Author's Note:

Hello all. Before you get to reading my first submission to this site, I'd like to clear a few things up.

When I was in jr high, my "therapist" suggested that I write to purge a bit of my built up emotional shit storms. Turns out the man had the right idea, because here I am years later with a SERIES and a number of sub-stories about this particular band of monsters.

Don't panic, I'm sure you might get a little confused, but that's fine. I'm still considering posting my series here, so it may very well make sense soon.

For now, just try to take this one-shot in stride. It's a sort of In Medias Res plotline, so…enjoy and don't stress, you aren't supposed to get a full view of the characters yet.

If you're interested in seeing more, then please leave a review. I thrive on the constructive criticism of others, so don't leave me hanging.

And again

WARNING: HERE LIES VIOLENCE, SEXUAL SITUATIONS, AND DISTURBING IMAGERY.

Ellen reached for her bedside lamp with shaking fingers.

"Leave it off." The deep voice froze her in place. Too close. Impossible. How could he have gotten in without making a sound? Why was he here at all?

"But it's too dark and-" When she moved to turn on the lamp, it was ripped from her grasp. The shattering sound would wake even her heavy-sleeping parents. She only prayed they would come quickly.

Stall him. Her mind screamed.

"You're alone?" Ellen asked slipping out of her double bed and away from him. Eyes now adjusted to the dark of her bedroom, she looked him over.

"There was no need for an audience." He answered calmly, hands behind his back like a nobleman or a soldier. (No doubt he'd been both at one time or another.) The demon was deceptively handsome. Think Vin Diesel, only more frightening. Only this creature had dark hair that curled becomingly against his head and somehow didn't make him seem boyish at all. With olive skin and a powerful, Adonis build, he was gorgeous; but his eyes… Black and pitiless.

They were windows to Hell.

"And what will we be doing?" she lifted her chin as she backed away from him. Her voice held a fine tremor he no-doubtedly heard. The demon simply smiled though, watching. Tracking her movements like the predator he was, and slowly advanced.

Ellen gasped when she backed into her vanity, spilling make-up and combs across its surface and to the floor. Her arms fanned out behind her to steady herself, catching the mirror. He stopped just in front of her, hands resting on the vanity on either side of her waist. She was trapped. Caged by his thickly corded arms.

"You seem a bit jumpy, Ellen. Is something wrong?" His voice was softly mocking. She trembled with the closeness of him. The heat he radiated scorched her; made her dizzy. This didn't stop her from slowly inching a hand across the vanity surface in search of a weapon while he gazed down at her face. Behind her, she felt a thin, metal point; flat and etched on one side.

A nail file.

She grasped it firmly and swallowed the lump of fear that was swelling in her throat.

"What do you want, Samnul?" she asked, voice strengthened by her weapon. He chuckled.

"So many things." He sighed. It wasn't often she saw him as anything by cold and collected. This odd playfulness was throwing her off. "I miss my Harem back in Bali. And the old magicks back in the days of human familiars."

She didn't care to know what he was talking about; only saw her chance to escape when he glanced away in reminiscence. With a cry, she swung around her arm to stab him, only to find her weapon gone.

Samnul tsk'ed with a frown and pulled back enough to brandish a tiny, silver object. The file, she realized, horrified.

"Did you not think to shield it from the mirror?" he asked smiling mockingly. "Really, Ellen, I'd thought you were smarter than that."

She narrowed her eyes, "My father will burst in here with a shotgun, Samnul. I'll run and he'll blast you apart."

"Really?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, then after a thought, "I don't think you'll run."

Ellen laughed without humor. "And why the hell not?"

"Well, for one…"

The explosion of pain in her hand made her scream. Turning to the vanity, she slumped into him, nearly feinting. He'd stabbed the file through her hand and into the vanity table, pinning her in place. The white-hot waves of agony made it impossible to form coherent thought as he twisted the metal to gain a few more screams. When the screams faded to sobbing, he clamped a hand down over her mouth and moved up against her, sensual lips curling into a wicked smile as he contemptuously "soothed" his little plaything.

