The Devil's Wife

by Holly Hunt

  I turned to face him and folded up my wings. My tail flicked out and picked up a nearby gun, bringing it back to my hand. I took careful aim with the Browning and shot the human running at the head of the pack. I ignored the feeling of the human's bullets ripping into my body, as I continued to fire and kill the Hellraisers.

  With the same cold manner with which I shot the first man, I picked off the rest of them before they could make it from the alley. Bradley cursed me, and I crushed his throat, digging my claws in and leveling the gun at the shooter. He dropped his gun and turned to run, and I shot him twice in the back. I threw Bradley's body to the ground, stepping away from his corpse.

  "You have got to be fucking kidding me!" the woman's hysterical voice cried, drawing my attention.

  The woman was staring at me with wide eyes, trembling. She'd managed to cut through the rope that held her, and had backed up against the wall, using it to support herself. She stared openly at me as I put my wings and tail away, the claws on my fingers vanishing with them.

  "Don't be afraid," I said quietly, looking at her. The wind pushed my blond hair into my eyes. I moved to swipe it out of my face, and realized I still held the gun. I threw it away from me, ignoring the sound of it clattering over the pavement. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help you."

  "Get the fuck away from me, Demon!" she cried, edging down the wall with little winces.

  I frowned, but tried to look reassuring as blood dripped from her stomach. "I'm here to help you, just let me—"

  "I said fuck off!" She tried to push off from the wall, but her legs folded underneath her.

  The woman trembled more violently as I stepped toward her. I stopped, stepping back to where I was originally, worried. The blood coming from the cut on her stomach was still crimson—she was still bleeding.

  I tried to plead with her again. "Let me help you. You're in shock, you need help desperately."

  She stood, finding the wall and using it to pull herself up. "Get the hell away from—"

  She shuddered, her eyes rolling back into her head. She collapsed completely and I was too slow to catch her. Her head hit the pavement and I cursed, feeling along her scalp. As far as I could tell, her head was unharmed.

  I gathered her up into my arms, folding her shirt over her bare chest. The white of the material was stained the same red as my skin while her blood pumped slowly from her body, making my skin sticky as I held her carefully.

  "Hold on," I whispered, releasing my wings again.

  I ran to the end of the alley and leaped into the air, the muscles in my legs and wings straining to get me airborne with her extra weight in my arms. I headed straight upwards, then out of the sleepy city, flapping my way across the George Washington Bridge and following the river home.

  ~ * ~

  I landed carefully on the deck outside my front door, folding my wings in tightly as I opened the door and headed into the kitchen, the woman still in my arms. I cleared off the table in the middle of the kitchen with a single swipe of my right wing, everything skittering across the floor with a mighty crash. My feet were in heavy-duty work boots, so I didn't care about standing on the mess of metal, glass and plastic as I gently laid the brunette on the table.

  I put my wings away as I filled the sink with hot water. With a quick glance at the woman to check her breathing—it was shallow but regular—I headed down the hall to grab a couple of towels and some bandages from the bathroom.

  I re-entered the kitchen to find the woman was awake, examining the stab wound with unfocussed eyes. I put the towels down and gently pushed her back down, catching her head as her strength failed her, and put a towel beneath it to act as a pillow. She watched me through heavy lids as I opened her shirt, ignoring the sight of her breasts bared in the strong light of the kitchen in favor of examining the wound.

  "You're in shock, but I'm going to work on fixing that for you," I explained. "Shock is why you're not screaming at being in the Devil's kitchen." My brows furrowed as I saw the rips in her abdominal muscles, created by her constant movements. "You'll get over that eventually, at which point you'll probably run from the house chattering about God and your immortal soul. Until then, hold still."

  She twitched away from my fingers as I peered into the stab wound, and I frowned at her, meeting her gaze.

  "If you want me to stop the bleeding and help you heal," I said with a hint of reproach in my voice, "you're going to have to lie still. I'm not here to hurt you. If I was, you would already be dead. Try to keep that in mind."

  The woman nodded, her face becoming paler as though the effort took blood from her face.

  "I need you to tell me when it starts to hurt more," I instructed, prodding gently at her wound with my clawed finger.

  She hissed as my claw slipped and brushed against a bruised muscle. I made a tching noise and used her hand to hold a dry towel to the wound. I ducked quickly into the living room, flicking on the light. On the couch was a needle and thread I used for patching myself up. Wounds or infection couldn't kill me, but the ache was uncomfortable, so it paid to help them heal.

  I returned to the kitchen to find that the woman was still holding the towel to her stomach, groaning lightly in pain. I frowned, gently pulling the now-crimson towel from her hand. She looked up at me, taking in all the blood on my body, both hers and mine.

  "You're hurt," she said weakly, staring at a bullet wound in the centre of my chest.

  I glanced at her and looked at the wound. I rubbed absently at it. "Not as badly as you. Give me your hand."

