FIC: How Was I Supposed To Know, Chapter 5/ ? (Crowley/OFC)
FIC: How Was I Supposed To Know, Chapter 5 / ? (Crowley/OFC)
AUTHOR: anneelliot201
GENRE: Romance/Drama
PAIRING: Crowley/OFC
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Season 8, references to Season 9
SUMMARY: Hazel is an ordinary woman--a blackjack dealer at a casino in the middle of the New Mexican desert--but her world gets turned upside down when a man in a black suit decides to take an interest in her. PLEASE NOTE THIS FIC WAS WRITTEN WHILE WATCHING SEASON 9 AND THEREFORE DOES NOT COMPLY WITH CURRENT CANON. I TOOK THINGS IN A DIFFERENT DIRECTION FOR STORYTELLING PURPOSES.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I haven't written anything in a year and I've NEVER written Supernatural, so be kind. :-) This fic will probably be about 13 chapters and about 50,000 words. I have eleven chapters drafted and need to do my re-writes and finish the rest. Promise I won't leave you hanging if you start this ride with me.
CHAPTER 5
Guilt. It has been decades--centuries--since he’d been burdened with that particular emotion. It had taken some quiet reflection in his dungeon prison to place it. The passage of time was vague, indefinite, so it could have taken minutes or hours or days to pinpoint what was causing the heaviness within him. Regret had become a familiar friend since the church and those blasted syringes of Moose’s blood. Regret of many things he had done or ordered done.
But guilt hadn’t been consuming him until now. It was like his brain was relearning how to feel these emotions and the reemergence of them left him floundering for a way to cope. She was unwavering, a pillar in a world of swirling people who didn’t know who they were and what they wanted. And he took advantage of that by trying to pull her down into his mess. He should have left her alone and let her live her life. Find her own success and a man who would appreciate the weight of knowing in her eyes. Not to mention her lush body that she was so self-conscious of.
Crowley let his head fall back. The ceiling was pitch black above him. Why was he waxing poetic about her? She was a cog in the system, another piece of be used in this game of chess. And yet she was all he could think about right now. It made it worse to know that she was likely only yards away within this very structure, reading or writing or eating or sleeping. Or talking to the Winchesters. The thought dulled the guilt and replaced it with a more familiar emotion--jealousy. Jealousy felt better, stronger. None of that simpering guilt or longing.
The fucking longing. He blamed the blood for that. The blood had infected him with these stupid human emotions like guilt and regret and longing. There was the more carnal longing to hold her down and fuck her, feel her gripping him with her little hands, shapely legs, and that tight place between her thighs. That longing sat in his mind comfortably because it was something the demon in him could relate to. The other longing, the one that infiltrated his thoughts with images of her held reverently in his arms, her fingertips tracing patterns on his skin, her eyes looking at him with acceptance and...
Crowley felt uncontrollable panic rise up in his mind. Love. Acceptance and love. Those were wishes of humans. He wanted power. Power and the ability to instill fear in those who served him.
He slammed his fists on the table, the chains making a hollow metallic clang as they smacked off the metal. Love. It caused such heaviness in his chest. But his craving for it was all an illusion. He hadn’t been capable of feeling that since... since he was a child, really. Certainly not since he was a miserable, pathetic human.
Maybe more blood would make him feel better. And maybe it would just make this state of heightened emotions even worse.
Before he grab back onto that sanity-saving thread of jealousy over her spending time with the Winchesters, he felt a tingling presence of someone in the room beyond his dungeon. The Winchesters had a certain feel to them and this was different; this was HER. Crowley opened his mouth to call out for Hazel, but thought better of it. She was slippery, easily lost, at this moment. Any move from him could shut her down and scare her away.
After what felt like hours, he heard the unmistakable sound of the shelves being pulled back to reveal his torture chamber. She was in a pair of faded jeans that had seen better days and a white T-shirt. So simple and yet so alluring. She didn’t have to try to get his attention. Her hair was slightly damp and framed her face nicely. And her eyes were huge, frightened, uncertain.
“Hello, love,” he said softly, hiding his shackled hands beneath the table.
“I heard a bang. Are you okay?” She was standing in the doorway. He wanted her to come closer. Not so he could hurt her or use her to contrive a way out of his prison, but just so he could smell her and feel her body. The realization made him feel disgust at his sorry state. He should be thinking of ways to use her, but he just couldn’t seem to muster the ability.
“Just a bit frustrated. I can’t beat my hands against the walls, so I use the table.” See, he thought, remember I can’t leave his Devil’s Trap, darling. Remember I’m trapped and come a little closer.
And she did. She took one tentative step into the room and then another. “When did you put the key on me?”
Crowley flashed her what he hoped was a friendly, unassuming smile. But with the warring emotions in his fucked up head, it may have just come across as a grimace. “Do you forget so easily, love?”
“When you kissed me,” she said, taking another step closer. Her nearness was like a balm to his burned up mind.
“When I kissed you,” he agreed. “Although, I believe you kissed me as well.”
