For the Hopeless

Hayden found herself utterly confused. She'd come downstairs to get a bowl of cereal – probably Cheerios, because she just loved getting to drown the plain little circles in sugar, and it almost made her feel evil, in a childish little way – but she'd discovered her way to the kitchen blocked by, oh, say, fifty people. They were all clad in dirty rags, and most of them were unconscious or groaning softly, and Hayden was not about to try to traverse this sea of nasty, smelly bodies, cereal be damned.

She turned to head back up the stairs after gawking for a long moment, but she found her face colliding with Dameon's hard chest the moment she took a step forward. She stepped back, looking up at him with a half-confused, half-annoyed glare. "Why are all these people in my house?"

But Dameon wasn't even looking at her. He was staring out over that vast sea of moaning, grimy bodies with a perplexed yet worried look upon his scruffy face, and she was amazed that he'd even managed to say, "I have no idea." It had come out in a mumble, more to himself than to her, but still, he'd been listening to her, and that was shocking enough on its own.

"Oh...well, I'm gonna go, then," she said before quickly darting to one side of Dameon and beginning to run past. But before she could make it more than a couple of steps higher, her face collided with something decidedly softer than before: Aven's chest. The elfin woman blushed deeply and stammered a quick apology, but Hayden just shrugged, unfazed, and continued up the stairs. She thought it was a miracle that she managed to reach her room without running into anymore boobs.

"What the hell is all of this?" Dameon whispered absentmindedly to Aven, who had come to stand beside him on the stairs.

"It's Bailey's doing," came a small, girlish voice, and Samara soon emerged from a cluster of twitching bodies to step onto the bottom landing of the stairway. Dameon and Aven both frowned confusedly down at her, and she shrugged. "She and Tawny went to where I told them to, and they found all of these people," she explained with a sweeping gesture to the over-crowded room. "Bailey was bringing them back three at a time, but she stopped a while ago." She frowned out over the living room and said softly, "I think something might have happened to them."

Dameon was on her in a heart beat, eyes wide and panicked as he tightly clutched her shoulders. She didn't think he meant to, but he gave her a little shake. "Where did you tell them to go?" he asked, and the worry in his tone – no doubt primarily for Bailey – brought a small smile to her lips in spite of the fear tightening her chest.

"Walmart," she said, forcing the smile from her face before he could become angered by it. "There's an entrance behind a pretzel store there – at least, that's what I've heard, and it would seem that I've heard right," she said with another gesture to the sea of bodies.

"Take us there," Dameon commanded, his grip on her shoulders tightening just a hair.

"But what about all of these people?" Aven asked softly from behind him, trying to be the voice of reason he was so obviously lacking.

"You can take care of them," Dameon said, twisting his body to look back at her without releasing Samara. He looked absolutely crazed, and Aven frowned.

"Not by myself," she told him, then looked to Samara. "Leave her here. I'm sure she can help me."

Dameon opened his mouth to argue, but Samara spoke before he could. "She's right, you know. Madeleine is gone, Hayden isn't going to help, and it's really creepy to be left alone with so many sick and injured people. She'll need someone else here with her." Gently, she pulled Dameon's hands from her shoulders and lowered them slowly to his sides. He looked conflicted, so she added, "Besides, it's not like I know any better than you where this mysterious entrance is. I'll be of more use here."

He looked from one female to another silently, his brow furrowed, until he finally grumbled, "Fine. At the back of a pretzel store, you said?"

Samara nodded, smiling pleasantly up at him. "Yes. It shouldn't be hard to find." He hurried past her and slipped out the front door without a word, leaving the two girls alone on the stairway.

"He loves her, you know," Aven whispered, her eyes drifting from the front door to Samara slowly, sadly. A hint of jealousy suddenly hardened the elf's otherwise soft expression and she said, "He tries not to, but he does."

"Are you sure it's not just a brotherly love?" Samara asked in an attempt to comfort the woman, but she knew so little of the situation that she doubted she could do much to help.

Aven smiled a crooked, sarcastic smile. "You saw his face, his eyes. There's so much more there than just a familial caring."

