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Unholy Devotion	By : FemmeBono Category: Supernatural > Het - Male/Female Views: 1749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or it's characters, nor am I making money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-Unholy Devotion
- 2-Cht 2
- 3-Cht 3
- 4-Cht 4
- 5-Cht 5
- 6-Cht 6
- 7-Cht 7
- 8-Cht 8
- 9-Cht 9
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Cht 3
Hours later Grainne stood opposite Crowley over Adrina's supine form as the whore weeped openly. Grainne and her King, grim and bloody, took their time cleaning each implement as they tucked it away for the time being. Their session had been successful; they were two for two today and as Crowley untied his apron to reveal his shirt and trousers still impeccably clean beneath, Grainne ventured a question.
"Sir," she said slowly, not wanting to show her eagerness for his answer. "Who will you be sending to round up Gambian?"
Crowley did not stop wiping the blade in his hand, nor did he look up. "The specifics of that we will discuss elsewhere and not in front of the whore traitor."
"Understood."
Moments later when they were alone in the hall, having left the girl lashed to the gurney within the room, Crowley told Grainne to meet him in the board room and to bring Damian and Roland with her. She hurried off to find the two, the plush oxblood carpeting muffling her steps. Crowley stood, watching her leave and marveling at how he had never noticed her before. She was not only competent and intelligent, but adept with it and—dare he admit it, even to himself—quite lovely. He made a mental note to learn her story, before trusting her fully.
"Blanchard," he clipped.
"Yes, my Lord," replied an aged man who appeared beside him. Blanchard, his valet, was the only one allowed to transport himself within the hallowed halls, merely for the purpose of answering the Master's whims. "Find out what you can about Grainne. I want to know what her deal was—why she condemned herself and how long she has been 'below stairs', as it were."
"Of course, my Lord." With that, Blanchard was gone.
Crowley had chosen well for the errand, Grainne thought. Damian was strong and wiry, and his soul was black as pitch. He was one of the oldest demons around, and as such he had a deep and abiding hatred for hunters—especially the Winchesters. He was one who would be squarely in Crowley's corner. The one worry there of course, Grainne mused, was that Damian could well try to take over the throne himself at some point. He probably could get quite a following if his ambitions led him to try. Roland on the other hand was quite dull. He was the muscle, clearly, and the vessel he appointed himself was spot on there. All stocky build and squared jaw, he looked the very part of a brawler. Word was he had sold his soul for winning a title of some sort, and Grainne believed he would have done well with bare knuckle boxing.
They sat in a window of three separate buildings, cell phones charging on an end table beside each of them. They had triangulated their positions around one town home on an otherwise nondescript street. Grainne was occupying the meat suit of some heroin junkie who did not leave her flat for days on end, so she knew no one would miss the girl. Roland and Damian had each taken men just as likely to be passed over by anyone of consequence as well. They each had eyes on different sides of the townhouse, just in case any of the inhabitants (all demons) decided to move. For three days, Grainne had sat in that window watching the movements of the lesser demons smartly going through mundane tasks, trying to keep some semblance of the humans' lives they were holding onto. Yet she had not seen the one she wanted to see, and that was Gambian. He squatted inside like a toad, for she could sense his presence as surely as he could feel the three of them, like grim shadows on his periphery. His energy was quite darker than the others, and he was older. He was nearly as old as Damian, but that did not worry her. He was old, and did know a few tricks, but not as many as she. Nor was he near as cunning as her King.
Before her thoughts strayed to Crowley, Grainne saw the front door open and a flinty looking man step out. She quickly grabbed her phone and texted the other two to meet her at a corner, as she watched Gambian's earthly form climb into the back of a taxi. Looks like this reconnaissance mission is taking a ride, she thought. She ported quickly to the corner where they had a car, and pointed out the taxi as it turned left onto a main road. They followed far enough behind the cab that they could see it, yet not so close that their presence could be felt.
When the taxi pulled up to the curb in front of a church, they pulled over as well and watched as Gambian climbed the steps into the chapel and dipped inside.
"You're joking," Roland said aloud.
"Well according to the great Google, his meat suit is a deacon," Damian said drily.
Grainne stifled an unladylike snort and slipped out of the car. She increased her pace just enough to pass a lady walking by, bumping the woman slightly as she passed. Grainne mumbled an apology and rushed on around the corner as the lady turned to go up the steps to the church. A moment later, Grainne popped back into the car.
"What was that about?" Roland asked turning to look at her in the back seat.
"I slipped a tracking disc onto that woman."
"What for?" he asked perplexed.
"Wait for it," Grainne said repressively, then she started murmuring in Latin and the boys caught on.
"Grainne, I like your style," Damian said with an amused grin.
Inside the church, the lady sidled down the aisle to Gambian and held out a hand for him to shake. "Deacon, I don't know why, but I've felt a powerful need to pray for you lately." As she said this, her other hand dropped the tracking disc into his pocket while he thanked the lady for her kind words. Without knowing how or why she was compelled, the lady moved back to her usual pew and settled in for the sermon.
"There we are fellas," Grainne said in the car. "No matter where he goes now, we can track him. And so can the dogs. We'll see if he takes us to the Winchester before he finds that disc."

Meanwhile, back at Crowley's estate, Blanchard had dug up quite some interesting morsels on the little vixen. Crowley sat back, scotch in hand and smiled as he mused over his new knowledge of this girl. She was even older than himself, and a fine addition she would have been had she gone into sales as he had. But alas, she was twisted from the beginning it seemed—though apparently loyal nearly to a fault—the girl had been a pirate. Grainne O'Malley. So she'd kept her own name. It suited her, too. "Grace" in Gaelic, no less. His own native tongue. Her lilt had long since gone, but she stayed true to character. Stalwart, intelligent, cagey, and yet just as likely to jump into the fray as any of his black-eyed boys. Yes, here may be the alliance he was looking for, he thought. Must have her for dinner at some point and pick her brain, he thought. Knowing how steely her resolve must be and how downright scandalous some of her methods could be, he wondered how exactly she was getting on with dear old Gambian.
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Unholy Devotion