what he wanted, he started protecting me. I was his little bitch and no one else could have me. Yeah, he could hit me, but at least it was only one fucking person and at least I was sleeping with him so I had something over him, right?"

His cheeks are wet.

"So do what he says. Because I'll come back to life, but you won't. Eventually he got bored of me. It took years but he let me go because he thought me being suicidal was fucking boring. So just deal with it. Deal with everything. Because if he kills you, Christophe, then he's won."

"Zere 'as to be some ozzer option."

"He's the son of Satan. Give him what he wants. He likes you. He told me that. He finds you interesting and attractive. Use that. Use whatever you can."

He hugs me, then, whispers, "I'm sorry," one more time, and disappears into the night.

I stand in silence, staring at the darkness around me, then sprint back to the apartment.

I sleep with the windows locked and my shovel in my arms.

I am awoken rather rudely with a knife to my throat.

I immediately try to jerk out of bed, but my attacker grabs my hair and pins me back into the mattress.

"I wouldn't do that if you wanna keep your neck," the boy says.

I peer up at him. It's not Damien. Thank god. It's a psychotic boy of about fifteen with glowing red eyes. Fucking shit. "Who ze 'ell are you?"

"You're Damien's new boyfriend, right?"

"'Ardly. Get ze fuck off."

"What's he been doing about the demon blood? I know he knows about it, there's no fucking way he doesn't know about us by now."

"Us?" I stare up at the demon above me. "You're one of ze ones ordering zem around? What's Satan's plan?"

"You think this is about Lucifer? Don't be fucking ridiculous. This is about me and Damien, just like it always has been." He presses the knife harder. I feel blood dribbling down my neck. "And I ask the questions. What has Damien been doing about the demon blood?"

"You've obviously been tailing 'im, why don't you figure it out? And 'ow is Damien involved in zis?"

"I said I ask the fucking questions." His eyes glisten with red.

The door opens. "Mole, I swear to God, if you sleep through the day again-" Gregory stops. "I see we have a guest."

The boy glances at Gregory, and I use the opportunity to throw him off me.

I roll from the bed, grabbing my shovel on the way down. He slashes the knife and it splits the pillow where my head was a second ago. Gregory pulls his gun and fires at the demon boy.

The demon boy dodges. His gaze slides toward Gregory again. I kick him out the window.

Glass cracks with a scream and shards fly. The demon boy shrieks on the way down and thuds when he hits the bottom.

"I'll fucking kill you!" he yells.

Gregory glances at me. "I'll go get my sword and the holy water. Let's try to keep the fight out of the house, I'm still getting the blood off the ceiling from the last time."

I nod and launch out the window after the demon boy.

There's a huge shard of glass sticking out of his head. I land in a crouch and he glares at me. Blood runs down his face.

"Are you trying to make me laugh?" he demands. Electricity crackles between his palms and in his hair. He spreads his arms wide. I prowl around him, brain churning for the best line of attack.

"You're a human. I have powers you can't even dream of and you're trying to fight me? You're kidding, right? You've gotta be kidding. Nothing on earth can even match-"

"Except for me."

We all turn at the sound. Damien stands with arms crossed at the front door of our house.

"Honestly," he says with a scowl. "You can't use such flashy powers and not expect me to find you."

"You fucking asshole!" the boy screams. "I send you a polite invitation and you send me back my messenger's head? I'm trying to make peace, damn it!"

"Shut it, Noah," Damien drawls. "You're as much of a liar as I am. I know you don't want peace."

Gregory opens the door. "Did I miss anything?" He glances at Damien. "Christophe, who's the demon on our porch?"

"Zat's Damien."

"Ah." He punches Damien in the face. Damien reels back, clutching at his bleeding nose.

"That's for whatever you did to Christophe," he says coldly. Then he stalks over to me. "Who are we fighting?"

The boy is still screaming. "You'll pay for being so rude! I'll kill your boyfriend right in front of you, you scum!"