Hazel’s cheeks flushed and she looked away. She crossed her arms over her chest, but all that did was press her tits up and together, making the cleavage showing in the V of her T-shirt that much more enticing.
Crowley licked his lips. “How long has it been?”
The question made her turn her gaze back to him. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been trapped in here for some time. How long has it been?”
She seemed to consider the danger of proving information before finally saying, “A couple months, I think. Since the kiss,” she clarified.
THE kiss. Yes. Her lips were so pink, so lovely. “And since you were attacked?”
“By the other demons? That was on Wednesday night. I got here on Thursday afternoon.”
“And it is Friday?”
“Saturday.”
“Time flies when you’re locked in a dungeon,” he replied with another smile he hoped was disarming.
“They tried to get into me. The smoke did.”
Ah. He smiled. “The key is too powerful. Rest assured you can’t be possessed while it is on you. Not even by me.”
She stepped up to the edge of the Devil’s Trap. The toes of her bare feet were no more than an inch from the engraved sigil. “You really can’t leave this circle?” she asked.
“Alas, I cannot.”
“Are you really that dangerous?”
For a moment he considered telling her that he was practically harmless and the Winchesters were reactionary bullies that chained him and trapped him because they wanted information he had. But she’d never believe him. She was too smart and too insightful. And then any good will she had toward him--because it was obvious she had some if she was checking on him--would be gone. “I’m very dangerous, love. I’m a demon. I can move things with my mind, disappear with a snap of my fingers, tip a car over with one hand, snap a person’s neck with just a thought.”
She didn’t move, standing her ground at the edge of the circle. Crowley wanted to smile, but he didn’t. This was a serious conversation and smiling at her would scare her off. “And you could do all that when I saw you in the casino all those times?”
“Yes.”
“And the people you were meeting there? They were demons? Or were they people you had made deals with?”
“Demons. Underlings who were following my orders.”
“Which is why you didn’t mind keeping them waiting the night we had drinks at the bar.”
Crowley nodded. “Yes.”
“If you’re so powerful, why did you talk to me? Did you plan on cursing me with this key the whole time? You were just... just preparing?”
“I didn’t plan on giving you the key until the night I did. The other times were just... fun. You’re interesting, removed from those around you in a strange way.”
“I don’t understand,” Hazel said, shifting her weight from one foot to another. The movement jutted her left hip out, accentuating her delicious curves. If he weren’t shackled, then he’d show her another thing he could do: remove all her clothes with a blink of his eyes.
Crowley leaned back in his chair. “Most humans are quivering little souls that don’t know who they are. They bounce back and forth, looking for purpose or reason, fame or peace, money or happiness. You’re very still. Very centered. I find it... magnetic.”
“But I’m not. I’m not still or centered. I’m not... happy.” The last word fell off the sentence. It was as if it slipped out of her mouth when she really didn’t want to admit such a thing to him, the big bad demon.
“There are few humans who have a firm grasp on their selves. You’re one of them; it’s probably why you didn’t accept my deal. You didn’t even consider it, did you?”
Hazel shifted again. That swell of cleavage contained by her T-shirt was enticing. He wished she would come closer. “No, I didn’t. It was silly; I didn’t even believe you had the ability to make a deal like that.”
“And now that you know I can hold up my side of the bargain?”
She scoffed. “No, why would I sell myself? That’s... cheap.”
Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Cheap?”
“Fame and money. Accolades from people who don’t really matter to me. That’s a cheap price for who I am as person.”
He smiled. “Most people don’t think that way, darling. Most people would say yes in a second.”
“Most people are crazy, then.”
His smile got bigger. “Which is why you’re different and why I was drawn to you.”
She rolled her eyes. “And here I thought you wanted to...” She trailed off, unable to articulate what she was thinking. He knew what was running through her mind, though.
“What, love? Slide my tongue into your mouth while I slip between your luscious legs and fuck you until you beg me for more? Oh, I did. I do.”
Her breathing quickened, her cheeks flushing a bright pink. She was practically edible. If she would just come closer then he could put her on the table in front of him, pull her jeans down her legs and lick her until she screamed for him. And then the Winchesters could run and in know that she belonged to him, that every single inch of her was his.
Instead, she turned away and that wave of longing hit him like a freight train. The jaunts into other realms of feeling--lust, jealousy, anger, frustration--they were just diversions from the deeper problem. His emotions were out of control.
“Don’t be so crude,” she said, her back turned to him. Finally, she turned around again and let her hands hang down at her sides. She was framed in the light from the storage room and the swell of her breasts, the indentation of her waist, and the beautiful, timeless arcing curve of her hips tampering into her thighs was thing to behold. “Your powers--is that why the man in the parking lot was so afraid of you?”
His head was fuzzy, but embracing his desire for her was better than allowing his longing and guilt to cut in. “What man?”
“The night you kissed me. The man in the parking lot who grabbed me.”
Crowley dropped his gaze. Anything but the truth would come back to bite him in the ass with her. “He was working for me. I told him to scare you.”
