Michael & I Ch. 04

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Why is all of this shit happening to me?
4k words
4.7
9.2k
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Part 4 of the 6 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 07/29/2014
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undead_grrl
undead_grrl
47 Followers

My strength was leeching away fast and I could hardly stand. I wasn't even sure if the voice I'd heard was real or some hallucination created by my sick mind. The damp wash cloth certainly was real at least. It lay discarded on the floor beside where I'd collapsed. Could I have imagined it? The warm thighs that my head had rested upon. The tender caresses meant to soothe but now I felt terrified and uncertain.

Someone had known that I was sick. Someone had came into my apartment and told me things that they shouldn't know about. Why did he want me to go to O' Donovans'? I was so terribly weak I didn't think I could walk across the room let alone call a cab and make it to the street.

I had nothing to go on and if Michael was truly captured by the same demon who had the weapon that could kill him I couldn't afford to ignore the mysterious visitor.

It took me an agonizing ten minutes before I could control my trembling muscles enough to enter the cab company's number and another ten minutes before it arrived. Once I'd reached O' Donovans' I'd started having violent tremors throughout my body. I scared the shit out of the cabbie when I tried to pay him and my arm jerked wildly sending a handful of bills flying in his face.

The strip club appeared vacant; closed for a few days after Armed Forces Day for clean up and vacation time for the girls. Nothing out of the ordinary so far. I tried the front door expecting it to be locked and to my surprise it opened. Maybe Phil or Dave had popped in?

Clutching my shoulder trying to calm my unresponsive muscles I limped inside. A light was on coming from Phil's office and I started in that direction. A shadow fell across the wall cast by Phil's desk lamp and I froze. Another shadow joined the first and appeared to be thrashing wildly. Low hushed tones could now be heard from within and I moved in closer.

"Do you want to keep your fucking job? Fucking answer me, slut," Phil hissed.

"Please, I-I don't want-" a second female voice answering him in trembling, frightened tones.

"You don't want WHAT?" he bellowed. "You don't want to fucking WORK HERE? I'm not going to ask you again you fucking bitch."

"Ask me what.."

"You know what. Put it in your fucking dirty hole and suck."

It was from that moment on that everything seemed to move as if in a dream. Me stepping over the threshold and seeing Phil holding Sara painfully by the hair forcing her to stay on her knees. Her lips parting allowing Phil to force the head of his cock into her mouth.

"Oh yeah, baby," he groaned obnoxiously.

Somehow all I could focus on were the finer details and perhaps now that I think about it, it was because my higher brain was refusing to accept what was happening. How Sara's mascara had created long black streaks down her face from her tears. The tiny beads of sweat that formed and trickled down from Phil's temples wobbling momentarily at his jaw before landing on his shoulder.

His infuriated scream as Sara bit down as hard as she could and refused to let go. He started hitting her over and over until she collapsed. It was then that he finally noticed me and I saw the bloody ring around the base of his dick as he turned. Everything dilated as my hand closed around his throat lifting him off of his feet, the feeling of his heart pounding against my fingers.

When he had gotten too weak to fight me I threw him back onto the desk sending empty beer bottles and magazines crashing to the floor. My canines elongated, my need to feed overwhelming everything as I lost myself to the hunger that gnawed at my spine.

My teeth brushed over the tender flesh, his life blood running thickly underneath, so hot and so very tempting. But I somehow stopped myself despite my condition, despite what I'd just walked in on. Every cell of my body screamed desperately for me to drink from him and satiate the unbearable hunger.

I swung hard hitting him under the eye and he went limp straight away already weakened from his obvious drunkenness and oxygen deprivation. I sat down on the floor supporting my head in my hands, the steady pounding of a migraine forming behind my eyes.

"Fuck," I said to the two unconscious forms.

I called the police and fabricated an excuse as to why I'd found Phil and Sara together not that they seemed to care much about my reasons. One of the cops told me that I should have beat his fuckin' head in and not just knocked him out. I nodded meekly knowing that I didn't possess the strength to beat a mouse's fuckin' head in.

By the time it was all over I was starting to shake and hugged myself tightly trying to make it stop. I felt like an idiot. No one would have cared if I'd killed Phil O' Donovan. Hell, no one could have even speculated as to what had actually happened. It would have been written off as a freak animal attack. Even if I could leave dna evidence I wasn't in any of the databases.

