Chapter 4

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Rose's P.O.V.

The demons are surrounding Dante and I, cutting off every possible exit, save for one; up. Crouching low, I gather every shred of power I can from my arm and leap into the air, wings of white flame roaring to life behind me, allowing me to remain airborne. I hear a whistle of approval from below, making my cheeks flush dark red. I hide my demon arm once again with an illusion spell. I've used it ever since I can remember to avoid any unfriendly attention.

"Their leader is here," I shout down at Dante, watching from the corner of my eye as he lazily turns every demon that leaps at him into mincemeat. "If I take him out they should scatter."

Dante hollers something up at me, but the screeching of more demons arriving onto the scene drowns him out. I wait for him to speak again with no such luck. I fly from one rooftop to another, shooting at the occasional demon that manages to escape the carnage raging in the street below. I'm roughly fifty meters away from the roof of Devil May Cry when I hear Dante's voice ring clearly, panic latched firmly to every word.

"ROSE, IT'S A TRAP!!!"

His warning comes late as the crack of a whip shreds the air and hard, braided leather rakes a deep, diagonal gash down the center of my chest. Blood immediately begins to pour from the wound while my screech of agony is the only sound to be heard. My vision is darkening just as quickly as I'm losing altitude, my fiery wings having been dispelled. A blurry figure dressed in varying shades of blue stands before me as I hit the ground, his vaguely familiar nasal voice drawling out intangible words. A flash of red clashes with the blue, and two male voices start arguing about some controversial topic.

My body feels unbearably heavy right now, and I have a very strong urge to close my eyes and sleep it off. However, some small part of my consciousness tells me that's not a good thing to do at the moment. Hearing the faint sound of gunshots, I try to focus my vision on a pair of slender figures rapidly approaching. One is wearing black, the other clad in white. As the woman in black picks me up, muttering words of reassurance, I laugh to myself, not even remembering what it was I found to be so funny.

What feels like a minute later, my ears pick up three hushed voices. Nothing of what they're saying makes any sense to me. This is mostly because my brain is just now telling me I've got a major headache, which only further scrambles my thoughts. My arms refuse to move when I will them to. When I try moving the rest of my body, my chest seizes up in agony and I wince. My entire body feels like it's been raked by millions of razor-sharp blades. Cautiously, I open my eyes.

Thankfully, the amount of light in the room is just enough to make out the face in front of me but not enough to hurt my eyes. I come to realize that I'm in someone's living room, I guess, splayed out on a very comfortable leather couch, still fully dressed, with the exception of my tailcoat. As white hair comes into focus, I recognize with a surge of terror the face of the man in the blue tailcoat. I scream at the top of my lungs, ignoring the searing pain as I try to get away from the man in blue. He reaches out to me, grabbing my shoulder firmly with one hand, a wicked smile spreading across his face as he thrusts his katana straight through my chest. Though he doesn't open his mouth to speak, a voice shouts at me, comfortingly familiar. Blinking rapidly, the man in the blue tailcoat disappears, replaced by a similar man, clad instead in a red tailcoat. While I struggle to remember who this man is, he seems to catch on that I've come out of my trance and relief washes over his chiselled features. Well-groomed white hair falls messily down his face, not quite covering his icy blue eyes. Along his firm jaw, there's the slightest hint of stubble, which pulls it all together, making him look very-. No, extremely sexy. My demon flutters in strong agreement. My brain suddenly shoves a name to me, bringing back a small portion of what I'm assuming to be lost memory.

"Dante," I whimper, my arms pathetically weak as I lift a hand to his face, trying to reassure myself that I'm not dreaming. "What happened?"

"I scared away the asshole that tried to kill you," Dante replies calmly, though I can tell something about what he just said is scraping raw nerves. "I can promise you he won't be coming back for a while."

"How long has it been since the demons attacked us?" I press on, relieved that my body is once again able to obey me without question. "And did you figure out who the guy was?"

"You've been out cold for two days," he whispers, ruffling my hair playfully and standing up to walk away. "And the guy that tried to kill you was my brother, Vergil."

He sits down in the chair behind his desk, propping his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers thoughtfully.

"He didn't have the Yamato, though, which is weird."

"That's because it was broken by the last person he tried to kill with it," I growl, lowering my gaze to the floor as I lift the right corner of my black crop top.

In the dim light, Dante has to come very close to be able to see exactly what it is I'm trying to show him. So close, in fact, that I can feel his breath against my skin. I tense up when he touches the scar that was left by his brother's katana on the night he first tried to murder me. Vergil had gotten the surprise of his life when my demon took over, broke Yamato, and then made a shot at killing him, but to no avail.

"How did you get a scar like this in the first place?" Dante puzzles, tracing around the mark with one finger, absolutely fascinated. "I mean, you are a half demon like me, so... It should heal without a trace, right?"

"Normally, yes," I sigh. "But it simply wouldn't heal over, no matter what I tried. I was forced to seal it using a white-hot knife."

I yelp in surprise when his lips kiss my scar gently and reflexively lock my hands into his hair, trying to pull him away. This only seems to egg him on, for the next thing I know, he's pushing me down onto the couch again, trailing kisses down my chest to my stomach. He stops at my bellybutton and comes back up to my now cherry red face, smiling in triumph.

"Are you mine yet?" Dante purrs.

"Fuck you, Dante," I groan, rolling over and burying my face into the pillow.

"The offer's still on the couch, babe."

I feel his hands grasping my hips firmly and pulling them up to meet his own. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction when he grinds his waist against mine. Even through the fabric of our clothes, his morning wood is hitting a very sensitive spot, and it's all I can do to keep my demon from tackling him. Still gripping the pillow, I sit up and turn around. Unfortunately, he reads my movements and easily deflects my pillow attack before I've even come close to hitting him. Nonetheless, I keep trying to hit him. After countless attempts, my success is hard won, and I hear the satisfying FWAP! as it connects with his face. The shocked expression he gives me is enough to throw me into a fit of laughter.

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