“Why?”
“So you’d let me walk you to your car.”
“So you could stick this--this key on me?” Her voice was higher, tinged with anger, incredulity.
“I was in a precarious position and I needed insurance that everything I worked for wouldn’t be taken away.”
“But why me?”
“Because I wanted to see you.” Crowley snapped his mouth shut after he said it. That hadn’t been what he wanted to say. That had been too close to the truth.
“But why?” Her eyes were hard, angry.
The truth, he decided. It had to be the truth. Maybe this blood was making him soft. “Because I wanted an excuse to come back to the casino.”
“You didn’t need an excuse,” she said softly. Was that tenderness in her voice? The tone of it made his heart ache. And that made him nauseous, disgusted with himself and this weakness that he’d been afflicted with.
“You didn’t want to deal with me. You didn’t want to defile yourself with me. I can’t very well just keeping stopping by to chat with you, love. I’ve got a business to run and a reputation to maintain.”
“Oh.” She seemed disappointed, the simple syllable falling from her lips and dropping to the floor, dejected. She turned away and took two steps toward the door.
Panic rushed through his veins. Panic that she would leave him alone again. That he’d end up sitting here in the dark thinking about her, longing for the feel of her body, desperate for her... acceptance. He had to hit the breaks on that train of thought before his mind replaced acceptance with love. “Hazel.”
She looked over her shoulder. A strand of blonde hair had fallen over her eye and she swiped it away.
He couldn’t think of a damn thing to get her to stay. “Will you come see me tomorrow?”
“Dean and Sam will be back tomorrow. They don’t want me talking to you.”
Ah, so the Winchesters were gone. That’s why they’d had this uninterrupted time together. For a moment he considered asking her to let him stretch his arms by removing the shackles, but he knew she wouldn’t do it. And then she’d distrust him even more than she currently did.
“I don’t sleep. I just sit down here and think. It’s enjoyable to have someone to talk to.” It was the truth. Not the whole truth, but enough for her to accept it without question.
“Maybe,” she said before stepping into the storage room and pushing the doors closed.
**************************************
Hazel’s hands were shaking, but she wasn’t sure why. It was probably because she’d just had a conversation with a demon who claimed to be the King of Hell. Except now he was chained up in a secret room in a secret bunker that she’d been trapped in herself for over two days. The place was too quiet when Sam and Dean were gone. They’d left the previous day after getting a phone call. They promised they would be back in a couple days and made her promise not to get near Crowley’s room. And that was a promise she’d broken.
She tried to fool herself into thinking that she’d gone in there to check on him after hearing the bang, but the truth was much simpler. She’d gone in there because she was curious. The man who had been fueling her fancies for months was shackled yards from where she was sleeping and she wanted to know whey he’d pulled her into this mess.
His answer sounded truthful, but he was a demon. And according to all the books and diaries and research journals of the men who had built this bunker, demons were not to be trusted. And she’d done a lot of reading since she’d arrived. There wasn’t much else to do.
She sat down at the table in the center of the bunker and flipped open a journal with pages yellowed from age. Instead of reading it, her mind drifted to Crowley and the way he looked at her. The way her body reacted to his innuendoes and his blatantly lustful comments. It annoyed her that she still found him attractive, but there was just something about him she couldn’t shake. Something in the way he looked at her that made her wonder about his true nature.
Maybe it was all a carefully constructed persona to entice her to unchain him, to help him escape. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He’d admitted to what he could do if he wasn’t contained. And she wasn’t vain enough to think that his proclaimed attraction to her would save her life if he wanted to snap her neck and make a run for it. Then again, there was a flicker of life in those eyes--something that looked painful and desperate. Something that looked haunted.
She’d never been one for bad boys, but this particular bad boy certainly wouldn’t leave her thoughts. Again, she was annoyed with herself for being so typical as to lust after a guy who would probably step on her neck to get ahead. Guys like him--demons, she corrected herself--didn’t actually care about anyone, especially not someone like her, despite what he’d said about her being special. Special, her ass. She was as ordinary as they came.
********************************
The only way she knew it was nine o’clock in the morning was the display on the cell phone Sam had given her. It illuminated the dark bedroom, showing an incoming call.
“Hello?”
“Hazel?” It was Sam’s voice.
“Sam?”
“Hey, we’re going to be another day or two here.”
“Where?”
“Havana, Illinois. We’ve got a werewolf on the loose and we need to find him.”
Just when she thought she was used to hearing about all these monsters being real, someone said something like this and her mind reeled back, confused and unwilling to believe. “Oh, okay.”
“You okay?”
She nodded and sat up in bed. “Yeah.”
“Remember to stay away from Crowley.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll be back soon.”
She swept her hair back from her face. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you in a day or two.”
And then he hung up and she was alone in this tomb of a building. The desire to go outside for a breath of fresh air was not as strong as her fear that the minute she stepped out the door a cloud of black smoke would swoop down upon her and she’d find herself fighting for her life. And she was definitely not a fighter.
