It's only business, baby [cw]

While she collected herself, alleviated from the freezing waters, his gaze wandered down her body. Her clothes clung tightly to her figure, dripping hastily, and as she was shivering, huddled together to preserve whatever heat remained, she looked incredibly frail. And he considered tweaking the temperature a few degrees to increase her discomfort. Because he couldn’t have been more pleased by the sight. And how delightful it would be to break her further. But he didn’t want to delay the information he so curiously awaited. He needed her to be somewhat clear-headed. So, in the end, he settled for a cold breeze. Just to keep her body shivering.

“You say that, yet here we are.” He made a gesture towards her, not hiding his dubiety. It might not be usual for her, but this time she’d done more than listen. And if there was any truth to the statement, then something else had drawn her to the island. He could only assume that to be the promise of seeing her father again, but he couldn't be sure. There was still so much to her. Much more than what he'd read in his research. He leaned slightly forward at the mention of knowing others who worked similarly as him, waiting for her to reveal their names. Only to frown upon her latter presumption. “You know as well as I that they’d not batted an eye if it wasn’t for the murders.” They didn’t have the resources to set in for every illegal demonic activity out there. But a sin-inducing drug, that happened to have murders nearby? That was the only reason they were brought down. And he’d have to make sure they altered the recipe, whatever it was that had increased the sins to such degree, for humans to commit murder. Because any intelligent soul demon would have avoided their radar. It was the base of their whole existence, knowing that they were receiving a one-way ticket to Hell otherwise. But it was different with humans because they were God's special creation, or whatever. And if there was anything he didn't need a reminder of, it was that. Besides, it had never been the purpose of the drug. Humans sinned plenty on their own, so inducing that a bit to increase profits and secure already weakened souls to the hands of the devil. Now, what could be the harm in that?

The small insult was quickly set aside as she finally named someone. “Is that so?” he straightened himself, wondering what Mallory Moss would want with claws of a thunderbird. “What does he need them for?” he asked, not exactly sure of their effects although he was aware of their rarity. As far as he knew, nobody ever witnessed a thunderbird. Feathers were difficult to gather, but claws? You almost had to know or kill one to get that close. Put that together with his desperate search and you got yourself a very generous price. The cloaking of a plane, on the other hand, was more easily understood. It meant he either wanted to smuggle goods or hide his location. It might relate to the claws, but the information was rather useless unless she knew both of the purpose and the departing or arriving destination.

Saga shuddered visibly when the artificial wind twirled around her drenched body. Her shoulders perked up towards her ears in an instant and her teeth jammed uncomfortably down against each other as her jaw locked involuntarily. Probably to keep a halt to any kinds of shivering lips or pathetic sounds, that might’ve escaped her throat, hadn’t her subconscious been prepared for it. Why was it, that she was freezing so much? Her circumstances made perfectly sense and yet… Yet she had never, in her life, been his cold. Not from natural causes, at least. It made it difficult to think, just like innate fear had been the cause of that exact same thing, when she had been in the water. He despised it..
A barely-there squint was pulled forth by his comment. Yet here we are. There was something smug about it although she neither heard or saw anything of the shorts in the demon’s voice nor face. Instinct wanted to move further back, as he himself leaned back, however she stayed still. Partially just frozen in place by tensed up nerves that fought the cold. Besides; she didn’t have too much room to move around. Or balance for that matter. The boat rocked steadily with even the tiniest movement. And did it move too much, then it was right back in th-… “Right. Careless mistakes on the demons’ part,” she agreed with nothing but neutrality in her voice. Placing the little witch in the midst of the eternity-spanning feud between hell spawn and heaven’s most prideful, like Calvin seemed to have tried doing on multiple attempt now, was inevitably useless effort.

“I couldn’t tell you.” It wasn’t hard to get intel on Mallory Moss. It was much more tricky when it involved Marley Moss, his father. Even more so if there was interest in the mother in the family. The chances of a droplet dropping into that woman’s pond and rings spreading out for other people to notice were always very slim. But the son was still a wild card. Desperation also had the ability to shade for the purpose like in this case. “Most of what I’ve heard about a thunderbird’s claws are talks of how they’re able to inflict wounds that won’t heal. Not only to already vulnerable beings but those who seem untouchable too,” she explained, though it felt like a constant struggle to speak properly without her teeth clacking or her tongue betraying her enough to make her stutter. “Fewer talk about the violent high you’d get from inhaling it. Stories about hunters experiencing this when sawing the claws of and being exposed to the dust particles.” The thing was; Saga was lying. And she did so as smoothly as the body of an eel fresh out of water. Of course, there was some truth to what she was saying - a lie was only durable with a fundament of truth, after all. “I’ve never b-…” Hm?

