Dancing With the Devil

Chapter 13

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in Devil May Cry, all rights to those characters belong to Capcom. The only parts of this story I own are my character, Rose Jay, and the plot.

Rose's P.O.V.

Standing outside Devil May Cry, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched. Unfortunately for me, Dante locks his shop any time he leaves, whether it be to stop by the Bullseye Bar and Pizzeria or while he's out on a job. Which means I'm stuck out here, exposed to whatever wrath nature might throw my way. Hopefully Lady or Trish come by sometime soon.

I let out a long sigh, sitting down on the front steps and pulling my knees up to rest my head on them. My eyelids have grown very heavy over the past few minutes, but just before they close, my demon surges up in alarm, jolting me awake. My vision sharpens drastically as my demon scans the entire street for any sign of life, only finding a suspicious-looking shadowed corner to my left. Letting out the breath I didn't realize I was holding, I hang my head with a groan. Just then, I catch movement from the corner of my eye and I whip my gaze back to the shadowed corner, now fully alert.

My demon is wailing in distress, urging me to get up and run for my life without looking back. For quite a while, I stare into the darkness, trying to find some indication of life within it, until the scar a hand's width below my heart begins to feel like it's burning. That sensation alone is enough to fully terrify my demon, and the outburst of a powerful aura as the shadows reveal the silhouette of a man is what gets me on my feet. Racing up the street in the direction of civilization, I hop to escape the man of whom I know has come to finish what he started six years ago.

"Foolish as ever, I see," his voice grumbles almost directly behind me. "Best fix that kind of behavior immediately, Miss Jay."

There's no time for me to react as braided rope wraps around my ankles and I fall forward onto the cold pavement. My horrible luck kicks in as my head scrapes against a rather sharp piece of gravel. Within moments, I can feel a steady trickle of a thick, warm liquid running down the side of my face. Blood, and a lot of it. My strength is quickly fading, which means I'm powerless to resist when my enemy lifts me up and throws me over his shoulder.

"Damn you, Vergil," I growl at him as he begins to walk away from Devil May Cry. "You won't get away with this... Dante will kill you for-."

"Your precious Dante has forgotten you, Rose," Vergil snaps coldly. "You were just another flower to be adored and thrown away."

No, he has to be lying. Out of sheer panic, I shriek Dante's name, ending in sobs as my wrists are tightly bound. My heart slams painfully in my rib cage, reinforcing my determination to fill the streets with my plea for help... Desperately willing for someone, anyone, to put a stop to this power-hungry man. Vergil rapidly becomes irritated by this. Setting me down, he puts a firm hand on my shoulder and delivers a vicious kick to my stomach.

"Save your breath, stupid woman," he scolds, harshly grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. "I strongly suggest you follow my advice. Or would you prefer I kill you here and now?"

As I'm once again hoisted up over Vergil's shoulder, the familiarity of my surroundings blurs into confusion under a veil of tears. What if he is right? What if I was being played the fool this whole time?

No, I think despairingly to myself. Dante will come and rescue me any second now... He has to... He promised.

Closing my eyes, I pray to God that I might live to see Dante's face, run my fingers through his hair, and kiss those needy lips of his... Just one more time.

... ... ...

"Rose!"

Cowering low in the shelter of the tub in Vergil's rich-guy styled bathroom, I wince at the angry tone of his voice. My left hand begins to throb painfully, reminding me of my stupid mistake, and it certainly doesn't help that my other hand is shaking incessantly. Hearing Vergil's footfalls thumping rapidly up the stairs and down the hallway in the direction of the bathroom persuades me to pick up the bottle of hydrogen peroxide next to me and pour its contents onto the palm of my still bleeding left hand. The stinging pain is enough to make me whimper in discomfort as the raw flesh begins to fizzle like a soft drink. In an instant, the door to the bathroom slams open and a shadow looms over me. The next thing I know, I'm being pulled out of the tub in a fit of agonized screaming.

"Get back to work!" Vergil snaps at me, forcefully sitting me down on the floor in front of my supplies that I'd requested he retrieve. "You will not last long if you keep slacking off like this. You may rest after you've finished forging my weapon."

"If I can't get a proper bandage for my hand, you won't have a weapon at all," I retort, shrinking back when he gives me a reprimanding glare. "Believe what you will, but I want to get this over with just as much as you do. But to make that happen, I need both of my hands to do it."

For quite some time, Vergil doesn't even budge. When he does finally take action, he grabs my left wrist and gives me a warning growl when I try to pull away from him. Reluctantly, I let him examine the burned flesh of my palm which, thanks to my demon, is slowly beginning to heal. He then releases my wrist and walks swiftly upstairs, returning less than a minute later with a roll of bandages in one hand, a pair of tweezers and some alcohol swabs in the other.

"Hold out your hand," Vergil instructs firmly, though his demeanor is gentle, which is concerning. "And keep it still."

Following his direction, I hold out my injured hand, somewhat shocked as he sits on the floor in front of me. In the blink of an eye, he's taken the roll of bandages and used it to bind my wrist to his leg as he works at removing every last microscopic shard of metal from my palm with the tweezers. He only stops to wipe away any blood that seeps out from the flesh that has once again been made raw, which makes me squirm and mewl in protest against the stinging. After he's finally removed every scrap of metal shrapnel, he uses the last of the alcohol wipes to clean away any remaining blood. Next, he unties my wrist and wraps the bandages around the now uninfected wound, and I'm left staring at him in disbelief as he stands, orders me to resume my work, and then leaves me to my own devices.