Raven had stumbled back at the hound’s appearance. The edge of the counter pressing against his lower back. What was it, three times? And this counts as the first, right? It was a stare down for each of them.
Dust motes played in the air as the sun broke through the clouds and peered through one of the windows, making the hound’s scales appear a dark gray-blue. The hound snapped viciously, lacing the air with poison. Raven’s chest heaved trying to get sufficient oxygen into his lungs. His vision began to blur and with his legs unable to hold him, he slid to the floor. At the same time the hound launched itself at Raven only to meet empty air. It crashed into the cupboards and fell to the floor without a whimper.
His windpipe felt swollen, and with each breath through the man-made breathing mask he could hear the struggle in his lungs. Wobbly, the hound stood inches from him, and shook its body. The thought quickly crept in, second time. Raven braced himself for the impending attack.
Scalding hot teeth seared into his arm, blood splattering his face. The unbearable pain slicing as heated poison rushed through his veins, running molten under his skin. Raven screamed, the smell of burning flesh and blood filling his nostrils. His mind tumbled in remembrance. The belly. He pressed his gun to the soft underside of the hound, planting four rounds. The hound’s teeth shred through flesh as it leapt back. It snarled at Raven, the tail whipped again, this time cutting through the granite countertop, filling the air with splinters as it sliced the cupboards.
Raven forced himself off the floor. His vision dimmed and brightened. He was barely able to move his arm as it pulsed with pain and heat. He choked, having dropped his handkerchief, the poison flooding his body quicker now. Blood pooled up from his throat and spattered out of his mouth. He could taste the sourness in it, the poison spreading fast through his body. This wasn’t just a Hellhound, it was an efficient killing monster. He wanted to turn and run, unlikely he would reach his car, he could already feel the hound slamming into his back, nails sinking into his flesh. His sight brightened and dimmed again, his body trembling as he struggled to keep himself upright.
An image flashed of Christof, the chef they had when he was young. He’d used kosher salt that always sat on the counter in a mug at the very spot Raven stood. Eyes closed, he reached out, feeling something cold and covered in dust, praying to a God, not sure if he still watched over his people. He heard the hound advancing toward him, and with one last breath, sluggishly moving as gravity pulled his body to the ground, he grasped a handful of the cup’s content and used the momentum to his advantage. Teeth cutting into his finger, bringing a searing heat with them. Raven forced his fist down the hound’s throat, releasing whatever was in his grasp. Raven slammed against the tile floor. His head sung with white pain, surely he had cracked it. He felt the hound choke, throat muscles contracting around his hand, then silence and a plop as it fell to the floor. It whimpered and then there was nothing but blackness.
Three weeks later, Raven stood in front of the overly large antique mirror outside the main hall of the Winter Ball. His left hand, scarred and still healing from the burns, would never work properly again, occasionally twitching from nerve damage. The toxicology report that followed was something of a nightmare on its own. The deadly mist from the hound had caused his organs to swell, as he’d suffered a severe allergic reaction from the poison. By the time the paramedics had gotten him to the hospital, his heart had failed twice. He was lucky to be alive, but now was forced to take medications to regulate his heart rate and wear a monitor around his wrist. His lungs were damaged, making his breathing shallow and left him breathless from climbing a simple flight of stairs. The headaches were the worst, incapacitating him until they released their unbearable grip.
They’d assigned him to his desk until he could get his strength back, but Raven had a suspicion he never would. Most of his time was spent going over his parents’ case along with the attempt on his life. He was certain the presence of the hound at his childhood home wasn’t a coincidence. Someone wanted him dead and someone had wanted his parents dead. He hadn’t put the two together as one case because he hadn’t found the ties to bind them, but he was convinced they had something to do with each other.
During all of this, he refused to think of Chetlér, choosing not to waste even a moment of his daylight on him. When the sun shone, it was as if he had never met the demon, and he was glad. Chetlér would have become a complicated heartache if anything had progressed further. He knew Chetlér had the ability to draw Raven into the deep end, and permanently settle in his heart. He was just thankful Chetlér had never caught on, or who knew what power he might have had over Raven.