Instead of braving the outside world, she took a shower and poured herself a bowl of cereal. While her hair air-dried, she read about the methods of avoiding demon possession and how to extract a demon from a human body without damage to the physical vessel. Sometimes she found herself reading the material as if it were a horror story. And then she remembered that this was real life now. Demons existed and there was one just down the hall.
Instead of continuing with the two texts on the table in front of her, she walked over to the library and found the section detailing the historical origins of known demons. The Men of Letters had a meticulous card catalog that she’d familiarized herself with on the first full day in the bunker. If she couldn’t fight, then she could read and at least know what the hell was going on in her life now. There was a large tome that contained a list of demons and any facts about them that had been gathered over the years. She pulled it out and sat down to satisfy her curiosity, but not without some trepidation. What if she learned something she didn’t want to know? Then again, all knowledge was good, right? Especially if your life might depend on it.
It was alphabetized and after a brief moment of hesitation, she flipped to the C’s and then turned pages one by one until she came across the name Crowley. Part of her had believed she wouldn’t find his name in there, but that she had and she had no choice but to read it.
Crowley, the most powerful crossroads demon known to us, is believed to have been Fergus Roderick McLeod. McLeod was born in 1661 to a witch named Rowena of the Grand Coven. Though there is no evidence, testimonies indicate Rowena was abusive to her child. After an uneventful life as a tailor, McLeod made a deal with an unknown crossroads demon to increase his penis size by three inches. Upon his death in 1723, his soul was collected and sent to hell as per the agreement. McLeod took on the name of Crowley and the first documented interaction with him was in 1804.
Crowley is considered to be the leader of the crossroads demons. While he can appear civil and fair, he should be considered extremely dangerous. He has extraordinary strength, the ability to perform feats of telekinesis, teleportation of not only himself but others, pyrokinesis, and invisibility. There are two documented instances of Crowley resurrecting deceased humans. He is also adept at spell-casting, assumedly due to his mother’s position in the Grand Coven.
Following the text were several lines citing references books that contained the more detailed accounts of Crowley’s interactions with humans. Hazel pulled in a deep breath and flipped the book shut. She didn’t need to read any more to know that what he’d told her had been true and she was in over her head. Staying in this bunker, knowing he was chained up only yards away was unnerving.
She retreated to her bedroom and got dressed--jeans and a worn band T-shirt that was faded from too much use. After pacing around the table for a few minutes, she walked up the stairs and gingerly touched the latch to the bunker door. Slowly, she unlocked it and cracked open the heavy door. The mid-day sun was high overhead and the terrain offered no respite from it.
Pushing the door open a little more, she stuck her head out while she held her breath. No black smoke. No demons trying to kill her. Just the flat, almost barren miles of Kansas stretched out before her. Before anything could go wrong, she quickly shut the door and locked it. The breath or two of fresh air had done her good. She felt reconnected with the world and not quite so lost. So, things were different. Demons existed and all the tales she’d heard of monsters might be true. Okay, mental adjustment was necessary and then she could move on and see how she could deal with this new reality.
She sat down to read more about expelling demons from their hosts, but all she could think about was Crowley and how he was sitting in a metal chair in a dark room just down the hall. She could still see that look in his eyes when he’d asked her to come see him the next day. And even though she knew he could be manipulative and conniving, she still found it difficult to shake the thought that he might feel very alone. And how could he hurt her if he was chained and contained within the Devil’s Trap on the floor.
She drank the last few drops of water in her glass and pushed herself up from the table. Down the hallway were a few doors. The one at the end led to the storage room. And the shelves on the far wall opened to what Dean and Sam called the dungeon. Really, it was just a dark room with chains on the walls and a Devil’s Trap on the floor, inlayed in brass.
Slowly, he pulled open the shelves to allow the light in the storage room to spill over across the table and Crowley himself. He blinked and gave her one of those smiles that looked so genuine.
“Hello, love.” His customary greeting that made her feel just a little special. Like she meant something to him. Obviously, it was just a tactical phrase he used to make her feel that way. His beard was rough and speckled with gray. He looked tired, but not as tired as he should have looked after being locked up for over two months.
“Is your name really Fergus McLeod?”
He visibly recoiled at the question, but recovered very quickly. “Have you been reading about me, love?”
“I take that as a yes,” she replied.
“Yes, once upon a time people called me that. It’s been a very long time, though. And I like my current name better. More fitting, don’t you think?”
“Why do you not like the name Fergus?”
He dropped his gaze. “Fergus was weak. I’m glad to be done with that portion of my existence.”
Hazel dragged the second chair away from the wall and positioned it just outside the circle. “Do you miss being human?”
“No.” His reply was a bit to fast. “My life as a human was lacking in anything enjoyable.”
“Maybe that was your fault.”
“Maybe it’s your fault you’re not happy,” he snapped. And then he smiled and said, “Forgive me, love. You’re poking at some old wounds.”
