✽ vagrantkiller ;;
It was one thing to hide her hunter boyfriend from the Council. Slightly more difficult to hide hunter-turned-demon, but so far, she’d managed it with clever use of the Physician’s Desk Reference and lying. She should’ve known it was too good to last though. The Council was old, and powerful, and extremely good at secrets. She was just a junior deputy with a soft spot for a good smile and sarcasm.
The Mark was big news in witch circles. For a long time, it had been little more than a rumor; a tale from the ancient world of magic that was either fictional or had long since disappeared. Discovering that it was real, and active, caused a fervor among the Research Branch. The Mark was old magic. Understanding the mechanics of the curse could open entirely new fields of research, potentially providing the Council with potent weapons and protecting the world from great evil.
The Council didn’t seem to care that the Mark was attached to a person. In their view, studying a Knight of Hell was a bonus. That wasn’t a person. That was a specimen.
As per fricking usual, Rachel disagreed. Dean was a demon, but he was still Dean, and panic filled her poor, stupid, besotted heart when the briefing came down. They knew where he was.
It took her best acting skills to get out of CBI headquarters without suspicion, and she broke practically all the traffic laws on her way to see him. Warn him. Transport him to outer Mongolia if she had to.
She parked in her usual spot, hidden behind a thicket of trees, and sprinted up the weathered trail that served as a driveway for the bunker. Bursting through the door like a redheaded hurricane, she called out for him as she catapulted down the stairs.
“Dean! Dean, are you here?”