Silly actually, he scowled to himself. He’d have been a fool to fall in love with the demon from the first kiss, but he knew that was the reason Chetlér’s rejection felt like lead upon Raven’s heart. He wanted the demon, wanted to be solely his.
But night always follows day, and every bloody night…he dreamed of the demon. Dreams of himself bound in chains to a rock searing with heat, boiling his skin, and Chetlér standing over him. The demon would touch him, feel every fiber of him. Raven’s cock would become achingly hard as hands and tongue slid over his length only keeping him on edge. Chetlér’s touch was strong and powerful, yet undeniably gentle. Then Chetlér would kiss him with such smoldering bliss it felt like the demon was sucking on the very lips of Raven’s soul. Whispering and murmuring through some telepathic link; “You are mine, my plaything, my prized pet. That is all you will ever be, mine.”
His dream would be interrupted by the wrist monitor screaming, waking him with a rushing heartbeat, sweating, clammy and a total fucking mess between his legs. And still I would shiver in the cold night, longing for your heated touch, a whisper, craving any trace from you.
He fucking hated it, but deep down he loved it more. Yeah, Raven wanted the demon, and the possessiveness that went with it.
Raven looked himself over in the mirror. Would Chetlér approve of his appearance? He cursed for thinking such a thing. The demon probably didn’t want anything to do with him after Raven treated him so miserably. Chetlér had been simply trying to comfort him and he’d shoved it in Chetlér’s face. Raven had long forgiven him and more likely owed the demon an apology. Only thing was, Raven didn’t trust himself with Chetlér, but he had to make peace with it. Chetlér was the one funding the ball so there was no doubt in Raven’s mind he would be present tonight.
His blazer was a deep black that almost glistened, custom made by an Italian designer, the slim cut to enhance his features. The dark-gray silk dress shirt fit snugly around his body clearly showing the outline of his defined torso. The slim cut slacks, the same material as the blazer, clung to his strong legs. To top it off, he added a thin black tie. Since he was getting an award tonight, he decided he may as well go all out. He turned sideways. Usually never bothered with his appearance, but this time—he lifted the blazer up eyeing his ass.
“Definitely would fuck myself if I met me,” he grinned at his reflection.
He looked at the suit again, smoothed it out. He had always imagined he’d wear a suit of black like some American FBI agent when he’d become a detective. That was until he found his grandfather’s old coat stuffed in a box, right after his parents’ death. His granddad had never judged him on anything, and Raven had always played detective while wearing his granddad’s coat even though the thing dragged behind his seven year old self like a cape. He never felt right or sane in the head unless he wore it or had it near. It was as if the overcoat held the presence of his granddad. In summertime, out of habit, he would carry the thing with him in his car or hang it over the back of his office chair. A transitional object is what it had become, like his strange clinging to British words. After his granddad had passed away, Raven had started using the old Brit’s phrases, and eventually they just became part of his vocabulary. He knew the psychological aspect of it was that he couldn’t let go. He couldn’t move past their deaths. Raven
sighed. He should probably go see a shrink, but if it didn’t harm anyone, why bother?
Movement behind him, reflecting in the mirror, made him grin.
“My hero.”
Raven turned and Jessy smiled, still bearing that steel monstrosity on her teeth. He owed her his life. When she had called, he thought he’d cut her off but he’d never ended the call. She’d heard everything transpiring between him and the hound. She’d quickly tracked his phone and had arrived just in time with the paramedics.
“You look…” he paused and grinned, “magnifique.”
Her blush contrasted sharply with her pale skin, complemented by the pastel peach cocktail dress she wore. Her shoulders were bare with the dress ending just above her knees. A black sash and bow around her waist matched the black clutch purse she held in her hand. It wasn’t like the silk gowns the other women would be wearing tonight. It was chiffon and perfect for her; small and petite. He had after all picked it out and paid for it. It was the least he could do after what had happened.
Raven smiled again.
“And you…” she did a little school girl pose with her hands behind her back and head turned sideways, “you look so…oh, Raven, handsome!”