"For ze last time, I am not 'is fucking boyfriend!" I yell. "If you 'ave issues wiz him, take it up wiz 'im and not me."

"Are you kidding?" he sneers. "You threw me out the window."

He holds his hands and twin swords appear in his grip. There is still a glass shard sticking out of his head.

"No one throws me around a fucking window."

Gregory throws a jar of water at him. The glass breaks on his head and the water spills down his body. He glowers at us.

"Well," Gregory says. "Fuck."

"I'm not that kind of demon," the boy says. "I have powers like you wouldn't believe."

Then there are ten of him in a circle around us, their bodies staticky, laughing evilly. Gregory and I stand back to back.

"Hit them in the head," he says.

They charge at us, swords whirling.

I bash one in the ribs with my shovel. It pinwheels back and I catch it over the head. The fake demon explodes in a burst of smoke. Next to me, Gregory is hacking and twisting. A sword slashes my shoulder. I cry out and kick the offender in the stomach. They crumple to the ground, struggling for air. Gregory stabs his sword through its eye. More smoke explosions.

I whirl and turn and smash. Another sword cuts opens a cut on my thigh. Something slices my side and I shriek despite myself. My legs go out from under me, slipping in my own blood. Someone grabs me by the shoulders and forces me down into the earth.

"Say goodbye," the real demon boy says.

Then a gust of wind throws him off me. He lands in a slide twenty feet away. All the copies bleed into him. He doesn't even have time to scream before crevice opens up under his feet.

His cries only last for a second before the ground shakes and closes again.

"What did you do to him?" Gregory asks, panting.

"Sent the little fucker back to Hell." Damien wipes away the blood from his former broken nose as he walks over to me. "Noah's always been a bitch."

He kneels down next to me. "Are you going to pass out?"

I glare at him from under my blood-matted eyes. My fingers slip in blood as I try to hold my lower intestines inside my body.

"Why didn't you intervene earlier?" I demand through clenched teeth.

He seems almost taken aback. "I wanted to see how you would fight. Plus, I thought you would have hated for me to save you."

"I would 'ave 'ated to die even more, bastard," I snarl back, although the effect is lost due to the high, straining pitch of my voice. My world is dimming. The energy leeches from my muscles.

He reaches out and rests his fingers on my bare shoulder. "Let me heal you," he says.

"No!"

He sneers at me. "You don't want me to have to force it like I did last time."

I look away.

The honey warmth ebbs from my shoulder to heal my body. My energy returns. The pain fades and my head clears. The skin smoothes over my wound.

"Who was that guy?" Gregory stalks over to me and helps me to my feet, pulling me away from Damien.

"What, not even a thank you?" he says mockingly. "That's Noah. He's an . . . old acquaintance of mine. We don't agree on a lot of matters."

"Like the demon blood trade?" Gregory suggests, his eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps." Damien flicks his gaze to me. "I saved your life just then."

"Like 'ell you did," I snarl. "It's your fault 'e came after me-"

"I didn't throw him out the window. I saved your life and you owe me. Come make me dinner again sometime?"

"What?" Gregory narrows his eyes. "Stay away from us, antichrist."

Damien sneers at him and disappears in a wave of black shadows. We stare at the spot where he disappeared for a second.

"What's going on?" Gregory says quietly. "What have you been hiding from me?"

Gregory and I sit across from each other at the kitchen table. We each have mugs of our preferred caffeine source. His shoulders are tense. He's glaring me down.

"Tell me everything you've been lying about," he says.

I open my mouth, close it, then force myself to tell him. I tell him how Damien broke my arm and how he healed me. I tell him what Kenny told me last night, what he warned me of, and his suggestion. I leave out the part about how afraid I am.

"So I zink 'e's going to rape me," I conclude, and sip my coffee.

Gregory's knuckles are white on the handle.

