Before Alice could stumble through any more replies, Director H. waved his hand over her. The towel fell off. She wore a suit identical to his except in black. Alice’s hair slicked back into a pony-tail knotted high on her head.

“You look absolutely precious, Alice.” A gloved hand cupped the opposite elbow while the other hand tapped his chin in thought. “Precious but not quite right.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Alice peered down. “I think it looks fine.”

“You covet suits. Of course you’d like this.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I know all.” He circled Alice too quickly for her to follow. “And because I know all, I know I know this isn’t going to work for our purposes. Ceremonial kimono it is.”

Heavy black silk covered Alice from neck to feet. Her hair reconfigured into what she would later learn was the wareshinobu style for geishas.

“Yes, this is what he needs to see.” With one finger, Director H. commanded her to twirl in a circle. She obliged. Very, very slowly. “You moved awkwardly, dearest. I’m tempted to spell your legs into submission but that would be lying, wouldn’t it?”

Alice wobbled on the sandals colored to blend into her costume. “Somehow I doubt lying tops your list of things to avoid.”

“Witty, my dear. Dry, defiant, but lovely all the same.” Director H. produced a mirror with a flick of two fingers. “Look at beautiful you are, Alice.”

She regarded herself in the tiny mirror. “I look like a ghost.”

“Ah, but a beautiful one.”

“I look dead.”

“That is what a ghost typically is, dear.”

“My face is so white.”

“Not so white. He’s whiter.”

“Really?” Alice turned away from the mirror. “Does it take make-up to make him even be able to look at me?”

“Should it matter to you?”

“You love to answer my questions with questions.”

“Or maybe you like to not answer my questions with statements about my questions.”

Alice braved a small smile. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve built him up to be a magnificent man, so far above you that you question why you should even be allowed in the same room as him.”

Denial burned her mouth, begging to come out. Alice inhaled and exhaled slowly. “It’s true. He’s obviously someone of value to you all while I’m just me.”

Director H. sighed. He feathered the back of one finger against her cheek, careful not to disturb the powder. “I could tell you how exquisite you are to all of us, but it won’t matter. Right now you’re a bottomless pit, Alice. Until you fill it up yourself, all my words will fall into nothing.”

Alice nodded. Her eyes brightened with unwanted tears. She managed to whisper, “Tell me anyways.”

“No, not today, dearest. Melancholy will only rob you of strength you desperately need. Come, Alice. Let us finally put you out of your misery. You’ll fall for his pretty face, no doubt, but beauty is a poor substitute for good manners. Once he insults you, you’ll feel better. I promise.”

She sliced him a wicked smile. “Better white trash than what you are.”

“Put the brick down, Lily.”

“Oh, I have every intention of doing so.”

“I’m sure,” he drawled. “Is this our foreplay, darling?”

“We left that a long time ago.”

“Really. Hmm…so I take it we’re ready to go to the next step then?”

“What do you think?”

Julian eyed her lacy black bra with matching panties, garters, and torn stockings. “I think you look like a delicious mess. I think your mind is even more of a mess. In other words, I think you’re insane, Lily, and I look forward to seeing what kind of a lover that will make you. Will I be able to trust you in my bed or will I have to chain you to make sure you don’t try to stake me?”

Lily’s impudent courage faltered. Her cheeks bloomed with dangerous wonder. “I’m not crazy. You are.”

“Maybe I am. I wonder what that will mean for our courtship.”

Her hand loosened. The brick fell to the ground in a clatter of gravel. She had no words.

“I’m so glad you chose not to send that into my windshield.”

“My dress.”

“What?”

“I just wanted my dress back.”

One brow arched at the small, baby voice. “Whatever for, darling?”

“You can’t have it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“I know you don’t.” Her eyes unfocused. “I couldn’t chance you doing something to that dress just because you’re mad at me.”

“I wouldn’t have done anything unsavory to that dress, Lily. And I’m not mad at you.”

