“I have some very serious doubts about this,” Mark said uneasily.
“I'll be fine,” Christian reassured him. “What could go wrong?”
“You're human, you didn't evolve for this. The psychological effects...”
“...I am as prepared for as possible, and it's my risk to take. Pearl showed me how to stay safe, and linked with you, I won’t find myself wanting tuna and trying to purr afterwards. I was fine while you were at Kitty Corner, remember? Even though it went so deep we could actually talk?” He laid a hand gently against Mark's cheek. “It's a part of you I need to understand.”
“I don't see what's so hard to understand,” Mark grumbled halfheartedly, but he conceded. “If it starts to get to you, just stop, okay?”
“Okay.” Christian gave him a fleeting kiss and a warm smile. “Good hunting.”
“Can you doubt it?” Mark gave him a grin he didn't entirely feel, and left the house.
He hadn't gone far before he felt Christian's touch, faintly. He switched to Alexandra, and could feel the touch more clearly; she thought welcome at him, certain that he was deep enough already to pick it up, then put him out of her mind. Figuratively speaking.
She altered her clothes to a tight sheer long-sleeved top over a bra, a short flared skirt, nylons, and heeled boots laced to just below her knees. As she reached the more populated streets, she smiled to herself at the attention she immediately attracted from most of the males in range and a couple of the females. It was too central a part of her, and just never got old; if it failed to happen, she'd be both worried and deeply annoyed. The less dignified whistled, staring openly, and a couple called suggestions that really weren't as interesting as they apparently thought they were. Those ones could certainly use a few lessons, on a night when she felt so inclined.
Tonight's hunting ground was one of her most consistently successful, since Christian was observing. She strode up to double doors airbrushed with a dance-floor scene, and through the little knot of bodies that parted to let her pass. Four were male, two of them in long black coats, one in leather pants and vest and a blousy white shirt, the fourth in glossy pants and a tank top with handcuffs at his belt. One was female, in a long narrow skirt slit high up the left front and a halter, both of black velvet, with fishnets, a chain collar, and moderately goth makeup. A group like that outside a bar this mainstream was enough to make her take notice, though she didn't stop. A bouncer opened the door for her and greeted her with a smile, which she returned as she passed him.
The bar wasn't overly crowded, but then, it wasn't late. There were enough, for now, and more would come. She wove her way between a few occupied tables to the mostly empty dance floor, feigning indifference to everyone else present. Men noticed her, eyes tracking her, some more subtly than others; women demanded the full attention of their escorts, or simply watched her with envy better hidden by some than others. Lust and jealousy: two of the three emotions a lamia best roused.
The music was unremarkable, generic dance mixes of songs that she might otherwise like. Didn't matter; she began to dance, in the centre of the dance-floor, alone and to all appearances oblivious to all else.
Men edged towards her, attempting to weave or force themselves into her dance; she spun away from each, evaded a few reaching hands effortlessly, revelling in the strength and grace of her own body, in the power she had over her prey, the knowledge that their lives were hers to give or take as she chose.
The goth girl from outside, she noticed, danced near her, a little closer with each time Alexandra eluded another man. She looked at the girl, with her wide black-outlined eyes and silvery-black lips, and the girl smiled at her.
She never hunted women, but the girl nonetheless intrigued her. In her experience, the pure mechanics of lamia attraction usually failed to function fully on women, even those who liked women, and other factors could largely cancel it out. Why bother evolving a system that worked on the half of humanity best not hunted? Probably, then, what drew the girl wasn't lamia nature, or at least not in a literal sense. Alexandra smiled back and shifted her dance to include her.
The goth girl reacted instantly, swaying nearer, then nearer yet. She spun halfway and pressed her back against Alexandra's front, matching Alexandra's motions with only the briefest uncertainty; Alexandra slid both arms around her, enjoying the gentle perfume of vanilla over the girl's own scent and noting that she herself was conspicuously the taller. She lowered her head to nuzzle at the girl's throat from behind, around the chain collar and past a long curtain of dyed-black hair. Male admirers dropped back in confusion, not quite sure what to do; Alexandra spotted a couple of the girl's friends watching, one grinning, the other taking a swallow of beer.
“What's your name?” Alexandra murmured, close to her ear.