The Demon prince was just about to say something when the door burst open. Ellen turned her head, frantically struggling, which only served to damage her hand even more. It didn't matter though, her hope shriveled like a salted slug in her chest when she found it was not her parents in the doorway.

"Hey, Texas." It was Roane, the beautiful student. He was tall and lean. Not as broad or thickly built as Samnul, but still large enough that you knew not to mess with him. He appeared to be in his twenties, and be it natural genetics, or hellish witchery, Roane had white hair. Not salt-n-pepper, elder-locks, but white, as in Snow. It hung around his face, just long enough to fall into eyes that were even more unnatural. Not pale blue as she'd first suspected, but crystalline white; like blown glass, or diamonds. They were hard and intense, though he was the more playful of the two.

Sometimes, Ellen thought he was worse than his master. Samnul only hurt her, Roane would get into her head and she could never get him out. He wasn't a demon, not fully, but on his way. When he saw the two of them and logged their positions and the blood, he frowned.

"You told me no playing around."

Samnul's smile faded and he lifted Ellen's chin. "Yes, well, I'd forgotten how fiery she was." That wicked smirk returned when she met his eyes." It's made me miss that beautiful scream of hers."

Roane nodded, closing her door and leaned back against the wall beside her. He glanced down at the pooling blood that now dripped from the edge of the vanity. Ellen tensed when his eyes snapped up to meet hers and he tilted his head.

"Do we really have to end it now?"

Ellen was shaking. Her hand was going numb, only a distant ache now (Thank God). Samnul must have realized this, because he ripped out the nail file with a cruel twist then caught her before she crumpled to the ground.

"When does the plane leave?" he looked up at the younger man, arms secured around her waist.

"Red eye to LA? We've got time."

Ellen shook her head. So many memories of previous visits shot before her eyes. Memories of torture and screams. Because, these weren't men, they were monsters. True demons on earth. She hadn't learned much(they'd never felt the need to converse with her), but they'd once shown her what they really were. The product of Human and Demon birth, they fed on the emotions of man. The most filling, of which included fear and the roiling swell of feeling the accompanied pain.

This however, was not what had her pleading with her eyes for a pass. These monsters went to any lengths to satisfy their hunger; but this particular "family" were privy to the pleasures of the flesh. After all, consensual or no, Sex brought on staggering waves of emotion. To distract herself, Ellen spook.

"What'd you do to my Momma?" After all Roane had come from downstairs. Her father would have been the first. They didn't like men, not usually. Roane tucked some of her blond hair out of her eyes, flashing a warm smile.

"Did you know that mastiff of yours had rabies?"

She was confused, "What?"

"Neither did your mother." Then he turned, without further explanation, and nodded at the demon "To the barn?"

Samnul forced her arm up behind her back, and forced her to walk with them down the hall. Fear was quickly drowning out all other emotions. Her house was silent. After all her screaming and the banging around her parents should have come. Why was it all so quiet?! But then she was stumbling down the stairs and caught her first glimpse of the kitchen. Ellen's stomach flip-flopped when the smell of blood and gun-powder overpowered them in the room. Her father's shot gun lay on the floor, cracked or smashed, near the stove. Right next to his hand.

"No!" she sobbed, and the room began to spin. She couldn't breath. Oh god, her parents. Samnul chuckled glancing over at his grinning pupil. Roane flicked a shock of white hair from his eyes and met hers; spinning her nail file between his fingers. She closed her eyes tightly and forced herself to take deep, steady breaths. The nausea seemed to be settling down as a permanent visitor. Why had they done this? Why were they even here in Texas? They'd disappeared months ago and Ellen couldn't have been happier. Did they think of her as a loose end? What exactly could she tell the police?

" I've just been abused by a pair of Succubus (or was it Succubi?), officer. Please arrest those men and refrain from throwing me in the nut house."

Oh yeah. She could see that going over really well.

Ellen sagged against Samnul's large chest, eyes blank and empty. If nothing else, she prayed they would get bored with her. Wallowing in forced hope, she told herself they would end it quickly.

XxX

"Damnit, just swallow the stuff, Ellen. How hard is that?" Roane held her head back and forced her jaw to work. Leading it up and down. "I promise, you're almost done."