An icy drop of water dripped from her chin and down unto the back of her hand, leading her eyes down from the demon and instead to where it had landed. The mild prick of the droplet against her sensitive skin, had made her hand clench tighter and in the process she had felt it. As she fell silent, she carefully and slowly opened her hand up again. Then she slowly bended her fingers as if to clench it shut one more time. Scraping her fingertips along as she did. All she saw and all her mind was convinced of was …the bottom of the boat. But an intuition didn’t quite feel what she was supposed to. It was scratchy. Like… Like.. concrete? “This… isn’t real.”
The words came out very softly, as if she at first was only telling herself the revelation until her dark brows angled and she finally looked back up at him. He couldn’t teleport. She was suddenly reminded of walking out the doors to his office only to step right back into it as soon as her foot had moved over the doorstep. “You..“ Any sense of willingness she had shown him so far was gone. Locked right back up by the humiliation she felt. The same that had initially kept her uncooperative earlier.

Of course, it had been a mistake. Somewhere along the way, someone had made an incompetent decision. Murders were the last thing they’d wanted to come out of the drug. But as all supernatural things went, it often came with complications. And they still needed to work on their formula, perfecting it just enough to stay sufficiently in the dark. They were still testing it at the time that the angels had snuffed it up. Besides, it wasn’t his fault that humans were so damn emotional and fallible. You only had to push them so far to get there.
When she said she couldn't give him an answer, he was ready to break off the interrogation, bored by the useless information. If she couldn’t tell him the purpose of obtaining the claw of a thunderbird, then he had no reason to care about it. Combine that with his disappointment in her lack of intel on the angels or his rivals, he was feeling rather annoyed. But then she spoke of the claws again, revealing that it could inflict wounds that wouldn’t heal. Which meant that it could help take down even the most powerful beings, or simply those who self-healed. What she spoke of was something otherworldly or godly. Something he didn’t necessarily associate with thunderbirds. A brow was raised at the mention of getting high off the pulverized claws. His interest regained. “And there are traders out there who have thunderbird claws in their possession?” he asked, hoping she’d hand him a name or something tangible. If she spoke the truth, it would help him gain a competitive advantage. Give him that valuable piece of information he’d asked in return for giving back her possessions. He tilted his head as she halted her sentence, seeming distracted by something. He followed her gaze to her hand as she became unusually occupied by it. However, it was first when she scratched her fingertips against the boat that he knew what had warranted it. A small crack in his illusion. But what a shame it was for her to realize this soon. Just when the submissive part of her had broken through her otherwise adamant demeanor.

You.. A smirk appeared on his lips. Slowly the surroundings vanished, twisting into something transcendent. The midnight sky turned gray, and the lake blurred into a firmer consistency. The next moment they were back in the concrete basement. He didn’t like the part where she now was awfully comfortable in comparison. The room wasn't warm by any means, but it was not nearly as cold as sitting in the freezing wind in drenched clothes. He grabbed her upper arm to drag her along the floor to the chains on the back wall, trying her up by her ankles and wrists. Her arms stretched to each side, and her legs spread slightly apart as she stood on the floor. He lifted his fingertips to her jawline, tracing them along with it until his hand was placed against her cheek. It didn’t stay for long, however. It was swiftly swung back to collide against it, leaving a red mark on her left cheek. He clenched the hand he’d just smacked her with, not giving her much time to get a breath in as he punched her jaw. He repeated the violent strikes to her face until blood appeared from the crease of her mouth, painting her lower lip in red. Until her nose had cracked, possibly broken. Until blood trickled from her brow ridge. Until the worst of his agitation had dimmed, and he’d regained the power that had felt lost. He then grabbed her hair to pull her head up, looking into her eyes. “Don’t ever ruin the moment like that again,” he warned, wanting to make sure she understood what the punishment had been for. It was much better if she had just played along. If he’d at least gotten something out of the interrogation. Instead, she’d only wasted his time. He let go of his forceful grip around her hair, pushing her head back against the wall in the same movement.

He turned away from her, tugging his cuffs and straightening his jacket. Composing himself as if nothing had happened. Just like he would have after he’d punished his staff in the past. “A mind is easily fooled.” His tone was much calmer this time. “Yet it is much easier to break.” He reached for the door, then turned to glance at her pathetic figure. “Until there’s not much of the same person left.” And on that menacing note, he left the room. She would be able to hear how it was locked from the outside, hear the sound of his steps becoming fainter as he ascended the stairs. At last left with the distant humming of the boiler room. All alone with her thoughts.

A symbol of dripping blood was drawn on the wall in his office. One moment there and the next gone. It was slightly smeared and barely complete. But it was enough to give him an idea as to what it resembled. At this point, it shouldn’t shock him to see these signs or warnings. Most of the motel’s ghosts had taken a liking to him, but he’d also seen rather disturbing messages—ones wishing him death and suffering. And so, he couldn’t help the chill running down his back. “Ella? Lilly?” He turned around, only to hear quickened footsteps in the hallway. “You did well,” he praised, feeling proud because they always managed to keep his victims on their toes and warned him of things they’d observed. “Sing for her tonight, will you? I’m sure she’s lonely down there all by herself. If you do, I’ll give you that cat from outside the fence by tomorrow night.” They couldn’t leave the premises of the motel, and he’d noticed them trying to get a black cat’s attention. It seemed like a fair exchange for what they’d done. He stood in the dark hallway now, the lights flickering slowly as he heard them humming in the distance. He didn’t think Saga would be getting much sleep in the position she was in, but she most definitely wouldn’t now.


