Bitten

Title: "Bitten: The First Book of The One Rises"

Tags: Complete, UST, m/f, angst, violence, death, darkfic

A/N: While "Bitten" contains no graphic sex scenes, it does contain adult situations.  There is reference to, but no explicit description of sexual assault in the prologue.  You are warned.  This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

And it's not all death and angst! I promise, there's some adventure and fantasy too.  If you'd like to see pictures of the four main characters in this story, check out my website.  You can find the link on my AFF profile (http://members.adult-fanfiction.org/profile.php?no=16176). I really enjoyed making them with a friend of mine and hope you like them too. 

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Prologue: Callie White

Callie came to slowly with a familiar tang in her mouth.  Keeping her eyes closed, she slowly took an inventory of her body.  While her head felt about two sizes too big for her skull, everything else felt fantastic and she was full for the first time in months.  After a moment, her brain processed the taste in her mouth and added a smell to help out.  She was, in all likelihood, lying in a pool of blood.

Please, no.

She remembered a blond man with a flat, thin mouth that she wanted to kill.  Did I succeed?  Forcing her eyes open, she looked over the white rug in front of her that was now a dark, nasty red.  There was a man’s hand hanging limply from the bed.

Callie rolled over onto her back with a groan and looked around.  The bedroom she was in was done mostly in grey and white.  On the right, there was a wall of windows that looked out over the night skyline of Chicago.  Most of the carpet was white and plush, except for the part that squished under her hand as she pushed herself up.  The room looked vaguely familiar and panic bubbled around the edges of her mind.

She looked back at the bed though she was certain that it was a mistake.  As she recognized him, her memory came back in a rush.  Owen Pedersen was the piece of shit bastard who’d helped a demon possess her closest friend so he could win the damn lottery.  A half dozen bodies later, her brother’s among them, she’d managed to kill the demon but not before it had bitten her and left her with some serious problems.

Owen lay on his stomach, his head turned towards her.  His mouth was open, his eyes wide in terror, and his back was a bloody mess.

She doubled over as the feel of Owen’s neck under her knee as she pinned him to the mattress flashed brightly in her mind.  She’d twisted a hangar until it was doubled over into a long, vicious whip.  Her shoulder still ached from the force of the blows and the sound of hitting him was a meaty, sickening sound in her memory.  The emotion rolling off of him, though, tasted sharp and sweet as it poured from his skin into hers. 

She gagged and the sharp, visceral memory fled.  The panic washed in from the edges of her mind to replace the memory.  A vise closed around her chest and she gasped, desperate for air.  I did that! Oh my god, oh my god, what am I?  What am I going to do?

Stumbling back, her body shaking so badly that she could barely walk, Callie staggered to an armchair set by the wide window.   Her body forced upright by the stiff shape of the seat, she wondered if Owen had ever actually sat in this chair.  She’d meant to kill him. Somewhere around here was a gun, and she’d had every intention of shooting him until he was dead.  Hell, she thought, I broke out of a psychiatric facility to do it.  Six people are dead, seven if you count Owen, my life is destroyed, and my parents… She bent forward as grief seized her heart.  She couldn’t even wrap her mind around what her parents’ life was now like.  At least I knew what the fuck had happened.  No, Callie felt no guilt that Owen was dead, but torturing him hadn’t been part of the plan.

When she’d pointed the gun at him, his fear had hit her and tasted so good.  I think I’ve lost my mind.  She got another flash of Owen, a knife pressed against his neck and he was begging, begging her not to kill him.  Callie started to cry.  Maybe I belong in that psych ward.  The demon bite had changed her and she was only beginning to sort how. 

Another image bit at her and she cried out.  Owen was underneath her, the fear and lust rising up off his skin tasted unbelievably delicious.  Her hand was between his legs… I had… I was… I was… her mind skittered and the memory was gone.  She tumbled forward and vomited onto the carpet.  She couldn’t stop heaving, her eyes and throat burning, as the word rapist rolled around in her mind.

God in heaven, help me.  Callie knew her plea would go unanswered.  God doesn’t help rapists.

She curled up on the floor, crying and shaking, the taste of vomit sharp and bitter in her mouth.  After a while, she remembered something important.  The book, the book Owen used.  I have to find it.  I have to destroy it.  Then I can die.

She staggered to her feet.  The smell of blood followed her through the apartment as she searched.  She was covered it blood, but didn’t know what to do about it.  Owen’s memories fluttered in her mind and she knew the book was somewhere in the floor.  She began moving furniture and after a few minutes, she moved a stack of shoe boxes in the walk in closet and found a floor safe.  Am I strong enough to break it open?  She lifted her leg and then lowered it, concerned the neighbors might hear the noise of the safe crumpling under the blow.

There was a sharp pain in her head as the memory of Owen setting the combination rose up and stabbed her.  Callie closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths until she was sure she was under control.  I do not want to remember killing Owen Pedersen. 

She knelt down and entered the 10-digit code.  It was a combination of his social security number and his birthday and Callie wished she didn’t know that.  The safe opened with a snick, and she pulled the door open to look at a small, leather bound book.  Such a small thing to have caused so much trouble.  Callie picked it up and flipped it open.  The handwriting was small and crabbed and most of the pages contained recipes.  It wasn’t until the back that she spotted the spell for demon summoning.

It was just so unbelievable.  Some small town kid uses his great-great grandmother’s recipe book to summon a demon.  Well, you know, how else are you going to do it?   A high pitched, nervous giggle escaped her and she knew it sounded insane.  Picking up the book, she walked to the balcony to exit the same way she arrived.  Levitating up to the roof in the cold spring wind, she repeated her plan to herself.

Step 1: Destroy the book.  Step 2:  Kill myself.