From the top of the stairs, hidden just behind the wall to one side of the top landing, Hayden listened intently. The jealousy in the woman's tone brought a smile to Hayden's lips and an evil, sadistic plan to her mind. Her orders were clear: kill Bailey Killick or face the wrath of the Traitors and their precious humans. The fact that Bailey was the only person who truly cared for her should have forced Hayden to search for another alternative, but the resentment she held for the woman was so much stronger than any love she could ever feel for her. Still, though, she didn't quite want the blood of her savior on her own hands...so why not use Aven's?

-?-

Bailey fell to her hands and knees, blood dripping from her wide-open mouth as she gasped for air. The cold concrete floor around her was littered with the mangled corpses of the men and women that she'd come to save, that it had been her duty to save. She'd failed, though, and her opponent had wanted to make that abundantly clear.

Her bat-like wings stretched out behind her, preparing to flap just once to help the injured woman to her feet, but he got to her first. He took the edge of her right wing in his firm grasp and squeezed until a snap echoed through the big room. She winced, but didn't utter more than a small squeak of pain. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

He tugged her to one side by her broken wing, knocking her helplessly onto her back, her wings sprawled out to either side of her. She took to panting once again, gazing up at him with hatred in her glowing red eyes.

Her shirt was long gone, torn by her wings' first emergence and the abuse of her opponent afterward. Her black bra was still in place, however, but just barely. The red of blood was invisible against her crimson skin, though it gushed from several gashes and puncture wounds on her torso. He sported only a couple of deep cuts along his lower back and a broken wing of his own – nothing in comparison to everything he'd done to her.

He placed a big, heavy foot in the middle of her chest, pressing down just enough to cause the woman a bit more discomfort. He laughed as she coughed, and she could only glare at him in response. "You're far weaker than I'd expected you to be," he remarked, a hint of disdain to his evil, mocking smile. "I thought the great Bailey Killick would actually be a challenge."

With a soft growl, she gripped his ankle and threw him to one side in one swift, angry motion. He sailed through the air, nearly colliding with the wall, but he somehow managed to catch himself. He grinned wickedly as she lurched to her feet, her sharp teeth bared in a snarl.

"Ooh. Feisty, feisty!" he cried, pleased, with a sharp clap of his massive hands. He was a giant, even in comparison to her, a fellow devil. Of course, she was also a female, and they were always smaller – but rarely were they weaker. "Are you actually going to play now?" he taunted, his smile somehow managing to grow even more.

Without a word, she lunged, moving so quickly that anyone but a devil or a god likely would have lost sight of her. He tracked her every motion with relative ease, however, catching her fist when she finally reached him and swung. He caught her other fist when she tried to punch him again, but he wasn't prepared for the foot that rose up and hit him square in his bare balls. Was it a cheap shot? Yes. But did it serve its purpose? Hell yeah it did.

With a pained look on his face, he staggered back, releasing her hands as he reached down to nurse his poor, injured man parts. He recovered quickly, his look of pain replaced by a vicious snarl, a baring of sharp white teeth. "That was cheap, Miss Killick," he growled, and a crimson mist began to fill the room, heavy and hot to the touch. She tried to prepare, tried to pour her own slew of fiery miasma into the air, but whatever he'd been using to drain the powers of anyone who entered here was still active. She managed only a tiny, pathetic cloud of red, barely the size of a house cat, before she was sagging helplessly against a cold concrete wall, gasping for air. His own growing cloud engulfed it, crushing it with little trouble before making its way to Bailey herself. It slithered over every inch of bare skin that it could reach, taunting her with its warmth and tickling pressure, seducing her at the whim of its master.

The devil approached her slowly now, moving with all the grace and ease of a predator, the snarl having left his face to make way for a calm, sexy smirk. She didn't move, merely watching him as he slithered along.

"There's not a devil who doesn't know your name these days," he said in a low purr, finally coming to a stop in front of her. She pressed her back into the wall, goosebumps crawling along her flesh as his palpable power continued to squirm and writhe about her. His hands rested gently against the wall to either side of her head, and he leaned close to smirk down at her. "And none of them have anything good to say about you."

"Is that why you're here?" she asked, his close proximity and overwhelming energy leaving her voice airy, her body breathless. "Because Daddy dearest and all of his little children don't agree with my support of the world above?"

