Demon Touch

Elliot’s head hurt.

Bad.

She bit back a groan as she sat up, putting a hand to her head. After a few minutes of blinding white spots in front of her eyes, she noticed her hands were unbound. She flexed her fingers and wrists, stretching, before scanning her surroundings. It was dark but for two candles on either side of the room. The floor was dirt, and the walls stone. It must have been a room in a basement.

She didn’t’ have much time to figure out an escape plan when she heard a door open somewhere above her, and thumping feet down the stairs. A door she hadn’t noticed opened into the room from a shadowed corner and Locke was thrown, still bound, onto the dirt ground.

He righted himself quickly, just in time to get Daniel’s boot in his ribcage. He barely even winced, instead, a slight smirk crossed his face. “Are you angry? You seem angry.”

The boot came up again with a sideswipe across Locke’s temple. This time, he stayed down. The door slammed shut without a word to me and I scrambled across the floor, candle in hand to see if my cellmate was still alive.

He was breathing, but it was irregular and wheezing, his chest hitching every time he breathed in. He had a bruise blossoming on his left cheekbone and the blood from the earlier wound had stained his shirt before drying. In his imposed slumber, his face showed the pain he was in, brows drawn together over wincing closed eyes, mouth slightly open.

Elliot did a cursory examination, considering she wasn’t a doctor, she couldn’t see anything outwardly showing what could be causing so much pain. Tentatively, she reached out, fingers brushing his ribcage. His breath hissed in his sleep, and a slight electrical shock jolted through her fingers spreading through her body. Elliot’s brows drew together and she set her jaw. She had to see, make sure there weren’t any puncture wounds. She gingerly lifted the bottom of his shirt, a t-shirt, in fact, it looked like he was wearing pajama pants. They must have caught him while he was sleeping, she thought to herself. That would explain why they caught him at all.

Caelen Locke didn’t look like he’d be easy to take down. All muscle and lean, even in this state he looked ready to pounce.

…like a panther, huh?…

A bit.

She had the shirt pulled up far enough to take a look at where Daniel had kicked him. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the candle to bring it closer to the wounded area. She saw the light glint off open emerald eyes and paused, meeting his eyes without flinching and then prodded the bruised area.

Locke clenched his jaw and sucked in air through his teeth, but he didn’t fight her, and he didn’t pretend like it didn’t hurt. It was progress. She winced with him as she prodded again, an especially dark bruise. She felt the bones intact, though some were obviously cracked.

“Are you breathing okay?” she asked absently as she ran fingers along the inside of his ribcage, trying to ignore the way his stomach muscles clenched. When he didn’t answer she met his eyes. They were dark and clouded, surrounded by thick black lashes, he could have been wearing eyeliner if she didn’t know better. “Locke, answer me, I’m trying to help you.”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes lightening. “Yeah, unless I breath too deeply.” His voice was hoarse, pained and clouded, like the rest of him. Elliot shook her head and ran her fingers gingerly over his arms, feeling less frightened of him, and more worried for him. Whether it was because of him, or because she didn’t want to be alone in this situation, she didn’t know.

“Anywhere else hurt?” she asked, positioning the candle near his head and gently touching his cheekbone, ignoring the long eyelashes, and ran her fingers along his scalp to find the wound that had bled so much. Absently she chewed on her lip.

“My arms,” he said. His eyes flicked to her mouth, unnoticed, watching her bottom lip take the brunt of her thoughtless punishment. “You wouldn’t happen to have a key would you?”

She pulled back, finally seeing the handcuffs that kept his hands behind his back. “Why would they untie me, but put handcuffs on you?”

He pulled his gaze away from her lips before she noticed and offered her a dangerous smile. “I’m an assassin, Tate, and I don’t need weapons.”

Elliot sat back on her haunches, adjusting her skirt so she remained decent. “How do I know you won’t kill me?”

“You’re the one who’s been touching me,” he said in a low voice. “Did you read any murderous intentions?”

His eyes were narrowed at her, burning a bit, like the panther. Damnit, this wasn’t going to end good. She took the candle and scanned the floor at her feet, and the small tables the candles had set upon. Before too long she came up with two small pieces of unidentified metal thin enough to use to pick the lock. Caelen watched her the whole time through hooded golden eyes.

He rolled to his side, biting back a groan at the shift of position. She made quick work of the handcuffs, scooting away from him the second they were off. “Relax Tate,” he said, not turning to look at her. He rubbed his wrists and stretched his arms above his head. Elliot watched the muscles in his back twitch with argument, but he didn’t show his discomfort. “I told you I’d deal with you after we got out of this mess, remember.” He cast her a look over his shoulder. “It’s not your time to be worried.”