"Are you sure," he says quietly.

I nod.

He stands up and turns away from me for a few seconds, twisting in the air, hands over his face. He screams, meaningless.

"How can you be so fucking calm about this?" he yells.

"Look on ze bright side," I say sarcastically. "'Es ''ot and I'm bisexual. It could be worse. 'E could be ugly. I can find 'is face attractive before 'e fucks me."

"Goddamn it, Christophe!" He slams his hands down on the table. The tea sloshes out of his mug. He grits his teeth, shakes his head, and sits.

"Why did you just sit on this? If you'd told me sooner, I could have - we could have-"

"What? Run from 'im? Non, zere is nozing we can do." I light a cigarette.

"Don't just give up," he says.

"I'm not giving up, I'm being practical. Pragmatic. Worrying about it will not make it 'urt less."

My hands are trembling as I set my cigarette in my mouth.

"Are you going to do what Kenny advised?" he asks quietly. I can see the gears working in his mind, see the ever-calculating Gregory coming to the same conclusion that I already have. That Kenny's way will hurt less.

I smile grimly. "I am going to fight 'im until my last breaz."

He sits down again, teeth gritted. "Okay. Okay. There must be something we can do. Think about this. Think." He shakes his head. "Kenny says he likes you. He said we could maybe use that."

"I doubt 'e likes me enough to respect me, we only met two days ago." I roll my eyes.

"I don't know, but it means you have something over him. He values your company. Be witty. Be entertaining. Make him not want to break you." He shakes his head in frustration. "We should run. For the love of God, what have we gotten ourselves into? We should run. We should run right now."

"'E would find me in the end if 'e wants to find me, and 'e would only be more angry." I blow out smoke.

"Damn it, Christophe, stop being practical!" he snaps. "It's okay to be scared, you know? It's okay to cave every once in a while. I'm here for you as your best friend, understand? And I will not let this bastard hurt you."

I smile a little more. "I'm not scared of 'im."

Despite my words, I feel a wave of panic when I hear the door creak open later that night.

I sit up straight and watch Damien enter my bedroom. He moves fluidly, like the shadows are lifting him. His feet touch the floor and he smiles when he sees me watching him.

"Should have figured I'd wake you up," he says.

I glance at Gregory, who's curled up sleeping next to me. He was awake until five minutes ago, insisting that he'd watch over me. Some sort of spell, most likely.

"I wasn't asleep." I glance at my dusty alarm clock. "I suppose zree in ze morning is our time, isn't it?"

"Looks like it." He holds out his hand. "Let's go for a walk."

And there isn't any way I can tell him no, is there? Because Damien always gets what he wants.

I pick up my shovel.

"Leave it," he says. "You won't need it where we're going."

"I always take my shovel wiz me."

He smiles with his drowning eyes. "You'll be safe with me, Christophe."

I set it down next to Gregory and accept his offered hand.

The snowfall has finally stopped, leaving behind a fresh layer of powder that snicks with every step. I try to pull my hand away but his grip on my fingers tightens.

"I'm sorry about Noah," he says. "It was out of line for him to attack you."

I scowl. "You should be sorry. Zat was entirely your fault."

He snickers. "Most people would say, 'oh, no, it's okay, it's his fault, not yours."

"Fuck zat sheet, it 'urt like 'ell. And 'e wouldn't 'ave given a damn about me if not for you."

He laughs. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I won't let it happen again."

"It better not."

"I'll protect you if you let me," he says.

I tense. "I don't need protection."

"I have enemies, and they'll go after you if they can't get to me."

"So don't do zis." I hold up our still-connected hands. "Keep our relationship strictly profession and I'll be fine. If I get 'urt, it will be because of you."

He stops walking. I halt next to him.

"But I don't want to do that," he says.

"Let me go," I say.

"You don't understand," he says. "I can keep you safe and sheltered. You just have to let me look after you."