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest. It sent a wave of vibrations through her, and she tensed her body against the oddly pleasant sensation. "Not at all. Father doesn't care about your whereabouts or your less-than-appealing activities – so long as they don't effect him, of course. I'm only here to do what we as devils do: kill the weak, wreak havoc upon the strong, and, most importantly of all, have fun." His smirk spread into a broad, fangy grin, the most joyous expression she'd ever seen on a man. "Don't you miss it, Bailey? Don't you miss doing what you were born to do?" She took a breath to speak, but he put a finger to her lips, his skin delightfully hot to the touch. "And don't try to tell me that you've never partaken in our culture. I don't know you personally, but I know that no devil has been born good. I'm sure at least one century of your life has been dedicated to our culture."

She knocked his arm aside, forcing his finger from her lips, and only then did she realize that the red miasma had stopped winding its way around her body. A quick shove to his chest knocked him back a step, and she took a step forward, away from the wall that she had been trapped against for much too long. "Of course I wasn't born good," she snapped, her glowing red eyes narrowed in a glare that only made his smile grow, "but I don't miss what I was before. I don't miss our culture." She spat the last, and he laughed another low, thundering laugh.

"Being good has strengthened your will," he started, laughter adding a pleasant lilt to his deep voice, "but it's weakened your body. You can defend your ideals all you'd like, but I'll still crush them and you beneath my heel, Bailey Killick. Don't deny that."

Bailey glared steadily at the devil, gingerly stretching her wings out behind her. The injured one stung, folding against her back suddenly, as if by instinct, but her expression never changed. "I stayed here fully expecting to die," she said darkly, "but now, I think I'm gonna make it out of here." He started to laugh, but she lunged, her sharp teeth bared in a snarl, and he fell silent in grim preparation for what was to come.

-?-

Tawny started across the chilly parking lot yet again, determined to make it to the car this time. Salt crunched beneath her shoes, the only sound to be heard in the eerily empty lot. It was too cold for more than a few other people to be at Walmart, it seemed, but these few cars were vacant. She was alone.

I can't just leave her, Tawny thought for what had to be the sixth time, as she started back toward the large building once more. She'll die by herself. Her pace quickened for a moment but slowed again as she neared the automatic doors. No. She told me to leave. I need to get home and warn everyone. She turned and started toward the car, but stopped just short of slamming her face into the driver's side door of a small, dark red pick-up truck. Naturally, she hadn't heard the truck approaching, but she was surprised that she hadn't heard the thoughts of the driver as the vehicle approached. Had she really been that deep in thought?

"Dameon," she said as she took a step backward, allowing the werewolf to open the door, "what are you doing here?" She frowned at his panicked expression, wondering if something else had happened to add to her worries. "What's wrong?"

"Is Bailey still in there?" he asked, his eyes flicking to the store. Tawny noticed that he'd left the truck running, hearing the echo of the softly purring engine in his mind. It was faint, though, hidden beneath a mass of anxious thoughts with Bailey at their center, and it was a wonder that she'd even heard the sound at all.

"Yes," she answered quickly, her own worry doubling as she listened to the chorus of doubts and fears in Dameon's muddled psyche. She wanted to figure out why he'd come here, how he'd found out about this little misadventure, but there just wasn't time. "There's another devil in there with her, and she's weak. She told me to leave, and I-"

"You actually left her?" he nearly shouted, his eyes flashing wildly. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to reach out and shake her, but he restrained himself. "Why would you leave her alone with another devil?"

"He was weakening us," she said, taking a nervous step back, "draining our powers. I don't know how I would fare against a full-fledged devil with all of my strength, let alone with half of my strength or less." She swallowed, afraid to admit the rest, then whispered, "She might well die in there, Dameon. Bailey, the devil, might die. What chance would I have?"

Dameon pushed past her with a low snarl, heading toward the store with long-legged, determined strides. Tawny turned to watch him, and if she had thought of him as something less than a brother or a father figure, she probably would have found him quite handsome.

"Should I come with you?" she asked, her voice soft but loud in the snowy silence.

Do what you want, he thought in a growl, though he said nothing.

