daughter of hell

daughter of hell 18

P.O.V. (Luci)

Unless, no, he wouldn't dare. Would he? He couldn't be this stupid.

"I'm calling you a slut, if you hadn't figured it out."

HE WAS GOING TO DIE!

While exhaling a sharp hiss of pain I drew my sword. My beautiful Bastard sword, a form of long-sword with specially shaped grips for one or two hands.. This amazing piece of wrought ironwork has a more slender pointed blade, cutting through muscles with this sword was like cutting through butter with a dull knife, still real easy.

I attacted with a tactic called the 'Falcon guard', it was a more daring charge which left my chest unprotected, but since he - that vile creature - was unarmed, there wasn't any danger.

I know, I can hear you thinking: 'Why attack an unarmed man?' Well, I didn't see him as a man any more. I could still remember my first kiss.

Raphael.

Yeah, I hated the bastard now. Back then, I had thought he was the hottest thing walking. And when we had kissed and, uhm, some heavy petting had passed, he decided that we should take things a bit further. Son of a bitch had expected for me to sleep with him right after our first kiss. I am not to be messed with, and I told and showed him so. Saying that he was pissed didn't even cover his bitch session. The next day at a training session with all the others there, he called me a whore and spat in my face. I had been young and ignorant back then and still hoping for my mother's recognition. With that in my mind I had reigned my temper and pretended that the lies he told everyone didn't touch me. My mother had heard about the lies Raphael had spread. She'd been beyond furious, not on my behalf, though.

Having your own mother call you a filthy whore wasn't on my list of things I wanted to hear from her. That day she deciced I needed an another weapon, as to compensete for my 'sluttishness'. I got a lovely pugio near my left ankle. It's a dagger that was used by Roman soldiers. The dagger is sharp on both sides, makes it hard to wield it without cutting your own fingers off. I only used it as a back-up weapon.

It was called the 'Falcon guard' because falling back on this strategy was like striking down like a falcon on it's prey. I aimed my strike at his wide chest, hoping to scar the flawless skin. Fuck this! I wasn't only hoping on some scarred skin, I was beyond furious and pained from my own memories. I went for some serious, maybe even deadly, bodily harm.

I saw that shock and confusing were still evident on Mr. Cocky's face, him trying to figure out where I got the sword from. Inches away from cutting through the fragile skin that covered his heart, my sword flew out off my hand. Not like someone disarmed me,

it literally flew from my hands. The heavy panting and rising of Mr. Cocky's chest told me this was real, I had been disarmed for the first time in four years and I didn't even saw it comming. The heavy musk of magic evaded my senses. Magic, it was the only explanation. It wasn't any magic I knew, it wasn't demonic, nor angelic. I wrinkled up my nose, it stank, that's for sure.

The cold feel of a sharp blade against my throat brought my attention back to the person who disarmed me. A muscled, dark skinned arm snaked around my chest holding my in a tight grip. My breath left me painfully.

"Are you okay?" A very familiar voice called.

My eyes widened. Mr. Cocky shook his head as if trying to shake of his near dead experience.

"Yeah, I think." He said, while looking at me.

He narrowed his eyes on my chest. He's such a perv! I'm glad I tried to kill him.

That's when I noticed he wasn't staring at my breasts but at the arm, painfully wrapped over my chest and cutting of my airsupply for the second time that day.

"Get your hand off her, man!" He snarled at the guy holding a knife to my throat.

"Why would I do that?" The familiar voice replied.

"Are you out of your mind? She tried to fucking kill you!"

A mettalic smell came of my attacker's skin. The rusty smell pricked my nose and left a sour tast in my mound.

"Get your hands of her. I'm not going to ask you again, Jake."

I knew it!

Damn, I had judged Jake strong, but wow. Slowly Jake lowered the blade from my throat and pushed me away from him and Mr. Cocky. He actually took a protective stand before Mr. Cocky who was giving his rescuer dirty looks. Bipolar, much? Dumbstruck I saw him move past Jake and walk over me. He softly touched my face and took me in his arms. Still shocked I allowed him to wrap his arms protectively around my shoulders. I felt his lips graze the top of my hair in a sweet gesture. Had he lost is mind? I had tried to slay him. Didn't the boy have any self-preservation?

"Are you alwright?" He asked in a worried voice.

What the fuck?

"Did he hurt you? Just say he did and I'll gladly kill him."

I was very confused.

"What's wrong with you?" I finally managed to utter.

"I don't get you? First you call me a slut, and now you're worried about me?"

I looked up at him and had to repress the urge to kiss those luscious lips of his. I'd only had to stand on my tiptoes and then I'd find my redemption. Finally, sweet, careless redemption. And all my worries would go away.

Shit! Mr. Cocky's lack of self-preservation was contagious. He called me a slut, while he himself was a manwhore. I did not like him and I should attack him again. I started to struggle free of the cage his arms had become. He reacted by constricting them tighter around me. He was so strong. Damn me for feeling save and caressed in those strong, protective arms.

"Let go of me."

But somehow I couldn't make it sound like I meant it. He chuckled, that arrogant, yet amused mucical chuckle.

"We both know you don't want me to let go. Admit it alreday, Luci. You belong to me." He said in a possesive voice.

That possesive statement made me snap out of my foolish behaviour. No one owned me. I didn't belong to anyone but myself. I resumed my struggles, all futile. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Jake walk to my sword that had landed a few meters away. He reached for it, dropped it and yelped in pain.

I could have warned him that no one but the rightful owner of the angelsword could touch it without getting burned. If other angels touched it, it would burn them as well, but less severe. We could wield eachother's weapon, but with a price to pay: dauntless pain. I personally had never thought it to be worth it, the pain I mean. But then again, I had no need for more weapons, I already had thirteen. I hated every last one of them.

In a precautionary measure, to protect the weapon from stealing angels, the sword dematerialized right back into my skin. I screamed, not prepared for the pain. I felt my knees go weak and gripped Seth's shoulders to keep me upright. He knelt down on the floor, pullin me with him. Anxious he helt my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. I tried averting my eyes, because I knew how they would look: wide, like I had been on drugs, and violet around the edges of my normal green eyes.

I knew he saw the peculiar colour of my eyes when he gripped my chin and made me look at him to stare at them more closely.

"What the hell?" I heard him whisper.

"What the hell what?" I tried saying in a hard voice, but my heart wasn't in it. I still felt weak from my angelsword appearing and disappearing.

"Your eyes," He said.

"there are streaks of violet in them. What's wrong?"

I rolled my eyes in fake annoyance.

"They've always been like that, asshole. Thanks for noticing. Some girls take it as an insult when a guy has taken notice of her breast, but not her eyes. You're such a loser." I lied easily.

I walked away with wobbly legs, inconspicuously using the furniture as support. I was too tired to climb in my own double-decker, so I let myself fall on the closest bed near the ground. I fell asleep, exhausted. My last thoutht was:

the pillow smells nice.