I noticed a spot on the back of my hand and tried to wipe it off but to my irritation it wouldn't so much as smudge. To my bewilderment I soon realized that it was actually a liver spot. I was beginning to age. No longer could I hold back the effects of time. I was deteriorating faster than I had been earlier that morning.

"Miss?"

A news reporter approached adjusting her earpiece, a look of concern on her heavily makeup covered face. I didn't so much turn my head to look over rather than just letting it fall to one side. There was a fresh coppery odor of blood that hung around her and my mouth involuntarily watered.

"Are.. you okay?" she ventured, trying again. I noticed a line of red that stained the collar of her blouse and she reached up to touch a long scratch on her throat that had created it.

"Damn cats," she muttered thoughtlessly. Unknowing that the very sight of her blood was causing such a visceral and savage reaction within my failing body.

"Fine," I grunted, making myself look away. She seemed to shrug in a "what a weirdo" fashion before returning to the gathering onlookers. I staggered into the alleyway next to O' Donovans' out of sight before falling to my knees, wincing in pain as the concrete tore my skin.

I wondered why or even how I could still exert so much self-control over my hunger. I didn't have to kill anyone but I had a feeling once I let my demon take over for the feeding I wouldn't be able to stop myself from going too far.

"Goddammit," I shouted, just to let out some of the over-flow of emotions.

I couldn't die when Michael's life was in the balance and I was the only demon, weak as I may be, crazy enough to go after him before the Seraphim arrived. If that happened there would probably be another purge and hundreds if not thousands of demons would be sent to hell regardless of the lifestyle they followed. Even me and Art wouldn't be spared.

The only reassurance I could cling to was that the Seraphim didn't know that their prince had been captured. At least not yet. Even that slim hope was paper thin as all Angels shared a mental link. I didn't know how much time I had to find the Archangel but I couldn't do it in the state I was in. There were very powerful players involved here and if some half-assed imp showed up at their front door they would have a good laugh right before obliterating me.

No, I had to think of another way.

*~*~*

The club was the same as before; humans and demons mingling freely at the bar and on the dance floor as I made my way towards the basement. Perhaps Art could offer some insight because I sure as hell was drawing a blank. Isaac snarled at every demon that got in my way sticking to my side defensively.

I was thankful that I'd found him at such a critical time but..

The scent of blood was so dreadfully over-powering in the lower levels and I had to clench my fists so tightly that my fingernails cut into my palms. A torso suddenly blocked my field of vision and I painfully made my eyes cooperate and move upwards towards the face attached to the body blocking my way.

It was amber eyes from the last time I'd been to see Art. He was smiling nastily, "You don't look so good, babe."

I mustered the best glare I could and he laughed openly, "So you DO want to get fucked up?"

I was suddenly being pulled towards the darkened outer edges of the room where we would have more privacy from anyone who might be watching. Namely, Art.

"I wonder if your pussy is as dry as your veins," he sneered, his breath against my neck hot and sour. He crowded into my personal space pressing his body against mine pinning me against the wall. Anger boiled inside me more at my own weakness than at this brainless asshole.

His hands were under my shirt running across my stomach and then higher until he had both of my nipples roughly between his fingers, pinching and pulling them. He tried to kiss me but I turned my head. He seemed not to care very much and instead licked the side of my throat. I could tell he was intentionally trying to unsettle me as much as possible.

His cock dug into my thigh as he re-positioned himself, and that was when I at last heard Isaac. His growl was so low that only I could hear it over the sounds of the demon's grunts while he was trying to undo my pants and the muffled sounds of the music drifting down from upstairs.

I heard rather than saw the sound of my attacker's arm being bitten nearly in two as Isaac viciously threw him down with a toss of his head. The demon looked from Isaac to me with a mixture of fury and surprise from where he now lay on the floor bleeding quite a lot.

He tried to get up but Isaac placed a single, massive paw in the center of his chest pinning him to the floor with no effort at all.

"Jesus fucking.. what the hell is that?"

Art stood a safe distance away staring at Isaac in awe. The hellhound's attention never wavered from the amber eyed demon's face.