“Sara. You?”
“Alexandra.”
“Gorgeous.” Sara spun away and smiled flirtatiously. “Like you.”
“Thank you.”
Sara stretched, arching her back and taking a deep breath, then relaxed and grinned at her, dancing back into reach.
A few men tried to join in or cut between; Alexandra and Sara ignored them, but moved around them to rejoin when necessary. Alexandra preferred not to frighten them off, as any might be tonight's potential prey; this way, they only grew the more fascinated.
“Stop for a drink?” she suggested, and Sara nodded. Alexandra paid for both drinks herself, refusing all offers from admirers. They settled together at a small table, far enough from the dance floor to talk comfortably. Well, more comfortably.
“Wasn't expecting to meet someone like you here,” Sara said. “I just moved here with my parents, I know the guys from online and they offered to show me around a bit.”
Alexandra smiled. “You're lucky you have them.” Living with her parents, hmm? Probably not much over the legal age of nineteen, if that. She was charming and cute, though.
“I'll say. Moving to a new city is hard. Do you live around here?”
“Yes, I share a house with a friend.”
One large man made a few distinctly impolite remarks at high volume from the next table; his companions bellowed with laughter. Sara winced; Alexandra glanced in that direction, measuringly. Strong, healthy, in his mid-thirties or so... he'd do nicely as prey.
“Ignore him,” she said reassuringly to Sara. “Who cares what he thinks? Where did you move here from?”
She kept Sara talking while the human girl rested a bit. Sara finished her cooler, and Alexandra swallowed the last of her red wine and lured her back to the dance floor with no difficulty.
Their heckler followed them, which Alexandra had more or less hoped for.
Another man, only slightly smaller, interposed himself. “Hey, why don't you leave them alone? They aren't hurting you.”
Alexandra stopped dancing to watch with intense interest. Men responded to her presence in different ways; what was this one going to do?
The heckler looked him over contemptuously, and stepped around him.
The would-be rescuer grabbed a handful of the heckler's hockey jacket and jerked him back, away from the two women.
Alexandra drew Sara against her side, protectively.
“We can't let them get in a fight over us!” Sara protested.
Oh, great, Chris all over again... no wonder I noticed her. Sara might be cute and charming, but she wasn't Lexa's witch and didn't have the power to tame her. Still, Alexandra moderated her behaviour somewhat. Purely because she chose to do so, of course. Certainly not to avoid upsetting a random human. “What they choose to do is up to them,” she pointed out. “On the other hand, if we walk away, it should remove the reason for the fight.” Truthfully, she doubted it: testosterone levels would be much too high due to her presence, and the pair would probably fight anyway, but she'd have Sara safely out of range.
Sara hesitated, nodded, and Alexandra escorted her back off the dance floor, towards the thicker press of bodies at the bar. Better if the girl couldn't see the dance floor clearly. Behind her, Alexandra heard a fist connect with flesh, then a roar of anger.
Sara gazed up at her, eyes wide with distress. “Didn't work, they're still fighting. Over us.”
“The bouncers will break it up in no time,” Alexandra said soothingly. “You know what some people are like after a few drinks. The fight isn’t over us, not really. It’s over one deciding to be offended and aggressive about it.”
Two bouncers each wrestled the fighters outside.
“I need to go,” Alexandra said.
“What? Why?” Sara protested, then sighed. “I'm not sure I feel like hanging around here any longer either. I think I'll get the guys to take me somewhere else. Can I have your phone number? Or at least give you mine?”
Alexandra hesitated, nodded, and glanced at the bartender. “Do you have a pen I could borrow?”
He obligingly provided a pen and a scrap of paper, and they traded numbers, Alexandra offering her cell phone rather than the house line.
Alexandra lowered her head to kiss Sara's cheek. “Talk to you soon. Good night. Stay safe.”
“'Bye.”
Lexa wove her way back outside, found that their would-be rescuer was gone, but the heckler lingered. With the encouragement of his friends, he shouted a lengthy stream of abuse at the bouncer guarding the door, who stoically ignored him.
Alexandra's appearance silenced him, but only briefly.
“Well, now, lost your little girlfriend? We don't need your kind in a place like this, this is a bar for decent people, not perverts! You got me thrown out, dyke!”
