slinkypsychokit (slinkypsychokit) wrote in watchersdiaries,
slinkypsychokit
slinkypsychokit
watchersdiaries

Part Two of Feral

Title: Nowhere Left to Run
Author: Slinkypsychokit
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, horror, language, violence, character death.
Word count:1836
Summary: The creature came at me; full speed, fangs first, tackling me to the blood-soaked carpet that squished and splashed beneath our combined weight. There was no time to think, no time to fear, no time to worry about what I was doing or whether I'd even survive this charnel house in one piece… What happens when the past refuses to let go and you find yourself with nowhere left to run?

Thank you to spikeslovebite for the rapid beta and the hysterical comments I was mindful enough to delete from the text BEFORE posting. LOL

Great big smooches to oracleholly for the lovely participation banner.

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The creature came at me; full speed, fangs first, tackling me to the blood-soaked carpet that squished and splashed beneath our combined weight. There was no time to think, no time to fear, no time to worry about what I was doing or whether I'd even survive this charnel house in one piece. There was nothing but my body’s own instinct for survival as my limbs moved. My legs curled, my knees slippery against the slick material covering the beast’s lower half, until they pressed into the soft meat of its belly. I moved my arms up automatically; my forearm against its throat, my free hand bracing against its chest, my elbow locking in place.

It was strong, this one. I was strong, though not strong enough to maintain this position indefinitely. I needed a weapon, any weapon; something with which to garner myself the precious moment necessary to escape. My arm began to tremble. Fine tremors rode down my arms and I knew the moment it gave, it was over. The fight, the mission; all gone. I would be just another cooling corpse lying mangled beyond recognition in a tacky pool of gore.

I more heard than felt the joint pop as my elbow gave and my murderer fell upon my throat. Pain seared my senses and then I was floating upon an endless black sea and staring up into a velvet sky scattered with millions of twinkling stars.



It was the screaming that woke me, and it took several moments before I realized that the screams spilled from my own lips in an endless torrent as I jerked from sleep. Awareness trickled in slowly, my eyes still seeing the monster from the dream vision. Pounding on the paper-thin wall that separated my dingy quarters from neighbors loudly insisting that I shut up or else- though, in not so polite of terms and including some very colorful suggestions that I know for a fact to be anatomical impossibilities for those of us possessing vertebrae- let me know that the Leioch demon next door was none too pleased. Since I don’t much care for the marrow-sucking or the constant growling that passes for its native language, I figure we were pretty much even.

If you ask me, I think my not rushing next door and ripping the jerk’s head from his shoulders shows surprising restraint on my part. And my co-workers thought my newest therapist was a waste of time and money.

Somewhere during the mental rambling, my breathing had calmed. I managed to get out of bed and splash a bit of cold water on my face, trying and failing to avoid the briefest glimpse of my face in the cracked mirror above the bathroom sink. Wide, aquamarine eyes stared back at me from a too-pale face. My waist length, scarlet-from-a-bottle curls were a riot of tangles I just knew would take more time than I liked, fell over my shoulders. Against the stark white of the tank top I had worn to bed, the hair reminded me of freshly spilled blood.

The thought of blood naturally brought my attention to the white bandage around my left wrist. No, I hadn’t tried to end my own existence, though that’s what most people think when they see it. The wound so carefully hidden beneath the bandage came from a rampaging Fyarl demon who thought I would be better off with only one hand. The medics were able to re-attach my left hand and are optimistic that I will eventually regain full use of the appendage.

I was rambling again; thinking of anything but the nightmare which had awoken me. I turned off the bathroom light and padded across stained and threadbare gray carpeting to what the super optimistically called a kitchen. In reality, it was a mini-fridge, a microwave, a sink, and a hotplate. I’d put in the cabinet and a couple of shelves myself. I didn’t need much, anyway. As long as I had space enough to store a few necessities and a coffee pot, I could deal with the rest.


Steaming mug in hand, I wandered to what passed for a ‘view’ in this rat hole I allowed myself to be fleeced for on a monthly basis. It must have rained sometime during the few hours I was asleep, since the streets are damp and droplets of water beaded against the grimy glass of my window.

I sigh and press my forehead to the cold pane. I know what you really want to know; why you’re still listening to me natter on despite my ramblings. You want to know what happened that day ten years ago. How I went from a young, determined Watcher with a wonderful mate and a bright future, to living in a rundown building, alone, in a dirty city.

You want to know if, during three nights every month, I turn furry and chase rabbits in the woods.


