FIC: How Was I Supposed To Know, Chapter 6/ ? (Crowley/OFC)
FIC: How Was I Supposed To Know, Chapter 6 / ? (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 6
He knew she’d crossed into the circle the second it happened. For a brief moment, he considered taking advantage of that. There was a chance he could push the table out of the way and grab her foot before she recoiled. The thought flashed through his mind when he looked up and saw her watching him with that intensity, that focus that was so unnerving. No one asked him questions like she’d just asked.
“What?” he dumbly said.
“What was your life like when you were human?”
Fuck it, he thought. What good would grabbing her do for him? The Winchesters weren’t here so he couldn’t use her as a bargaining chip. She didn’t have the keys to the shackles on him. Could he steal a kiss, stoke some of that fire that she’d kindled in him? Sure. He could force her to pleasure him if he really wanted, but that seemed unappealing. He’d always preferred willing participants.
“It was unpleasant and too long.”
She frowned. “That’s sad. I’m sorry.”
Such simple statements, but they cut right through him and these jumbled emotions Moose’s purified blood had kicked up. He couldn’t find any words to respond, an unusual problem for him. Instead, he sat there and met her steady gaze.
Hazel tilted her head to the side. “Your mother was a witch?”
“More like a bitch,” Crowley replied. She certainly had been reading up on him. What kind of notes had the Winchesters dug up in this dump?
“You didn’t like her? She wasn’t a nice person?”
“She hated me.”
Her eyes softened and he felt an overwhelming urge to crawl to her, to put his head in her lap and take whatever comfort she could give. Comfort was an unfamiliar thing, but he craved it. Perhaps because it had been few and far between during his life as a human and his existence as a demon. There was no comfort in hell.
“I’m sorry to hear that, too. Do you think that’s why you sold your soul?”
“I sold my soul to make my cock bigger,” he said, the vicious quality to his voice barely hiding his vulnerable position.
“Is it?”
Crowley smiled at her question. “Would you like to see it, love?”
She shook her head. “No. But I’ll take that as proof that selling your soul worked. What’s hell like?”
“That would depend on what your fears are and what would break you. What would break you, darling Hazel?”
She shrugged. “Probably what would break most other people. Constant loneliness, never being loved, and spiders.”
“You’re not lonely, are you, love?”
“I think most people are lonely, even if they are surrounded by people.”
This was a bad conversation to have when he was fighting these fucking emotions. One minute he wanted to pull her into the circle and rip her clothes off and the next minute he wanted to lay his head in her lap and let her stroke his hair. The tips of her fingers would probably feel amazing against his scalp.
When he didn’t immediately respond to her, she said, “Are you lonely?”
“I’m bored out of my mind in here.”
“But you’re lonely. You asked me to come visit you.”
“That I did.” He shifted in the chair and watched her body tense. She was wary of him, ready to bolt if anything happened that put her in danger. He could smell her fear and her curiosity. “Do you think you could do me another favor, darling?”
Hazel’s eyes narrowed in shrewd calculation. “What?”
“You see, I’m so thirsty.”
“Oh, I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“Not for water,” he said. He paused, trying to figure out the best way to approach the question without scaring her away. “I need a bit of a blood transfusion.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I understand.”
“Demons crave humanity sometimes. And I’ve been locked in here so long that I need a little hit.”
“What does that have to do with a blood transfusion?”
“The Winchesters have a black pouch somewhere in this place. It holds syringes. I’d be forever in your debt if you would fill a syringe up with your lovely blood and toss it in here to me.”
He watched the confusion on her face turn to mild disgust. Fuck. “You want to drink my blood?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. “I want to inject it.”
She watched him for a long moment before saying, “No. What if it gives you powers that allow you to escape?”
“You’ve obviously been reading all about demons lately. Have you read anything about the effects of human blood?”
“That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I haven’t hurt you,” he replied.
“You haven’t had a chance.”
“I had many chances, love. Each night I saw you at the casino, especially the night I walked you to your car.”
“You did hurt me. You cursed me with some key and now people are trying to kill you.”
“I slipped a key in your pocket in hopes you would keep it safe. And you did. Besides, I could hurt you now. Your foot is in the trap.” He shifted his eyes down to the foot that was connected to the shapely leg crossed over her other thigh.
