For the Hopeless

Dameon knocked the devil from Bailey's back with a powerful backhand, a blow stronger than any he'd landed before. He could feel that his very face was a horror. He could tell it from the look of shock in Bailey's eyes as she pushed herself to her knees and turned toward him, her mouth hanging open.

"Dameon," she whispered, and he wanted to hide his face. But when he raised his hand to do so, his palm caught on one of the massive fangs curving over his lip, tearing his skin open with terrifying ease. He wondered vaguely if his teeth looked like hers. Were his all sharp like a shark's? Or were there just the two over-sized canines at the front, unable to fit in his mouth, like a saber-toothed cat's?

The blood from his self-inflicted cut flowed quickly, a dark streak across his skin. It curled around to the back and matted in the tufts of fur there, the fur of his wolf. He stared at the thick, curving claws at the tips of his fingers and wondered – what did he look like to her?

His gaze was jerked from his hand as a squabble broke out at his feet, Bailey tackling the new devil woman to the ground when she lunged toward him. The knife she'd held to Bailey's throat lay on the sidewalk feet away, safely out of reach – for now, anyway. But that was all Bailey needed. That was all she always needed.

"What was your relationship with Espixilon?" Bailey asked as she pinned the woman's arms over her head, atop a mass of thick black hair. Her red mist coated her opponent's skin, but Dameon wasn't sure of its exact purpose. Was it helping to hold her down? Was it containing the woman's own miasma? Did their miasma even leave their bodies in such a way that it could be contained?

He really needed to read up on them sometime. He berated himself for never having gotten around to it before.

"Were you his lover? His friend?" Bailey went on, and there was something nasty to the words, dark and mocking – a facade for her fellow devil or her true nature? "What made you want revenge?"

The devil tried to spit in her face, but the bloody saliva was caught up in the miasma and made it no further. "None of your business, you piece of trash," she said. "Now, are you going to keep using such a cheap trick, or are we going to fight this out like devils?"

Something changed in Bailey's face, something more human than the emotions she'd been showing up to this point. "Is sneaking up behind someone and putting a knife to their throat 'fighting it out like devils'?"

"I expected you to put up more of a fight than that," the woman retorted, lips pursed. Dameon noticed that the mist around her legs was beginning to slowly part, as if it were being pried open from the inside.

"Um, Bailey," he began, but her leg slipped free of its bindings before he could finish the thought. A swift kick sent Bailey flying backward, her concentration slipping so that her mist disappeared from around her opponent. The woman leaped to her feet just as Bailey executed an elegant back flip in the air, catching herself with her bat-like wings before she could even come close to touching the ground.

"And I'm the one relying on tricks," she said, her lip drawn back in a sneer.

"That was completely fair," the woman countered, rising into the air with a heavy beat of her own wings. The gust of wind was strong enough to knock Dameon back a step, though he managed to keep his footing.

"Whatever," Bailey said, crossing her blood-covered arms over her gore-spattered chest. "Can we do this some other time? I'm kind of in the middle of something right now."

The woman's face split in a cruel grin. "That just means it's the perfect time for me to fight you. I've always been a very good distraction, and what better way to get my revenge than by making you lose everyone you love due to your own inattentiveness?" She darted through the air suddenly, a blur of black and red, and the pair of devils went crashing into the porch. With a loud crash and a rumbling of the ground not unlike that of an earthquake, their bodies split through the wood that made up the floor and careened into the dirty ground that lay underneath.

A brief lull fell across the battlefield at the sudden impact, and Dameon took that as a chance to tear through the throats of a couple of nearby police officers with his claws. They crumpled to the snowy ground, and the battle resumed, a trio of what looked like soldiers charging at his beastly form.

One of them fired a few rounds from his pistol, but Dameon dodged the barrage with his wolfish speed and was on top of the man in an instant. He tore through his fleshy throat, silencing his cries, then turned his attention to the other two, who both held only knives. Their guns had likely long since run out of ammo.

He lashed out at one with his blood-reddened claws, and the man fell as his comrade rammed his hunting knife into Dameon's forearm. The werewolf growled in pain and sent the man sailing backward with a single thwack of his over-sized hand. He jerked the blade from his arm and leaped after the man, who lay sprawled on his back on the ground, conscious but too afraid to move.