“Yes, you are. You’re always mad at me. That’s okay. I’m always mad at me too.” Lily’s legs crumpled and she fell to the ground in a heap.

Julian whistled a jaunty tune as he slowly made his way over to the unconscious girl. He nudged her with his shoe. “Out for the count, hmm?” Julian picked Lily up. Cradling her in his arms, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You are a mess, Lily. Eventually, I will have to clean you up. Until then…”

Julian entered the Walker home. He walked up the stairs, remembering exactly where Lily’s room was. Once he slipped her shoes off, Julian put Lily to bed as tenderly as a parent, even making sure to tuck the comforter beneath her chin.

“What happened?”

Julian smoothed Lily’s hair off her brow before facing Rachel. “The Spirit forced her into sleep.”

Silence weighted the air. Lily’s mother re-crossed her arms. “It’s already started, hasn’t it?”

The vampire had no taste for games with worried mothers. He answered her directly. “Yes. The Spirit’s trying to hold onto Lily as long as she can. Lily will probably be sleeping more than she’s awake.”

“How long?”

Julian observed her worried expression. He analyzed just how much detail he could share before Rachel’s composure crashed. “How long Lily will be sleeping at a time?”

“No. How much longer before…before…the Spirit has to let her go?”

Julian held his right hand in left, palms down and posture utterly respectful. “Six weeks.”

“Six?” The air slammed out of her. “Are you sure?”

“Not completely.”

“How sure?”

“Ninety-nine percent.”

Rachel’s head bobbed as if on a lazy current. “You just know this because?”

“Because it’s one of my bloodline’s…” Julian paused, eating the word “talent” only to replace it with, “…abilities. I can predict it with near-perfect accuracy.”

“And the one percent?”

“Fate will always have her way.”

“Mmm. Maybe Fate will take her one percent this time.”

“Maybe.” His smile sought to soothe the doubting sting his answer caused.

“I’m not blind you know.”

“Pardon?”

“The way you look at her. It’s how Stephan looked at me.”

Julian wondered at to answer her without the benefit of lies when she surprised him.

“You both looked liked you’d rather kill us than feel what you were feeling.”

“Ah. I’m transparent then.”

Rachel’s grin reminded him of her daughter’s. “Just a bit.”

He thought the question but it flew away before he could cage it. “Why did you agree to letting me court Lily?”

“Could I have stopped you? Or her?”

Julian tipped his head. “No, I can’t say that you could.”

“I believe in Fate, Lord Douglas. Sometimes it’s all that’s kept me from breaking to pieces. There’s a reason why you haven’t left yet. I’m willing to bet this farm Lily’s a big part of that.”

Agitation made him lift his chin in defiance. “My reasons are many.”

“I’m sure they are.”

Julian studied the armoire crouched against the wall like a woodland guardian. “You’re wise beyond your years, Mrs. Walker.”

“Pain has a way of transforming one.”

“That it does.” His voice gentled like the sweetest sigh. “So does vengeance.”

Rachel came into the room. “Lily never meant you harm.”

“Madam, I am afraid to inform you don’t know your daughter as well as you think. Just minutes ago I had to ponder whether she was going to throw a brick into my car or against my head.”

Their shared laughter echoed softly. “She is a spitfire that’s for sure.”

The temple stood before them like a husk. He climbed the marbled stairs with steps true. The obscene spoke to him. He liked what it had to say. He was going to fuck his slave in her own hall.

Whiter than white. Blacker than black. The colors swathed from floor to ceiling mated much like they would. Her chamber couldn’t hide from him. Twists and turns, dizzying to belligerence, craved to stop his will. The corridors stretched like a dying scream until there was no more. Doors creaked open beneath his heel. He stepped forth.

The ultimate conqueror holding the ultimate prize.

She stirred as the virgin-white silks billowed up like a shroud. Her cracked voice whispered sincere protests. She pushed up on her pristine arm, the innocent one, and garbled words at the colorless demon.

