There was a subtle change, and the scent of gun oil filled my sensative nostrils. An almost electrical tingle moved throughout my body. It was time. I lunged, just in time to hear the crack, and the acrid stench of spent gunpowder filled the air.

My body jerked as the bullet hit me, just above my heart, leaving a fiery burn along its path; and I fell, knocked off course. I gave a small whimper at the impact. Coming to my feet, I growled low in my throat. The wound hurt, but truly only served to make me even more mad. If this bullet that was now lodged in my chest had gone where it should have; would have, had I not interfered; then this woman behind me would be dead now.

I could hear her running, putting as much distance between her would-be killer and herself as possible. And even better, this man was far more worried about me now. I had his full attention, and his small-caliber pistol was pointed at me, and a look of sheer terror was painted across his face. I felt a rush of satisfaction flood through me, and if I had been capable of smiling at the time, I would have. I had done it. I had stopped this creep from hurting someone!

I growled again, and he flinched. His finger tightened on the trigger, and he shot at me. His shot went a little wide though, missing me, and hitting a tree. I judged the distance between us, and prepared to jump at him again.

"Hey!" The man jumped, and his grip slipped, the gun falling to the ground. My ears went back. Two men with guns drawn had just run up behind him, dressed in the familiar uniforms of the local police force.  "Don't move!" The calvary had arrived, and my job was done.

I turned and loped off, completely ignored by both cops, and the gunman. There was a trail of blood left as I ran, a steady stream flowing from the hole in my chest, though it was slowing. I made sure that I was out of visual range, just in case, and then picking up speed; moving swifter than the human eye could pick up, at least in the darkness.

I headed for a nearby wooded copse of trees, where I had left my clothing before I had transformed. The blood flow had nearly stopped now, and my chest was becoming itchy, as it healed itself, my body pushing the bullet out. I whimpered a little. Shit, it hurt more coming out than it had going in. Pushing my way through the trees, I collapsed in a burrowed depression, panting heavily, waiting for my chest to finish knitting itself together.

It took a grand total of twenty minutes from the time of the shot to completely heal something that would have killed the average person. Then again, I'm not the average person, either. I changed myself back to a human form, and dressed. I knew I was safe; no one could recognize me. All that anyone would have seen was a rather larger than normal dog; not what they would be running into.

I made my was back to my small apartment at a leisurely pace, pleased with myself. I had helped someone that I didn't know, had done my job with no contract; had broken free of the mold. You see, I am nearly two millenia old; and I am a demon. All my life I have had visions. They usually involved death, either someone in my vision was about to die, already dying, or someone very close to them was about to die. I, of course, could help them live, for only the mere cost of something dear to them; be it their soul, or even their firstborn child. Very archaic, I know.

Of course, that is what demons do best. But while I had done it, I had hated it, and it had stopped, for I had no longer been willing to do "my job." And for that, I had ended up exiled to the human world. If I had stayed in my realm, it would have meant my death.

My name, at least that which I go by, is Melody. I, for the most part, look human. Most of us do, and look nothing like the "fallen angels" spoken of by religious books. If we did look as they describe, who would want to deal with us? Exactly. No one. I have dark red hari, stick straight, that falls to my waist. My skin is pale, almost to the point of sickly white, but it suits me well. I have an average build, not to tall, not short, and a proportianate weight. My eyes are what mark me as otherworldly. I have them spelled to appear a clear green, but they are red. Blood red. I have what would be described as cat's eyes, with the pupils slightly elongated.

Anyway, my euphoria had added a skip to my step; for I had finally broken free of the shakles of demonhood., somewhat anyway. I had put the visions that had not stopped to a positive use.  had helped someone without demanding payment. This made the last five hellish years of my existance worth it.

Finally reaching the brick building that was my home, I climbed the stairs to my third floor apartment. There was an earthy smell strong enough to smell through my door, and I knew that Corbyn, my vampiric roommate was home.