She was worried now, but bit that comment off and instead said, “How do you plan to get out of this mess?”

Elliot didn’t realize how challenging her voice sounded until his eyes met hers with a wicked ice green glare. He stood, keeping her in his sights out of the corners of his eyes. She noticed absently that he was barefoot. After a moment, she realized he wasn’t going to answer, not because he didn’t know, but because he didn’t deem her worthy of knowing. She flushed, angrily, but bit her bottom lip instead of saying anything to aggravate him more. He was a head taller than her and had at least 60 pounds on her, not only that, but she’d seen him kill a man with barely a movement, and still couldn’t figure out how. So it was best to stay out of his way.

After about fifteen minutes of silence she looked up to see him standing across the room, smirking at her.

“What?”

“You chew on your lip when you’re thinking, when you’re nervous, and when you’re angry,” he said, coming to sit down in front of her. “It’s a wonder you haven’t chewed them off by now.” Inadvertently she leaned backward when he sat across from her. His eyes had been warm for mere seconds, but chilled again. His jaw clenched and he held her gaze unwavering for more breaths than Elliot could count. Her stomach flipped around hitting her lungs and making her breathing uneven. There was a twinge at the small of her back, the kind of sixth sense she would assume a small woodland animal would have when being stalked by a …well, to overstate the obvious, a panther.

He blinked, the darkness fading from his eyes and he sat back on his haunches. “They’re going to kill you if I don’t get you out of here,” he said in a low voice. “Unless you decide to help them, and you don’t strike me as the kind of person to allow conversion.”

She relaxed slightly. “Who are they?” she asked him, leaning in slightly.

He smiled, catching her off guard. “They haven’t decided what to call themselves yet.” He seemed to relax, his shoulders shifting into a less tense posture. “It’s pretty pathetic, but they’ve managed to kill off or convert almost a dozen of us.”

“Us?” Elliot asked, unaware that she chewing on her bottom lip again.

Caelen caught it and had to force himself not to watch. “Psychics, various kinds, doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “They’ve got this Godsquad thing, where they figure if they can use our ‘demon blood’ to their advantage, then its okay, if they can’t they try and bleed or burn it out.”

“What were they doing to you?”

A wry smile cut through his cold features. “Trying to figure out who I work for.”

“Who you work for?” Her brows drew together in confusion.

“Did I stutter?” he met her gaze again, a sarcastic brow cocked over an emerald hued eye. He paused for a minute and said, “It’s better you don’t know.”

It hit her then that he’d said he was an assassin. How could you be an assassin if you didn’t have a boss telling you who to assassinate? She dropped her gaze, slipping a hand into the pocket of her jacket, and pulled out a crumpled but intact pack of cigarettes.

“If you give me one of those, I promise I’ll get you out of here unscathed,” rumbled Locke. Elliot laughed and tossed one of the last three to him, putting one between her lips and pulling out a lighter.

Caelen deftly caught it and pulled his eyes away from her, and lit his smoke off a candle flame.

They sat in silence for a moment before Elliot spoke, looking introspective. “I’m not trying to save my ass or anything, but –“ she paused, taking a breath and meeting his eyes, ignoring the flutter in her chest. “I’m sorry. If I had been more focused, none of this would have happened.”

Locke took a hit, and let it out with excruciating slowness. Then turned a corner of his mouth up in a wicked smile. “Not that you’re off the hook or anything, but I’ve been expecting them for a while.” He stretched, catlike and shifted so he was laying on the side that wasn’t bruised. “If I didn’t want to get caught, I wouldn’t have.”

“Why would you want to get-“

He held a hand up, his face instantly sober and intent, an ear turned toward the door. “They’re coming,” he mouthed to her. He snuffed his cigarette on the floor and stood, creeping slowly up to the door. Silence descended outside the door.

Elliot saw Locke’s face twist in pain, then he looked at her with what appeared to be annoyance. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said softly and fell to the ground.

Elliot was powerless when Daniel and Rachel walked in, one of them carrying an empty syringe. Rachel kicked him in the hip, getting no response. “You later,” she said and waved Daniel out, telling him to take ‘the lump.’

Then she casually pushed her short blonde hair out of her face and knelt down next to Elliot.

“So, you took off the cuffs, huh?” she said.

“He was in pain,” Elliot whispered, not daring to move. She wasn’t ready to get shot up with that drug again.

Rachel laughed, a cackle. “Pain?” She stood and turned to face Elliot, holding her hand out so she could see what she held. A knife, cold and silver and gleaming in the candle light. “You’ll see him in pain, all right.” Then she smiled and disappeared through the door, locking it behind her.

Not long after, the screams began.