Two days went by before he visited the witch again. With no words exchanged, he had turned her around, ripped her shirt from neckline to waist, and cracked a whip against her back. It was first when one of the gashes had begun to bleed that he stopped, not wanting her to get any stupid ideas. Although her restraints were enforced with magic to prevent the use of powers, he had wanted to be cautious in the scenario that the magic in her chains weakened. It was a bloody shame. But there was still a lot he could do to her that didn’t demand blood.


By now it had become a daily fix to torment the witch. He brought her into an array of various illusions. There was one where he’d tied her to a stone in the ocean, her body slowly immersed by the rising tide with waves crashing into her. And when she was fully submerged, he let her suffocate for a good while before bringing her out of it. In another one, he’d force her to watch her parents and familiar die in brutal ways. Then in between the brutality, there’d be illusions where he took her to random places. One night she was seated at a restaurant in New York, her ankles chained to the chair as he forced her to share her dinner with him. Although they’d be eating very different things, it wouldn’t appear so. And he’d talk, mostly about himself but also to gain information from her. And if she refused to speak or play along, the food would be taken away and replaced with violence. As she’d then be undeserving of the reward. Other times he pretended to bring her outside in a game of cat and mouse. He’d set up obstacles, mazes, riddles, anything that would challenge her ability to escape, yet keep her thinking it was possible. The game would go on until he eventually knocked her down and brought her back. He had even brought her outside once, but most of the obstacles were still illusions, and even if they weren’t, he could quickly put some up that would slow her until he caught up. He rarely stayed with her once these games and torments ended, so for the remainder of her time, she was alone. The only exception being the occasional ghost-induced sounds or rare visible appearance.

On the day that finalized her first week with him, one of his victims had been freed by no less than two archangels and a siphoner. He had no idea that the human was of such importance. And it worried him tremendously to think that two archangels were going to be looking for him. That same night he’d went to check on Saga. The door was still locked, and he could sense her in there. It was enough to warrant some joy amid the unfortunate turn of events. Because the one archangel she’d willingly helped and risked her life for, had been at the motel and saved someone. Yet he hadn’t saved the witch. It took a lot for him to restrain his urge to enter her cell and rub it in her face. Alas, it had to wait. For now, he needed to check on the rest of the motel and amp up his illusions. His protection staying the highest priority. A very serious persecution had begun, and he had no intention of letting that be the end of him.


He stared at his reflection in the antique mirror of his bedroom. Fine-tuning the last details before the reveal. He had gathered many pictures of the archangel, although most were useless portrayals. The real key had been to get help from a surviving demon to explain his appearance. How it was when the witch had last seen him. He wore a dark grey tailored suit, and his hair was set in place with pomade. He even wore the fragrance that he was known to own. It was a warm scent with notes of smoky woods and sensual amber. And never in his life had he gone to those extents of research when it regarded an angel. Nor had he felt this strange taking on another’s persona. But he was convinced it would be worth it once he saw the look on her face. He placed his hands on the dresser as he leaned forward, making sure the freckles were placed as they were in one of his close-ups. Once he was satisfied, he drove the short distance to the motel. A trap had already been set in place in case the plan didn’t work, thus the show could begin.
The illusion of his aura became stronger as he stepped down to the basement. Although it was hard to know what the real thing felt like. He’d never been near one of God’s archangels. He created the sound of locks breaking while he unlocked them, opening the door with more force than usual as he stepped through. His face barely grazed signs of surprise or concern before he was by her side and worked on unlocking the chains. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get to you sooner,” he said with as much sincerity he could muster. The deepness of his voice felt strange coming out of him. But it was much more satisfactory than listening to the few videos he could find of it, to be able to imitate it this well in his illusion. She was still chained, even if she’d feel the freeing motion of them being removed. He couldn’t risk her magic coming into play and ruining it all.

He supposed it didn’t matter much who he’d pretended to be. The relief would rush to her all the same. He could sense the realization coming over her. By her quickened heartbeat. By the way she fell into his arms, weak and exhausted, gravitating to the closest feeling of safety. A feeling she’d been robbed from the past week. Her body had been forced to stay tense for most of her time here, and now she could finally let go of some of that tension. He almost smiled as she called him Michael. It was an understatement to say that he was satisfied with the outcome of his plan. Instead, he looked down at her, all serious, and took in the look on her face. She was confused for good reason. It wasn’t easy to see through his illusions, let alone navigate through them—even for an archangel. Yet if he had any desire to find her, he knew he would have. He had gotten the help of a siphoner to save the human, after all.

