Through the Looking Glass

[Irene Rutherford]

Prompt List

• Gun
• Pain
• King
• Mirror
• Pregnant
• Death
• Necromancer
• Ruby
• Fire
• Never

[Irene Rutherford]

P A I N

Irene shifted uncomfortably in place, her blue eyes flicking across his form, not daring to take her gaze off of him for even a second. She wanted to fold her arms, as was instinctual when she was made to feel nervous, but she knew she needed her hands free in case she had to go for a weapon. She may have been playing human, but she was armed, and she knew what to do with the things she had. Surprisingly, she wasn't as afraid as she thought she'd be; this moment had been a long time coming, and she had always wondered how she'd react. Before, she'd have been terrified, but now? She was a Diamond, now. Everything was different.

"How have you been?" she asked tensely.

"Good," he said. His voice was almost like a purr, slightly accented in that Welsh lilt. "And you, princess?"

She laughed in spite of herself. "After three-hundred years, you still call me princess? Alexei, nostalgia doesn't suit you." She froze in place, however, the smile on her face doing the same, as he reached out and gently brushed his fingers against her long blonde hair - specifically, the part that was closest to her cheek. "Get your hands off of me," she whispered, her voice dangerously quiet.

"No," he said bluntly. "I'll touch you when I please, where I please, and you'll endure it. Do you really loathe me so much, princess? We had some good times, after all - when your little demon-powered boyfriend wasn't around to lord over you, that is," he said, his voice growing lower as he leaned in to speak into her ear. He was behind her suddenly, clearing the hair from her neck.

Irene knew what came next. "Stop," she whispered, this time her voice with some emotion to it. She turned her head to the right, looking at him while he rested his hands on her hips, one creeping towards her stomach, palm flat against the fabric of her shirt.

"Don't you remember?" he asked, brows tilting as his own voice changed in tone. "We shared so much. How could you just throw it all away? Is three-hundred years not long enough to let go of your silly grudge?" And with that, he dropped a soft kiss on the neck, just where her shoulder met.

"I'm different now," she protested. "I'm not a child anymore." She sighed softly as he kissed her, then pulled away, slipping out of his grasp. Instead of running, which she should have done, she pivoted on her heel and faced him, reaching up to take his face in her hands. The stubble of his unshaven jaw tickled against her palms, and she had to admit that the sight of him again made the tear ducts of her eyes prick a little in sudden activity.

"Alexei, I'm not a child anymore," she repeated again, this time in dated Russian. "Why do you keep doing this? To me? To yourself? You know how much I... It's been three-hundred years. I'm not yours anymore. Please just - just go. Just go, Alexei. My prince," she added, a tearful smile on her lips. In English, she said, "Just go," softly, letting her hands slip off of his face, not unaware that he had tipped his head forward and place his hands on her wrist, closing his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, she could see them laden with emotion. She felt as though she'd gotten through to him, and moved to take her hands from his face, leaning in to give a kiss on his cheek before she left him (for the last time, damnit). She didn't miss, however, that his mouth suddenly turned into a sneer and he gripped down on her wrists so hard it hurt. She squeaked and gasped, in surprise and in pain, trying to pull away and failing.

"Did you think it would be that easy, princess? That after three-hundred years and all of the shit I went through for you, I'd just let you go? Your little boyfriend's got nothing on me, love, let me assure you. He may have the book and the will, but I have the way, and I'm a lot older and a lot meaner. Don't test me." And with that, he leaned forward, forcing her back into the wall as hard as he could. He ignored when the stone behind them cracked (vampires and demons were rather stout, after all), despite the fact that Irene let out a genuine yelp of pain before quickly silencing herself by pressing her lips together. She silently begged for Benjamin to find her, knowing that she couldn't actually call out to him without being caught.

"Diamond or no, my darling, I own you. Don't forget it, and don't try to pretend like you can pull the wool over my eyes. You forget yourself; you forget who I am. It's okay, though," he said, letting her go as he reached out to smooth down her hair. "I'll be around more than enough to correct that out of you." He let his thumb and forefinger linger on her chin a moment, then vanished into the ether, nothing but the scent of sulfur and a small scattering of ash on the floor behind him.

Irene slid down to her rear, knees folding to her chest, and began to cry. She could hear footsteps and covered her head with her hands, trying to tuck herself away and make herself invisible. She felt warmth as someone dropped down next to her, pulling lightly at her hands and speaking softly to her. When she opened her eyes, her husband was sitting there, his own blue eyes terribly worried - until he realized he was crouched in a pile of ash. Then, the worry changed to anger.

"I'm so stupid," she cried. "I thought I could handle him - I thought that after three-hundred years I could handle him." She buried her face into her husband's shoulder as he scooped her up.

"He's a demon, sweetheart," he said as gently as he could, fighting the rage boiling inside of him. He wanted to just make a quick exit and beat that demon's smug little ass, but he wouldn't leave Irene there alone, not after that asshat had just terrorized her again. "Three hundred years means we got stronger, but it meant he did, too. He got the drop on you, it happens. It won't happen again," he assured her.

She didn't say anything, still in a shocking amount of pain from where he slammed her into the stone wall. She was so angry at herself for dropping her guard down, even thinking for a second that he'd have grown up in all that time. He'd been a demon when they'd all met, and as far as she knew, he'd been one since the days of Jesus and the Romans. There was no telling with that man, and she wasn't likely to get the truth from him now.

"What happened?" Murphy asked, watching in surprise as Irene was carried back to where they were parked.

"Demons," Ben snarled.

Murphy raised his eyebrows, then pulled out his flask. "Welp, guess we'd better prep for some overtime," he said. He took a long swig, then grunted. "Who do we know that wants a piece of a demon? Now would be the time to let everyone in on it. Give the little fucker something to be scared of, at least."