Azazel…
Feed…
Regain…
You must return….
Those voices continued to whisper in the back of my mind, growing in urgency, in volume, reverberating in the confines of my skull, echoing, shouting, banging. It was an endless stream of pain and memories.
Kill…
Kill…
Shutting my eyes did little if not nothing to help. I was pressed against the corner of my room, head held in my hands, eyes closed tightly, and knees drawn up to my chest. I found myself in this position many times a day. Waiting for it to subside so I could survive. Not that my life would be considered anything, not even an existence. Being a prisoner made me yearn for the dark abyss, cold, and finality, the end. I craved it, just like my body craved a kill.
I could hear his footsteps outside my door, like they always were at this time and I clutched my head tighter as his warm scent erupted in my head, Feed Azazel…
Ignoring the will that was my Glory was hard, it was more than hard, it was agonizing. Tearing through me with violent aching, ripping apart my humanity, which was already nothing but a pitiful string holding myself together.
“Allie?” His voice was as quiet as it always was, as gentle as a voice could be.
“I-“ Speaking was hard, opening my mouth allowed those delectable flavors to fill me up and I didn’t want this feeling stirring inside me like a monster.
However, the problem was, that I couldn’t repel my nature, my Glory, even if it wasn’t attached to me any longer. It was so close, so tantalizing, I needed it. My mouth was dry, painstakingly so, and I gritted my teeth, “Go away, i-it’s not a good tim-me.”
He knew what I meant and he flicked off the lights for me, closing the door, and he walked away. I didn’t want him to die, not like the others. Yes, this Grigori was not my first Master. Four years had passed since the Archangels, in all their holiness sentenced me to my eternity serving the Fallen of their own kind. Their worthless hides able to use my Glory and steal my will. They had none of my true power, just the ability to command my human body. It was obviously not worth much as I was weak and useless.
However, in the past few months, since Heric killed Alistar, something was wrong. I was regaining my heightened senses. My smell, my eyesight, but along with those gifts, came the stabbing hunger. My humanity washing away slowly, the chains on my Glory growing steadily weaker each time my Grigori Master changed. Heric was my seventh in the past four years. Though he was the kindest, and he’d held my Glory for the longest span. Seth had been so very arrogant with his new found possession of me that he’d bragged about his invincibility, and maybe two months after he’d taken over my ownership, another Grigori, by the name of Taliuos struck him down and claimed me as his own.
It seemed each time I changed hands, my situation worsened, for they all relished the control they held over me. Some took a sick pleasure in what they could force me to do. Many chose to torture me, just for the fact it made them feel powerful because they could bleed such a foe. Sadly, I was nothing but a human in reality, and I had no power to stop them. I’d lost more than a hundred lifetimes of blood from these veins, and I’d always wished for each drop of red to be my last.
Taliuos was killed by a man named Eruth, who liked to use me as his personal slave, not that it as uncommon with the others I’d had to serve. Eruth fell to Koel, an angel I’d once met, he was by far the most brutal, and even after his death, his face haunted me. Koel was killed less than three months later by Eris, and Eris soon slain by Celethoen, the only female Grigori who’d held my Glory. She’d probably have been kind if she wasn’t arrogant, and she liked to show me off in public, to other Grigori. Heric saw my scars and the way I cringed, and he slit her throat soon after.
I’d been in his care for just over four months, and along with being the quietest and calmest months, they’d been the most brutally painful.
Hours, that’s how long these episodes tended to last, making me wish for death every second that passed and I would sit, huddled into the corner until it subsided.
It was late by the time this one ended, leaving me sweaty, cold, and exhausted. I clambered up, using the wall as a brace as I stood unsteadily on my feet, my knees wobbling. Gingerly, I moved into my adjoining washroom, stripped from the shorts and shirt I’d been wearing and stepped into a burning shower. I leaned heavily against the cool wall, letting the water soak my silver hair, drip down my back and I tried to rid myself of the hazy feeling. It was like a ritual, daily I’d freak out, shower, then go out and help Heric cook whatever meal I was out of my room for, watch some stupid television, then go to sleep.
The shower did little to wake me up, but it washed the salty perspiration from my skin and made my body and hair smell like citrus, and it made me feel a bit cleaner. I stepped out, wrapped my hair up in a towel, and dried off, heading back into my room, pulling on undergarments and a loose knee-length soft blue sundress, it had a high neckline, no sleeves and it was fitted until my hips where it flared out.