“I know,” she said contritely. “I'm sorry.” She gazed at him through long black lashes. “Can I make it up to you somehow?”
“You come spend a night with me, bitch. Once you get a real man 'tween them legs, you'll see what women are supposed to want.”
“It'd be a public service,” one of his companions laughed.
Alexandra feigned hesitation. “I suppose, since I did ruin your night out... Do you live near here?”
He grinned at her. “My place'd take too long. There's a good place not too far, though. Wouldn't want to keep you waiting.”
“You're too kind,” she murmured, and ran her tongue along her lips. Her hunger, teased and tantalized since she'd reached the bar, stirred more strongly in anticipation.
He opened the passenger door of his battered '70s Chevy for her with a mocking bow; she seated herself gracefully, trying fastidiously not to touch anything more than she had to. He circled around the hood and got in the driver's seat. Almost before he had the car moving, his hand was on her leg and moving upwards. She chose not to resist, and let him grope her as he wished.
He took her to a motel, a none-too-classy one at that. The night clerk boredly rented them a room, though he did take second and third looks at Alexandra, and she saw envy wake that she was with someone other than him.
He doesn't know how lucky he is.
The decor of the room interested her not at all. As soon as the door closed, he was all over her, pawing at her roughly enough to have left bruises on a human, kissing her with no finesse at all, two days' growth of beard abrading her skin. Callused hands tugged at her clothes impatiently, and at his own; she felt hers tear more than once, in fact.
If I were what he thinks, this would pretty much confirm a lack of anything appealing in men. She pretended uncertainty, allowed him to get them both undressed, while scanning for the location of useful furniture. Bed some five feet away, behind him; two wooden chairs, one with arms, one without, off to her right. That would do.
Alexandra began to respond, twining her arms around his neck and pressing against him.
“That's it,” he growled. “Told ya all y'needed was a real man.”
Carefully, she manoeuvred him towards the chair that had arms, while a part of her mind faked ardent kisses and eager moans. Pushing him down into it, she straddled his lap, nibbling on his throat, pressing her pelvis against his.
She could feel the energy generated by his earlier aggression rising further, fed by a combination of lust and self-satisfied dominance. She ran her tongue over her lips in anticipation. She wasn't going to need a second hunt tonight. This one was going to give her plenty.
He grunted with laughter. “You got the idea, little girl. Gotta get me warmed up, first.” He wrapped long hair around one hand and shoved her backwards and down.
Alexandra slithered smoothly to her knees, on the floor; she looked up at him and smiled. “You're sure you want me to do that?”
“Damn right I'm sure.” The hand still in her hair jerked downward.
“All right.”
She played along, for a moment or two, until he relaxed enough to start moaning, “Oh yeah, like that.”
When sharp canines slid through skin, he shrieked and tried to pull her away; she seized his wrist with one hand, dug her nails in until he let go of her hair, and pinned his arm against the chair arm. He struck at her with his other fist, cursing her roundly, but she caught it, pinned it against the other arm, and raised her head, delicately licking a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth.
“How to court a woman has progressed beyond hitting her over the head and dragging her off,” she said conversationally. “You might want to think about that next time.”
“What the fuck are you?” He fought against her grip frantically. “Weird fucking pervert bitch!”
She smiled at him, and lowered her head again. His pain and terror were the final perfect spices, and she was in no mood to be gentle. All she needed was the taste of his blood, just enough to give her unrestricted access to the pounding chaotic energy of his life and emotions and sexuality, but he had annoyed her and had made cute little Sara feel bad, so she bit more deeply than necessary. He yelled again, but no one was going to pay much attention to that here. He did his best to fight her, which only made the blood flow more freely and raised the levels of fearful rage to new heights, a swirling dark torrent that tasted rich and savory and filled that hungry place inside. Not enough to kill, though, only to weaken.
His ineffectual struggles and vicious swearing grew more feeble, and eventually stopped altogether as he passed out.
She got up, left him draped in the chair, and gathered up her clothes, reshaping them from Mark's jeans and T-shirt back to her earlier outfit as she dressed. Without a glance back she walked out, feeling warm and satisfied from the meal.
Concern for Christian roused; she turned her attention in his direction. He was still there, so deep in the psychic rapport that he picked up that she was thinking about him.