"Isaac," I said, not answering Art so much as issuing a command.

He seemed to understand and came back to stand at my side. I could still feel his aggression coming off of him in waves and I gently laid a hand on his back to reassure and calm him.

"Oh my god, Riel." Art noticed me and I knew what he saw. Sunken eyes surrounded by purplish sockets, my cheekbones standing out against the waxiness of my pale face. My legs began to feel weak again and I used Isaac as a crutch. Art started towards me but a soft growl of warning stopped him in his tracks.

"I have to find Michael," I coughed. "They have him."

"Who? Who has him?"

"Demons. At least.. I think so. They'll kill him and then.."

"Riel, you can't expect to do anything against demons ballsy enough to take an Archangel down like this," Art said with a wave of his hands indicating my pitiful condition. I shook my head rapidly and regretted it as the room continued to move even after I'd stopped. "No choice. Have to save him before the Seraphim-"

"Seraphim," Art choked. It appeared the thought had yet to cross his mind that they could get involved as the color drained from his face and he grew paler than I.

The Seraphim were the boogiemen of demon lore; six winged Angels with a deadly song that killed all those unworthy to hear it. They hadn't been seen on earth in centuries but if something were to happen, if Michael were to be killed, they would descend on all of our asses with wrath in their hearts the likes of which I didn't even want to imagine.

Damn you, Michael, I thought.

"You have to feed," Art stated, grimly. It was a matter of fact that I would have to break my rule even if it pained me to do it. There were many lives in the balance and I couldn't afford to be selfish. "Feed.. from me."

I blinked, staring at Art in surprise. Isaac's body vibrated under my hand in a silent growl and I wondered what he could be thinking about all of this. "You'd.. You'd be comfortable with that?" I asked, uncertain.

While demon's drinking each other's blood was indeed a common practice it was usually performed under more.. intimate conditions. It was a very sexually intense experience because it allowed the demon who was being fed from to share a part of themselves with another. Again, probably where the idea behind vampires of myth originated from.

"Yes." Art sounded almost giddy but I knew it was because he was nervous and not actually eager about what was about to happen.

"Okay," I swallowed, trying to stay upright. We seated ourselves on the large "stage" area of the room which had all of the assorted pillows so that both of us were facing each other. I reached for his wrist but he stopped me tapping two fingers against the side of his neck. "Take it from here. You'll get more, faster."

I wanted to ask him "are you sure" again but resisted the urge. My canines elongated and I winced at the pain that even such minimal effort had caused. Art's tanned skin flushed as I leaned in putting my hand on his chest for support. I could smell the faint scent of his cologne and taste the saltiness of his skin as I parted my lips and pressed them against his neck in a kiss before my fangs penetrated him.

Whatever I had been expecting was nothing like what this was. The hot, rich liquid that poured over my tongue bathing my palette in what I could only describe as sheer bliss. I whimpered, closing my eyes taking smaller sips of Art's blood so that I could better savor the experience.

Art's breathing had gone ragged and unsteady beneath where my hand rested on his chest and I risked a glance at his face. His mouth hung open slightly as he panted, his pupils eclipsing his irises in helpless ecstasy. I could taste the desire mixed with guilt on my tongue from his blood. He couldn't hide anything from me, now, his emotions were raw and exposed.

I slid my hand farther down and noticed that I'd gripped his chest so hard that my nails had left bloodied crescent moons behind on the tanned muscle. I teased the buttons of Art's shirt open exposing more of his skin and leaned in gently kissing each of the wounds eliciting a sharp inhalation through his teeth.

Feeling drunk and uncertain of what I was doing I allowed my hands their exploration; under his shirt, over his stomach, and down each of his thighs on either side of the bulge forming in his pants. Despite the intense feelings of need that racked Art's body he still restrained himself from touching me in kind.

It was such a sweet gesture out of respect for me and this strange intense new world that was opening up before me caused by the bloodlust. He didn't want to impose himself on me in any way without my permission. I traced his jaw with my fingertips feeling the stubble and the clench of the muscles underneath, my thumb coming to rest on his lower lip.

I didn't know if the sexual tension wracking my body was mine or Art's being shared through the blood connection between us. When I kissed him and tasted his appreciative groan along with the sweep of his tongue over mine I understood. We were old friends, we'd known each other for a long time and had a lot of shared history from back in the day.