She watched him pass through the doors, then crawled onto the driver's seat of the truck and killed the engine. Pulling the key from the ignition, she wondered if anyone would mind the random truck sitting in the middle of the lane, but quickly brushed the thought aside. No one seemed to be in the mood for shopping at Walmart today, and if anyone did come, they'd get over it, right?

She tucked the key away in a pocket and hurried into the store, hoping to catch up to Dameon before he knocked a teenage girl unconscious at the pretzel shop. With all of the crap that was already going down, they really didn't need Dameon to be getting arrested at the end of the day.

-?-

Bailey swung once, then twice, and her devil opponent barely moved to dodge her attacks. Before she could attempt another punch, that red mist of his jerked into action. It wrapped around her wrists tightly, nearly searing her skin with its incredible heat, and pushed against her stomach with just enough force to knock her back a few steps. Her back collided with the wall barely a second later, the blow forcing the air from her lungs. The red mist maintained its pressure against her stomach, pinning her against the wall and making it much harder for her to catch her breath. Quickly, the mist around her wrists jerked her arms above her head, holding her hands against the wall. She was completely helpless once again...or so it seemed.

Suddenly, a small cloud of her own red miasma burst forth into the air, slamming into the devil's chest with enough force to knock him flat on his back on the blood- and gore-covered concrete floor. She'd expected her wrists to be released, but none of the mist budged. She began to tug at it, trying to pull her arms free, but still, it didn't move. The devil began to get to his feet, looking much more pissed off than before, and she decided to try one more thing before he had the time to kill her. She lifted her feet from the ground and began to wriggle, held in the air by only the mist at her wrists and stomach. Finally, it gave, and she slid to the floor with a thud and a grunt.

She started to get to her feet, attempting to beat her opponent to it, but he was already before her, jerking her roughly to her feet. He spun her around and shoved her front-first through his clouds of red mist, forcing her against the wall once again. Holding her arms tightly behind her back, he pressed against her, a low growl rumbling through his chest against her back.

"I didn't know you had such a temper," she said breathlessly, watching him over her shoulder through strands of tangled black. "All I did was knock you on your ass. Did that really damage your pride so much?"

He pressed harder against her back with another thunderous growl. "Shut up," he snarled, "or I'll just kill you faster."

"You're not going to kill me at all," she retorted, then rammed the back of her head into his nose. That would teach him to lean so close to her.

His head snapped back, but he barely let any pressure off of her back. Quickly, while he was distracted, she jumped up and pressed her feet against the wall, pushing back with all her might. Luckily, all her might was sufficient, and the man tumbled back to the floor with her on top of him. She rolled off of him quickly, landing on her knees at his side, and slammed her fist into his throat, hoping to collapse his windpipe. One hit wasn't enough, however, and he caught her arm in the middle of the second swing.

With his free hand, he grabbed her by the throat, pulling her face close to his. His warm breath wafted over her as he let out another low, dangerous growl, and she let out a soft rumble of her own.

"You're too weak," he snarled, the glowing red of his eyes bright against the crimson of her skin. "No matter how many of these cheap little tricks you try, you will not escape me. You're only postponing the inevitable."

"They're not cheap," she started in a whisper, leaning closer to his face, and he didn't stop her. "They're just really, really obvious." And with that, her lips met his.

Even in spite of all of his anger, he seemed more than happy to return the kiss, his fiery red eyes drifting shut as his fingers tightened around her throat. Whether it was for the sexual thrill or with the intent to kill her, she wasn't sure, but she decided to make her move before she had the chance to find out. Her lips parted slowly, a bit of red mist slipping between them and rushing down the devil's throat.

While humans and other creatures rarely caught on to this little trick immediately, one of her own had no trouble identifying it. His teeth sank into her lower lip, sliding nearly all the way through to meet his bottom teeth on the other side, and his hand tightened around her throat until she couldn't breathe anymore.

"Foolish," he murmured against her bloodied bottom lip, his tongue running gently along it. "Foolish, foolish girl." But his voice was rough, his words tinged with the scent of burnt flesh. Her "cheap trick" had worked – at least, to an extent. He wasn't dead, but he was injured. Maybe it would slow him down.