*Your room or mine, dark lady?*
*What?* she laughed.
*Or are you full?* he added mischievously.
*I'm sure you can fill me up, lover. A shower wouldn't hurt, I still smell like him.*
*Don't care. I'll be in your room.*
Crazy little witch, she thought affectionately. Far from being disturbed, he got turned on instead.
Sure enough, when she got home she found him sprawled on her bed with no clothes on, hands wandering, lost in his own fantasies. Silently, she stalked closer, eased onto the bed, and leaned over. His startled cry as she tickled his privates was muffled by her kiss.
“You're evil,” he panted, when he could.
“And you're kinky, but who cares?” She nuzzled suggestively at his throat. “There are better places for that than in your own hand.”
“Yep.” She heard mischief in it, but not soon enough: he tangled both hands in her long hair and pushed her down.
Oh really? Indulgently, she obeyed, purred, “Yes, master,” and turned her full attention and skill to pleasing him. On a whim, she reshaped her clothes into a leather collar and cuffs, the collar trailing a leash, the cuffs chained together with about a foot between, and paused to hand him the end of the leash.
“Cool,” he laughed breathlessly. “Tiger on a leash.”
She sat back, hands in her lap, and gazed at him through her lashes. “Yes, master. What can I do to please you?”
“Probably more than I can survive all in one night, but let's find out.”
It was a long time before they nestled together contentedly. The scent on her skin now, Alexandra observed, was Christian's, not that of the man she'd already half forgotten. She rested her head on his shoulder, tracing idle patterns lightly on his skin with one fingernail and smiling every time he shivered. Leather still circled her wrists, though without the chain, and her throat, leash still in place; she left them alone, enjoying the closeness, Christian's hand stroking her hair.
“You aren't like them,” she said quietly.
“I know,” he said simply. She had to believe him. “Go to sleep.”
In the wee hours, Sid's yowling alerted Alexandra to the presence of a more subtle spy, one that had slipped in beneath her notice. She let him lead her to it, killed it with only a small amount of effort, and rewarded him with a handful of his favourite treats before returning to her witch.
“I have some very serious doubts about this,” Mark said uneasily.
“I'll be fine,” Christian reassured him. “What could go wrong?”
“You're human, you didn't evolve for this. The psychological effects...”
“...I am as prepared for as possible, and it's my risk to take. Pearl showed me how to stay safe, and linked with you, I won’t find myself wanting tuna and trying to purr afterwards. I was fine while you were at Kitty Corner, remember? Even though it went so deep we could actually talk?” He laid a hand gently against Mark's cheek. “It's a part of you I need to understand.”
“I don't see what's so hard to understand,” Mark grumbled halfheartedly, but he conceded. “If it starts to get to you, just stop, okay?”
“Okay.” Christian gave him a fleeting kiss and a warm smile. “Good hunting.”
“Can you doubt it?” Mark gave him a grin he didn't entirely feel, and left the house.
He hadn't gone far before he felt Christian's touch, faintly. He switched to Alexandra, and could feel the touch more clearly; she thought welcome at him, certain that he was deep enough already to pick it up, then put him out of her mind. Figuratively speaking.
She altered her clothes to a tight sheer long-sleeved top over a bra, a short flared skirt, nylons, and heeled boots laced to just below her knees. As she reached the more populated streets, she smiled to herself at the attention she immediately attracted from most of the males in range and a couple of the females. It was too central a part of her, and just never got old; if it failed to happen, she'd be both worried and deeply annoyed. The less dignified whistled, staring openly, and a couple called suggestions that really weren't as interesting as they apparently thought they were. Those ones could certainly use a few lessons, on a night when she felt so inclined.
Tonight's hunting ground was one of her most consistently successful, since Christian was observing. She strode up to double doors airbrushed with a dance-floor scene, and through the little knot of bodies that parted to let her pass. Four were male, two of them in long black coats, one in leather pants and vest and a blousy white shirt, the fourth in glossy pants and a tank top with handcuffs at his belt. One was female, in a long narrow skirt slit high up the left front and a halter, both of black velvet, with fishnets, a chain collar, and moderately goth makeup. A group like that outside a bar this mainstream was enough to make her take notice, though she didn't stop. A bouncer opened the door for her and greeted her with a smile, which she returned as she passed him.