He removed his armor. His undershirts. His boots. His pants. The discarded clothes all made a bizarre ritual. Folded, refolded, and placed reverently on the corner of her plush altar. His eyes blazed from an immobile mask. They never left hers in promise.

His nudity transfixed her horror. His skin looked like the dead adorning her temple. Scars, knotted and smooth, marked him for a brutal man. Hair rejected his chest, arms, and legs but made its home below the waist. It nestled that long, thick length jutting out so menacingly.

Somehow, innocent of men and the many ways they used to bind women, she knew it was meant to slash her until she bled out her life.

She tumbled off the bed and ran faster than the wind. Free from him, she flew behind the tapestry and let the wall eat her. Secreted behind the movable stone, she slid deeper into the temple’s belly.

Terror pulled her mind apart one memory at a time. The day’s merciful blasphemy layered over him. He gnawed away at her. She stopped in mid-motion. The sanctuary couldn’t be marred by her impurity. She was no longer fit to take refuge there.

Paused in red indecision, she never heard his approach. Arms snaked about her and garbled words whispered in her ear. She reared back but he held true.

The chamber stood a few paces away. Its interior beckoned. Shadows slithered with promises to hide their coupling. He liked what the darkness had to say.

He ignored her shrieks and pushed them both into the room. The bed was as soft as her skin. He stripped her with minimal effort. He took some care with her damaged hand but not enough to keep her from crying out.

She suffocated beneath him. Terror, worse than anything she’d ever been cursed with, choked her clean. His hands bit into her legs as he wrenched them apart. Something wet and hot touched her. It kept touching that small, secret part of her. Whimpers deepened, their cadence changing in time with his mouth.

A different type of terror visited her. She fell through the spaces in her mind. Something familiar groaned like rock scraping against itself. Her body stiffened and released like the silk banners flapping from her temple turrets.

She looked up to see him staring at her. Pleasure made him less a marble god and more like her. His smile leveled her.

“He does?” Breathy and soft, her words fell away into the void.

“Yes. He does.”

“Why?”

“Because he hates you.”

“Oh. I see.” Alice’s natural armor attached itself without a fight.

Director H. patted her head once. “Let that sit for a bit, dearest.” He moved to the stairs and made himself comfortable. The water entrenched him half-way to the knee. He crossed one over the other prettily. “Now, about your partner. He’s a prig, Alice, of the first order. He’s going to look down his well-bred nose and declare you inferior.”

“Because I’m an orphan.”

“No, because he’s being a stubborn ass.”

Alice cracked a smile. Keeping her arms crossed and her knees tucked, she gestured with her chin. “You’ve gotten your legs wet.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Okay.”

“You think it strange? How refreshing.” Director H. preened. “When you live in world where consequences mean everything and nothing on the same turn, you find it easier to just do what pleases. Remember that, dear.”

“I will. I’m going to rinse my hair now.”

“You should let it set longer.”

Alice paused. “No. I’m going to rinse but thanks.” She scooted out, careful to remain on the last step, and dipped her head back. Alice swished her head from side to side.

“See. I knew you were a smart girl.”

“Of course I am, Director H.”

He flicked water towards her. “Would you like some more advice?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Why not indeed? Come here, pet. Sit next to me.” He waited until Alice arranged herself modestly before proceeding. “This first meeting is very important, dearest. Don’t let your partner get the upper hand with you. He will try to do so.”

“He’s that much of a jerk, right?”

“No. To be fair, I don’t think it’s a deliberate action to dismiss you based on you. It’s self-defense for him.”

“Self-defense? How so?”

“He’s frightened to death you, Alice.”

“Of me?” A tiny frown stitched between her brows. “What does he think I’ll do to him?”

“Change him. Challenge his beliefs. Make him someone he doesn’t ever want to be.”

“I’m not that—”

“Powerful? Of course you are, Alice. You’re a woman. You have all the power you could ever need. Life and death—it all rests upon your whim.”