"Hmph," Dameon grunted as he towered over the man. "Some soldiers you are." He then embedded the man's own knife in his chest, and the look of fear seemed to melt into his face like the permanent expression of a statue.

A bullet suddenly caught Dameon in the back, but he barely felt it, turning to face the woman who held the gun calmly. Was this the help of his wolf? Was this the result of his odd half-transformation? Had becoming some new monster, some half-human and half-wolf beast given him more power than he'd had as one or the other?

Strength surged through him, almost as if in response to the dull pain of the bullet, and he smiled. He could get used to this.

He fell to all fours and sprinted at the woman, who fired three more shots as he charged. He dodged each with increasing ease, then leaped into the air and tore through her throat with his claws in passing. He landed as she fell, and he kept right on running. A vampire was giving a couple of the weaker-looking Novie trouble across the yard, and he had something to say about that.

Is this what Bailey feels like? he wondered as he loped quickly across the snow-covered grass. Is this why she nearly gave in to that devil? Is this what she's been missing all along?

And in that moment, he understood her. He understood that her suffering had been greater than he could ever imagine.

Something heavy caught him in the face, and everything went black.

-?-

"Dameon!" Bailey shrieked, hovering high in the air over the battle. Blood dripped from a cut on her temple, and the rest of her wounds were showing a similar resistance to healing. Only moments ago, she'd been invincible; but now, she was coming down from her power high; she was becoming herself again. But as she watched a man knock Dameon over the head with a club, she knew that none of it mattered. The strength, the healing, the superiority – none of it mattered if she couldn't save the ones she loved. None of it mattered now.

The devil hovering across from her laughed mockingly. "Aw. Did your pathetic little boyfriend get hurt? I guess you know what it feels like now." Her smile was smug. "You know what you did to me by killing Espixilon."

"Except you obviously didn't feel a damn thing when you lost him," Bailey snapped, hating the woman's words and the tears she felt welling up in her own eyes. She wanted to rush to Dameon's aid, she needed to, but she knew that this woman would never let her pass. "You're smiling and laughing and carrying on like you never even cared."

The woman frowned, a subtle tinge of confusion seeping in to her glowing red eyes. "I felt discomfort when I learned of his death," she said, that same puzzlement edging her tone. "I didn't like it."

"And that was it for you, wasn't it?" Bailey said, glaring at the devil. "A moment of negative feelings, and then nothing."

"But it made me highly uncomfortable," the woman argued, her confusion growing as her eyes scanned Bailey's face in search of some understanding. "I had to avenge him."

"No. You had to avenge your five seconds of discomfort," Bailey said angrily. "You have no idea what real emotions are like; you have no idea what it feels like to actually hurt." Her mind flickered back to all of the times she'd mourned Noah, all of the times she couldn't bring herself to eat or to even care anymore because she couldn't come to terms with what she'd done to the love of her life – over and over, again and again, a never ceasing cycle of regret and pain. "You have no idea what it's like," she whispered, and slowly dropped to the ground. "You have no idea."

"But I-" The woman's attempted protests were cut off by a rush of Bailey's burning miasma, the biggest wave of it she could muster. The devil tried to dodge it, to fly out of the way, but it hit her like a blanket of fire, searing her flesh even as it caught her like a net and dragged her down to the ground. "I have to get revenge!" she cried between shrieks of pain, and she clawed at the mist and thrust her own miasma at it in an attempt to escape. But the blanket was much too thick to be penetrated, and Bailey lowered her gaze as she forced every last ounce of her power into it.

The woman's screams become wordless cries, the scent of burning flesh permeating the air. Bailey had expected more of a fight, but she also hadn't expected her words to have such an impact, to confuse the woman so. As she died away, burning to a cinder in an inescapable prison of crimson, did she wonder what she'd felt for Espixilon? Did she wonder if she'd felt anything at all?

Bailey didn't know. She didn't want to know.

She wouldn't raise her eyes until she knew the woman had been completely dissolved in the mist, nothing remaining of her but a puddle of red and pink gore – and her heart resting atop it all. She stepped toward the devil's remains, the remnants of her own miasma disappearing, and observed the heart for a moment.