Hazel’s gaze followed his down. When she saw that he was telling the truth, she jerked back, uncrossing her legs and standing up. The chair fell over behind her and clattered against the stone floor.
“See? I’m practically a Boy Scout, darling. Won’t you help me? Consider a syringe of your blood my sustenance to make it through another month or two. I might perish without it.”
She looked shaken. “I... No, I can’t. Why didn’t you try to grab me?”
“The truth?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” she replied.
“Because I don’t want you to hate me. And because I don’t want you to stop coming here to talk with me.” He paused. “And because it wouldn’t have helped me get out of here.”
“But aren’t you demons all about chaos and killing?”
Crowley chuckled darkly. “Love, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m a businessman. Do I get my hands dirty when need be? Sure. But I’d rather use my wits.”
“Oh, great. A civilized demon with manners,” Hazel said dryly.
“Do I get a syringe of blood for being such a good boy?”
She sat the chair up with shaky hands and moved toward the door. “No, sorry. But thank you for not... killing me.”
The doors slid shut with the usual scraping sound. Crowley closed his eyes and tried to push her from his mind. Why did she come in here to chat about his life as a human? Why had she thanked him with all the sincerity in her voice? Why did he wish he could crawl into her bed, even if they kept their clothes on?
******************************
He sat in dark silence for hours, probably an entire day, waiting for this moment in which he heard her light footsteps crossing the storage room. Crowley closed his eyes and smiled. Yes. When he opened them she was standing in the doorway with a glass of water.
“Do you drink water?” she asked.
“Water and food are not necessary.”
“Oh, I guess I should have known. I mean, you’ve been in here for days and they didn’t tell me I had to feed your or anything.”
Crowley leaned forward and pressed his forearms onto the table. “A drink would be nice, though.”
“A drink of water,” she clarified.
He grinned. “Yes, a drink of water.” She was so jumpy and it was enjoyable to watch her try to navigate him.
“Do you promise not to hurt me if I come closer and put this glass on the table?”
He swept his eyes down her body. Another white T-shirt and a pair of black pants that hugged every one of her curves like a second skin. “I promise, love.”
Hazel stepped into the room and hesitated for a brief moment before crossing the barrier of the Devil’s Trap. She gingerly placed the glass of water in the middle of the table before pulling back. She was still in the circle, but she was nervous, her heart pounding. He watched her try to suppress a jerk when he leaned forward and picked up the glass, taking a long drink of the cool water. He didn’t need it, but it was refreshing and felt good in his mouth.
“Thank you, darling. I’m in your debt.”
“You’ve been in my debt. Remember? I’m carrying around your key.”
“Would you like me to show you where it is?”
“Yes,” she replied, wringing her hands anxiously.
He smiled. “Come here.”
“No,” Hazel said, taking two steps back. She was out of the Devil’s Trap and standing on the edge of it now.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“You haven’t exactly earned my trust. And I’ve read about some pretty horrible things you’ve done.”
“I’m a changed demon--a good boy now,” he said before taking another drink. He saw her eyes drop to his lips, so he rolled his tongue out and wet the bottom one, watching her through his lowered lids. “Don’t you think I’m a good boy? I didn’t even touch you when you were so close. I asked nicely for you to come closer.”
“You’re not a good boy,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest.
“I could be. Why don’t you come sit on the table here and I’ll show you how good I can be. I’ll run my tongue down your body, from your sweet lips to that deliciously wet spot between your thighs. It can be our little secret.” He shifted his hips in the chair. Thinking about what he’d just promised her was making him hard.
She was aroused as well. He could see in in her quickened breathing and her flushed cheeks and the tension in her thighs. She licked her lips nervously. “You’re shameless,” Hazel told him.
“Mmm, absolutely, love. I want you.”
“You want leverage. You want to escape.”
“I do. But I want you, too.”
She shook her head. “Stop it. I feel like you do this to distract me so you can avoid a real conversation.”
He watched for a long moment, weighing his options. She was right, of course. A real conversation, as she put it, would only serve to fuck his mind up even more. Yesterday he’d been fantasizing about letting her hold him, comfort him. Disgusting. He needed blood and then he needed to fuck her and get her out of his system. Now.
