Chapter Text
Letting nine drops of blood drip from his thumbs to the candles’ lit wicks, one Damian al Ghul crouched over his handiwork. The blood made the fires turn purple and he leaned back on his haunches, waiting to see if the deal was accepted.
Damian furrowed his brows as, not even a minute after the thought came to him, he watched the demoness rise from her pool of ashes, strands of smoke billowing off her. Her four eyes were dark and calculating, her pupils large blips of nothingness and her sclera red as blood. The demon tilted her head and bared her teeth at him, the jagged fangs sliding against each other. The sound would’ve sent a shiver down a weaker human’s spine, but Damian stayed firm.
The protective salt barrier did nothing and she stepped over it. Her steps sounded heavy on the floor, although she moved as lithe as any assassin. She circled Damian once and stopped in front of him. The swordsman tensed his jaw as the strands of smoke darkened, the inky tendrils of black magic snapping in the air between them.
After a moment, she leaned back and smirked. A quick flick of her hand had all the candles snuffing out and Damian noted how her form shifted in the sudden darkness. “Consider the deal done,” She drawled, her magic crackling loudly in the quiet of the room. The overhead lights clicked on a moment after and he blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness and her new form.
Two amethyst eyes and pale skin greeted the assassin as she stood to her full height, an inch or two taller than him. He ignored how surprisingly and distractingly attractive she was, instead focusing on how the dots of blood on his thumbs sizzled off into a puff of mulberry-colored smoke.
She held out a hand, suspiciously human and barren of the claws that had just adorned them, “You may call me Raven.”
Remembering his grandfather’s warning, Damian stooped down and rubbed the bloody candle-wax onto his palm before he shook the demoness’ hand. Any disappointment she had at his cautiousness was drowned out by how impressive he appeared. “Hmm,” Raven released his hand and casually walked around the room, running her fingers over the tapestries that hung on the walls, “You know to cover your palms and to keep weapons out of my line of sight, interesting that you’d need a demon’s help in any endeavor.”
Violet hair shifted as she glanced at the young man over her shoulder, “Especially to the point of selling your soul.” Turning back around, she narrowed her eyes at the writing on the books’ spines, trying to decipher which Earth language it was, “Must be important.”
“I need you to do something for me,” Damian didn’t touch her, although he did motion for the demoness to walk towards the high table off to the side. “It cannot be done by mortals, unfortunately, no matter how powerful they are in the dark arts.”
Raven pitched forward as she took in the ancient inscriptions and tattered remnants of a particular rune, one that her father had put an herculean amount of effort in containing until just the right moment in time. An eager grin slid onto her face at the idea of disrupting Trigon’s carefully chaotic plans, the sight worrisome and dangerous in the dark shadows of the room.
“Perhaps I can do this … of course, only if you’d do something for me?” Her question was a demand and she rested her elbow on the counter, sticking her bottom out just a smidge. The assassin begrudgingly followed her movements, ensuring that she didn’t get close to any of the hidden weapons and that his eyes didn’t stray.
Still, he set his shoulders and stood in front of her, glaring at the crackles of black magic that seemed to slide off of her. A tendril slid out and hovered near where a shielded machete lay, considering the weapon. Without giving her time to react, Damian pounced, pinning her by her hips. He let the tip of his sword nick against her pulse, his other hand holding hers in place.
Raven paused, a brow raising at the movement. She smirked down at Damian, her eyes flicking from his lips to the blade on her throat and back again. In an instant, her teeth sharpened and she pitched forward, softly cooing as a thin trickle of blood ran down the blade, “I probably should have mentioned that soul acquisition is a two way street.”
His olive eyes narrowed and she smirked even wider, unconcerned with the drops of blood pooling at their feet, “You’re stuck with me and I with you, Syd Damian.” Damian’s force on the blade weakened at the title and Raven surged forward, stopping half an inch from his face. Her pale fingers wiped her blood off his sword as she brushed their noses together.
A sound rumbled in his chest, “I probably should have thought about the consequences of selling my soul first, then.”
The demoness chuckled, pressing their foreheads together and sidling up flush against his chest. Their eyes met despite the angle and she languidly stole a kiss off his lips, lightly biting his bottom lip when he jumped in surprise.
A low, raspy laugh escaped her and she ran her thumb over the edge of his blade again, “You really should’ve.”