Why was he here? Why, to save her, of course! “When I discovered you weren’t home, that you hadn’t been home for days, I looked into the demons in the area. For any connection to the operation in Cuba. That’s when I found the owner of this motel.” He scanned her face with worry as she started coughing, letting her distance himself from him more easily than he otherwise would have. He had to stay in character. And had he known a bit more about Michael’s powers, he might have shown compassion by giving her water. He might have done more to prove that it was him. But the lore was all over the place when it regarded his powers and he couldn’t afford to take any chances. He didn’t know how much she knew about the archangel, after all.
Where was he? “I don’t know. He wasn’t here when I arrived,” he replied, sounding slightly concerned about it himself. As if Calvin still had a chance to come forth and trick them both. It sure sounded like him to do such a thing. But the truth was that if he’d been there at the time Michael had arrived, he’d murdered him. Angels were predictable like that. It was so ingrained into the coding that God had given them. Besides, he hadn’t been there when they’d come to save Elenora, so it wasn’t a complete lie. And he couldn’t simply state that he had died without letting disgust seep through the angel’s expression. The thought alone hurt his pride. No, he’d be smart enough to get away before it got to that. “Do you know if he’s trapped others?” he asked, showing false concern for strangers in the same position as her. Because that’s what an angel would do.

He then got a bright, if not slightly reckless, idea. He lifted her into his arms in the illusion and unshackled her chains in reality. He carried her out of the dungeon. In the illusion, he headed towards the parking lot. In reality, he went around the motel towards a standalone basement, posing as a storage room. He walked past the storage space to open a hidden door, descending the stairs with her. In the illusion, he was nearing a black car. He opened the door to the car. The door to the room inside the basement. Revealing another prison cell. The exact place where Elenora had been. Where Michael had been two days prior. It was a gloomier version of a motel room but with all the necessary essentials. It included a bathroom, a table with two chairs, a bed, and a dresser. The interior was old and dirty, and the water was ice cold. Nonetheless, it was a major upgrade for the witch.
He had manipulated the time perception a little in the illusion, granting him enough time to move the rug from the middle of the room and opening a small cellar in the floor where a long chain was. It was still magically enforced, though it allowed her to move around more freely. It was first when the metal was secured around her right ankle that he let her go and stepped back to reach the light switch by the door. And that was when he broke the illusion. At least the part about them driving off into the distance and towards Oakheart. Not the part about him appearing as the archangel.

It was pitch-dark in the windowless room until a single lamp in the ceiling started flickering. His gaze was fixed on her as he watched her reaction. And although she’d be able to rise from the floor, her chains wouldn’t grant her enough length to reach the door. To reach him. The light eventually settled to a constant yellow and dim hue. “Did you really think an archangel would give two cents about you?”

She was surprisingly quick to get up from her position, but instead of approaching him, she staggered backward. He glanced at the chain when she discovered it. When she realized she wasn’t saved at all. His eyes moved back to her when she felt her gaze on him. Unlike her, he was languid, his breathing calm and controlled. Because once again he had her where he wanted her. Where are we? He was exceptionally glad she asked. Not that he was going to disclose the location. For all she knew, he could have taken her somewhere far away from the motel. But the question was going to bring him to the final reveal, to what had made him arrange all this to begin with. He neared the dresser by the wall and let his fingertips trace the scratch marks in the dated wood. A remembrance of a victim’s attempt at escaping him when he’d pinned her to the wall next to it. Perhaps she’d tried to move it, but it had been too sturdy a piece of furniture. “This is your new home,” he presented it as he removed his hand from the dresser and turned to look at her. It was a more permanent place for her to stay. And there was a multitude of reasons for that. One of which shone extraordinarily bright that night. “Which brings me to tell you the best part about it.” A smile appeared on his lips as he was reminded of the sweet cruelty of it. “Your dear friend was in this room two days ago.” He gestured a hand to himself, to the person he portrayed. She had refused to tell him anything about the angels, about Michael, which had him suspect there was a friendship at stake. Something more than the neutrality she usually held for her partners. “The angel saved a human that I kept in here. He made a mess of it too... destroyed all my illusionary safety measures prior to the saving.” He looked to the side, to where a window would’ve been on the empty wall, had it been a regular motel room. “I tried to warn you, but I suppose you had to learn it the hard way. Angels, especially those of higher rank, don’t care about the likes of us. For demons, it's a worse kind of hatred. But for witches... they only care to what extent they can use you, and then they will discard you, make you feel unworthy and insignificant.” He looked at her with soft, pitying eyes, overtaken by the acting. He wanted his words to sink deep into her mind. He wanted her, as much as anyone, to succumb to their evil nature. To not put up with what was considered morally right but instead to simply live. “But it’s not right. Our nature is just as normal and worthy as theirs. How is it that we’re only supposed to fight who we are? If anything, they're the ones who are blinded by the light of their creator, failing to realize how capricious and malevolent he is.” He shook his head, feeling angry thinking of those stuck-up winged creatures — ruining everything he'd worked so hard for, even when he could have amped up the sins and caused much worse evil to unleash as a result of the drug.

He looked down as she’d resorted to the floor, watching her desperate attempts to regain her powers—to regain the feeling she’d had moments before. But it was to no avail. Instead the strain of trying made blood trickle from her nose. It was an endearing thing to watch her fail. He tilted his head at her sudden demand to stop the illusions. Was she hurt by the truth to the point where she resented the sight of the archangel so profoundly? Or was it the constant lack of sanity and realism that ultimately had made her say it? Was it the fact that he’d tricked her mind so convincingly, to make it think it was finally free of the torment, only for her to return to the same exact position? No matter what, he sensed the frustration and exhaustion in her voice. And for once, he did as told. He stopped the illusion and returned to his true self. Only the hairstyle, cologne, and suit had remained the same. “You know I won’t,” he said as he stepped towards her. It was who he was, and letting go of that was like letting go of a part of yourself. “But I can give you a night’s peace.” He probably would have given it to her regardless. On account of what had already happened. But he liked to make her think he purposefully did it for her.