I could sense his relief and even love for me knowing that I'd feel better because of him. I rested my forehead against his, wrapping my arms around his neck and he sighed contentedly. "You can take however much you need," he said, softly. "I'll be alright."

I nodded, wordlessly and continued to feed feeling strength returning to my exhausted body. Because Art was a demon my transformation still wouldn't be complete. I'd remain an imp surviving on borrowed time. Hopefully another seventy more years of borrowed time although I knew in my heart that it wouldn't be so.

I was never meant to survive this long and Art's blood wouldn't be anywhere near enough. I just had to survive long enough to save Michael and probably all of humanity. Just fucking wonderful. I wanted to sleep after I was satiated and felt a little pang of guilt seeing how pale Art had became after I was done.

Isaac lay curled a short distance away watching me as always, his milky orbs unblinking and expressionless.

*~*~*

Later that night I began to dream. A vast landscape of blackened, scorched ground stretched out as far as the eye could see in all directions with no hills or discernable landmarks. Just strange, wisps of what appeared to be mist swirled up into the air before dissipating.

It reminded me of black and white photos I'd once seen of nuclear test sites from around the Nevada desert.

"This isn't your dream."

Startled, I spun around looking behind me but no one was there. The voice was the same that I'd heard before when I had been in my apartment. "Who the hell are you?" I whispered.

I could feel all the little hairs on the nape of my neck standing up as I stood rooted helplessly to the ground unable to move even though every part of me was desperate to escape. I could feel cold fingers at the base of my spine that gradually ghosted upwards in an ephemeral caress. I was entirely naked and wished that I had even the false security that clothing would provide.

I had to swallow the urge to scream. That shocked me more than what was happening as I had never felt terror such as this in all of my years. "Do I frighten you.. Gabriel?" His voice lilted slightly over my name.

"Yes," I answered without hesitation.

"Good." Both of his hands were on my waist, still so disturbingly light, caressing my skin delicately.

"Did you know about.. about Phil?"

"That he intended to rape your friend if something wasn't done? Yes."

"And you thought that maybe I would.. feed on him when I saw.." It wasn't a question. The thought had been coming together ever since I'd heard the mysterious voice.

"Yes, Gabriel. Why are you wasting our time together asking the questions to which you already know the answers?"

"But why? Who or even what are you? You don't seem like a demon or an Angel."

"Who I am has been forgotten. What I am is not for me to tell you. At least not yet."

I blew out an exasperated puff of air through my nostrils, starting to feel annoyed at how vague he was being.

"Will you at least tell me where Michael is? I have to save him."

"And in so doing you intend to save all of humanity as well. Why?"

I attempted to turn and gawk at him, or at least where I thought his presence was, then remembered that I couldn't move. "How can you ask me that?" I shrieked. "I don't want a bunch of asshole demons wrecking Earth. How would that be any different than being damned to hell? There are many other demons who would back me up on that!"

"Perhaps. If I told you, you would certainly become quite the martyr that tried to save the race of man."

"Stop talking down to me like I'm a fucking child! I can handle myself-"

There was a viscous tug of my hair as my head was pulled back and even though I saw nothing but empty air I could sense his face hovering over mine. "Then escape this place. Fight me little imp. Show me what you're truly capable of," he whispered, savagely.

To my horrified surprise I actually felt angry tears start to fill my eyes. He laughed, a rich pleasurable sound despite my humiliation. "I've only involved you because my brother was murdered and I cannot hope to fight Solomon alone. I won't have another killed because of me. Do you understand?" he asked with no trace of mirth.

I nodded, not trusting my own voice for the moment.

He released me at last, the uncomfortable tightness at my scalp gone. "While you are not strong enough for what there is to come don't take it as an insult. There is so much to you that even I cannot understand. Something.. different. The potential for what you're capable of is greater than you know, Riel."

"What do you mean?" I asked, finally, when I was certain that my voice wouldn't tremble.

"I don't know yet. That's what troubles me the most. There's something else going on here. Some greater purpose as to why you encountered Michael and feel that strange spark when he's near."

undead_grrl
undead_grrl
47 Followers
12