God Hates Us

~Zacky’s POV~

“Bloody hell, Zack! What part of ‘Don’t make out with hunters’ did you not get?”

“Fuck off, Brian,” I growl, dabbing at the cut on my neck with a damp towel. Fucking tell me what to do... I mutter inwardly, knowing full well Brian can hear me. He starts to say something, then stops. Yeah, back in your box, smart-ass.

Matt walks in, a slight smirk on his face, followed closely by Johnny. I look up, frowning slightly.

“What’re you so happy about?”

Johnny chuckles. “You found a looker this time. Better than the last one.”

For some reason, this makes me angry. I stand up, dropping the bloody towel and taking a step forwards. “Keep your hands off her. She’s mine.”

They look taken aback for a moment, but accept my words without protest.

“If you say so, Vengeance.” Johnny sits on the other end of the couch, crossing his legs and leaning his head back. Matt walks past into the kitchen, but I distinctly hear him mutter something along the lines of “Who said anything about hands?”

“I’d better go check on her,” I say, walking towards the door.

“Hey!” Johnny chucks the bloodied towel at me.

I catch it and press it to my neck where, lo and behold, it’s still bleeding. “Right. See you guys later.” And with that, I leave the room, heading upstairs.

Before I get halfway up, I hear a banshee shriek, followed by a crash. I chuckle lightly and continue, wondering what she’d broken and whether it would need replacing.

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Back to Cass's POV

I look down at the mess of shattered crystal, scattered flowers and spreading pool of water on the floor with a slight feeling of vindictive glee. I bet that was expensive.

I’d woken up on an old-fashioned four-poster about ten minutes ago, stripped of everything but my bra and panties, my hands cuffed to the bedposts. Attempts to wriggle out of the cuffs had resulted in several cuts and scratches on my wrists and hands; the blood trickling down my arms is infuriating, an itch I can’t scratch. Furious at my predicament, I’d kicked out at the table beside the bed, knocking what looked like an antique crystal vase onto the floor where it smashed, the sound ricocheting off the walls.

The door swings slowly open. Vengeance walks in, a bloodstained towel pressed to his neck, barely glancing at the mess on the floor. He steps around the puddle of water until he is right beside the bed, barely a foot away. I think about kicking him, but that would be ineffective and childish. Instead, I ignore him, staring fixedly at the open door.

“Tch.” He shakes his head. “Someone’s gonna have to clean that up, you know.”

I don't reply; my eyes remain fixed on the doorway until he leans closer and touches the blood running down my arm.

“Hmmm.” He brings the blood-smeared finger to his mouth. “Mmm, you taste good.”

My heartbeat quickens; I curse my weak human body for responding with fear. Fighting to keep my expression blank, I’m pleased that my poker-face is unaffected by the situation.

“What do you want?” I say stiffly.

He chuckles. “World peace. A cold beer. For hunters like you to stop your pathetic attempts at killing my family.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Why would we do that, when you’re killing us one by one?”

“I’ve never killed a human.” He says it without expression, his face blank.

“And why would I believe that?” I scoff, raising my eyebrows. “Your kind kill every day, I’ve seen it.”

He sighs quietly, closing his eyes for a second. “You’re prejudiced against us, because of the actions of a few stupid individuals? That is so human...”

“What do you want?” I repeat my question.

“What do I want? I want you to stop trying to kill me, for one. I’ll unlock those, if you promise to behave?” He pointed to the cuffs.

I think about it for a moment. In my current state, still weak from being knocked out, not to mention weapon-less, it would pointless to try and attack, but if he let me go, I might be able to escape. “Fine.”

“You promise?” He grins cheekily, making me want to smack the expression right off his face.

“Yeah, whatever. Promise.”

“Good.” He leans over again and fiddles with the locks; I hear a clatter as the metal cuffs slide from my wrists, then bring my arms down, almost crying out from the pain. My shoulders protest violently, but I force them to work as I stretch my muscles out, then bring my wrists up to examine the cuts. They’re superficial, not life-threatening, so I ignore them for the moment.

“Let me see.”

He reaches for me, but I snatch my hands away. “Don’t touch me, vermin!”

“That’s not very nice.” He says it reprovingly, like a school-teacher, but grabs my hands anyway and holds them up so he can inspect the cuts. “Hmmm. Hang on.”

He gets up, walking into what turns out to be a little en-suite bathroom. While he’s gone, I look at the windows – barred, with several padlocks on each – and the door – triple bolted and locked from the outside as well as in.

“Don't try and get out, it won’t work,” he calls, making me frown. Can he hear my thoughts?

“Yep.”

Sodding... Damn.

“I know. Bummer, ain’t it?”

Get the fuck out of my head.

“If you like.” Vengeance comes back out of the bathroom, carrying a small rectangular box. Sitting on the bed beside me, he opens it and takes out some white bandages and surgical tape, as well as a tube of what looks like antiseptic cream. I don't bother to protest as he takes my right hand and begins to apply the cream, then carefully wraps the bandages round and secures the ends with the tape. His hands are cold, making me suppress a shiver, but his movements are surprisingly gentle. He finishes with my right hand and moves to my left, frowning in concentration as he ensures the bleeding has stopped. My eyes flick to the open box beside my freed right hand; there’s a pair of scissors inside, the three-inch blades glinting in the low lights. If I hesitate, even for a second, he’ll hear what I’m thinking and stop me.

We both move in a blur. I grab the scissors and, in the same smooth movement, drive the sharp double-blades into his arm, just below the elbow. He roars with pain and lets go of my hand, ripping the scissors out of his arm, then smacks me across the face; the force of the backhanded blow throws me against the wall behind the bed. He snarls, his eyes flashing silver and his sharp white teeth bared. I notice with a jolt that his canines are suddenly longer than they should be.

It’s all over in less than a heartbeat, but it’s enough to have my pulse racing and start adrenaline buzzing through my veins. Is this it? I wonder. Is this where he rips my throat out and drains me dry?

After several extremely long seconds, he closes his mouth, hiding the nightmarish teeth. His eyes flick to the small but deep wound in his arm and he frowns in annoyance. “That hurt,” he says quietly, turning his eyes back on me. Their silvery sheen has gone from his blue-green eyes; he looks at me, irritated, but doesn't do anything. My eyes are drawn to the small cut, the trickle of dark blood running over his tattoos. As I watch, the cut seals itself, the flow of blood halting within seconds. Of course... They weren’t silver.

“You promised you’d behave,” he mutters, grabbing my wrists again and gripping them in one hand as he reaches for the handcuffs.

“Fuck you!” I struggle, freeing one hand and slamming a fist into his jaw. The force of the blow pushes him back a little but he brushes it off, locking my other hand into the cuffs. I swing round for another punch but he catches my fist and secures it to the bedpost. Dammit... I kick out at him, but he holds my legs down with one hand and leans forwards.

“You promised,” he repeats, looking directly into my eyes.

“I lied,” I reply, staring right back.

“Fine.” He gets up and walks out of the room without another word, locking the door, leaving me alone.