He pulled away from her lip with a deep, throaty laugh, then tossed her across the room. As she sailed through a fiery mass of his crimson mist, it became a mass of sharp, bloody daggers, slicing through her flesh until she finally hit the wall. The concrete cracked from the force of the collision, and her bloody body fell slowly from its indentation in the wall to land upon a pile of mutilated corpses lying on the floor. She looked no better than they did, covered in deep gashes and stab wounds, and she likely felt a great deal worse.

The edges of her vision going black from pain, she raised her head and did her best to look at the devil. Blood dripped down her crimson cheeks and chin from several cuts on her face, but that did nothing to dull her harsh glare.

"Will it really please you," she began, her voice weak and scratchy, "to kill a devil as weak as myself?"

"If it wouldn't please me," he countered, starting toward her with the same calm, powerful strides as before, "would I have been sapping your power since the moment you and your companion walked through the door?" He plucked her from her perch atop the pile of bodies, dragging her to eye level with his hand wrapped tightly around her slender throat. He didn't laugh, didn't smile, didn't even smirk at her helplessness. His expression was grim, almost tired, and she knew she'd begun to either bore him or make him question his own motives and abilities through her "cheap tricks." "I'm a devil, Bailey Killick, just as you are – only I have no qualms with killing the weak." That being said, his fingers tightened around her throat once more, effectively cutting off her air and making her feel as though her head was bound to pop off at any moment. Her vision darkened further, and a strangled cough escaped her.

So wrapped up was the devil in the slow murder of his pretty opponent that the first bite to his side came as a complete surprise. He began to turn, barely cringing as an entire chunk of flesh was ripped from his body, only to find a large brown wolf dangling from his outstretched arm by its sharp teeth a moment later. The wolf growled, and the devil growled in return, giving a quick shake of his arm to loosen the wolf's hold. It didn't drop immediately, however, continuing to growl while glaring at the devil with beautiful amber eyes. A rougher shake sent the wolf flying, though it hit the floor and rolled to its feet with all the skill of an experienced fighter. It faced the devil squarely, its teeth bared in a vicious snarl, and the devil let out an amused laugh.

"Such a brave little puppy you are," he mocked, and let Bailey fall to the floor, barely conscious and gasping for air. "Are you one of Bailey's pathetic little rescues?" He should've seen it coming, the metal baseball bat aimed at his skull. Even with the wolf suddenly rushing toward him, one of his many instincts should have sprang to life and warned him; but really, who expects a baseball bat to the back of the head?

The blow was hard and well placed, knocking the devil right into the wolf's waiting mouth. Its sharp teeth sank into the devil's red throat, its jaws clamping down as hard as they possibly could. Alas, a devil was no easy target, and the wolf found himself sailing across the room once more. This time, however, he hit the wall before he could reveal any more of his fighting prowess, falling to the bloody floor with a pained yelp. Even with blood gushing from the many deep holes in his throat, the devil laughed a deep, hearty laugh, thoroughly amused by all that was happening. He only laughed louder when he turned to see a small, doll-like girl wielding the baseball bat, her expression menacing while her size and shape were anything but.

"Another of Bailey's rescues?" the devil cackled. His mist knocked the wolf aside when it next lunged, burning through a patch of fur on its side. It yelped once again, and the small girl before the devil swung the bat with a soft grunt. He put a hand out to block the blow, and the bat hit his palm with surprising force. "You're pretty mean for a human, especially one so small." She jerked the bat from his hand and swung three more times in rapid succession, and the devil laughed as he deftly dodged each attempted strike. "Amazing! You're almost more determined than she was." He didn't seem to realize that she couldn't hear what he was saying, no matter how hard she tried to listen to his thoughts. Unlike Bailey, this devil was no open book. He had barriers around his mind that she couldn't have pierced if she tried, and she gave up quickly, knowing a lost cause when she felt one.

The wolf lunged again, but the devil was too alert now to let it reach him so easily. A swift back kick knocked the wolf to the floor, and it rolled a few feet before finally managing to stop. Its brown coat was matted with sticky blood, and it panted, the kick having knocked the air from it. Yet it was on its feet in a heart beat, charging foolishly at the devil once again.

While the devil prepared to strike the wolf again, the small girl at his other side swung the bat at his side. His mist caught it, however, and he barely paid her any mind as the bat was slammed right into her nose. She cried out and staggered back, momentarily blinded by the pain. The bat fell from her fingers, and she toppled over the corpse of a thin old man, crashing to the floor right in a pile of blood.