The bar wasn't overly crowded, but then, it wasn't late. There were enough, for now, and more would come. She wove her way between a few occupied tables to the mostly empty dance floor, feigning indifference to everyone else present. Men noticed her, eyes tracking her, some more subtly than others; women demanded the full attention of their escorts, or simply watched her with envy better hidden by some than others. Lust and jealousy: two of the three emotions a lamia best roused.
The music was unremarkable, generic dance mixes of songs that she might otherwise like. Didn't matter; she began to dance, in the centre of the dance-floor, alone and to all appearances oblivious to all else.
Men edged towards her, attempting to weave or force themselves into her dance; she spun away from each, evaded a few reaching hands effortlessly, revelling in the strength and grace of her own body, in the power she had over her prey, the knowledge that their lives were hers to give or take as she chose.
The goth girl from outside, she noticed, danced near her, a little closer with each time Alexandra eluded another man. She looked at the girl, with her wide black-outlined eyes and silvery-black lips, and the girl smiled at her.
She never hunted women, but the girl nonetheless intrigued her. In her experience, the pure mechanics of lamia attraction usually failed to function fully on women, even those who liked women, and other factors could largely cancel it out. Why bother evolving a system that worked on the half of humanity best not hunted? Probably, then, what drew the girl wasn't lamia nature, or at least not in a literal sense. Alexandra smiled back and shifted her dance to include her.
The goth girl reacted instantly, swaying nearer, then nearer yet. She spun halfway and pressed her back against Alexandra's front, matching Alexandra's motions with only the briefest uncertainty; Alexandra slid both arms around her, enjoying the gentle perfume of vanilla over the girl's own scent and noting that she herself was conspicuously the taller. She lowered her head to nuzzle at the girl's throat from behind, around the chain collar and past a long curtain of dyed-black hair. Male admirers dropped back in confusion, not quite sure what to do; Alexandra spotted a couple of the girl's friends watching, one grinning, the other taking a swallow of beer.
“What's your name?” Alexandra murmured, close to her ear.
“Sara. You?”
“Alexandra.”
“Gorgeous.” Sara spun away and smiled flirtatiously. “Like you.”
“Thank you.”
Sara stretched, arching her back and taking a deep breath, then relaxed and grinned at her, dancing back into reach.
A few men tried to join in or cut between; Alexandra and Sara ignored them, but moved around them to rejoin when necessary. Alexandra preferred not to frighten them off, as any might be tonight's potential prey; this way, they only grew the more fascinated.
“Stop for a drink?” she suggested, and Sara nodded. Alexandra paid for both drinks herself, refusing all offers from admirers. They settled together at a small table, far enough from the dance floor to talk comfortably. Well, more comfortably.
“Wasn't expecting to meet someone like you here,” Sara said. “I just moved here with my parents, I know the guys from online and they offered to show me around a bit.”
Alexandra smiled. “You're lucky you have them.” Living with her parents, hmm? Probably not much over the legal age of nineteen, if that. She was charming and cute, though.
“I'll say. Moving to a new city is hard. Do you live around here?”
“Yes, I share a house with a friend.”
One large man made a few distinctly impolite remarks at high volume from the next table; his companions bellowed with laughter. Sara winced; Alexandra glanced in that direction, measuringly. Strong, healthy, in his mid-thirties or so... he'd do nicely as prey.
“Ignore him,” she said reassuringly to Sara. “Who cares what he thinks? Where did you move here from?”
She kept Sara talking while the human girl rested a bit. Sara finished her cooler, and Alexandra swallowed the last of her red wine and lured her back to the dance floor with no difficulty.
Their heckler followed them, which Alexandra had more or less hoped for.
Another man, only slightly smaller, interposed himself. “Hey, why don't you leave them alone? They aren't hurting you.”
Alexandra stopped dancing to watch with intense interest. Men responded to her presence in different ways; what was this one going to do?
The heckler looked him over contemptuously, and stepped around him.
The would-be rescuer grabbed a handful of the heckler's hockey jacket and jerked him back, away from the two women.
Alexandra drew Sara against her side, protectively.
“We can't let them get in a fight over us!” Sara protested.