"You want to control me," I spit at him. "Because you find me interesting, or somezing. Because I won't do what you say and you're not used to zat and you need to get what you want."

He grabs my shoulders and I only have a half-second warning before he kisses me.

His mouth still tastes like ash, inhuman and malignant. This time I struggle and turn my head away. He kisses my jaw and neck and collarbone, biting, drawing blood.

I wrench free of his grasp and run.

My arms and legs pump at a full sprint. Adrenaline course through my body. I'm gasping within seconds, blindly racing through the snow, and I slow when I realize he's not falling me.

I glance behind me. My footsteps leave deep imprints in the snow. The flakes are falling again. Water looms in front of me, and for a second I mistake it for Stark's Pond. But the area around Stark's Pond is densely wooded. Here, houses are planted right on the edge of the bank. There are even a couple houses on stilts. Chunks of ice float in the water.

The silence here softens at the edges. None of the houses have their lights on. The moon is twice the size of a harvest moon, yellow and monstrous in the sky. I shiver.

"Where am I?" I say aloud.

"This is my city," Damien murmurs next to me. I flinch and take a step back.

"I invented it when I was a child. It was perfect because I had all the wonders of modern civilization, and I didn't need to worry about sharing it with anyone, or anyone taking it away from me. You should feel honored I let you come here."

"Is zis place real?"

"Yes. Sometimes." The cuts on his lips have already healed, leaving only reddish-brown streaks on his chin.

"I'm going 'ome,"

He grabs my shoulder.

"Not now I've finally caught you." His words are teasing, but his eyes are glowing.

"Are we going to go zrough zis again? Because I'll give you a straight answer. I won't let you shelter me or control me. It's let me go or force me."

I glare at him, my eyes narrowed.

"You don't know what you're saying," he says.

"I do. I'm not an idiot. I've talked to Kenny and I know what you did to 'im." My arms are shaking now, the words coming out slurred and biting.

"Do you feel proud of yourself for destroying 'umans? You, wiz all your power, playing wiz people who can't fight back."

"It's what we demons do," he says. "We fuck with your lives. It's why we were put on the earth."

"To me it seems like you're too weak to do battle down in 'ell, zat you go after us because we can't possibly compare. You're pathetic."

He grabs me by the neck. I choke and open my mouth like a dying fish, but no air comes in.

"I find it endearing how much you fight," he says, "but everyone needs a breaking point. If I can't find yours, then there's no point in keeping you around."

He drags me over to the lake. I start screaming insults in French, thrashing in his grip. There's no one here but us in the world he owns.

He dunks me into the freezing icewater.

I cry out. Bubbles swarm around my head. The water floods my mouth and nose and lungs. I kick out, trying to connect with something solid, but he keeps me steady below the surface. I'm begging the water now, but the lake sweeps away my voice. It feels like I'm part of another world here, where the sand below me is dark and the water oh so very cold. I fight until the energy leaves me, and I think, he has to let me up now, he has to, but he holds me under until my vision is gone, until my thoughts are fading, until there's nothing, nothing, nothing left.

And later-

-later I'm vaguely aware of a pressure on my lips. something pounding on my chest, and then all the water comes up and I roll over and hack up about ten gallons' worth. I'm safely on the bank. Some part of my mind processes run!, so I try for my feet but collapse, falling into the snow.

A hand on my shoulder, holding me down.

"If you don't have a breaking point," a voice whispers, "I'll hold you back under, and this time I won't let you back up."

I shake up my head and sob something that might vaguely resemble a no. I can make out colors now; a dark blur in front of my eyes, and sharp pinpoints of red.

Something warm picks me up. I cling to the heat, burying my head into the fabric, still gasping for air. Because if I ever had a breaking point, this is it.

We enter warmth and light. I'm set against something soft. I'm still shivering violently, almost to the point of vibrating. The blurs turn into shapes. Damien's face looms inches from my nose. I shut my eyes.