  She lifted it, and it shook. I grabbed it and made her press another towel to the wound, then rested my hand on her cheek as her eyes rolled back in their sockets. The contrast of her skin on mine made me frown for a second, but I put it from my mind. I could tell she was trying to focus on me.

  "What's your name?" I asked her, gently slapping her cheek to jolt her awake. "Listen to me, focus on me. You have to keep your eyes on me, keep yourself awake. If you fall asleep, I won't be able to help you, and you will die, okay?"

  She nodded. I turned my attention back to her stomach, glancing up now then to make sure she was still awake. With a well-practiced movement, I threaded the needle and wiped off the new blood with a clean towel.

  "My name's Clarissa," she said quietly, each word a groan of pain. "Clarissa Avario."

  I paused for a second and smiled slightly. It was a nice name. I cut the thread and looked up at her. "This is going to hurt, though I don't know if you'll feel it through the pain in your stomach. You've only just avoided catastrophe—the knife missed your organs, your arteries, and everything else that could kill you. Your muscles are a different story, however."

  I picked up a bottle of scotch from the counter and poured two glasses of it. I placed one on the table next to Clarissa's stomach, lifting her head slightly. "This will help ease the pain for you," I said, putting the glass to her lips. "Drink some."

  She swallowed a couple of mouthfuls and made a face. "God, I hate that stuff. It's like liquid fire!"

  I smiled at her, helping her lie back down. "Scotch, or alcohol in general?"

  She smiled indulgently at me, her eyes crossed. "Scotch. I'm not a nun. I was also a teenager at one stage, and that led to many a night out drinking myself unconscious on anything I could afford. From the age of twelve, if my memory serves me."

  "Really?" I lifted an eyebrow at her, taking a sip of the second glass.

  "Yeah, as hard as it is to believe. I'm a vodka girl." She smiled at me, which I took to be a bad sign, judging from her first reaction to my presence. She might have been going loopy with blood loss.

  I smiled, then warned her, "This'll sting." I poured the scotch into her wound and quickly wiped off the unmarred skin around the laceration. She cursed and yelped, her back arching with the sting, but I held her down.

  "Jesus Christ!" Clarissa cursed, startling me. "I knew the Devil was a bastard, but that's going too far! I won't get to Hell
for a while yet, so you can save the fucking torture for then!"

  I snickered, then laugh, falling back against the

  cupboard as she glared at me.

  "What?" she demanded irritably, slightly cross-eyed. The restorative healing I was doing on her must have taken, or she wouldn't be so lively.

  I tried to rein in my laughter, sniffling and setting to work on sewing together the muscles in her stomach, giggling occasionally. "Nothing, you just startled me, that's all. 'Devil's a bastard' indeed..."

  She glared at me again, the corner of her mouth twitching in pain every now and then. "Yeah, well, you scared the shit out of me when you revealed yourself! I thought for sure I was dead, that he'd hit something vital that killed me without me knowing it. Ah!"

  "Don't be silly. You're in too much pain to be dead." I tied off the thread, poking the needle through the leg of my jeans so I wouldn't lose it. I grabbed a small pile of the gauze and gently stuffed it into the wound, where it would soak up the excess fluid and keep the wound open. That way I could keep an eye on the stitches in her muscles as they healed. It wouldn't do to trust blindly in the human body's healing ability.

  When the wound was packed, I pressed another piece of gauze against the wound and made her hold it there, helping her to sit up on the table. She sat gingerly and took the cut-up shirt off completely, swaying and unfocussed.

  I pressed a second soft cotton dressing against the gauze to protect the wound and starting to wrap a bandage around her mid-section. I frowned as I wrapped the gauze around her stomach, using my magic to find the cut in a vein spouting all the blood in her abdomen. I cauterized it with a sniff of magic. She groaned and grabbed her stomach, but that burning pain was gone within a few seconds, overtaken by the other pains.

  "Sorry, I'm—I've never patched up a human before," I apologized, glancing at her face. I grabbed a second bandage to add over the top of the other one, reinforcing the wrapping.

  "It's okay." She looked up at me as I worked, securing the bandages to her waist. "Thank you for your help," she slurred.

  "You really must be loopy from the blood loss, being so nice to me after your original reaction." I smiled at her. "Hang on and I'll get you a new shirt. You can't wear that one; it's soaked with your blood."

  She nodded, swaying slightly on the table. I walked quickly from the kitchen, heading for my bedroom, where I spent the days sleeping, reading or thinking. I ruffled through the chest of drawers, pulling out a black button-up shirt that I'd never worn before. I headed back out to the kitchen to find that she was still sitting there, examining the appliances with slightly crossed eyes.

  I smiled, relieved she had stayed. "Usually humans run when I leave the room. Something to do with my reputation, I think."

  I helped her pull the shirt on, careful about stretching the wound and lifting her arms gently. She tried to do the buttons up but her fingers were too clumsy, so I ended up doing them up for her.

  "So you do this often?" she asked, pushing off against me in an attempt to stand. "You'd have to in order to say that humans run when you leave them unguarded in a room."