Oh, great, Chris all over again... no wonder I noticed her. Sara might be cute and charming, but she wasn't Lexa's witch and didn't have the power to tame her. Still, Alexandra moderated her behaviour somewhat. Purely because she chose to do so, of course. Certainly not to avoid upsetting a random human. “What they choose to do is up to them,” she pointed out. “On the other hand, if we walk away, it should remove the reason for the fight.” Truthfully, she doubted it: testosterone levels would be much too high due to her presence, and the pair would probably fight anyway, but she'd have Sara safely out of range.
Sara hesitated, nodded, and Alexandra escorted her back off the dance floor, towards the thicker press of bodies at the bar. Better if the girl couldn't see the dance floor clearly. Behind her, Alexandra heard a fist connect with flesh, then a roar of anger.
Sara gazed up at her, eyes wide with distress. “Didn't work, they're still fighting. Over us.”
“The bouncers will break it up in no time,” Alexandra said soothingly. “You know what some people are like after a few drinks. The fight isn’t over us, not really. It’s over one deciding to be offended and aggressive about it.”
Two bouncers each wrestled the fighters outside.
“I need to go,” Alexandra said.
“What? Why?” Sara protested, then sighed. “I'm not sure I feel like hanging around here any longer either. I think I'll get the guys to take me somewhere else. Can I have your phone number? Or at least give you mine?”
Alexandra hesitated, nodded, and glanced at the bartender. “Do you have a pen I could borrow?”
He obligingly provided a pen and a scrap of paper, and they traded numbers, Alexandra offering her cell phone rather than the house line.
Alexandra lowered her head to kiss Sara's cheek. “Talk to you soon. Good night. Stay safe.”
“'Bye.”
Lexa wove her way back outside, found that their would-be rescuer was gone, but the heckler lingered. With the encouragement of his friends, he shouted a lengthy stream of abuse at the bouncer guarding the door, who stoically ignored him.
Alexandra's appearance silenced him, but only briefly.
“Well, now, lost your little girlfriend? We don't need your kind in a place like this, this is a bar for decent people, not perverts! You got me thrown out, dyke!”
“I know,” she said contritely. “I'm sorry.” She gazed at him through long black lashes. “Can I make it up to you somehow?”
“You come spend a night with me, bitch. Once you get a real man 'tween them legs, you'll see what women are supposed to want.”
“It'd be a public service,” one of his companions laughed.
Alexandra feigned hesitation. “I suppose, since I did ruin your night out... Do you live near here?”
He grinned at her. “My place'd take too long. There's a good place not too far, though. Wouldn't want to keep you waiting.”
“You're too kind,” she murmured, and ran her tongue along her lips. Her hunger, teased and tantalized since she'd reached the bar, stirred more strongly in anticipation.
He opened the passenger door of his battered '70s Chevy for her with a mocking bow; she seated herself gracefully, trying fastidiously not to touch anything more than she had to. He circled around the hood and got in the driver's seat. Almost before he had the car moving, his hand was on her leg and moving upwards. She chose not to resist, and let him grope her as he wished.
He took her to a motel, a none-too-classy one at that. The night clerk boredly rented them a room, though he did take second and third looks at Alexandra, and she saw envy wake that she was with someone other than him.
He doesn't know how lucky he is.
The decor of the room interested her not at all. As soon as the door closed, he was all over her, pawing at her roughly enough to have left bruises on a human, kissing her with no finesse at all, two days' growth of beard abrading her skin. Callused hands tugged at her clothes impatiently, and at his own; she felt hers tear more than once, in fact.
If I were what he thinks, this would pretty much confirm a lack of anything appealing in men. She pretended uncertainty, allowed him to get them both undressed, while scanning for the location of useful furniture. Bed some five feet away, behind him; two wooden chairs, one with arms, one without, off to her right. That would do.
Alexandra began to respond, twining her arms around his neck and pressing against him.
“That's it,” he growled. “Told ya all y'needed was a real man.”
Carefully, she manoeuvred him towards the chair that had arms, while a part of her mind faked ardent kisses and eager moans. Pushing him down into it, she straddled his lap, nibbling on his throat, pressing her pelvis against his.