He kisses me. Whatever strength I possessed has drowned along with my willpower. I let him push me back into the bed. His icy fingers tear at my jacket. My extremities sting as they warm. I focus on the pain, because my thawing mind can't handle much else.

He feels like fire, and the heat makes this not nearly as terrifying, so I let him hold me and my shivering fades.

He slides my jeans off my legs. His hands trace over the scars on my skin. I could name the scars like constellations if my mind were working. Gunshot. Dog bite. Barbed wire. Infected knife wound. I watch him through half-lidded eyes. This isn't so bad, I decide.

This isn't so bad.

And the world is moving too fast.

The room is bright - we're in a house somewhere-

His eyes- clouded and bright at the same time-

He is so warm, and I feel so cold -

He can make it hurt -

It's better if I consent -

I don't want -

Don't want-

"Stop!"

I kick out and catch him in the ribs. He looks almost surprised as I scramble away from him.

"Don't. Fucking. Touch me."

Then I roll off the bed and run.

Out of the bedroom. Down the stairs. We're in the living room of the house on 659 Hemingway Street. My hands close on the doorknob.

He grabs me around the waist and hauls me back. I'm screaming again, even though I know it's useless-

"Somebody! Anyone! 'Elp!"

He throws me to the ground and his boot comes up and smashes down on my knee with inhuman strength, and I bend over and wail as my kneecap shatters, high and piercing and it hurts-

"I'll heal you up if you stop fighting."

"Go - fuck - yourself-" I hiss out through clenched teeth.

He pulls me up by my hair and slams my head head back against the wall. My vision spots and he uses the opportunity to drag me up the staircase by my wounded leg.

I beg now.

"Please!" and "No, god, someone help me!" and "Let me go, if you 'ave any fucking 'umanity-"

- ("I don't) -

"I'm sorry I'm so sorry just don't hurt me"

(senseless sobbing)

He throws me on the bed and pins me down before I can claw for the door again, forces me onto my stomach and starts biting his way down my back.

"This will hurt less if you stop moving-"

"Stop stop stop please oh god please someone please please please-"

He slams another punch into my head, which shuts me up for a few seconds. His fingers are curling under the waistband of my boxers by the time my thoughts come back.

"He likes you. Use that. Use whatever you can."

"Make him not want to break you."

"Wait for a second!" The words come out shaky and almost incomprehensible. "Just, just, just wait, okay, fucking wait."

Miraculously, he stops moving.

"What?" he demands.

"I - I -" Use whatever you can. "I want to make a deal."

"A deal?" He snorts laughter. "This should be interesting.

He lets me up and I scramble back against the headboard, laboring to breathe, my vision spotty. He's stripped down to only a pair of jeans, and even in the dim light I can see how much stronger he is.

I try to speak but the pain in my leg stops me, makes me struggle to even think.

"I'm waiting." He laughs.

"Let me zink. Kenny said, Kenny said - you like me."

He narrows his eyes. "Yeah, I think you're interesting. But that doesn't mean anything."

"Wouldn't you like it better if -" I swallow down a cry of pain. "If I agreed to sleep wiz you, if it were consensual."

"I was going for that, but you had to be all like, 'no, don't rape me!'" He rolls his eyes.

I clench my teeth. "Okay. Okay. I won't 'ave sex wiz you right now-"

He shifts position and I freak out, pressing myself farther up against the headboard.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Just give me a second! Give me a fucking second! I said right now, as in zis very moment! Zat is because I can't just forget 'ow much you 'ave 'urt me. But if you were to give me some time, and were to allow me to get used to you, zen maybe I could work myself up to it."

There are tears in my eyes.

"Please," I mumble despite myself. "It 'urts - "

"What are you proposing?" he says, ignoring the little whimpers coming from me.

A plan, I need a plan.

"I control the pace. I will tell you when I am ready for ze next step. You don't touch me unless I say it's okay."