“What was your life like, then?” she asked, crossing her legs, not realizing that her foot was inside the circle.
AUTHOR: anneelliot201
GENRE: Romance/Drama
PAIRING: Crowley/OFC
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Season 8, references to Season 9
SUMMARY: Hazel is an ordinary woman--a blackjack dealer at a casino in the middle of the New Mexican desert--but her world gets turned upside down when a man in a black suit decides to take an interest in her. PLEASE NOTE THIS FIC WAS WRITTEN WHILE WATCHING SEASON 9 AND THEREFORE DOES NOT COMPLY WITH CURRENT CANON. I TOOK THINGS IN A DIFFERENT DIRECTION FOR STORYTELLING PURPOSES.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I haven't written anything in a year and I've NEVER written Supernatural, so be kind. :-) This fic will probably be about 13 chapters and about 50,000 words. I have eleven chapters drafted and need to do my re-writes and finish the rest. Promise I won't leave you hanging if you start this ride with me.
CHAPTER 5
Guilt. It has been decades--centuries--since he’d been burdened with that particular emotion. It had taken some quiet reflection in his dungeon prison to place it. The passage of time was vague, indefinite, so it could have taken minutes or hours or days to pinpoint what was causing the heaviness within him. Regret had become a familiar friend since the church and those blasted syringes of Moose’s blood. Regret of many things he had done or ordered done.
But guilt hadn’t been consuming him until now. It was like his brain was relearning how to feel these emotions and the reemergence of them left him floundering for a way to cope. She was unwavering, a pillar in a world of swirling people who didn’t know who they were and what they wanted. And he took advantage of that by trying to pull her down into his mess. He should have left her alone and let her live her life. Find her own success and a man who would appreciate the weight of knowing in her eyes. Not to mention her lush body that she was so self-conscious of.
Crowley let his head fall back. The ceiling was pitch black above him. Why was he waxing poetic about her? She was a cog in the system, another piece of be used in this game of chess. And yet she was all he could think about right now. It made it worse to know that she was likely only yards away within this very structure, reading or writing or eating or sleeping. Or talking to the Winchesters. The thought dulled the guilt and replaced it with a more familiar emotion--jealousy. Jealousy felt better, stronger. None of that simpering guilt or longing.
The fucking longing. He blamed the blood for that. The blood had infected him with these stupid human emotions like guilt and regret and longing. There was the more carnal longing to hold her down and fuck her, feel her gripping him with her little hands, shapely legs, and that tight place between her thighs. That longing sat in his mind comfortably because it was something the demon in him could relate to. The other longing, the one that infiltrated his thoughts with images of her held reverently in his arms, her fingertips tracing patterns on his skin, her eyes looking at him with acceptance and...
Crowley felt uncontrollable panic rise up in his mind. Love. Acceptance and love. Those were wishes of humans. He wanted power. Power and the ability to instill fear in those who served him.
He slammed his fists on the table, the chains making a hollow metallic clang as they smacked off the metal. Love. It caused such heaviness in his chest. But his craving for it was all an illusion. He hadn’t been capable of feeling that since... since he was a child, really. Certainly not since he was a miserable, pathetic human.
Maybe more blood would make him feel better. And maybe it would just make this state of heightened emotions even worse.
Before he grab back onto that sanity-saving thread of jealousy over her spending time with the Winchesters, he felt a tingling presence of someone in the room beyond his dungeon. The Winchesters had a certain feel to them and this was different; this was HER. Crowley opened his mouth to call out for Hazel, but thought better of it. She was slippery, easily lost, at this moment. Any move from him could shut her down and scare her away.
After what felt like hours, he heard the unmistakable sound of the shelves being pulled back to reveal his torture chamber. She was in a pair of faded jeans that had seen better days and a white T-shirt. So simple and yet so alluring. She didn’t have to try to get his attention. Her hair was slightly damp and framed her face nicely. And her eyes were huge, frightened, uncertain.
“Hello, love,” he said softly, hiding his shackled hands beneath the table.
“I heard a bang. Are you okay?” She was standing in the doorway. He wanted her to come closer. Not so he could hurt her or use her to contrive a way out of his prison, but just so he could smell her and feel her body. The realization made him feel disgust at his sorry state. He should be thinking of ways to use her, but he just couldn’t seem to muster the ability.
“Just a bit frustrated. I can’t beat my hands against the walls, so I use the table.” See, he thought, remember I can’t leave his Devil’s Trap, darling. Remember I’m trapped and come a little closer.
And she did. She took one tentative step into the room and then another. “When did you put the key on me?”
Crowley flashed her what he hoped was a friendly, unassuming smile. But with the warring emotions in his fucked up head, it may have just come across as a grimace. “Do you forget so easily, love?”
“When you kissed me,” she said, taking another step closer. Her nearness was like a balm to his burned up mind.
“When I kissed you,” he agreed. “Although, I believe you kissed me as well.”
