The Hellhound

Ch. Three

"The whole point of life is learning to live with the consequences of the bad decisions we've made."

-Sherrilyn Kenyon

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Eventually, he had to turn off the water. It was too cold. It made his bones ache.

Water dripped from the tips of his fingers as he stepped out and dried off. Carefully, he met the gaze of his reflection, and flinched back from the condemnation and hatred he found. You should have been there, it seemed to say. She was your responsibility and you failed, like you always fail.

Sirius had always been up for a good round of self-pity, but self-loathing was a little new to him. He dragged the towel down over his head, drying his hair. Looking down, he realized with a frown that the only clothes he had to his name were the ones currently stiff with her blood.

He was pretty sure he couldn't wear those. Blood seemed to bother humans.

Briefly, he considered walking back out stark naked, just to see what the Hunter would do. Then, he sighed, wrapping the damp towel around his waist. He couldn't afford to antagonize him too much. Looking down at his chest, he found a bead of black blood carving a slow trail down to his stomach. It had been closing up, but the cuts had reopened in several places during his insane run.

When he'd tried, and failed, to get to her.

Sirius shook his head hard, wiping his hand over the blood, making it smear on his skin. He turned toward the mirror, looking at the jagged marks of the five-pointed star. Experimentally, he poked at one of the raw edges, hissing when a bolt of pain lanced through him. Then he cocked his head, eyes glued to the angry purplish edges.

His chest rising and falling slowly, he traced a finger over the shape, not touching it. Already sensing the desire buried deep down in him, his claws extended, shiny and black.

Looking up, he caught the gaze of his reflection again. A mark like that didn't belong on something like him.

He snarled and dragged his claws across the shape, obliterating it. He did it again, and again until there was nothing but a bloody mess of mangled flesh left. His breath was rapid now, his teeth gritted as he bowed forward slightly, bracing his hands on the side of the sink. Blood poured down over the off-white surface.

He stoppered the drain, then stirred his fingers in the rapidly deepening pool. His left hand was shaking, the fingers jumping and twitching as the pain from his own claws seemed to race like fire up and down his arm. But at least that was a manageable pain.

It had been a long time since he'd done this. He hadn't needed to after Theron had bargained with Hades to give him the ability to create mind links.

Caleb was in the other room. He could hear his heart beating, the pace furious. Sirius would need to be quiet.

He stirred the blood around once more, then painted the demon's name onto the mirror with his fingers. Whispering, he muttered the words, tongue a little clumsy over the Atlantean. It was an old spell. Quickly, he swiped his hand across the mirror, leaving nothing but a midnight smear on the glass.

The blood in the sink started to swirl and bubble on its own.

He looked into the mirror, watching the blood there on the mirror slide and crawl its way over the rest of the glass. His breath hitched. Slowly, slowly an image began to flicker, like a black flame in a dark room.