"Why would I agree to that when I could just fuck you right here and now?"

My shoulders shake as I draw in a deep breath.

"Because you like me," I say. "And you find me interesting. And you want to win. I know your type. You need to possess everything zat catches your eye. And you can rape me. I am certain you can overpower me in any state. But you'll never have my mind, you'll never break me to ze point where you broke Kenny. I will never be willing. So you won't win, in ze end, if you force me now."

He scowls. "So you're saying I have to be what, fucking patient?"

"I'm saying give me time."

He looks at me thoughtfully, then he leans over me and kisses me gently. Warmth floods from him, through my body and into my wounded knee. I almost give into him right then as the pain starts to fade. I put my arms around his neck and hold on as he heals me.

"Better?" he asks me after the last of the honey warmth has left me.

He straddles my waist slowly. My head is propped up on the pillows, and he leans back until he's almost sitting in my lap. The minutes tick past as my mind recovers from the shock and pain and the adrenaline levels die down.

"I want you," he murmurs. "How much are you willing to give me?"

In response, I prop myself up on my elbows and press my lips to his, mouth closed like a child would kiss. He starts to move back against me.

"No!" I pull away. "I said I control ze pace!"

He stops and lets me continue my child-kisses. After a few I rest my head back against the pillows again and open my eyes.

"So we can kiss?" he murmurs, in the same voice that was threatening my death a few minutes ago. I force down the fear rising in my stomach, and somehow bob my head up and down.

"We can kiss. But nozing past second base, and stop when I tell you to stop."

He attacks me feverishly. The honey warmth starts to spread through me again, and my energy returns, enough for me to remember my part of the deal and kiss him back. You're giving him what he wants. I shut down the voice of self-hatred. This is the only way I'll live through this.

I tell him stop after what feels like hours, when I can't force down the fear anymore and it's so strong it weighs down my limbs. We lie next to each other on the bed for some immeasurable amount of time, sticky with sweat and breathless.

It is so very warm like this.

I doze. He snaps me out of my stupor by climbing back into bed next to me and waving a slice of order-in pizza in front of my nose. The upheaval of the last few hours hits me. I eat until I feel sick.

"I feel so weak," I mutter. Sunlight has just started to seep through the cracks under his curtains. My mouth tastes like ash. The room reeks of it.

"Oh," he says. "I forgot about that. It takes humans a lot of energy to be, well, close to us. You're going to be exhausted for a few hours. Maybe up to a day."

"A day?" I roll around to face him. "Are you kidding me? I 'ave sheet I 'ave to do! Zis can't be a regular zing or I'll be pazethic all ze time!"

"Your body will get used to being around me," he assures me. "Happened to Kenny."

I curl my spine up against the curve of his stomach again. His arm is thrown casually over my shoulder as we spoon.

"Kenny's been no fun since I turned him suicidal-"

I could be free of him if I killed myself.

But I want to live, goddamn it, that's why I came up with this stupid idea.

I will deal with the nauseating fear of him and the slowly-creeping self-hatred if it means if I get to live.

"That was nice," he admits, murmuring against my back.

"Breaking my kneecap?" I demand. Phantom pain still echoes over my leg.

"No. Well, that, too. But being with a human who actually wanted to be with me - or was good at pretending. Even Kenny - after I broke him he didn't have any fire in him anymore. It was boring. And you humans can tell I'm not one of you when you get too close. Demons are no fun to play with because all we want to do is hurt each other. But that was nice."

He hugs me against him, and it occurs it me that Damien is desperately lonely.

Use whatever you can.

"So you're willing to wait for me?" My eyelids are slipping closed. I know I'm stupid to trust him even an inch, but I'm so tired and he is so warm -

"Not for too long," he says. Then, "Hey, sorry about almost killing you. It won't happen again, I promise."

I hear the smirk in his voice.

"You're lying."

He snickers. "You'll just have to find out."