Raven could feel his blush creeping up his cheeks.
“Where’s your date?” he asked holding out his arm for her to hook onto.
“Jamie is getting us refreshments,” she said as they stepped into the main hall.
It really was a winter ball. White LED lights hung from the ceiling, every table and chair covered in ivory against pearl with white embroidery lining the edges. An enormous snow white Christmas tree dominated the far corner of the room with translucent crystal ornaments dangling from it. Even the floor was scattered with Styrofoam dust that swirled behind people as they walked, giving the illusion of snow. Different sized chrome balls hung from the ceiling in pale blue and silver. White candles stood in the center of the tables, in glass vases giving a distorted bright glow to the flames. The lights were dimmed and various white antique Victorian mirrors of different proportions hung on the walls. Raven had to hand it to Chetlér, he didn’t hold back.
As they approached their seats, the table décor didn’t fall short either. Each plate held a Christmas tree cookie glazed with pearl white icing and small blue dragées as Christmas ornaments. Christmas hollies painted in silver and light blue, mirrored the chrome balls above, with white rose bouquets in the center of the tables. Raven quietly ask himself how fucking gay was Chetlér, but he grinned none the less.
Jessy’s grip on his arm tightened, drawing his attention to her.
“What?”
When she didn’t respond and curled her arm out of his, Raven followed her gaze and felt his heart skip a beat.
He wore black, all black except for the blood red tie around his neck and the handkerchief in his pocket. The massive chest and broad shoulders towered, not surprisingly, over most in the hall. His long blond hair cut short with a little length left on top. His face was cleanly shaven. Raven heard, as well as felt, himself take a painful breath when his attention shifted to the other man on Chetlér’s arm. Balling his hands, Raven bit the inside of his cheek.
He. Is. Mine—a possessive and jealous voice roared in Raven’s head.
Heat on his left side brought him back to reality. Gently he placed a hand on Jessy’s shoulder, feeling the warmth rising in her body and burn into his hand.
“Easy there. Remember, he is our host. I know it’s hard, but let the past go. Chetlér might not be the same as he was all those years ago during the witch trials. Everyone can change—demons too.”
“Demons don’t, Raven. They’re still the same, always. They never change, but you’re right, I’m not going to let him get to me. I look fabulous, and I will not burn this four hundred dollar dress by letting him upset me and my date. Speaking of which, where is that little prick?!” She whipped herself around and stormed off.
Jinkies! James was in for something he didn’t expect, poor twink.
How true were his words, not just about Chetlér, but about himself? Was he still the same person he’d been the day he and Chetlér had met? No, he’d escaped death far too often than most and each time it changed him. Every event changed a person in a small way. Despite knowing what Chetlér did to Jessy’s kind. Raven still wanted to believe that Chetlér wasn’t the same demon. The Chetlér back then was not the Chetlér who could steal Raven’s breath with a simple look.
Raven was about to walk up to Chetlér just to greet him and maybe apologize, but froze at the edge of his table, his heart rate increasing, when he saw him.
What the hell is he doing here?
Adinos Dente, one of the sons of God. The Order of Heaven—or more correctly—the Judgment of Heaven. Aden was a Nephilim, the difference between them and enforcers were they never asked questions. They didn’t distinguish between good and bad. Once they were assigned a target, an agent’s duty was to take that target out permanently. They saw themselves as superior to enforcers, even above the law. Hell, they bowed to no one except their holy cult. They were the ones who walked around with holy blessed weapons specially engineered for killing supers and paras.
Raven and Aden’s paths had crossed more times than Raven wanted to admit. He rubbed Raven’s skin the wrong way no matter how attractive the kid was. To Raven, Aden was just a fucking kid; twenty-four years old although he has been hunting supers far longer than Raven.
Raven watched Aden. He was dressed in a plain tux, nothing fancy. His cropped brown hair shorter than Raven’s, his eyes scanning the hall. For a moment Aden looked in Chetlér’s direction, Raven’s heart drummed faster, before Aden turned away. He snatched a champagne glass from a passing waiter’s tray, immediately switching the glass to this right hand as the left began to shake, Raven made his way through the crowd, greeting people as he passed. Some colleagues patted him on the back. He was still focused on Aden and every so often Aden would glance at Chetlér, who hadn’t noticed neither of them. Aden hadn’t perceived Raven advancing toward him either which confirmed Raven’s suspicion that Aden’s attention was fixed on his target.