She could bite into it, drain the blood and, with it, the power the woman had possessed. She could be what she'd been this whole time; she could be invincible once again.

But she crushed the heart beneath her bare foot, blood spattering the snow that hadn't yet been touched by the woman's remains. The power wasn't worth it. The power wasn't worth forgetting her humanity.

Her skin slowly returning to its pale white, her wings retreating into her back, she started toward where Dameon lay in the snow. She hoped he was all right. Oh, God, how she hoped he was all right.

-?-

Talon watched the battle from his heavily shadowed hiding place beside the house, standing atop some of the splinters from the shattered porch. It seemed that the Novie were taking care of things for the most part – the few that remained, anyway. Of the dozen that had gone into battle, only four still stood.

Perhaps things weren't going quite as swimmingly as Talon had assumed.

He stepped out of the porch's shadow, loudly snapping a ragged piece of wood in half with his foot. The human nearest to his position, a man who appeared to have no government ties as so many of the others did, whirled to face him, his gun drawn and the muzzle no more than an inch from Talon's empty face.

"You don't want to use that on me," he murmured, and the man shivered as Talon's telltale chill fell over him. His dark eyes blanked, his murderous intent gone, and he lowered the gun just a bit. "You want to use it on your comrades instead."

"My...comrades?" the man said uncertainly, an eternal sadness seeping into his eyes and deepening the shadows of his wrinkles. "They did something bad to me, didn't they?" he asked, but it sounded as if he already knew.

"Something very bad," Talon answered with a slow nod, his eyes carefully holding the man's. If he was going to get the full effect, he would have to lodge as much of his own impenetrable sorrow into this man's mind as possible. "You need to kill them," he said, "so they won't do it again."

"Of course," the man said, nodding. "Of course, of course." He stared silently into Talon's pale eyes for a moment, then turned and lumbered into the fray, his walk lost but purposeful, all at once – like a zombie.

If he could have, Talon might have smiled to himself. He might have found some humor in his ability to create zombies. But as it were, he only stared sadly after the man, not even blinking as he pulled the trigger over and over again, emptying the magazine into a dozen of his friends before he was gunned down himself.

Such a cruel game he played. But so very effective.

-?-

"Oh, Dameon," Bailey murmured, pulling Dameon gently onto her lap. "Thank God you're alive."

He blinked up at her, at the tears welling in her eyes and threatening to fall, and a smile spread slowly across his face in spite of the throbbing in the side of his head. "Like I would let a guy with a big stick take me out," he scoffed lightheartedly, and she wiped at her eyes, laughing softly.

"I'm glad," she said, sniffling. "I couldn't live with myself if I let you die."

"Of course you could," he said with a soft smile, resting a hand gingerly on her cheek, glad that his massive claws had disappeared. Her skin was smooth, he noticed; smooth and nearly as cold as the snow that he lay in. "It wouldn't have been your fault. You would have nothing to not live for."

The clumsy wording made her chuckle again, but the cheer wouldn't reach her reddish-brown eyes – eyes more human than any he'd seen on her in a while. "You know I would feel bad. I should be able to protect you, forever and always."

"No," he said, his fingers gliding down her cheek slowly. "I should be able to protect me, just like I should be able to protect you and Tawny and everyone else who shows up on our doorstep." His fingers continued down her jaw, then down the side of her neck.

She chuckled, but it sounded more like a cough. "You know that's not true," she whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek. "You know that's all my responsibility."

"Why can't we share it?" he asked, savoring the feel of her soft skin against his as his fingers trailed down her side, beneath her arm. Why hadn't he done this sooner? Why hadn't he had the sense to touch her like this before?

"Because I..." She trailed off, her cheeks flushing as she lowered her gaze to his chest, no longer covered in the fur of his wolf. "Because I love you, of course."

"But I love you, too," he whispered, his hand ceasing its travels to rest on her bare hip. "Doesn't that mean we should share?"

Her eyes flicked to his, suddenly solemn. "We need to talk about Noah," she blurted softly.

The thought of his brother, taken from him much too soon, brought an ache to his chest, but he pushed it aside and shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about," he told her gently. "He would want both of us to be happy."