  "No, you're the first human who's seen where I live."

  I helped her off the table, holding her up as she made her way to my couch. The light was still on from my search for the needle and thread, and I helped her over to the long leather couch. She sank down gratefully into it, her skin still pale. I frowned and used my magic to stimulate the marrow in her bones so that it would start producing more blood than usual. Blood flooded her face as her veins filled, slowly rebuilding her strength. I had no idea when the shock would pass, so I decided that she needed something in her stomach in case her body crashed.

  "Do you want something to eat or drink?" I asked, kneeling down in front of her and adjusting pillows to make her more comfortable.

  She nodded, leaning back against the couch. "Something strong would be good. Maybe then I can get out of this painful nightmare."

  I nodded, slightly insulted, and stood up. "I'll grab you a drink and make you something to eat."

  "Okay. Hey, do you even eat?"

  She's not trying to be offensive, she's just curious, I told myself. "Yes, but I don't have to. I like eating, it breaks up the day."

  "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Are you sure you're the Devil? I thought he was a smart, crafty bastard who lived underground and would have helped the Hellraisers tonight rather than killed them."

  I shook my head at her, frowning slightly. "Please don't call me 'the Devil.' My name is Lucifer. Not Satan, not Prince of Darkness. Lucifer. And I'm no less human than you are. Who do you think taught the humans to be all that they could be? God? The Angels?" I laughed sourly. "If God and His Angels had their way, humans would still be building pyramids in an effort to reach the stars. If they were doing anything more than sleeping in trees, that is."

  I stood up, heading into the kitchen. I could feel her eyes on me as I rounded the corner, grabbing a fresh glass and filling it with juice from my fridge. A splash of vodka innocently made its way into the glass as I walked into the living room.

  "I didn't mean to offend you. I know the kind of shit you could do to me if I did, even by accident," she mumbled, watching me. She was still slurring, as though she was drunk.

  "You don't know anything about me, Clarissa. Here." I handed her the glass and helped her steady it. She was trembling, still in shock. "You didn't lose as much blood as I thought, but I'm restoring your blood volume anyway. You came very close to being dead."

  "Thanks, I think." She took another sip. "So what am I going to owe you for this? Because I have to say, my immortal soul's already heading for Hell, anyway. Against my wish, but that's life."

  "You obviously haven't been watching the news. You're in Hell," I growled, depressed again. Well, the idea of a companion was good...while it lasted. "You should get some rest. I'll go and make up your bed."

  I headed into my bedroom, starting to strip the bed and lay out new sheets for her. I threw the sheets around energetically, trying to let my anger out physically rather than use my magic and risk burning them.

  "I'm sorry, Lucifer," Clarissa said from the doorway, startling me. "I didn't mean to cause you offence again. I know you could send me straight to Hell if you wanted, and I'm trying very much to avoid that."

  "You don't know anything, Clarissa," I snapped. "I should be used to people thinking I'm after their souls when I turn up. I don't send people to Hell just because they annoy me. I don't have that power. I'm just so sick and tired of people treating me as though I'm an alien species. Humans were born, adapted and grew from me and those I call my family: the Grigori. We're no fucking different from the Angels or the goddamn humans. It's all in your fucking minds."

  I tugged the sheet straight and grabbed the blanket, stripping it and putting a new cover on it. I snorted in angry laughter as I lifted the mattress and tucked the blanket in. "You know, He would be very annoyed to find out that you were apologizing to me. He doesn't think so well of me anymore. Not that He ever did," I added under my breath.

  "Who?" she asked timidly, a hand on her stomach.

  I turned to her and lifted my eyebrows, pointing at the ceiling. "Him. The obsessive-compulsive patient that you call God. Jehovah."

  "Oh."

  There was quiet in the room as I headed for the linen press, grabbing a couple of pillowcases.

  "You don't have to do this," Clarissa said, resting her head on the doorframe and closing her eyes. "I can sleep on the—"

  "You're not sleeping on the couch. For one, you're a guest. For another, you're injured, and for the last, you're a woman. None of those three ends up on my couch. That's reserved for me."

  She looked uncertain, as though worried about what sleeping in my bed would mean. I knew it meant nothing, but that's not what she'd think. Humans were so protective of themselves; it was amazing they ever did anything at all, rather than risk themselves in something.

 
I smiled, shaking my head at her as I put a new case on the pillow. "I told you before, I'm not going to hurt you. I won't touch you unless you're in pain, you fall asleep in an

  uncomfortable place, or you ask me to."

  "Why are you doing all this?" she asked, half asleep. "You don't know me."

  I smiled over at her as her eyes fluttered closed. "Because I'm alone and I desperately need a friend. And, at the moment, you're the only option I have."

  "Oh," she breathed, and passed out.

  I caught her before she hit the floor and carried her over to the bed, putting her down and gently easing the sheets up over her body. She didn't move, and I checked her breathing. Her chest was still moving, but her pulse was a little rushed. I frowned and gave her another pillow before walking to the door.