Hazel’s cheeks flushed and she looked away. She crossed her arms over her chest, but all that did was press her tits up and together, making the cleavage showing in the V of her T-shirt that much more enticing.
Crowley licked his lips. “How long has it been?”
The question made her turn her gaze back to him. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been trapped in here for some time. How long has it been?”
She seemed to consider the danger of proving information before finally saying, “A couple months, I think. Since the kiss,” she clarified.
THE kiss. Yes. Her lips were so pink, so lovely. “And since you were attacked?”
“By the other demons? That was on Wednesday night. I got here on Thursday afternoon.”
“And it is Friday?”
“Saturday.”
“Time flies when you’re locked in a dungeon,” he replied with another smile he hoped was disarming.
“They tried to get into me. The smoke did.”
Ah. He smiled. “The key is too powerful. Rest assured you can’t be possessed while it is on you. Not even by me.”
She stepped up to the edge of the Devil’s Trap. The toes of her bare feet were no more than an inch from the engraved sigil. “You really can’t leave this circle?” she asked.
“Alas, I cannot.”
“Are you really that dangerous?”
For a moment he considered telling her that he was practically harmless and the Winchesters were reactionary bullies that chained him and trapped him because they wanted information he had. But she’d never believe him. She was too smart and too insightful. And then any good will she had toward him--because it was obvious she had some if she was checking on him--would be gone. “I’m very dangerous, love. I’m a demon. I can move things with my mind, disappear with a snap of my fingers, tip a car over with one hand, snap a person’s neck with just a thought.”
She didn’t move, standing her ground at the edge of the circle. Crowley wanted to smile, but he didn’t. This was a serious conversation and smiling at her would scare her off. “And you could do all that when I saw you in the casino all those times?”
“Yes.”
“And the people you were meeting there? They were demons? Or were they people you had made deals with?”
“Demons. Underlings who were following my orders.”
“Which is why you didn’t mind keeping them waiting the night we had drinks at the bar.”
Crowley nodded. “Yes.”
“If you’re so powerful, why did you talk to me? Did you plan on cursing me with this key the whole time? You were just... just preparing?”
“I didn’t plan on giving you the key until the night I did. The other times were just... fun. You’re interesting, removed from those around you in a strange way.”
“I don’t understand,” Hazel said, shifting her weight from one foot to another. The movement jutted her left hip out, accentuating her delicious curves. If he weren’t shackled, then he’d show her another thing he could do: remove all her clothes with a blink of his eyes.
Crowley leaned back in his chair. “Most humans are quivering little souls that don’t know who they are. They bounce back and forth, looking for purpose or reason, fame or peace, money or happiness. You’re very still. Very centered. I find it... magnetic.”
“But I’m not. I’m not still or centered. I’m not... happy.” The last word fell off the sentence. It was as if it slipped out of her mouth when she really didn’t want to admit such a thing to him, the big bad demon.
“There are few humans who have a firm grasp on their selves. You’re one of them; it’s probably why you didn’t accept my deal. You didn’t even consider it, did you?”
Hazel shifted again. That swell of cleavage contained by her T-shirt was enticing. He wished she would come closer. “No, I didn’t. It was silly; I didn’t even believe you had the ability to make a deal like that.”
“And now that you know I can hold up my side of the bargain?”
She scoffed. “No, why would I sell myself? That’s... cheap.”
Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Cheap?”
“Fame and money. Accolades from people who don’t really matter to me. That’s a cheap price for who I am as person.”
He smiled. “Most people don’t think that way, darling. Most people would say yes in a second.”
“Most people are crazy, then.”
His smile got bigger. “Which is why you’re different and why I was drawn to you.”
She rolled her eyes. “And here I thought you wanted to...” She trailed off, unable to articulate what she was thinking. He knew what was running through her mind, though.
“What, love? Slide my tongue into your mouth while I slip between your luscious legs and fuck you until you beg me for more? Oh, I did. I do.”
Her breathing quickened, her cheeks flushing a bright pink. She was practically edible. If she would just come closer then he could put her on the table in front of him, pull her jeans down her legs and lick her until she screamed for him. And then the Winchesters could run and in know that she belonged to him, that every single inch of her was his.
Instead, she turned away and that wave of longing hit him like a freight train. The jaunts into other realms of feeling--lust, jealousy, anger, frustration--they were just diversions from the deeper problem. His emotions were out of control.
“Don’t be so crude,” she said, her back turned to him. Finally, she turned around again and let her hands hang down at her sides. She was framed in the light from the storage room and the swell of her breasts, the indentation of her waist, and the beautiful, timeless arcing curve of her hips tampering into her thighs was thing to behold. “Your powers--is that why the man in the parking lot was so afraid of you?”
His head was fuzzy, but embracing his desire for her was better than allowing his longing and guilt to cut in. “What man?”
“The night you kissed me. The man in the parking lot who grabbed me.”
Crowley dropped his gaze. Anything but the truth would come back to bite him in the ass with her. “He was working for me. I told him to scare you.”
“Why?”