I never bothered with shoes, because I rarely left the house, and I only owned a pair of combat boots and a pair of flipflops. I wasn’t a shoe girl.
Heading back into the bathroom I blow dried my waist length hair, twisting it up into a messy bun, letting wisps hang around my face as I rubbed some cream into my face. I didn’t own any make-up anymore, all of it had been left at Corey’s home when I’d been sentenced to my new life, and I’d never been able to retrieve it. I’d honestly not seen a human in a very long time.
Padding into the kitchen a few minutes later I glanced at the clock, 5:24, I knew it meant pm because the sun was high up in the summery blue sky, and even in Michigan it wasn’t this bright at five in the morning.
“Heric?” I called, peeking into his study, “Do you want me to make dinner?”
He was sitting in his big leather desk chair, with his antique furniture all in dark wooden tones. He’d told me that almost everything in his home was from the eighteen hundreds, because that was when he’d fallen, and he liked the ornate style. I didn’t mind it either, it fit in the huge Victorian style home he had.
He looked up, a worried expression plastered onto his handsome features, “Sure.”
I knew he wanted to ask me about my episode so I just smiled tiredly, “I’m alright, really.”
Heric nodded, his bright blue eyes watching me before I walked back out to the huge kitchen. We lived a life that one would conceive as normal. Though it’d taken me a little to adjust to his way of life, his way of treating me. He only wore my Glory for protection, he never commanded me with it, and he never forced me to do things. We got along fine, he’d promised to protect my Glory as best he could, because, he’d told me, No one should be treated like that, not even the great Azazel.
At that point, soft spoken I’d made him call me Allie because I liked pretending to be nothing but human, and we’d agreed to make it all work. I also didn’t mind his company, as he reminded me of a human man I once knew, back in England in the early seventeen hundreds, he was soft-spoken, with a bright smile and an apparent accent. Heric had a Scottish accent though, though he said he just picked it up one time he visited Scotland and he’d stuck with it.
I had begun to cook breaded and seasoned chicken breasts when Heric emerged from his study, wearing his usual dress shirt and pressed black pants, though today he was barefoot, like myself. He held a large brown bound book under his arm and walked towards me, stopping to lean on the counter and sniff, much like a dog, “Smells delicious.”
He loved to compliment me, and I knew it was because he admired whom I was, and what I was trying to do. I remembered that conversation quite well.
“What’s it like?” The young Grigori asked, blue eyes welling with curiosity as he sat across from me at the huge mahogany table, “Hell, I mean?”
I stared at him, sitting stiffly in the chair, watching the Fallen angel with consideration. I’d never talked to the others before, they’d never asked such things.
“You killed Celetheon.” I stated evenly, “Why?”
“To get you.” He said like it was obvious, which it was.
However, I narrowed my eyes slightly, feeling that sick feeling bubbling in my gut as I saw my Glory hanging around his neck like a medal. I could hear those sharp hissing whispers unfurling within my head as I felt my Glory throbbing within the pendant. Kill…. Feed….
“Azazel?” His voice broke through my trance and I blinked rapidly, clearing my throat and turning my gaze away, “You alright?”
“Completely fine. Why do you care?” My voice was sharp, icy daggers tipped with acid dripping in my tone.
“Because you looked a bit scared. I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.” He held up his right hand in that vowing way that I’d seen humans do, “I killed Celetheon because she hurt you.”
“So? Don’t you know who I am? It’s kind of a normal occurrence.”
His eyes seemed to dull, and I sat back a bit in my chair, speaking about this, I would do, because it was what he wished. I’d learned not to question my Master’s much. It never turned out well for me.
“How many?”
I raised a brow, “How many what?”
“Grigori have hurt you,” The Fallen asked, blue eyes taking in every movement I made.
“All of them, it’s what your kind does to me. Because they can, and they love it.” I could hear the cool ring in my words.
“Why?”
“Because it makes them feel alive, it makes them feel powerful and pride and happiness and just sheer amazement that they, a fallen, pitiful, pathetic excuse for an immortal, an angel without its wings, could make me bleed. They love it, the thrill, the feeling of my blood on their hands, the smell of my pain and fear as they inflict wounds that no mortal could survive. They enjoy the screams they tear from my lungs, the sobs they can bring to my lips, the sound of my skin splitting and the look of my red blood staining their blades. It’s intoxicating to them because they love harming me, they relish the way I twist and cringe, and they crave the way I am hopelessly unable to stop them. It makes them feel invincible.”