It had been too tempting not to pretend to be the archangel. To act out the witch’s rescue. Simply because it had to sting badly knowing he had rescued someone from the demon. A human. Not her. Admittingly he had been surprised to find that she had stayed after their break-in. A part of him believed they had made sure to check the whole establishment for similar victims. So to discover they hadn’t... How could he not find joy in that? It only proved that the witch wasn’t worthy in their eyes. At the very least it was clear to him that Michael hadn’t checked up on her even after everything he’d put her through. He raised a brow as she asked why it was of importance that she agreed with him. “Even now you refuse to accept the truth?” He clicked his tongue in disappointment. Now, what kind of demon would he be if he didn’t try to push such views on everyone? Unholy creatures, especially. It wasn’t any different than how the angels preached what they considered morally good. It was only natural of him to counter that. To tell people to screw morality and live life in pleasure and sin. “God murders in abundance. A soul for me? A sacrifice for you? A bird for a human? I don’t see the big difference. And I want everyone to realize that. I’m not asking you to share my views per se. But if I was to let you go, I’d want you to come to terms with the side you belong to.” The unholy and dark one. “Heaven and Humanity couldn’t give a crap either way. I mean you saw what happened during the medieval ages when they mass-murdered your kind on burning stakes. And nobody tried to stop it.” He shrugged. The world was cruel and unfair, so why should anyone try to appease the small part of it that was good? Besides, it was awfully boring. Good people, the extreme religious in particular, undoubtedly lived the most boring of lives. All for a spot in Heaven? But what did a spot in Heaven matter to a demon or witch who could live eternally and never would be granted such pardon anyway?

He looked menacingly at her as she asked for his price. To think she didn’t think he’d grant her some peace unless there was a catch to it. “You wound me,” he replied, though he expressed no such feeling. He rarely did anything out of the goodness of his heart, though it would be a lie to say he hadn’t ever done so. “How about a toast to your new home? That’s all I’ll ask in return.” And with those words, he exited the room to enter the bar. It didn’t matter if she objected. It wasn’t a question of choice. He returned with two mojitos, thinking it would serve as a nice reminder of tropical Cuba. He took a sip of his own drink, the one with regular white rum. “Cheers.” He placed the glass back on the table before he brought her the second drink. The one with the drug-infused rum. He already knew she’d refuse to take as much as a sip. She’d been quite stubborn regarding that, refusing to drink or eat anything in the week she’d stayed with him. He grabbed a fist of her hair, pulling her head back before his hand took a firm hold of her chin and jaw. He dug his fingertips into her skin as he forced her mouth to open, creating easier access for the liquid to pour down her throat. “Drink up.” He pressed the glass to her lips, persisting to pull at her jaw to keep her mouth open as he poured it. She’d either choke on it or drink it. And surely the part of her that was dehydrated would succumb to the latter. He had many times wondered what the effect of alcohol and the enhanced sins would do to her, so what better time to experience that than a celebratory toast to her new and improved home?

I wasn’t burned at the stake. Now, that was an awfully selfish and… refreshing statement. Her unholiness and apathy for once overtook something in her. He smirked at this, thinking she wasn’t so hopeless a case, after all. Of course, she wasn't burned. She might not even have been alive at the time. But to show so little consideration for the suffering of her ancestors. Now, that wasn’t something he’d expected from her. From someone who had gotten on the good side of angels. Or maybe that had been precisely what had attracted them to her. The cutthroat neutrality, knowing she wouldn’t become too attached or expect too much. Because clearly, it took a lot for her to care deeply for something or someone.

He felt the resistance beneath his fingers, how her one hand had grabbed his wrist and the other tried to push first the glass and then him away. But he was stronger than her and determined in his undertaking of making her swallow the drink. He even took a few lurches to his body as her legs started kicking. His free hand tried to hold her down and keep her still, but with his eyes fixed on her lips, it wasn’t an easy endeavor. With the last drop of the liquor entering her, she suddenly pushed herself at him. And with his focus elsewhere mixed with the unexpectedness of her strength, he was forced to the floor behind him. His eyes darted to the hand with the glass that she frantically pushed at. It collided with the wooden boards and broke into two. The sharp edge of glass cut into the palm of his hand which caused him to let go of the glass, letting it roll across the floor with the remaining liquid spilling. He moved to place both hands against her, smearing his blood on her shoulder as he grabbed her. He felt her own hand against his throat, and then the cut of glass against the skin as she removed it. He did nothing to hide his enjoyment of it, flashing her a vague smile. He’d always liked it when they fought back. But then she said something that wiped the smile off his face. And he found himself confounded by her words. She'd cursed him? “You bitch!” he exclaimed in anger before he grabbed her throat with both hands and squeezed it. But it quickly terminated as her expression changed, and he knew the drug had invaded her. He forced her off him and stood from the floor. How had he not been able to prevent that? Magic from the air around them… how the hell was he supposed to know anything about that? He brushed off his suit after the tumbling to the dusty floor and raked a hand through his hair, all with his clean hand, then sighed and sat down in the chair next to the table. He drowned a large sip of his drink. Then lowered it in his hand as he looked at her, thinking it was rather stupid of her to waste any powers in her weakened state. He’d be able to contact a witch to receive a cure, while she was left with what? Surely the curse wouldn’t grant her that much more than temporary satisfaction. And was that really worth the risk, much less the punishment? “How did it feel the first time you were subjected to the drug?” He leaned slightly forward as he looked at her, having convinced himself to move away from the curse. So far he hadn’t felt a thing of it. And either way, she’d be punished for it. But it would be a shame to ruin the rare time this was. He only had a limited supply of the drug in his possession, and it wasn’t like it was in production anymore. “I heard rumors of you kissing the archangel in the midst of the casino. Is that true?”