“So you’d let me walk you to your car.”
“So you could stick this--this key on me?” Her voice was higher, tinged with anger, incredulity.
“I was in a precarious position and I needed insurance that everything I worked for wouldn’t be taken away.”
“But why me?”
“Because I wanted to see you.” Crowley snapped his mouth shut after he said it. That hadn’t been what he wanted to say. That had been too close to the truth.
“But why?” Her eyes were hard, angry.
The truth, he decided. It had to be the truth. Maybe this blood was making him soft. “Because I wanted an excuse to come back to the casino.”
“You didn’t need an excuse,” she said softly. Was that tenderness in her voice? The tone of it made his heart ache. And that made him nauseous, disgusted with himself and this weakness that he’d been afflicted with.
“You didn’t want to deal with me. You didn’t want to defile yourself with me. I can’t very well just keeping stopping by to chat with you, love. I’ve got a business to run and a reputation to maintain.”
“Oh.” She seemed disappointed, the simple syllable falling from her lips and dropping to the floor, dejected. She turned away and took two steps toward the door.
Panic rushed through his veins. Panic that she would leave him alone again. That he’d end up sitting here in the dark thinking about her, longing for the feel of her body, desperate for her... acceptance. He had to hit the breaks on that train of thought before his mind replaced acceptance with love. “Hazel.”
She looked over her shoulder. A strand of blonde hair had fallen over her eye and she swiped it away.
He couldn’t think of a damn thing to get her to stay. “Will you come see me tomorrow?”
“Dean and Sam will be back tomorrow. They don’t want me talking to you.”
Ah, so the Winchesters were gone. That’s why they’d had this uninterrupted time together. For a moment he considered asking her to let him stretch his arms by removing the shackles, but he knew she wouldn’t do it. And then she’d distrust him even more than she currently did.
“I don’t sleep. I just sit down here and think. It’s enjoyable to have someone to talk to.” It was the truth. Not the whole truth, but enough for her to accept it without question.
“Maybe,” she said before stepping into the storage room and pushing the doors closed.
**************************************
Hazel’s hands were shaking, but she wasn’t sure why. It was probably because she’d just had a conversation with a demon who claimed to be the King of Hell. Except now he was chained up in a secret room in a secret bunker that she’d been trapped in herself for over two days. The place was too quiet when Sam and Dean were gone. They’d left the previous day after getting a phone call. They promised they would be back in a couple days and made her promise not to get near Crowley’s room. And that was a promise she’d broken.
She tried to fool herself into thinking that she’d gone in there to check on him after hearing the bang, but the truth was much simpler. She’d gone in there because she was curious. The man who had been fueling her fancies for months was shackled yards from where she was sleeping and she wanted to know whey he’d pulled her into this mess.
His answer sounded truthful, but he was a demon. And according to all the books and diaries and research journals of the men who had built this bunker, demons were not to be trusted. And she’d done a lot of reading since she’d arrived. There wasn’t much else to do.
She sat down at the table in the center of the bunker and flipped open a journal with pages yellowed from age. Instead of reading it, her mind drifted to Crowley and the way he looked at her. The way her body reacted to his innuendoes and his blatantly lustful comments. It annoyed her that she still found him attractive, but there was just something about him she couldn’t shake. Something in the way he looked at her that made her wonder about his true nature.
Maybe it was all a carefully constructed persona to entice her to unchain him, to help him escape. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He’d admitted to what he could do if he wasn’t contained. And she wasn’t vain enough to think that his proclaimed attraction to her would save her life if he wanted to snap her neck and make a run for it. Then again, there was a flicker of life in those eyes--something that looked painful and desperate. Something that looked haunted.
She’d never been one for bad boys, but this particular bad boy certainly wouldn’t leave her thoughts. Again, she was annoyed with herself for being so typical as to lust after a guy who would probably step on her neck to get ahead. Guys like him--demons, she corrected herself--didn’t actually care about anyone, especially not someone like her, despite what he’d said about her being special. Special, her ass. She was as ordinary as they came.
********************************
The only way she knew it was nine o’clock in the morning was the display on the cell phone Sam had given her. It illuminated the dark bedroom, showing an incoming call.
“Hello?”
“Hazel?” It was Sam’s voice.
“Sam?”
“Hey, we’re going to be another day or two here.”
“Where?”
“Havana, Illinois. We’ve got a werewolf on the loose and we need to find him.”
Just when she thought she was used to hearing about all these monsters being real, someone said something like this and her mind reeled back, confused and unwilling to believe. “Oh, okay.”
“You okay?”
She nodded and sat up in bed. “Yeah.”
“Remember to stay away from Crowley.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll be back soon.”
She swept her hair back from her face. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you in a day or two.”
And then he hung up and she was alone in this tomb of a building. The desire to go outside for a breath of fresh air was not as strong as her fear that the minute she stepped out the door a cloud of black smoke would swoop down upon her and she’d find herself fighting for her life. And she was definitely not a fighter.