Instead, he said, “What do you want to talk about?”
She pulled the chair closer, still outside the circle, and sat down. “I saw notes that Sam left sitting out. Something about how to save a demon--make them human again.”
Crowley felt his stomach drop. Fuck. “Not possible,” he snapped.
“Well, I was thinking that maybe that’s what they tried to do to you since you were asking me for blood yesterday.” Her stunning green eyes held his gaze.
For a moment he considered lying. It just seemed that each time he came to a fork in the road with her and he had to choose the truth or a lie, he always seemed to choose the truth. Lying to her would get him nowhere and the truth got him closer to her. She’d stepped into the trap today, hadn’t she? “Yes, Sam injected me with his blood.”
“Did it make you more human?”
“I’m obviously still a demon, love. What do you think?”
“I mean, did it make you feel things? Regret, guilt, sadness, loss, longing?”
The last word blurred his vision and a wave of nausea swept over him. How did she know? How did she cut right through him? “What do you think?” he asked.
“Sometimes you seem sad or scared or lonely when I look at you.”
Crowley wanted to groan and crawl under the table. He thought he’d been doing a better job of hiding it. The Winchesters hadn’t seen it. Or at least they didn’t let on that they had. “I’d rather not discuss it, darling.”
She nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Hazel’s head tilted to the side, compassion written on her face. No one had ever looked at him that way. It made his heart ache. If he could just touch her now... She was out of his reach, though. “I’m so sorry, Crowley,” she whispered. “It must be hard to go through this with all you’ve done.”
“You don’t know what I’ve done,” he replied. He felt like a dog who had been backed into a corner. Flight wasn’t an option and the only choice he has left was to fight, to snap at her outstretched hand. “I’ve killed and tortured and maimed and I’ve loved it.”
“You’re a product of your environment,” she said softly.
“Don’t give me that hippy bloody shit,” he snapped. “I made choices that shaped who I am.”
“I read about your mother. She treated you horribly.”
“That’s life, darling.” His voice was a growl. “You either deal with it or you die.”
“Dealing with it leaves you with scars and shapes who you are just as much as your choices do. And who is to say that the choices were really yours when life experiences can shut off paths.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You shouldn’t make excuses for others that you wouldn’t accept as excuses for your own behavior. Would you snap the neck of a child just because you could? No? Not even if your mommy hated you? Then you shouldn’t give me a pass because mine did.”
“It’s not so black and white,” she insisted, sitting forward in her chair. “Choices aren’t right or wrong.”
“Oh, love, they can be. There are some choices that are good and bad. And I made all the bad ones. And now I’m a scary demon who would rip your throat out if you got close enough.” His smile was more of a grimace.
“Would you? Because you didn’t.”
“If it would help me escape, I would.” He almost choked on that statement. It was false. As soon as he said it, it fell flat like a bald lie.
She stood up and stepped inside the Devil’s Trap. “I think that’s a lie,” she told him. Of course she’d see him for what he really was: a little boy who had been unloved and stole a kingdom so he could have fear and blind loyalty instead.
Rage swept through his brain. Crowley stood and smacked the metal table out of the way. It clattered against the way and by the time it hit the floor, he had her wrists in his hands. She’d lifted her hands to protect herself from the table so her wrists were already presented to him and so easy to latch onto. There was fear in her eyes--panic and overwhelming fear with just that touch of defiance that she’d shown him a moment ago.
“Are you afraid of me now, darling? Do you think I’m really a poor little soul that had a sad life and now I’m hurting other people because of it? Do you think I don’t enjoy being evil?”
She tried to pull away, but he was holding her too tightly. Crowley watched her struggle, noticing the circular bruises on her delicate throat. They were from the demon who had attacked her before the Winchesters found her. He’d left her with the key to the kingdom, alone and unprotected out there. A wave of nausea hit him, almost doubling him over. Guilt. It was guilt, not nausea. She wanted to help him, thought the best of him. And he repaid her by putting her in danger and scaring her. Dammit.
He let up on the pressure and pulled her closer. She gasped as he pressed her captured hands against his chest and pressed her tightly against his body.
