Witch Hunt - Bang Chan x Reader (Fantasy AU)

- Chapter One -

There was blood on your hands. Literally and figuratively. And it made it particularly difficult to try and book a motel room. You weren't naïve enough to miss the hush that blanketed the room when you walked into the motel reception office either. The lady sitting behind the front desk looked up on impulse, the wide smile already pressed across her face dropping when she saw you waltzing in.

You didn't break your stride. You walked right up to the desk and dropped your bag on the counter, a puff of brown dust billowing out from it. The receptionist held back a grimace, and you were surprised she didn't make a single remark about the tracks of dirt you'd left in your footsteps. There was another worker down the other end of the desk who also didn't fail to openly gawk at you.

You caught sight of yourself in the window to your left. You frowned. You were a mess. Head to toe, you were smothered in dry dirt, your hair cakey with it, your clothes, originally black, all now a lovely dusty brown. You felt a mess too. The beginnings of a hangover headache were starting to spike the outskirts of your skull.

And not to mention your hands. You glanced down at your palms quickly, seeing the dry blood embedded into every nook and cranny of your hands from fingertip to wrist. You quickly tucked your hands away behind your back and looked up to the receptionist, bright eyed and wide smiled.

"Do you have a room available?" You asked sweetly, acting as if everything was completely normal.

The receptionist blinked at you a few times, her mouth pressed into a thin line as if she was physically trying to hold back the myriad of questions that were undoubtedly brewing in her mind.

"Uh-um, y-yes, we have quite a few bookings available at the moment?" The woman quickly composed herself, coming to remember that she had a job to do. "How long will you be staying?" She kept flicking her gaze between you and the computer, and you could see the physical strain it took her not to look you up and down. You were grateful for that. Not only did you look terrible, but if she peeked over her desk just a little further, there was no doubt she'd see the guns strapped to your thighs, only just covered by the hem of your coat.

"Just two nights. Only one room." You rocked back and forth on your heels as the woman clicked away on her keyboard. You felt a little bad about making such a mess of the place these people were just trying to work in. But you had bigger fish to fry at that moment in time.

"Okay, I will just ask you to fill out this short form." She slid a piece of paper and a pen over to you. You swiftly scrabbled in all your information, ignoring the streaks of dirt you left behind on the sheet and handed it back to her.

You waited for her to finish, shooting a smile at the guy behind the other computer who was still staring in your direction. He looked away the minute your gaze hit his.

"Alrighty, this is your room key. You'll be staying in room 312, which is located just to the left of the reception room. Enjoy your stay." The receptionist slid across a silver key along with a map of the grounds and a short pamphlet about fun things to do in the area - which, considering the location of the motel, wasn't much.

You grabbed the keys and papers then hauled your bag back off the counter. You swiped at the dirt left behind on the counter in a measly attempt to make it disappear but it only seemed to smudge. With a last apologetic smile at the woman, you turned on your heel and stalked out of the room.

The smile left your face as soon as you were out of sight. You felt disgusting. It was hot, you were sweaty and you were absolutely smothered in dirt in blood. Not particularly the way one would want to spend their birthday, but in your life, you shouldn't have been surprised.

You were supposed to have woken up this morning in a mansion, ensconced in layers and layers of silk sheets, with buffets of food waiting at the foot of your bed, just begging you to tuck into it.

Instead you spent the morning half drunk, running down miles of open road in the countryside, chased by a horde of angry demons and branded 'murderer'. Happy twenty-second birthday to you. Still, it was better than the family dinner your parents always liked to have. The thought made you shudder involuntarily.

After you had managed to incapacitate or lose the last of your chasers, you were then forced to walk hours under the blazing summer sun until you happened upon the first motel you could find. By now you were ready to drop dead.

You shuffled on a little while longer, soon reaching a room with the numbers '312' stamped above the door in faded white paint. You stuck the key in the lock and jiggled the door open. The room was by no means nice. It was small and cramped, the kitchen didn't have a dishwasher and the living room tv was about the size of a textbook. But it was quiet, and calm, and nobody was trying to kill you there.

You dropped your bag by the door, locking it behind you as you stepped into the musty room. You didn't even bother waiting until you got to the bathroom, you simply started shucking off your clothes piece by piece as you walked there, discarding them wherever. Except your guns. Those you unbuckled carefully, and gingerly sat on the dining table.

Once in the bathroom, you enclosed yourself in the tiny stall and turned the shower on, heating up the water until it nearly burned your skin. You watched the water turn a muddy brown as it slowly rinsed the layers of dust off your body. The blood on your hands took a little more convincing, and your palms were left red and raw by the time you had finished scrubbing.

Flashes of the night before came back to you whenever you closed your eyes. The feeling of his body pushed against yours, strong thick hands wrapped around your throat until you couldn't breath. And then blood. So much of it, spilling down his front and onto your hands, pooling under his slowly cooling body.

It wasn't the first time you'd killed someone. And it likely wouldn't be the last. But never had it been so personal. Never had you actually known the person that stood at the other end of your knife, or your gun or your sword. The people that had died by your hand had been strangers, and as such taking their life hadn't had such an effect on you. Not Tanner though.

Did you regret it? Absolutely not.

When your skin was clean again, you turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. You leaned against the sink and looked at your reflection in the mirror. Even out of the shower you still looked like shit. Your face was pallid and drawn, heavy circles hung under your eyes and a permanent furrow had settled between your brows from the frown on your face. You stood there until the water had dried and you were shivering from the cold. Then you finally dragged yourself out of the bathroom.

God, your mother was going to be angry when she heard about this.