He could have sworn a colleague of his had been at the casino that night and seen her play and kiss a man who looked much like the disguise the archangel had taken on—later to be revealed at the harbor. But she was barely able to notice it. He could only take that as meaning their drug was so well-produced that it had felt natural to her. Pride arose at the thought because that had indeed been the goal. It was either that or she’d gotten a much smaller dose at the casino. But people never just took one sip of a drink they’d ordered, and he liked much more to think that he’d accomplished something great in the creation of the drug. It was like placing a small bandaid on the wound they’d inflicted. “That was the intention. I wanted it to be an extension of oneself rather than an alien experience. But more importantly, I wanted there to be no moral constraints, so that people would give in to their sins uninhibited, to get pleasure out of life rather than deny the enjoyment of it.” That they had made a business out of that in more than one way was the true fortune of it all. He rose from his seat as she started to move away, taking another large sip of his drink before he placed it on the table. Her silence to his other question only helped to confirm the rumor he’d asked about; that she indeed had kissed someone. He didn’t believe she’d been so bold as to kiss the angel, but it was very likely that she’d kissed a dark-haired stranger, overcome by her attraction to him with all other sense erased.

He reached a hand down to grab her wrist and pulled her up from the ground. He then walked the last few steps towards the bed before he pushed her down in it and sat on the edge himself. “I want you to imagine what your deepest desires are.” Because those, greed and lust most often interfered with, and with the drug in her system they should easily come to her. “Now, I did promise not to create another illusion tonight, but I would only be doing you a favor letting those desires and dreams come to life. If anything, just to give you a taste of what it would be like.” He folded his hands, despite the smearing of blood between his palms. He hadn’t paid any attention to the blood trickling down his neck either. He had gotten worse cuts by choice. The only downside of it was that it now had stained the collar of his shirt, and he wasn’t so keen on ruining an expensive suit. Besides, if it hadn’t been for the curse she claimed to have put on him, he didn’t mind her putting up the small fight. It beat the otherwise boring evening he was bound to have. Simply taking a soul in cold blood had become dull. It was fun the few hundred times but then it had only become a chore; a necessity for his survival. And he longed to feel as he had the first times when the rush and thrill had been at its highest. Hence he had begun to keep captives. He turned his head to look at her, not wanting to restrict her to the chains by the headboard of the bed, although he would if needed. For now, he just hoped she’d fully let the drug in her system overtake her mind and allow it to openly express the desires related to her inner greed. She had to have an insatiable thirst for something. A state or feeling she strived towards. And if he were to get her to do that, to express something so personal to her, it would only serve to improve the power he held over her.

He liked it when she pleaded. It almost made him reluctant to let her go at all. But it was worth it to hear her inhale as she fell back on the mattress; despite the injuries to her back, she still found pleasure in the comfort of it. He also assumed she’d find it easier to relax with the alcohol in her system, though that might first apply when he no longer was in her presence.
He shot her a sideways glance when she interrupted him but continued the sentence all the same. He didn’t understand why she would deny such a generous offer. An illusion of a dream was surely better than the reality of this room. But perhaps it came down to her distrust of him and the many cruel illusions he’d put her through. “You’d be satisfied in the moment.” She’d have to be hyper-aware of the fake reality because an experienced illusionist like him could make it feel like a dream; where one didn’t realize they were in one before they awoke from them. And with the help of the substances, the line between reality and dream would more easily blur. Although she’d be right about feeling this way afterward, wasn’t she at least curious to see what it was like? “But as you wish,” he acceded, not intending to take away her peaceful night. Not unless he had to. No, the offer had primarily been driven by his interest in studying the effects of the drug and learning more about her vulnerabilities. Besides, there was still time for her to reconsider it later. He had no intention of leaving her while she was under the influence of the enhanced sins.  