If he was here to kill Chetlér, Raven would have none of it. Fuck where the hell did that come from? Raven boiled with anger and before he knew it, he clasped Aden’s forearm with his left hand more forcefully than he wanted. “You touch him, and I’ll kill you with my bare hands, I swear to god.”
Aden blinked and for a couple of seconds stared blankly at Raven. The expression didn’t last long on the man’s golden skin.
Ravens’ hand began to shake.
Aden leaned close, his voice dripping with ice, “You sure, old man? You’re shaking.” There was a curl to Aden’s lips as he smiled dryly, but it wasn’t the nerve damage that caused Raven’s hand to tremble. Every fiber of Raven’s being buzzed with heated over-protectiveness. Raven gritted his teeth, and in as low a voice as his emotions would allow, confronted Aden.
“This is no place for your kind. This is a private event for police officers and personnel, so what the fuck are you doing here?”
Casually Aden cradled Raven’s wrist and pulled Raven’s hand off his forearm.
“I’m here to support my lover, Detective. You know him too, Landon Voss.”
“Wait, you and Landon?” The short bulky detective was annoying, short-tempered and just plain rude, but bloody fucking good at what he did.
“Not just that, Detective, he’s my dom, and I’d much appreciate it if you don’t mention to him or anyone else about the order I belong to. Don’t want you to slip and cut your throat on something now do we? So how about we just stay out of each other’s way?”
“How about I take care of mine and you take care of yours?” Raven responded with as much malice as Aden had.
“Well, it looks like yours is pretty well taken care of,” Aden cooed, mocking Raven. He started walking away but stopped and leaned in to whisper in Raven’s ear, “You do look delicious, Detective
White.” Raven clearly heard Aden lick his lips. If Raven’s gaze were a heat ray, Aden would’ve been in cinders.
Raven would have roared and bared fangs and claws if he was a super when he saw what Aden meant by his statement. The man at Chetlér’s side had his arm around the demon’s waist and a hand resting all too greedily over the demon’s ass. Raven stilled as he saw the man’s face and recognized him. A fucking escort! Of all the men Chetlér could pick, he had to pick a fucking escort, who could damn well take his hand off my demon’s ass. Shit-Fuck— Chetlér wasn’t his unless… He was one step away from confronting the two and ripping the bloody kid’s throat out when Raven stopped, a bitter taste of disappointment settling in his stomach as Chetlér returned a possessive hand to his date. Raven’s was forced to lick his own wounds. Well, who the hell’s fault is that? You rejected the invitation, you fool.
The buzz of drunken slurs rang in Bla’Gar’s ears and too many smells hung in the air. He tried to seek out Raven’s voice and look for him. He knew he was on the list of guests, but the table placement wasn’t up to him. The Police Department did that.
The ceremony was over, the Captain had just handed the last award. The evening would continue and he could seek out the company of Raven if he would have it. If not, Bla’Gar would leave.
He was ready to stand when the Captain spoke. Bla’Gar honestly thought she was done.
“Tonight, I…well, we at the department, want to hand out a special award. We decided together that this needed to be done. Four years ago, our lives, our way of living, our belief systems were reborn anew. There is one man here tonight that I...” she stopped, fought back emotion and quickly found her voice again, “that I personally want to thank. You see, for those of you who don’t know, my little girl is fay. Neither myself nor my husband knew when we adopted her. Every morning when I drop her off at school, I know she will be shunned for what she is. Called names, hated, and bullied. There is not much a parent can do about that. Society does as it always does, but I can rest assured that one thing I don’t need to worry about is that she will ever be snatched away, her organs or her body never sold on the black market.” She pointed to her left and the spotlight turned and shone in the far corner.
Neon White Season One: A Tooth, Claw and Horns Chronicle Page 8