"But would he want us to be happy together?" she asked, another tear swelling over to roll down her pale cheek.

He smiled softly, his free hand drifting up to wipe the tear gently away. "I think that would make him happiest."

She was silent for a moment, gazing earnestly into his hazel eyes, but a smile soon broke through her gloom like the sun bursting through the rain clouds. "Thank you, Dameon." An odd noise left her suddenly, something caught between a grunt and a cry, and her eyes widened in fear and confusion. "No," she whispered, her tears falling faster, and he didn't understand. "No, not now."

-?-

Tawny watched the exchange between Bailey and Dameon from the doorway, glaring bitterly through the glass. Their words echoed in her mind, sappy and romantic, and she would tell anyone who asked that that was what made her want to vomit – but really, it was the love, the sincerity, the fact that this was the very type of conversation she'd dreamed of having with Bailey that made her want to puke.

"They look...close," Aven remarked from over Tawny's shoulder, her voice incredibly bitter in the telepath's mind. "What are they talking about?"

"Probably how much they love each other," Samara said from Tawny's side, the only member of the group who was smiling. Even the amethyst-eyed cat in her arms looked angry.

"It's disgusting," Aven said, scoffing. "Don't they realize there's a battle going on behind them?"

"You should let me handle it," Samara said, glancing at Tawny. "I can help, ya know." This was the fourth time the girl had angled for joining the battle, and Tawny sighed.

"I'm sure you could," she said, forcing a gentle smile as she looked at the girl, "but you're too young. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened to you. You have a long life ahead of you, and I don't want to take that away."

"Whatever," Samara sighed, frowning out at the fight. Tawny felt bad for holding her back, but what choice did she have? She couldn't let a young teen run into battle like that, no matter how strong she was.

She turned her attention back to Dameon and Bailey, her glare reclaiming its place on her brow. This is so wrong, she thought, her voice just barely more bitter than Aven's, which still rolled through her mind with derogatory remarks about the pair. It's not fair that he gets her, too.

A frown suddenly softened her glare as Dameon's confused thoughts flooded her mind, Bailey's panic overriding them a moment later. No, she heard Bailey say. No, not now.

"Bailey?" she whispered, then she saw the glint of steel protruding from the woman's chest, right over her heart. "Bailey!" She threw the door open, but the entire floor of the porch was gone. There was no way to get to her, not without being careful, but she didn't have time for that. She threw herself from the doorway and onto the dirty, wood-littered ground below.

Bailey! she heard Dameon scream, an echo in everyone's minds just as her own voice had been. Oh, God, no. No! She saw it in her mind as he cradled her, her blood staining his skin as he pulled the knife from her back. No! No!

She gripped the edge of the porch and hauled herself up, toppling onto the stairs and tumbling down. Her body was numb but her mind was on fire, alight with the slew of Bailey's thoughts – Dameon's face, Tawny's face, Madeleine's face, Hayden's, Aven's, everyone's.

Why now? Bailey thought, and blackness now framed Dameon's face and Tawny's in her rapidly emptying mind. Tawny crawled toward her through the bloody snow, the weight of Bailey's thoughts and the shock of this situation keeping her from standing.

"I love you," Bailey said; Tawny could see her lips moving as she peered up at Dameon. And then, her brown-red eyes drifted to Tawny's, and the girl froze. "And I love you."

The words echoed, and then, there was only black. Tawny dug for Bailey's consciousness, fought to find some lingering sign of life in her mind, but there was none. She was sobbing, she realized, wailing like an infant, and Dameon was doing the same.

"Bring her back!" she shrieked, whipping around to face Samara in the doorway. "Bring her back to me!"

But a single tear rolled down the girl's cheek, and she solemnly shook her head. I can't, Tawny. You know I can't.

"Bring her back!" Tawny screamed again, the sound ugly in the minds of the onlookers. The battle had ceased; only one of their enemies remained – the man who had stabbed Bailey. "Bring her back!" And she collapsed in the snow, bawling into her freezing cold hands as Bailey's last thought continued to resound in her mind. I love you... "Bring her back. Bring her back. Please, bring her back."

Talon stared into the eyes of the vampire who had wielded the knife. He would not allow him a pleasant second death.