"How did it go?" he asked, as I walked through the doorway. I'd had the vision with him here, and hadn't been able to escape without telling him about it, so he had known where I was going.

"I did it," I replied, smiling.

"Really?" I nodded. "That is bloody wonderful!" Corbyn frowned a little, sniffing at the air. "I smell blood. Did you get hurt?"

"Not exactly," I said, kicking my shoes off, and plopping down on the couch. "I got shot."

"Shot? Where at?" There seemed to be a hint of panic in his voice, and I creased my eyebrows. If I didn't know him better, I would think that he was worried about me.

"Right about here." I pointed the spot out to him.

"Bloody hell, Melody, any lower and you would have been hit in the heart." Well, I'll be; my usually reserved, collected, non-plussed roommate really was worried about me.

"Corbyn, it wouldn't have mattered. He could have emptied an entire clip into my heart and it wouldn't kill me. You know," I said, thinking, "I don't think that there is anything man-made that can kill me. The only  thing that can is, well, another demon."

Corbyn seemed to pale even more, though it was almost impossible for that to happen. He was even  more pale of skin than I. "Don't remind me. I am well aware of what another demon can do to you."

I sobered a little, Corbyn's words serving to remind me of the day we met, five years ago. Corbyn had been wandering the streets one night, looking for his next meal, when he had caught the scent of brimstone and blood; and had decided to investigate. What he had expected to find was a mortally wounded human, and an easy meal. What he had found was me. That was the night that I had almost died. The night that some rather upset demons decided that I was a bane, and was screwing up their quota; so I needed to go.

To this day, I still am not sure how I escaped with my life, or how I ended up here, in the mortal world, though I am grateful for it. I do rather enjoy living. Corbyn nursed me back to health. Frankly, he saved my life. When I was better, he meekly confessed that on a few occasions, he had used me as his nightly dinner. He had looked so apologetic and scared,  that I had laughed at him. I told him that anytime he needed it, my blood was his.

I stuck around. He's helped me out a lot, taught me everything that I know about life here; how to blend in, all that jazz. I've helped him with his urges. Who knew that demon blood helped curb the appetite of a vampyre? Since I've been around, Corbyn has gone from having to feed nightly, to monthly. Go me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'll try to be more careful, if you try not to worry too much about me. Chances are pretty high that I'm not going to run into a group of demons." I knew that demons come to this realm quite often, but hardly ever in groups. It was usually by oneself, to answer a summoning, or like me; collect on a vision.  And I can hold my own against another demon; maybe even several. But I had been set upon by five, and that is just bad odds, no matter what you are.

Corbyn was quiet for a moment. "I will try. No promises though."

I smiled. "Fair enough." I then changed the subject back to my successful run. "We won't have to worry about anyone knocking on our door, cause I used a different form. Best of all, I no longer have to pretend like my visions don't exist."

"I'm glad," he said, sitting down in the armchair across from me. "No offense, Mel, but you could be pretty bitchy after them."

"Well, what do you expect?" I countered. "Would you be all sweet and bubbly after you've seen when, where, and how someone is going to die, and be able to do nothing at all about it?"

"I know, I know. Why didn't you think of trying this sooner?"

"What makes you think I haven't? I guess it is a mindset that must be broken or something. Maybe I had to get away from the influence of other demons, and stay away for so long. I don't know much, just that I've tried and failed. If you think seeing someone die in a vision is bad; just imagine how it feels to watch them for real; and know that it is your fault, because you won't offer them a deal."

Corbyn was quiet for a moment. "How many times?"

"Nineteen since I got here."

"Holy shit! Maybe you've been slightly more pissy when that's happened."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I only have visions a few times a year; once every couple months or so. And I don't always want to get back out for another disappointment." I fell silent, realizing that I had just depressed the hell out of myself. Corbyn realized it too.

"Go take a bath. I think it will do wonders for you," he said, giving me a graceful exit.

"I think it will." I said, standing and making my way to the bathroom.