No. I was bitten by a werewolf, but I did not contract lycanthropy. I think it’s actually a scientific impossibility. I already have the blood of a Slayer as well as that of a master vampire, two creatures whose blood is already based in demonic origin. Surprise. Guess the specially trained scientist and doctor the Council set up for us in New Orleans discovered something in my blood after all.

Technically, I am what ‘they’ -doctors, scientists, researchers of the supernatural world- call a Damphyr. Some say Damphyr are living vampires. Others say it is a human/vampire hybrid.

Either way, until that fateful day in the Louisiana swamp, I had never truly shown signs that I was anything other than human. Guess it took getting ripped to shreds for my true self to emerge.


As for that day; I don’t really know what happened. I still have flashes of memory from time to time, small snippets of the day it all began to fall apart. Other things- things I wish I could forget, things I would trade my own life for the chance to change- still haunt me at every turn.

Fuck, I’m tired. Tired of the pain of living and the cowardice of dying. I don’t believe in Heaven or the idea of one God, or anything, really. I’ve seen too much of the world, seen too much death and destruction, to believe that there is one Almighty deity up there.

No, what terrifies me is the idea that the one reason I have for sticking around this giant dirtball flying through space, my only reason for surviving and carrying on the fight, is a great big lie. We were supposed to have longer. Being mated means more than ‘’til death do you part’. It means for all eternity. Something beyond the flesh and beyond dust. It’s the joining of your essence to another. It means that, until time stops, you are a part of each other. It’s the reason most don’t survive the death of their mate.

I can feel the tears falling down my face again. I can hear the choked sobs filling the room and intermingling with the screams echoing thru my head. The dream rises up before my closed eyes, dragging me down to drown in the soul-deep agony tearing me apart from the inside out.


The creature came at me; full speed, fangs first, tackling me to the blood-soaked carpet that squished and splashed beneath our combined weight. There was no time to think, no time to fear, no time to worry about what I was doing or whether I'd even survive this charnel house in one piece. There was nothing but my body’s own instinct for survival as my limbs moved. My legs curled, my knees slippery against the slick material covering the beast’s lower half, until they pressed into the soft meat of its belly. I moved my arms up automatically; my forearm against its throat, my free hand bracing against its chest, my elbow locking in place.

It was strong, this one. I was strong, though not strong enough to maintain this position indefinitely. I needed a weapon, any weapon; something with which to garner myself the precious moment necessary to escape. My arm began to tremble. Fine tremors rode down my arms and I knew the moment it gave, it was over. The fight, the mission; all gone. I would be just another cooling corpse lying mangled beyond recognition in a tacky pool of gore.

I more heard than felt the joint pop as my elbow gave and my murderer fell upon my throat. Pain seared my senses and then I was floating upon an endless black sea and staring up into a velvet sky scattered with millions of twinkling stars.

Just before my eyes close, I see my salvation and my damnation standing over me. His eyes burning gold and his lips pulled back into a feral snarl as the stake in his fist begins its descent toward the creature whose fangs are already piercing my flesh.



I don’t hear the door as it opens. I don’t see the dazzling blonde couple making their way across the room. I don’t see my father’s heartbreak as he drops to the floor and pulls me into his arms with a sob of his own.

Just like I don’t see my mother crouch before me with tears clouding and spilling over her usually bright, hazel green eyes. Her voice, so sad, begs with soft words; the rumbling purr from my father’s chest a gentle rhythm as his demon surfaces to look upon his first born child.

All I see is the burning gold in the face of the one who saved me and damned me in the single plunge of a stake. The images in my mind continue to play on an endless loop, haunting me and taunting me with the death of my mate over and over again.

Devon…

His name falls from my lips in a sound not unlike the haunting wail of a wounded animal. Something jabs into my arm and I realize that my own mother, the immortal slayer herself and mate of the infamous Slayer of Slayers, has just shoved a tranquilizer dart into her own child. My eyes flutter closed and I’m half hoping that they will never re-open.

I was floating upon an endless black sea and staring up into a velvet sky scattered with millions of twinkling stars.



******************
A/N: Okay, before anyone decides to rouse the villagers and play pass-around with the torches and pitchforks, this is not the end. It's going to be a series of POV ficlets as I allow Lorna's team members tell the tragic story surrounding Lorna's attack and Devon's death. While, yes, there will be a few done from Oz's POV as well as that of Buffy and Spike, the rules of watchersdiaries will prevent me from posting them here. I will, however, post them in my own lj for anyone who wishes to read them.

Enormous thank you's to Tangwstyl, Athenewolfe, Oracleholly and Spikeslovebite for the support and encouragement to get through this story.



Tags: demon tales
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