“What are you doing?” she asked. There was some fear there, but it was mostly confusion now.
He bent his head and grazed the fingertip bruises on her neck with his lips. “I’m sorry he hurt you and put these bruises on your neck,” Crowley murmured against her warm skin.
“Crowley,” she said, stiff and unmoving in his arms. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“I’m obviously incapable,” he whispered in her ear. She shivered, soft puffs of warm, moist air escaping from her open mouth. Instead of allowing her to speak, he grazed his lips over the line of her jawbone until he was able to capture her mouth of a kiss. She didn’t resist him as he slipped his tongue between her lips and let it battle with her own. Her initial hesitancy faded away and the delicate fingers of her hands curled into the lapels of his suit jacket.
She was so warm and willing and sweet. So innocent that she canceled out every bad thing he’d done in that moment. If she accepted him then he could accept himself. Maybe.
He pulled back to let her take a shuddering breath. “What was that for?” she whispered.
“For me,” he answered. He felt both languid and content, but also crazy with passion. Passion. It was a strange emotion. Normally passion was reserved for torturing or making his underlings quake in fear. Sometimes it crept into his bedroom when he had one of his playthings chained to the wall and ready to have when he wanted them. It wasn’t for kissing and being kissed by a strong-willed human woman with kind eyes and a desire to understand how he became the twisted soul he currently was.
His ruminations loosened his grip on her. Suddenly, like a frightened rabbit, she bolted. She slipped right out of his arms and out of the Devil’s Trap. He left her go, knowing if he reached for her that she’d never touch him again. What he’d just done had caused enough damage.
She was in the doorway now, her arms folded over her chest again like she needed to protect herself.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said softly, standing in the middle of the blasted trap with his hands shackled and hanging limply in front of him.
Instead of replying, she closed the door. Crowley fell back into the metal chair and sighed. His lips tingled with the memory of her kiss. The way she’d felt against him... He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his brain. They would get him nowhere. She would get him nowhere. Everything he’d worked for was down the left fork in this path and she was standing in the right fork looking at him with those fucking eyes that cut through him like nothing else.
Why did he ever set foot in that casino?
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 6
He knew she’d crossed into the circle the second it happened. For a brief moment, he considered taking advantage of that. There was a chance he could push the table out of the way and grab her foot before she recoiled. The thought flashed through his mind when he looked up and saw her watching him with that intensity, that focus that was so unnerving. No one asked him questions like she’d just asked.
“What?” he dumbly said.
“What was your life like when you were human?”
Fuck it, he thought. What good would grabbing her do for him? The Winchesters weren’t here so he couldn’t use her as a bargaining chip. She didn’t have the keys to the shackles on him. Could he steal a kiss, stoke some of that fire that she’d kindled in him? Sure. He could force her to pleasure him if he really wanted, but that seemed unappealing. He’d always preferred willing participants.
“It was unpleasant and too long.”
She frowned. “That’s sad. I’m sorry.”
Such simple statements, but they cut right through him and these jumbled emotions Moose’s purified blood had kicked up. He couldn’t find any words to respond, an unusual problem for him. Instead, he sat there and met her steady gaze.
Hazel tilted her head to the side. “Your mother was a witch?”
“More like a bitch,” Crowley replied. She certainly had been reading up on him. What kind of notes had the Winchesters dug up in this dump?
“You didn’t like her? She wasn’t a nice person?”
“She hated me.”
Her eyes softened and he felt an overwhelming urge to crawl to her, to put his head in her lap and take whatever comfort she could give. Comfort was an unfamiliar thing, but he craved it. Perhaps because it had been few and far between during his life as a human and his existence as a demon. There was no comfort in hell.
“I’m sorry to hear that, too. Do you think that’s why you sold your soul?”
“I sold my soul to make my cock bigger,” he said, the vicious quality to his voice barely hiding his vulnerable position.
“Is it?”
Crowley smiled at her question. “Would you like to see it, love?”
She shook her head. “No. But I’ll take that as proof that selling your soul worked. What’s hell like?”
“That would depend on what your fears are and what would break you. What would break you, darling Hazel?”
