"Come on, little witch. You're only prolonging the inevitable. We're going to have you one way... or the other..."
***
There are some rules you don't break
when it comes to the supernatural.
1. Don't be an idiot.
2. Don't make deals with Demons...
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The Trickster
I had helped the witch clean herself up and clothe herself before sending her on her way, leaving me to drown in the last of her touch.
I was alone and reeling.
The witch had mesmerized me. Body and soul. She was a snake charmer in the flesh. Not a single chain could have held me back from getting to her and experiencing the way her body felt around my cock.
She was predestined to be the flame to my moth. I would set my wings on fire just to get closer— to reach that unattainable dream of feeling alive.
I looked down at my strewn sketchbook. The unfinished piece of art stared back at me. As if challenging me to continue where I had so hastily left off.
How could I even continue? How could I even bring myself to blaspheme her nature to a single sheet of paper.
She had made herself a deity upon that desk, begging me to bow down and worship her as if she were the Morningstar. I would have committed high treason in the name of her deity.
Violence began to well inside me again at the thought of seeing her so utterly destroyed by the loss of her mortal home. It grew when I thought of the way she had been attacked in that forest.
A new wave of determination fed my will power to get whatever that human boy had to offer in terms of information. I picked up the sketchbook and pencil, setting it on the stool and headed out the door. I headed straight for the interrogation room. I opened the door quickly.
Malachi was already in session, jacket off and placed carefully on his chair. His sleeves were rolled up as he brandished his bloody dagger, twirling it between his fingers. James was a bloody mess with runes carved into his abdomen and forearms. He sat unconscious in his own chair, head fallen back so that his face was toward the ceiling.
"What's so important that you decided to interrupt my work," he asked blandly.
"I just came to watch," I answered simply. "If you don't mind."
He merely muttered to himself. "Fine. Take the knife. You're the artist. I need you to finish up this project."
He lazily held the dagger out for me to take.
"Sure thing," I sighed, grabbing it. "Where is Sam and Des?"
"Out," he said simply. "On a job."
"Without any supervision," I asked with a low whistle. "Gutsy."
Mal turned to me with a dead look in his eye.
"You were busy," he said. "I didn't want to interrupt."
"I would have come if you had requested," I said, kneeling down to the grimy cement floor and beginning my work carefully. "You know that."
He grabbed his jacket and headed to the door. "It would have tipped her off."
