yourlovingkingofhell
As the last witch fell, Tamara let out a breath of relief. That had gotten messy. She was bleeding, and a little badly, which was quite unusual for the tough-skinned mutant. Still holding her gun close, Tamara used one hand to press the relic in the bag to her side. Then she took off running, stowing the gun away in her boot. She only stopped once she was two miles away, and then, breathing hard, bleeding from her knife wound in her shoulder, and clearly very, very rattled, Tamara called Crowley.
It had been four days. Not a week, as she had decided to take the more dangerous route and steal the relic sooner rather than later, since she was going to kill the witches anyway. She spoke immediately when her king picked up the phone. “Crowley? I made it. They’re dead and I have the relic.” Shaking voice, still out of breath. She was not immune yet, to killing. And the bleeding made her light-headed. She wasn’t used to it, and didn’t know how much blood she could lose without passing out.