She shrugged. “Probably what would break most other people. Constant loneliness, never being loved, and spiders.”
“You’re not lonely, are you, love?”
“I think most people are lonely, even if they are surrounded by people.”
This was a bad conversation to have when he was fighting these fucking emotions. One minute he wanted to pull her into the circle and rip her clothes off and the next minute he wanted to lay his head in her lap and let her stroke his hair. The tips of her fingers would probably feel amazing against his scalp.
When he didn’t immediately respond to her, she said, “Are you lonely?”
“I’m bored out of my mind in here.”
“But you’re lonely. You asked me to come visit you.”
“That I did.” He shifted in the chair and watched her body tense. She was wary of him, ready to bolt if anything happened that put her in danger. He could smell her fear and her curiosity. “Do you think you could do me another favor, darling?”
Hazel’s eyes narrowed in shrewd calculation. “What?”
“You see, I’m so thirsty.”
“Oh, I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“Not for water,” he said. He paused, trying to figure out the best way to approach the question without scaring her away. “I need a bit of a blood transfusion.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I understand.”
“Demons crave humanity sometimes. And I’ve been locked in here so long that I need a little hit.”
“What does that have to do with a blood transfusion?”
“The Winchesters have a black pouch somewhere in this place. It holds syringes. I’d be forever in your debt if you would fill a syringe up with your lovely blood and toss it in here to me.”
He watched the confusion on her face turn to mild disgust. Fuck. “You want to drink my blood?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. “I want to inject it.”
She watched him for a long moment before saying, “No. What if it gives you powers that allow you to escape?”
“You’ve obviously been reading all about demons lately. Have you read anything about the effects of human blood?”
“That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I haven’t hurt you,” he replied.
“You haven’t had a chance.”
“I had many chances, love. Each night I saw you at the casino, especially the night I walked you to your car.”
“You did hurt me. You cursed me with some key and now people are trying to kill you.”
“I slipped a key in your pocket in hopes you would keep it safe. And you did. Besides, I could hurt you now. Your foot is in the trap.” He shifted his eyes down to the foot that was connected to the shapely leg crossed over her other thigh.
Hazel’s gaze followed his down. When she saw that he was telling the truth, she jerked back, uncrossing her legs and standing up. The chair fell over behind her and clattered against the stone floor.
“See? I’m practically a Boy Scout, darling. Won’t you help me? Consider a syringe of your blood my sustenance to make it through another month or two. I might perish without it.”
She looked shaken. “I... No, I can’t. Why didn’t you try to grab me?”
“The truth?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” she replied.
“Because I don’t want you to hate me. And because I don’t want you to stop coming here to talk with me.” He paused. “And because it wouldn’t have helped me get out of here.”
“But aren’t you demons all about chaos and killing?”
Crowley chuckled darkly. “Love, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m a businessman. Do I get my hands dirty when need be? Sure. But I’d rather use my wits.”
“Oh, great. A civilized demon with manners,” Hazel said dryly.
“Do I get a syringe of blood for being such a good boy?”
She sat the chair up with shaky hands and moved toward the door. “No, sorry. But thank you for not... killing me.”
The doors slid shut with the usual scraping sound. Crowley closed his eyes and tried to push her from his mind. Why did she come in here to chat about his life as a human? Why had she thanked him with all the sincerity in her voice? Why did he wish he could crawl into her bed, even if they kept their clothes on?
******************************
He sat in dark silence for hours, probably an entire day, waiting for this moment in which he heard her light footsteps crossing the storage room. Crowley closed his eyes and smiled. Yes. When he opened them she was standing in the doorway with a glass of water.
“Do you drink water?” she asked.
“Water and food are not necessary.”
“Oh, I guess I should have known. I mean, you’ve been in here for days and they didn’t tell me I had to feed your or anything.”
Crowley leaned forward and pressed his forearms onto the table. “A drink would be nice, though.”
“A drink of water,” she clarified.
He grinned. “Yes, a drink of water.” She was so jumpy and it was enjoyable to watch her try to navigate him.
“Do you promise not to hurt me if I come closer and put this glass on the table?”
He swept his eyes down her body. Another white T-shirt and a pair of black pants that hugged every one of her curves like a second skin. “I promise, love.”
