Her Demon Bodyguard

Chapter 1.

1.

Was this what it felt like? The end? Were these quick, shallow breaths—and this unadulterated adrenaline and excitement that I could feel surging through my veins— a last minute burst of life before it got sucked away? Absorbed by the trodden leaves, moss and dirt.

This had to be what it felt like to die. Or, at least it would be, If I didn't have him. I knew he was hiding somewhere amongst the tall forest trees. I briefly wondered if  he was high up, crouching on a branch watching the whole scene with passive interest or if he was just leaning against one of the trunks, waiting for my command. He was, after all, a very good bodyguard.

“Any last words, bitch?” Only the very tip of the gun barrel could be seen. It glistened under the sharp rays of moonlight, staring at me, promising sweet redemption. A way out from this endless struggle. I wouldn't need to continue the fight, have to deal with the anger, the lust, the need for revenge every day. I lifted my hand, wiped the blood away from my sore lip and smiled. He would never let me die. Even if I wanted it.

“I don't know. What about yourself?”

“Myself?” The ring leader holding the gun laughed, he seemed to look at his fellow criminal sidekicks and shared a moment of wild hilarity. Their hoots echoed through the trees and all I wanted was to be able to see. With the moonlight filtering almost entirely on my face, they were nothing but dark silhouettes. Sometimes they sounded directly ahead, other times I could hear heavy breathing from closer to my right. They reminded me of a pack of hyenas, laughing, circling their prey before they gorged themselves on precious meat. The ring leader's voice called out once again, closer this time, “I ain't the one 'bout to be shot, lady. You stupid or somethin'?”

If only they knew.

I brushed off the damp leaves that stuck to my sweatshirt, and sighed at my mud-soaked jeans. Getting these stains out would require an intense deep clean, and would, undoubtedly give Giles an excuse to say some sarcastic, patronizing comment. I missed the days when I could just live a normal life. The simple things. Why couldn't I just walk into a store and buy some bread? Get home from school, throw my bag on the floor and just play games on my computer. Talk to my mother. Hear her voice. See my dad come home from work and hear him laugh at how unladylike I could be. I even missed Chucky; that stupid, whining golden lab. I missed them all. My fading memory of their faces  appeared behind my eyes. They seemed to get more blurry every day. That anger, and bitter need to find those responsible for my family's death caused a bout of rage to surge through me.

“Why don't you come a little closer and show me that pretty face of yours?” I crooned. My voice was calm, a little breathless from the initial punch that had taken me by surprise, but controlled nonetheless.

“Shut up!” He snapped and tightened his grip on the gun. “Don't you realize that I'm gonna shoot you?”

“Yeah, I get it,” my mind wondered back to him; my trusting assistant. I could almost imagine his frustration at my stalling. I knew he lived for those commands. The ones where he would get to kill. Demons were so impatient.“Tell me where the Origin is.”

“The what?”

“Were you employed by the Origin three years ago?”

“Bitch-”

“Who else was part of the First Job?”

“Just shoot her already, man,” one of the other shadowed criminals shouted nervously. I squinted, trying to pinpoint his location. His voice didn't sound too far from the leader's. Maybe they were standing together? Either way, something about his nervous, quivering request piqued my interest.