Look to the waters of the deep || saltedshotgun (closed)
Sam stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the city below him. Yellow lights blinked against a velvet sweep of black, broken up by the red pinpricks of tail lights, the ruddy glow of street lamps. A wry huff left lips that curled into a small smirk. Gone were the days of dingy pay-by-the-hour motel rooms, stolen credit cards, beds that felt like cement and showers that crawled with things he didn't care to think about. Gone also was the guilt, the shame, the weakness. Now he was strong, bold. Assured and powerful
Now he was king.
The collar of his white button-down was lose, the tails untucked from dark jeans. Plush carpet cradled his bare feet. This penthouse was one of many, his residences where he needed them while he controlled his army. Built his empire. How had he ever thought this vile?
Dark, whispering power pushed through his veins, and that smirk curled into a wicked smile. It was like an old friend now, and the other children of Azazel hadn't been wrong--once he'd given in to it, there was nothing he couldn't do. He'd been scared once--perhaps of losing his brother, perhaps of what he'd become. Where fear once bloomed, only power and satisfaction now grew.