Hazel stepped into the room and hesitated for a brief moment before crossing the barrier of the Devil’s Trap. She gingerly placed the glass of water in the middle of the table before pulling back. She was still in the circle, but she was nervous, her heart pounding. He watched her try to suppress a jerk when he leaned forward and picked up the glass, taking a long drink of the cool water. He didn’t need it, but it was refreshing and felt good in his mouth.
“Thank you, darling. I’m in your debt.”
“You’ve been in my debt. Remember? I’m carrying around your key.”
“Would you like me to show you where it is?”
“Yes,” she replied, wringing her hands anxiously.
He smiled. “Come here.”
“No,” Hazel said, taking two steps back. She was out of the Devil’s Trap and standing on the edge of it now.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“You haven’t exactly earned my trust. And I’ve read about some pretty horrible things you’ve done.”
“I’m a changed demon--a good boy now,” he said before taking another drink. He saw her eyes drop to his lips, so he rolled his tongue out and wet the bottom one, watching her through his lowered lids. “Don’t you think I’m a good boy? I didn’t even touch you when you were so close. I asked nicely for you to come closer.”
“You’re not a good boy,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest.
“I could be. Why don’t you come sit on the table here and I’ll show you how good I can be. I’ll run my tongue down your body, from your sweet lips to that deliciously wet spot between your thighs. It can be our little secret.” He shifted his hips in the chair. Thinking about what he’d just promised her was making him hard.
She was aroused as well. He could see in in her quickened breathing and her flushed cheeks and the tension in her thighs. She licked her lips nervously. “You’re shameless,” Hazel told him.
“Mmm, absolutely, love. I want you.”
“You want leverage. You want to escape.”
“I do. But I want you, too.”
She shook her head. “Stop it. I feel like you do this to distract me so you can avoid a real conversation.”
He watched for a long moment, weighing his options. She was right, of course. A real conversation, as she put it, would only serve to fuck his mind up even more. Yesterday he’d been fantasizing about letting her hold him, comfort him. Disgusting. He needed blood and then he needed to fuck her and get her out of his system. Now.
Instead, he said, “What do you want to talk about?”
She pulled the chair closer, still outside the circle, and sat down. “I saw notes that Sam left sitting out. Something about how to save a demon--make them human again.”
Crowley felt his stomach drop. Fuck. “Not possible,” he snapped.
“Well, I was thinking that maybe that’s what they tried to do to you since you were asking me for blood yesterday.” Her stunning green eyes held his gaze.
For a moment he considered lying. It just seemed that each time he came to a fork in the road with her and he had to choose the truth or a lie, he always seemed to choose the truth. Lying to her would get him nowhere and the truth got him closer to her. She’d stepped into the trap today, hadn’t she? “Yes, Sam injected me with his blood.”
“Did it make you more human?”
“I’m obviously still a demon, love. What do you think?”
“I mean, did it make you feel things? Regret, guilt, sadness, loss, longing?”
The last word blurred his vision and a wave of nausea swept over him. How did she know? How did she cut right through him? “What do you think?” he asked.
“Sometimes you seem sad or scared or lonely when I look at you.”
Crowley wanted to groan and crawl under the table. He thought he’d been doing a better job of hiding it. The Winchesters hadn’t seen it. Or at least they didn’t let on that they had. “I’d rather not discuss it, darling.”
She nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Hazel’s head tilted to the side, compassion written on her face. No one had ever looked at him that way. It made his heart ache. If he could just touch her now... She was out of his reach, though. “I’m so sorry, Crowley,” she whispered. “It must be hard to go through this with all you’ve done.”
“You don’t know what I’ve done,” he replied. He felt like a dog who had been backed into a corner. Flight wasn’t an option and the only choice he has left was to fight, to snap at her outstretched hand. “I’ve killed and tortured and maimed and I’ve loved it.”
“You’re a product of your environment,” she said softly.
“Don’t give me that hippy bloody shit,” he snapped. “I made choices that shaped who I am.”
“I read about your mother. She treated you horribly.”
“That’s life, darling.” His voice was a growl. “You either deal with it or you die.”