She choked on a sob and attempted to finish the hay. Her stomach ached, but they didn't care. Another jolt of pain at her wrists said Samnul wasn't finished sewing. The boys had thought long and hard on how to deal with her. After decided there was no point in doing so discretely, they'd decided to give her back to the farm she loved so much.

They were making a scarecrow.

The last of her mouthful of stuffing went down and she groaned, coughing up bubbles of blood that gathered at the corner of her mouth. Roane smiled his approval, then lifted a handful of small river stones. "Now comes the harder part. Open up."

Ellen bit her lower lip, watching him with teary eyes from her place on the crossbeams. It gained her only a frown, and he arched a brow.

"Don't start this again. You know it only gets worse when you act up."

"Open your mouth, Ellen." Samnul said distractedly as he threaded his thick stitching needle with more wire. She turned away from them both, teeth clenched. What did it matter? She wasn't going to make it through the night.

God, she hurt.

"I'll use the cattle prod again." He sounded almost bored by the idea. She however, snapped to attention, mouth wide.

"Good girl." Roane chuckled, reaching for the electrical pole between her legs anyway.

"Roane, play fair." Samnul chided as if scolding a child. The white-blond demon pouted, sighing heavily. At times like these, his boyishness really shown through, though there was no mistaking the maturity of his features. He just always seemed smaller in the shadow of Samnul's rugged, 30-something year old perfection.

"And now this is no fun." Roane grumbled. He gave his master a very strange look then that Ellen couldn't help think might be a little sexual. The thought was too disturbing to expand on. And her current situation wasn't exactly leaving much room to contemplate.

The demon prince rolled his eyes, "Fine. Do it then, you big brat."

Ellen shook her head wildly, pleading with her eyes. She could no longer speak thanks to the things they'd forced down her throat for the last hour. Roane winked at her and lifted the cattle prod so she could see it.

"You know what? Let's try something else."

"She's too weak to take you, boy." Again, Samnul spoke distractedly. She hissed when the newest row of wire thread began its path down her right arm. Couldn't let the Scarecrow hang naked, now could they?

Despite the warning, Roane sat at the end of the working bench, forcing open her thighs.

"Oh, I know. Just trust me."

oOo

When the body was found the next morning, leading detective Jacob Martin, who had never in his entire career lost his composure on a CS, threw up just inside the yellow tape. When he stood, it was on shaky leg.

"Sweet Jesus." Her rookie office, Miguel Romas breathed, crossing himself and uttering a quick prayer in Spanish. Even the forensic crew seemed hesitant to lower the cross-beam and load up the body. Later that evening, the briefing room remained unusually silent as the detective explained the facts of the case.

"At around 8:15 this morning, the bodies of Victor, Rosemarie, and Ellen Caarp were found mutilated in their farm home in the valley. Rosemarie and Victor were discovered inside the house with multiple lacerations along their chest arms and backs. The daughter…" but here his voice wavered, and Detective Martin took a moment to pull back on his impassive facade. The officer in the front row's face was draw tight. As he described the state of the 17 year old girl's body, she grew more and more pale, and the recorder she brandished trembled more violently.

"Ellen Caarp was crucified. The body was found sewn into burlap clothing and filled with stones to weigh it down and straw, in what we're assuming is the murderer's finishing touch on his…scarecrow. From what our forensic team tells us, it is clear that Ellen Caarp was alive and conscious when this was done."

The officer turned her head down and away from the image on the projector, sucking in a small noise. Clearing his throat, Detective Martin continued.

"There is also evidence of sexual assault, but we've been unable to find any biological evidence that could lead to identifying a suspect." Some one cursed and the officer clenched her jaw and gazed fiercely back of her superior.

"I won't lie to you, if we don't turn up some kind of evidence soon, this could become a cold case. This person was a ghost. They left no fingerprint of fiber samples, with the exception of a shotgun with hand-shaped indentions in the wood." He didn't have to say that this was starting to sounding crazy. "I shouldn't have to tell you how important it is that we bring this sick bastard to justice."

The briefing room took up a collective agreement. They knew, and no case was ever take as personally in the department as poor Ellen Caarp's.

When the case was closed as unsolved, Detective Jacob Martin resigned from the force.