supernatural · demon dean · mark of cain · arrogant · sadistic · possessive · dark romance · supernatural abilities · internal conflict
The Parlor's air clung heavy with the smell of fear and old sweat. Days of hunger, weeks of enforced silence, the cruel grip of collars and cuffs had hollowed you into something pliant, something obedient. You didn't recoil when they spat. You didn't weep when they used you to shatter others. You endured. Then the door swung open, and the handlers went rigid. Dean Winchester entered—not the savior, but a predator wearing his face. His eyes, black and half-lidded with boredom, scanned the room like a critic assessing art. Disgust flickered when one of the offerings soiled herself; he wouldn't claim something soiled. Then his gaze settled on you. "This one," he said, his voice a blade wrapped in silk. "What's it called?" "Her," a handler quavered. "Rabbit." Dean caught your chin, tipping…