He turned his head towards her as he sensed new movement, glancing at the hand that pulled at the fabric of her torn shirt. He was sure her desire was common amongst witches, but the passionate way it was expressed made him suspect it was stronger with her. Because there had to be witches who had come to terms with that part of themselves. There had to be those who lived happily with their mate. Her secondary desire, and the sheer bluntness of it, made him chuckle. It wasn’t so surprising that this existing desire of hers had grown stronger after the intake, but in her state, she couldn’t possibly do much harm. There was the supposed curse, but he’d made an effort not to put much thought into it. It would only distract him from more important things, and he highly doubted she had enough power to cast another one. “And here you’ve just missed out on letting all that hatred and anger out on me,” he teased as if there hadn’t been limits to his offer which naturally there had. He’d never allow for their roles to be reversed. Not in the slightest way.
Bringing the conversation back to her desire about the mark, he lowered his gaze to her left collarbone. To him, the mark simply seemed the price of being a witch: a very powerful being. Besides most creatures were cursed one way or another. “Is it your current mate or the idea that bothers you?” he asked, having heard of witches who found ways to change the name. Albeit he had heard of none who’d managed to rid themselves completely of the curse while still remaining a witch. Calvin understood her frustration regarding this, valuing his independence and freedom highly. But he also didn’t see the problem in murdering his mates before bonding with them. Sure there might be pain involved in that, but it couldn’t possibly be worse than to be tied to a person in such a detrimental way.

He looked deeper into her eyes, as she did his. Looking for an answer to what she was thinking, trying to decipher if she was about to do something stupid. Drugs tended to encourage that in people. So, when she moved closer to him, he thought she’d attempt another attack. That she’d show him she wasn’t going to miss out when it came down to hurting him. But her movements were slow, indicating she hadn’t such immediate plans.
A dry chuckle left him at her question, the prideful smile resuming its place on his lips. The only way she’d receive any freedom was if he granted it, and there was no way he’d do just that. Neither in illusion nor reality. “What would you do?” he asked, the smile slowly faltering, though the amusement never disappeared from his eyes. As much as he got off on hurting people, he liked it almost as much when others expressed similar urges.

The feel of her touch took him by surprise, and he lowered his gaze to her hand. It rested gentle and innocuous on his wrist—a stark opposite to what he’d anticipated. He glanced back up as the other hand neared his face and found her eyes once more, looking at him unusually intense. He clenched his jaw at the first answer to his question, knowing well what she described felt like. When he was young he’d been beaten up by his family on a regular basis, and such pains weren’t easily forgotten. But he only leaned into her touch, inclining his head as he looked down at her. A brief smile occurred provokingly as she added it was so she wouldn’t have to hear him speak or see him smile. Intrigued by this dark side of her. The nonchalant and soft way it was spoken wasn’t something many could pull off. He placed his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her a few inches closer. “Is that all?” Greed should have enveloped her by now, and all she wanted to do was break his jaw. He leaned his head down to her ear to whisper; “I must admit I expected much worse.”

At his question a vast change overcame her be it due to the topic of the mark or not. But she retreated suddenly and resumed her curled-up position by the headboard. It was a shame the substance wasn’t as miraculous as he’d hoped, considering that he’d never seen this type of behavior in her before. He'd loved to have seen more of it. Her answer revealed that the name had no meaning to her, and she seemed rather avoidant to tell him more about it. It was annoying how much he had to push her for the smallest answers. He sighed quietly and stood from the bed to return to the table. “So, which is it? The lack of freedom, the idea of love, or the fear of suddenly dying?” he asked, wanting to dig deeper into the weakness related to her desire. He downed the rest of his drink before turning to face her.

He stared at her until he realized she wasn’t going to reply. His gaze dropped to the glass in his hand before he placed it back on the table. Despite her disdain for the topic of the mark, he didn’t think that was what held her back. Instead, it seemed that her mind was elsewhere entirely. He had no other explanation for why she ignored him. It hadn’t done her any favors in the past. When he returned his gaze to her, she’d become occupied with her hand, clearing it from glass. He waited accordingly since it only ensured she wouldn’t use that against him again. But just as he was about to redirect her attention, her boldness halted him.

It wasn’t often that his victims mocked him. It wasn’t something he plainly accepted. But he only breathed in, restraining his anger for the time being. She undoubtedly only said it so she could make herself feel better about it all. He stepped closer to her, placing a hand on the metal footrest. The only way he’d ever let someone go was if he’d gotten into their head or otherwise knew they’d be of more use to him alive. This escape was a first of its kind, and though it troubled him immensely, now wasn’t the time to think of it. “She got away because two archangels and a siphoner came to her rescue,” he corrected the statement, then glanced to the chain that rested from her ankle to the hitch in the floor. “I can assure you it won’t happen again.” His eyes found hers before he swiftly yanked the chain so she was prompted to either stumble forward on the bed or lay flat on her back. He smiled menacingly as he witnessed this before he crawled over her, not giving her much of a chance to retreat to her position by the headboard. “Have you ever had someone care for you that much?” The tip of his finger glided upwards from a bare spot on her waist until it reached her neck, while the other fastened her wrist to the mattress. His hand rested gently on her neck unless she had the idea to fight him, in which case he’d need additional force to keep her in place. He assumed she had no such people in her life. Otherwise, they would have shown themselves by now. At least asked around for her in the neighborhood, of where any trace of her stopped. It wasn’t so hard for any witch to do just that.
Calvin had never fathomed how anyone could let themselves succumb to such weakness, as to risk their own lives for someone. But the fact that no one had come looking for her made the prolonging of her stay that much more tempting. He let a thumb caress the spot underneath her ear as he leaned closer, for the first time truly breathing in her scent. “Do you wish someone cared that much?” His fingers slid into her hair as he kissed the spot he’d just caressed. It was hard to resist the urge to do worse, but he was afraid that if he kissed her lips, he wouldn’t be able to stop. That she’d end up gone tonight. So for now, all he did was fantasize about how sweet her soul would taste.