Bailey jerked into a sitting position at the sound of the girl's cry, her eyes darting from the devil to the girl then to the wolf as it collided with the floor yet again. Her vision and alertness had only just returned, but she already knew what was happening, and she knew that she needed to take action now. She lurched to her feet with a silent grimace, and a cloud of red mist left her in a rush. It was slightly bigger than it had been before, and it almost instantly formed into a barrage of sharp, knife-like objects.

The devil turned to her just in time to take a series of red blades to the gut, and a soft sound of shock escaped him, a bit of blood spilling from his wide-open mouth. The blades vanished, and a swarm of the miasma under the devil's control struck her across the face like a fist, knocking her to the floor beside her bed of corpses.

He started toward her, but the wolf caught his uninjured side in its teeth, tearing away another giant chunk of flesh, and the small girl swung the bloodied bat at the back of his head once again. Both attacks were enough to knock the devil to his knees, where he blinked rapidly and stared all around him in confusion. Were these weak little creatures really standing against him? Were they really getting the better of him?

His eyes landed on Bailey, who watched him from the floor with blood dripping from her snarling lips, and his expression became one of extreme puzzlement. "Bailey Killick, I believe I have underestimated the strength of your goodness," he admitted, frowning. The small girl swung at the back of his head again, but his mist gently knocked the blow aside. "I think, perhaps, I'll leave you alive for now. You're much too interesting to finish off so soon." It looked as if he were merely backing down to save himself, but Bailey knew better. If he'd really, really wanted to, he could have easily slaughtered them all with one clean sweep of his fiery miasma. As it were, he was doing what devils did even better than kill: he was pursuing what interested him, much to the discomfort of the subjects of his interest.

Bailey reached for him with a clawed hand, wanting nothing more than to claw his eyes out before he got away, but he was far from her reach. With a final blink of confusion, the battered devil vanished from the room, taking the entirety of his red mist with him. Tawny, Dameon, and Bailey were alone, and the latter promptly fell unconscious.

-?-

Still gasping for breath, Dameon returned to his human form in all its naked glory. His hair was a tangled mass of bloody brown, and a large burn mark marred his left side. The wolfy amber had yet to leave his eyes. "What the hell was that about?" he panted as he shakily rose to his feet, his gaze trained upon Tawny. "Did he really just let us all go?"

Taking a long, slow breath, Tawny stared back at him, her eyes wide with the same confusion that had filled his voice. Blood poured from her nose, streaming over her pale pink lips and dripping from her chin to the already blood-covered floor. "Devils don't always kill their prey," she said, trying to riddle the whole thing out even as she spoke. "Sometimes, they just stalk it and meddle in its life."

The pair gazed at each other for a moment longer, breathing easier as they let the reality of what had just happened sink in. They'd just survived a fight with a full-fledged devil – but had they won? That was a puzzle for another time, however, and the pair rushed to Bailey's side without giving it another thought.

"I'll get her to the truck," Dameon said as he gently pushed a grimy strand of hair out of Bailey's crimson face. As if responding to his touch, the woman transformed into her pale-skinned, auburn-haired, humanoid self, though her body remained limp and covered in blood. The crimson stood out sharply against her now-white skin, and Dameon began to panic at the sheer volume of it. "I'll get her to the truck, and" – here, he paused to swallow back his worry – "and drive her home. Aven will be there to heal her." His eyes darted to Tawny, and the emotion in them made her uncomfortable. "You can drive the Corvette home. She would never forgive us if we left it behind."

"I can take her," she tried to argue, but her soft words went ignored as the nude werewolf scooped the devil woman into his arms and stood.

"We have to hurry," he murmured as he stared down at Bailey's cut and bruised face, though it was clear that he meant "I have to hurry."

Tawny clenched her fists and watched him go, unwilling to hinder the speed of Bailey's recovery by enforcing her own selfish wishes. But once he'd slipped through the door and started up the stairs, leaving the basement level to face all of Walmart in his naked glory, she couldn't help whispering, "She's my girlfriend. Shouldn't I be the one to take care of her?"

She listened to his worried thoughts as they faded away, then, finally, she started after him.