You make me want.
For years, she has been a demon. Forever, seems more like it. She died, she made a deal with the devil and all that. Now, she wonders the streets of the human world, alone, untamed, seeking those who are killers, rapist, and worst. She's a killer and she knows it, but Veela doesn't care. It's in her contract with Satan, and even if it wasn't, she thrives in the fact that people, horrible, insignificant people die by her hand. Someone tried to kill her, left her in her own bed, her throat sliced into pieces, and blood flowing and dripping down her satin sheets. Satan found her like that, almost dead, unrecognizable. And that's when she decided, she didn't want to die, she just wanted to kill the b*****d. So what if it was the devil? She needed that power.
After hunting down criminals, she sees a guy, black hair and grey eyes. He looks almost like the guy who killed her. But it couldn't be, right? Because she feels a strong attraction to this guy, and that's not healthy. Because she's been alone for thirty years now, and even Demons want a chance at love.
The place was seriously crowded. Too many people, too many smells, and even the temperature changed dramatically. Veela’s knee length boots and black shorts were not made for this kind of running. The people would stare, and she would ignore them, until they stopped and focused their attention on something else. Something more fascinating than a high class demon. Even if they didn’t know they were in the same room as one.
Grunting, she sped up her pace, frustration was written all over her body. White hair hung down her back, a little crazy from all the running. It’s not like she did this a lot, she usually didn’t take such easy jobs. But Satan wanted this, and she had to the bidding. Powerful Diablo or not, Satan was best not angered.
The boy had been walking to fast, headphones on his ears, looking like he had no idea where he was going and not caring either. On the other hand she could kept following the bastard, or she would stop him and demand why the hell does someone like Satan wants ‘him’. She decided on the latter, it was her way of doing things anyhow. Enough of the stupid jerks staring at her top, and thinking about what lays inside. Hormones were a scary thing, even demons knew when to stop. On second thought, Vee didn’t really count, since she was a virgin and all that.
Using her own ‘powers’ she vended a little of this, a little of that. And soon- a few seconds really- she was in front of the boy. “Hey, you! Person with the crappy hearing.”
The boy turned around, frowning, and then silent. He took off the headphones and mumbled something that sounded like “Who’re you?” But all she could see was the pretty hazel eyes, much like her own, darker skin, not tan- just darker, exotic, full lips. She wondered how good those lips tasted, what kind of emotions played as they-
And that’s when she abruptly stopped. She was a fully grown woman- or she should have been. Her body had stayed at the age of seventeen, and she would still be the same silly looking teenager for a few more decades. Time in hell was really something.
The most interesting part of him was his smell. He smelled great, pure male and a little sweaty. Crap. Seriously? Since when was she so desperate? The boy was going to die. He reeked of it, when one is about to die, the smell of super sweet nectar hangs around. That is, until your laying in a coffin, dead, and being eaten by maggots.
“I’m Vee. And you?” My voice sounded strange, it wasn’t the façade that she puts up for the humans, it was her own throaty purr, and she could read the surprise on his eyes. And then the hard swallow from his Adam’s apple. Shit. He was only human, and wasn’t even well, her type. But he could be, starting from now.
“Ethan, Ethan Michaels. And kid, I’m kind of in a hurry.” His eyes traveled from the black zigzag top she was wearing, down her shorts and her boots. Shrugging, and smirking a little, she stared back at him. Appraising the meal, wouldn’t some people say? It wasn’t her fault really. Demons had a low tolerance for human clothes. They felt stuffy, wrong, and heavy. The less, the lighter, and the better the fighting was her own private motto. Not that anyone was complaining, she just found it funny what people thought. But then her train of thought completely shifted. KID?! Who the hell he thinks he is talking to? Princess Veela of Arcadis. And she was not a kid.
Veela has always been short, even in her human life, she had been little above average. But five foot two was definitely fine. It’s not size that mattered, it was strength. And right now she was going to put the very sharp, very painful hell up the guys ass.
“I’m seventeen.”Glaring, she made him take a step back. “But that’s not why I’m here Ethan Michaels, just wondering why does Satan, want you?”