“Dealing with it leaves you with scars and shapes who you are just as much as your choices do. And who is to say that the choices were really yours when life experiences can shut off paths.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You shouldn’t make excuses for others that you wouldn’t accept as excuses for your own behavior. Would you snap the neck of a child just because you could? No? Not even if your mommy hated you? Then you shouldn’t give me a pass because mine did.”
“It’s not so black and white,” she insisted, sitting forward in her chair. “Choices aren’t right or wrong.”
“Oh, love, they can be. There are some choices that are good and bad. And I made all the bad ones. And now I’m a scary demon who would rip your throat out if you got close enough.” His smile was more of a grimace.
“Would you? Because you didn’t.”
“If it would help me escape, I would.” He almost choked on that statement. It was false. As soon as he said it, it fell flat like a bald lie.
She stood up and stepped inside the Devil’s Trap. “I think that’s a lie,” she told him. Of course she’d see him for what he really was: a little boy who had been unloved and stole a kingdom so he could have fear and blind loyalty instead.
Rage swept through his brain. Crowley stood and smacked the metal table out of the way. It clattered against the way and by the time it hit the floor, he had her wrists in his hands. She’d lifted her hands to protect herself from the table so her wrists were already presented to him and so easy to latch onto. There was fear in her eyes--panic and overwhelming fear with just that touch of defiance that she’d shown him a moment ago.
“Are you afraid of me now, darling? Do you think I’m really a poor little soul that had a sad life and now I’m hurting other people because of it? Do you think I don’t enjoy being evil?”
She tried to pull away, but he was holding her too tightly. Crowley watched her struggle, noticing the circular bruises on her delicate throat. They were from the demon who had attacked her before the Winchesters found her. He’d left her with the key to the kingdom, alone and unprotected out there. A wave of nausea hit him, almost doubling him over. Guilt. It was guilt, not nausea. She wanted to help him, thought the best of him. And he repaid her by putting her in danger and scaring her. Dammit.
He let up on the pressure and pulled her closer. She gasped as he pressed her captured hands against his chest and pressed her tightly against his body.
“What are you doing?” she asked. There was some fear there, but it was mostly confusion now.
He bent his head and grazed the fingertip bruises on her neck with his lips. “I’m sorry he hurt you and put these bruises on your neck,” Crowley murmured against her warm skin.
“Crowley,” she said, stiff and unmoving in his arms. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“I’m obviously incapable,” he whispered in her ear. She shivered, soft puffs of warm, moist air escaping from her open mouth. Instead of allowing her to speak, he grazed his lips over the line of her jawbone until he was able to capture her mouth of a kiss. She didn’t resist him as he slipped his tongue between her lips and let it battle with her own. Her initial hesitancy faded away and the delicate fingers of her hands curled into the lapels of his suit jacket.
She was so warm and willing and sweet. So innocent that she canceled out every bad thing he’d done in that moment. If she accepted him then he could accept himself. Maybe.
He pulled back to let her take a shuddering breath. “What was that for?” she whispered.
“For me,” he answered. He felt both languid and content, but also crazy with passion. Passion. It was a strange emotion. Normally passion was reserved for torturing or making his underlings quake in fear. Sometimes it crept into his bedroom when he had one of his playthings chained to the wall and ready to have when he wanted them. It wasn’t for kissing and being kissed by a strong-willed human woman with kind eyes and a desire to understand how he became the twisted soul he currently was.
His ruminations loosened his grip on her. Suddenly, like a frightened rabbit, she bolted. She slipped right out of his arms and out of the Devil’s Trap. He left her go, knowing if he reached for her that she’d never touch him again. What he’d just done had caused enough damage.
She was in the doorway now, her arms folded over her chest again like she needed to protect herself.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said softly, standing in the middle of the blasted trap with his hands shackled and hanging limply in front of him.
Instead of replying, she closed the door. Crowley fell back into the metal chair and sighed. His lips tingled with the memory of her kiss. The way she’d felt against him... He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his brain. They would get him nowhere. She would get him nowhere. Everything he’d worked for was down the left fork in this path and she was standing in the right fork looking at him with those fucking eyes that cut through him like nothing else.
Why did he ever set foot in that casino?