Instead of braving the outside world, she took a shower and poured herself a bowl of cereal. While her hair air-dried, she read about the methods of avoiding demon possession and how to extract a demon from a human body without damage to the physical vessel. Sometimes she found herself reading the material as if it were a horror story. And then she remembered that this was real life now. Demons existed and there was one just down the hall.
Instead of continuing with the two texts on the table in front of her, she walked over to the library and found the section detailing the historical origins of known demons. The Men of Letters had a meticulous card catalog that she’d familiarized herself with on the first full day in the bunker. If she couldn’t fight, then she could read and at least know what the hell was going on in her life now. There was a large tome that contained a list of demons and any facts about them that had been gathered over the years. She pulled it out and sat down to satisfy her curiosity, but not without some trepidation. What if she learned something she didn’t want to know? Then again, all knowledge was good, right? Especially if your life might depend on it.
It was alphabetized and after a brief moment of hesitation, she flipped to the C’s and then turned pages one by one until she came across the name Crowley. Part of her had believed she wouldn’t find his name in there, but that she had and she had no choice but to read it.
Crowley, the most powerful crossroads demon known to us, is believed to have been Fergus Roderick McLeod. McLeod was born in 1661 to a witch named Rowena of the Grand Coven. Though there is no evidence, testimonies indicate Rowena was abusive to her child. After an uneventful life as a tailor, McLeod made a deal with an unknown crossroads demon to increase his penis size by three inches. Upon his death in 1723, his soul was collected and sent to hell as per the agreement. McLeod took on the name of Crowley and the first documented interaction with him was in 1804.
Crowley is considered to be the leader of the crossroads demons. While he can appear civil and fair, he should be considered extremely dangerous. He has extraordinary strength, the ability to perform feats of telekinesis, teleportation of not only himself but others, pyrokinesis, and invisibility. There are two documented instances of Crowley resurrecting deceased humans. He is also adept at spell-casting, assumedly due to his mother’s position in the Grand Coven.
Following the text were several lines citing references books that contained the more detailed accounts of Crowley’s interactions with humans. Hazel pulled in a deep breath and flipped the book shut. She didn’t need to read any more to know that what he’d told her had been true and she was in over her head. Staying in this bunker, knowing he was chained up only yards away was unnerving.
She retreated to her bedroom and got dressed--jeans and a worn band T-shirt that was faded from too much use. After pacing around the table for a few minutes, she walked up the stairs and gingerly touched the latch to the bunker door. Slowly, she unlocked it and cracked open the heavy door. The mid-day sun was high overhead and the terrain offered no respite from it.
Pushing the door open a little more, she stuck her head out while she held her breath. No black smoke. No demons trying to kill her. Just the flat, almost barren miles of Kansas stretched out before her. Before anything could go wrong, she quickly shut the door and locked it. The breath or two of fresh air had done her good. She felt reconnected with the world and not quite so lost. So, things were different. Demons existed and all the tales she’d heard of monsters might be true. Okay, mental adjustment was necessary and then she could move on and see how she could deal with this new reality.
She sat down to read more about expelling demons from their hosts, but all she could think about was Crowley and how he was sitting in a metal chair in a dark room just down the hall. She could still see that look in his eyes when he’d asked her to come see him the next day. And even though she knew he could be manipulative and conniving, she still found it difficult to shake the thought that he might feel very alone. And how could he hurt her if he was chained and contained within the Devil’s Trap on the floor.
She drank the last few drops of water in her glass and pushed herself up from the table. Down the hallway were a few doors. The one at the end led to the storage room. And the shelves on the far wall opened to what Dean and Sam called the dungeon. Really, it was just a dark room with chains on the walls and a Devil’s Trap on the floor, inlayed in brass.
Slowly, he pulled open the shelves to allow the light in the storage room to spill over across the table and Crowley himself. He blinked and gave her one of those smiles that looked so genuine.
“Hello, love.” His customary greeting that made her feel just a little special. Like she meant something to him. Obviously, it was just a tactical phrase he used to make her feel that way. His beard was rough and speckled with gray. He looked tired, but not as tired as he should have looked after being locked up for over two months.
“Is your name really Fergus McLeod?”
He visibly recoiled at the question, but recovered very quickly. “Have you been reading about me, love?”
“I take that as a yes,” she replied.
“Yes, once upon a time people called me that. It’s been a very long time, though. And I like my current name better. More fitting, don’t you think?”
“Why do you not like the name Fergus?”
He dropped his gaze. “Fergus was weak. I’m glad to be done with that portion of my existence.”
Hazel dragged the second chair away from the wall and positioned it just outside the circle. “Do you miss being human?”
“No.” His reply was a bit to fast. “My life as a human was lacking in anything enjoyable.”
“Maybe that was your fault.”
“Maybe it’s your fault you’re not happy,” he snapped. And then he smiled and said, “Forgive me, love. You’re poking at some old wounds.”
“What was your life like, then?” she asked, crossing her legs, not realizing that her foot was inside the circle.