She could feel the energy generated by his earlier aggression rising further, fed by a combination of lust and self-satisfied dominance. She ran her tongue over her lips in anticipation. She wasn't going to need a second hunt tonight. This one was going to give her plenty.
He grunted with laughter. “You got the idea, little girl. Gotta get me warmed up, first.” He wrapped long hair around one hand and shoved her backwards and down.
Alexandra slithered smoothly to her knees, on the floor; she looked up at him and smiled. “You're sure you want me to do that?”
“Damn right I'm sure.” The hand still in her hair jerked downward.
“All right.”
She played along, for a moment or two, until he relaxed enough to start moaning, “Oh yeah, like that.”
When sharp canines slid through skin, he shrieked and tried to pull her away; she seized his wrist with one hand, dug her nails in until he let go of her hair, and pinned his arm against the chair arm. He struck at her with his other fist, cursing her roundly, but she caught it, pinned it against the other arm, and raised her head, delicately licking a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth.
“How to court a woman has progressed beyond hitting her over the head and dragging her off,” she said conversationally. “You might want to think about that next time.”
“What the fuck are you?” He fought against her grip frantically. “Weird fucking pervert bitch!”
She smiled at him, and lowered her head again. His pain and terror were the final perfect spices, and she was in no mood to be gentle. All she needed was the taste of his blood, just enough to give her unrestricted access to the pounding chaotic energy of his life and emotions and sexuality, but he had annoyed her and had made cute little Sara feel bad, so she bit more deeply than necessary. He yelled again, but no one was going to pay much attention to that here. He did his best to fight her, which only made the blood flow more freely and raised the levels of fearful rage to new heights, a swirling dark torrent that tasted rich and savory and filled that hungry place inside. Not enough to kill, though, only to weaken.
His ineffectual struggles and vicious swearing grew more feeble, and eventually stopped altogether as he passed out.
She got up, left him draped in the chair, and gathered up her clothes, reshaping them from Mark's jeans and T-shirt back to her earlier outfit as she dressed. Without a glance back she walked out, feeling warm and satisfied from the meal.
Concern for Christian roused; she turned her attention in his direction. He was still there, so deep in the psychic rapport that he picked up that she was thinking about him.
*Your room or mine, dark lady?*
*What?* she laughed.
*Or are you full?* he added mischievously.
*I'm sure you can fill me up, lover. A shower wouldn't hurt, I still smell like him.*
*Don't care. I'll be in your room.*
Crazy little witch, she thought affectionately. Far from being disturbed, he got turned on instead.
Sure enough, when she got home she found him sprawled on her bed with no clothes on, hands wandering, lost in his own fantasies. Silently, she stalked closer, eased onto the bed, and leaned over. His startled cry as she tickled his privates was muffled by her kiss.
“You're evil,” he panted, when he could.
“And you're kinky, but who cares?” She nuzzled suggestively at his throat. “There are better places for that than in your own hand.”
“Yep.” She heard mischief in it, but not soon enough: he tangled both hands in her long hair and pushed her down.
Oh really? Indulgently, she obeyed, purred, “Yes, master,” and turned her full attention and skill to pleasing him. On a whim, she reshaped her clothes into a leather collar and cuffs, the collar trailing a leash, the cuffs chained together with about a foot between, and paused to hand him the end of the leash.
“Cool,” he laughed breathlessly. “Tiger on a leash.”
She sat back, hands in her lap, and gazed at him through her lashes. “Yes, master. What can I do to please you?”
“Probably more than I can survive all in one night, but let's find out.”
It was a long time before they nestled together contentedly. The scent on her skin now, Alexandra observed, was Christian's, not that of the man she'd already half forgotten. She rested her head on his shoulder, tracing idle patterns lightly on his skin with one fingernail and smiling every time he shivered. Leather still circled her wrists, though without the chain, and her throat, leash still in place; she left them alone, enjoying the closeness, Christian's hand stroking her hair.
“You aren't like them,” she said quietly.
“I know,” he said simply. She had to believe him. “Go to sleep.”
In the wee hours, Sid's yowling alerted Alexandra to the presence of a more subtle spy, one that had slipped in beneath her notice. She let him lead her to it, killed it with only a small amount of effort, and rewarded him with a handful of his favourite treats before returning to her witch.
