Cole And The Demon

Chapter 2

Travis leaned back on the plush leather couch, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He had no idea what kind of creature he had invited into his lair—but he was about to find out.

The woman in red turned away from him slowly, her hips swaying with a predatory grace. Her bare back was a canvas of dark, ornate tattoos—two massive, bat-like wings stretched from shoulder to spine, their ink strangely textured, as if alive. Just above the curve of her lower back, a small devil's tail curled into a spear-like tip.

"Do you like them?" she asked, her voice smooth, sultry and far too calm.

Travis reached out, curious, his fingers brushing the wings. The skin there felt different—coarse, warm, almost leathery. Before he could process the strange sensation, she moved again, closing the distance between them with a cat-like glide.

She straddled him, her face only inches from his. Travis felt heat flood his body, a mix of lust and something else—something unnatural. His chest tightened.

"You thought you could drug me?" she whispered into his ear. "That little pill in the wine… sweet." Predictable."

Travis's pupils widened. "How—how did you know that?"

She tilted her head, smiling. "Because I've been watching you, Travis." I know everything you've done. Every girl you hurt. Every deal you made. Every scream you silenced.

The surrounding air grew heavy. Sulfuric. Charged.

Travis tried to stand, but his body wouldn't respond. It was as if his limbs had turned to stone, trapped in her gaze, paralyzed under her touch.

"You wanted to use me," she whispered. "But I'm not the kind of woman men use." I'm the one they never come back from.

Her eyes began to glow—no longer the soft brown from earlier, but deep, gleaming red like molten glass. And then, slowly, horns curled upward from her hairline, black and obsidian, spiraling back like a crown of the damned.

Travis gasped, horrified. "What… are you?"

"I told you my name," she said, her voice echoing now, layered and ancient. "But you didn't listen." Zafira."

She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his cheek. "You won't live to forget it."

With a sound like cracking ice, the shadows in the room shifted. Travis's scream never made it past his lips.

---

Downstairs

Cole had moved to the base of the stairs. Something felt off. Wrong.

He had felt it the moment the woman vanished behind the door with Travis.

Then came a noise—faint at first. Like wind… or breath. Then silence.

Cole placed a hand near his holster, eyes narrowed.

Whatever was going on upstairs, it wasn't just seduction. It was something darker.

Something otherworldly.

And he was about to walk into it.

---

"What—what are you doing to me?!" Travis gasped, his voice trembling with terror.

The woman smiled, her expression laced with wicked amusement. "Giving you what you wanted, sweetheart," she purred.

Travis tried to stand, to move, to even lift his arms—but his body wouldn't respond. His limbs remained locked in place, as if controlled by invisible strings.

"I-I can't move!"

She leaned in and gently placed a finger over his lips. "Shhh… don't fight it," she whispered. "It'll all be over soon."

Then, her eyes changed.

They lit up like burning rubies—glowing, inhuman. Travis's breath caught in his throat as the air in the room shifted. From behind her, massive black wings unfurled with a soft rustle, stretching wide like a shadow swallowing the light.

"No… this isn't real… this can't be real!" he gasped.

"Oh, but it is," she said, her voice lowering now, laced with a guttural, ancient power. "Isn't it fitting, Travis?" All the women you destroyed—sold like cattle—and now your end comes at the hands of one you thought you could control.

"How… how do you know about that?" he choked, panic flashing across his face.

The demon woman leaned closer, her breath icy against his skin. "Because I've watched." I know everything."

"You're no woman," he whispered in horror. "You're a monster."

She giggled darkly. "Right again."

Travis felt his body tense. Not from fear alone—but from something deeper, something he couldn't control. A sensation was building inside him, overpowering, electric.

His vision blurred. His chest tightened. And then-

It happened.

With a violent gasp, his body convulsed. The life drained from his eyes. The demon's wings folded back as she let out a satisfied sigh, eyes glowing brighter than ever.

Travis Dunham was dead.

But his soul was not gone.

It had been taken.

---

Downstairs

Cole had waited long enough.

He could no longer ignore the sense of unease crawling beneath his skin. Every instinct screamed that something wasn't right. He left his bar stool and strode toward the stairs leading to the private suites above.

"Sir, sir, I'm sorry, but you can't go up there!" the club's security guard stepped in his way.

Cole didn't hesitate. He threw open the flap of his coat, flashed his badge.

"Chicago PD. Move."

Without another word, he climbed the stairs and approached the black door at the end of the corridor. The hallway pulsed with muted bass from the dance floor below, but the silence beyond the door was deafening.

"This is the CPD!" Cole shouted, pounding the door. "Travis! Open up!"

Nothing.

He turned to the guard. "Do you have a key?"

The guard shook his head, pale and clearly rattled.

Cole drew his sidearm and kicked the door hard. Once. Twice. On the third strike, the lock snapped, and the door flew open.

What he saw inside froze him to the bone.

A woman—the woman from the dance floor—stood in the middle of the room, her enormous wings casting jagged shadows on the walls. Her skin glowed like porcelain in the moonlight. Behind her, a long, serpent-like tail twitched in the air. And beneath her…

A withered corpse—Travis.

Drained. Shriveled. Eyes hollow.

The woman slowly turned toward Cole. Her crimson eyes locked onto his, glowing brighter as she studied him.

"A pure soul," she murmured, her voice echoing as if from another realm.

Cole raised his weapon.

"Don't move!" he barked.

But she was already moving.

In a blur of motion, she dashed toward the glass wall overlooking the city. Cole fired—once, twice, three times. The bullets sparked through the air, but she was gone before they could find their mark.

With a shattering explosion, she leapt through the reinforced glass.

Cole ran to the edge, expecting to see a mangled body on the pavement far below.

But there was nothing.

No body.

No blood.

No trace.

Only the cool breeze of the Chicago night and the faint echo of laughter carried the wind.

He lowered his weapon slowly, staring into the empty darkness below.

"What the hell did I just witness?"