an outstreched hand, a mouth full of fangs
She’s run out of ground.
Behind Darcy there’s a cliff that gives way to blackness, and occasionally there’s something resembling low laughter that creeps back up. It aches in her bones.
In front of Darcy, Lorelei blows her a kiss. Behind her are a thousand green eyes, enemies and friends alike, all of them under her thrall. “Your father,” Lorelei says, and the laughter starts up from the deep again, giving Darcy and Lorelei pause. “Your father,” she starts again once it had stopped, leaving only chills behind, “Would want you to join me. Odin has killed him, Fenrir. He has killed him and imprisoned your siblings, and we could get them out.” Her tone turns soft, pleading, making eye contact as the men behind her drop to her knees.
Darcy hasn’t gone by that name since she ripped herself free of the chains, since she removed the sword from her mouth with trembling bleeding hands.
“I’m sorry.” Darcy says. She truly is. Every bone in her body screams at her to avenge her father, avenge his namesake, free her siblings. But Lorelei’s way would only lead to ruin, and Darcy needs a plan that would succeed on the first try.
Darcy takes a step back. The cliff crumbles.
“Fenrir,” Lorelei warns, eyes tracking the rocks that disappear after seconds. There is no resounding thud. Darcy’s heart climbs into her throat and stays there. “Fenrir, no!”
Darcy is already falling.
It feels like centuries before Darcy wolfs out, and centuries more before she hits the ground, it heating instantly under her paws. The air absolutely reeks of sulphur, the yellow stream of it hissing out of openings in the floor.
“Oh hello puppy.” She looks over her shoulder to see a mockery of a man overlaid over someone of a much more pleasant demeanor. He reaches out, scritches a burn behind her ear. She resists the urge to bite down. “Aren’t you a long way from home.”
“Crowley.” She greets, a wary note of respect. “I wasn’t aware you were back.”
“Only temporarily darling.” He looks behind him, miming fear, “I’m afraid I’ve brassed off quite a few people.” There’s a long pause that neither of them bother to fill. “Why are you here, by the by?”
“I need to speak with someone.” Darcy says, short and with a bit of a snarl, “As myself, Crowley, don’t get any ideas.”
He sniffs. “I wouldn’t.”
This is a lie. Being possessed by Crowley is like witnessing a murder in slow motion, full of pain and regret, with the taste of blood in your mouth following you for years. Crowley has never been gentle with his hosts.
“You’ll owe me.” He warns.
“For protecting your ass?” Darcy smiles, all teeth. He takes a step back, wary of a lunge. “I’d call it even.” She shifts back into her human guise, keeping the yellow eyes, the toothy grin. Parts of her hand tip out into claws, the tips of which could cut through solid steel. She extends the hand.
Crowley grabs it and pulls her in for a kiss.