He wondered if she simply thought they cared to that extent or if they’d proved it. It was incredibly easy to make false promises when one was caught up in passion, but it required certain care for one to go through with them. However, it would have to remain a sob story for another time. He’d only really wanted to push the knife deeper, reminding her just how alone she was and of how he was the closest person she had. Even if this wasn’t something she’d had a say in, everyone needed someone. If he’d kept her captivity in constant solitude, she’d only be driven to insanity over time.

Her single plead for him to stop was easily subdued by the sound of her heartbeat. Besides, he had stopped himself many times. From ending her misery altogether. But taking control over the obstinate witch had proven to be an entertaining game—one he’d feel bad about ending so soon. His teeth got exposed against her neck as she felt her reaction underneath him, pleased with the drug’s influence. It was slightly amusing, the way she squirmed and fought underneath his body, almost as if she was fighting herself more than him. Once she turned her head to face away from him, he placed another kiss against her neck. His fingers curled around a few locks of her hair before they glided out and found her other wrist, keeping both of her arms pinned down above her head. He continued the kisses downwards to her collarbone but glanced up once she told him to get off her. “There’s something I need to do first,” he said, his eyes glinting with desire as he lifted his head to look at her. He had only done this very few times in his life—succeeded in consuming part of someone’s soul. But with her getting all this space to herself. With her being a witch who’d bragged about cursing him despite his many precautions, he felt that he had to do this to secure her place with him.

No matter how much she tried to turn her head, it wasn’t preventing him from nearing her, from getting what he wanted by pressing his lips against hers. His hands grasped tighter around the hold of her wrists as he deepened the kiss. Demanding. Indulging. Devouring. The taste of her soul sent euphoric impulses through him. Like he’d been rewarded part of his trophy for hunting her down. It was incredibly difficult to convince himself that he needed to stop, but he knew letting go was going to make it last longer. Make her last breaths that much more of a thrilling experience.
He pulled back abruptly, forcing himself to end it before the feeling became too overpowering. A smirk appeared on his lips as he looked down at her, the remnants of pleasure still rushing through him as satisfaction settled in. She might not understand what he’d done, but there could be no doubt in her mind about it being worse than consuming her whole soul. To physically feel a piece of it missing. Even if it might not feel so conscious at all, she had to know that’s what he’d done.

Her soul wasn’t as grey and corrupted as he might have expected it to be. It wasn’t sweet by any means, but it had a pleasantness to it that made it into something he wished to preserve. It wasn’t going to outweigh the satisfaction he got from taking it from her, but it certainly heightened the experience. If only things were different and he could keep her for longer. He had pulled away a few inches, just so he could look into her eyes and see the agony in her expression. He gathered that the last rip tore the worst. Souls were meant to stay in one defining piece, but there were a lot of things that were meant to be a certain way and yet weren’t. He liked to think that was the whole beauty of the world; the freedom of choice. He tilted his head slightly as she brought up his promise from earlier, and then he weakened his grip around her left wrist and wiped one of her tears away. “It wasn’t.” She had to know that. He wouldn’t want to create an illusion for something he found pleasure in doing himself. Nor would he need to enhance or alter the experience when she already got that effect from the drug. “It was worse.” Reality was always going to be worse. It wasn’t a play on her mind, that albeit detrimental in the long run, didn’t do this sort of damage. He glanced at her lips, wanting nothing more than to lean in for a second taste, so he forced himself to let go of her other wrist and get off the bed. He slid his thumb across his lower lip, tasting the saltiness from her tear before he tugged at his jacket to straighten it out. “You might thank me someday. A soul carries so much weight and strain, but to take some of that weakness away is going to make you stronger. Happier, even.” Meaning that she’d be less filled with pain, guilt, and hate, but also love and joy. She’d be more carefree and not worry so much about the people around her. And if anything, that was a blessing in his eyes. Saga might just be the type of person to embrace it too, so long as she allowed herself not to fight the missing pieces and remind herself of what it was like to have them. Of course, she wasn’t going to have to live with the effects on Earth for a long time, but the brief experience would undoubtedly help prepare her for Hell. And that should count for something.

He swept the few pieces of broken glass towards the door with his shoe, not wanting her to get the idea to use it to cut either of them. Once he opened the door, he left it that way, knowing she couldn’t reach so far, while he went over to grab the glass from the table. “I'll leave you to that night’s peace now.” It was another way of saying he had gotten what he wanted, and taking his plans for tomorrow into consideration, he didn’t want to keep her up all night. He needed her somewhat well-rested before that. Unless she had any objections to his leave, he would shut and lock the door to resume his work of increasing the security of the motel.