This Grigori flinched, which angered me even more, my eyes returning to my Glory and the voices flowing through my head, shouting angrily. I tightened my grip on the arm of the chair and looked right at the Grigori, “They become insane with the taste of my agony, obsessed with making me wish to die. It’s like a drug to your kind.”
“You let them?” His voice even cracks and I sneer coldly.
“I’m human. I’ve got no way to protect myself from them. Or from you, so why don’t you just get it over with.”
The fallen actually looked horrified and he just sat frozen, mouth agape slightly, “I-“
“I know it calls to you, it’s like a scent, it’s intoxicating. Isn’t it.” I sighed, looking at him angrily.
I knew he felt it, I watched him swallow shakily and I could see him tensing. Oddly though, he sat there, completely still, forcing himself not to erupt. As we sat there, I could feel the pressure of his power disintegrating, receding, until it wasn’t weighing down on me.
“I’m sorry, Azazel, about my brothers and sisters.” His blue eyes met with mine and he took a slow breath, “If the archangels knew about the thrall of your Glory, they would have never done this.”
I laughed dryly, “Your Archangel’s did this on purpose because they cannot lay a claw on my mortal form, they banished me to Earth so their fallen brethren, who’d already been kicked out could cause me the harm they wished so dearly they could themselves.”
“They wouldn’t.” He insisted, arguing.
“Then you’re blind.”
It was silent for a long moment, and I took a long slow breath, waiting for him to say something when he finally did, he wouldn’t even look at me, “I can’t do anything to change what the Archangels have done, or what my fellow Grigori have done either. But I can keep you safe. I can give you a sanctuary, and I’ll protect your Glory.”
I said absolutely nothing, as I would never hold someone to such a promise.
“No one should be treated like that, not even the great Azazel.” He said softly.
I frowned, looking down at my hands and cleared my throat, “Allie, I’d like it if you could call me Allie.”
“This will have to cook for a good while,” I said over my shoulder as I slid the pan into the oven, then set a timer.
“Smells great, and I’m starving.”
We sat around and talked for a bit while it cooked, then ate like we always did. In a quiet way that was comfortable. But he seemed thoughtful, and I grew slightly worried as the food slowly vanished. I smiled and stood, cleaning up the kitchen, putting away leftovers and then drying my hands. Heric smiled as he set the book down, taking a seat on one of the tall breakfast bar stools, “I’ve got some other news.”
“Bad?”
He nodded, his expression slowly changing to one of concern and discomfort, “The council has requested your presence.”
“Which council?” I asked, walking towards him unsurely.
“The Grigori one. You know the Archangels don’t bother with affairs in this realm.”
I frowned, “We aren’t going, right? It’d be too dangerous.”
“I can’t really say no. They would just come here if we didn’t go there, and they’d be pissed if we didn’t accept.” He ran a hand through his short brown hair, giving me a gentle look, “They’ve promised that you’ll be left unharmed, as will I, and they said they just want to make sure you’re still under lock and key.”
“They want to make sure I don’t have my strength back? Don’t they know it’s impossible? That their precious Archangels sealed it away.” I was a bit snarky.
“I’m sure they’ve just felt the usual disturbances, same as you and I have,” Heric responded, trying to condone their request.
“They should be dealing with those, not looking at me. I’m powerless, I’m just a human. Remember?”
“They just want to make sure. It’s only a precaution. I promise.”
I glared at the marble swirls in the dark countertop, “You need to stop promising things to me. Makes me think you’re Fallen because you’re really into the lying.”
I could tell he gave me a sharp look, “Allie, it’ll be fine, but we do have to go.”
“I don’t want to.” I snapped, stepping back, “You can’t-“
I stopped talking, my eyes widening and I looked at him, “You wouldn’t.”
“You know I can’t decline, it’d be suicide.”
“You promised me that you’d never use it against me,” I sputtered, instantly all those old fears and memories shattering the walls I’d placed around them, crawling into my heart and head as fear and distrust, “It’ll take hold of you, like the rest of them.”
“Allie, calm down, it won’t. I’m strong enough to hold it at bay. But if you won’t go, I’m going to have to make you.” His voice became hard and stern, and I stared at him.
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