Alice’s attention skimmed everywhere but Director H.

“I’ve embarrassed you.”

“A little.”

“You shouldn’t be when it’s truth.”

She puffed a tiny breath. “Maybe it’s how it works here but in the real world I’m just an orphan with a whole lot of problems. No power there. Everyone is afraid of me for one reason or another. Do I have any psychological issues? Am I dangerous? Will I cause problems? Will I set your house on fire? Am I dirty? It goes on and on.”

“And now you have to worry about the same things here.”

“Yes. It’s really not going to be any different here. Wherever here is.” Alice regarded Director H. “Maybe I’m still in the hospital and you’re just something I’ve dreamed up. Maybe I’m dead.”

“And maybe you’re just being a bore.” Director H. stood up and held out a wet, gloved hand. “Come, Alice. You’ve gotten entirely too maudlin. I don’t need you morose. I need you confident, defiant, and smart.”

Alice took his hand while keeping her other arm banded across her chest. She clenched her thighs tighter in an awkward attempt at modesty. Before she could ask for a towel, he pulled one out of his front pocket.

“How did that fit in there?”

“Pardon?”

“The towel. How did it fit there?”

Director H. wrapped her in the scarlet towel with efficient ease. “Magic, pet. White or black?”

“What?”

“White or black? Hurry. Choose. White or black?”

“Uh…black!”

“Very fitting.”

Katherine Merror has spent the last seven years passing through the night with a blissful smile and vicious heart. She cares for no one and expects the same in return. When she wakes up alone in a white room Katherine morbidly wonders if her reckless flirtation with violence and death has finally caught up with her.

Unfortunately for Katherine it’s a lot more complicated than that.

I’m very happy to announce the re-release of my first book “Vicious Bliss: fallen” in PDF and Smashbook EPub formats.  I have sharpened the prose, stripped out the adverb overkill, and made it a bit more dangerous. Keeping in vein with all my work, it is dark, angsty, morally ambiguous, and meant to be read with an open mind.

EXCERPT

“Do you want me afraid of you?”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No.”

Katherine rubbed his shin with her toes. “I don’t believe you.”

His large hand reached down and stilled her foot. Azer knew she was digging through his emotional core. The need to hide his true being slipped further away with each stroke Katherine’s foot. “That’s not the only way to be with someone.”

She pursed her lips. “You trying to convince me or yourself?”

Azer stilled. “What would you know about it?”

Katherine giggled, practically flaunting her unnatural ability. “Maybe I’m psychic. Maybe I can just tell these things. But listen—size doesn’t matter, Azer. Even the tiny ones, the ones who seem to be the sweetest, the most docile, are the ones who end up gutting you. Don’t ever underestimate a pretty face or anyone who says they love you too. It’ll always go bad.”

“Just like the one who hurt you?”

Katherine let out a strangled laugh, heavy with self-mockery. “Exactly.”

“What did he do?”

“The same thing she did.”

Azer understood exactly whom Katherine was referring to, even though she had no real clue of who and, furthermore, what was done. “I doubt it, Katherine.”

“Why? Because your betrayal was the worst to have ever happened? Pff! Get over yourself.” She leaned forward. Crimson flames licked the edges of her gaze, casting them in eerie beauty. “You haven’t suffered what millions of other people already haven’t, Azer. She’s not worth it. No one is.”

Azer’s mind bristled against her nonchalant demeanor. “Your sympathy speech is quite lacking.”

“It’s not sympathy, baby. It’s just how it is. The faster you get that, the easier life is. Trust me.”

“So I should just hate everyone, even you, Katherine?”

She shrugged a shapely shoulder. “If it makes you happy.”

BOOK INFO

• Vicious Bliss: fallen
  

• Word Count: 83,235
  

• Categories: Fairy Tales, Folklore & Mythology, Occult, Romance Adult, Romance Fantasy, Paranormal Erotica

• International Readers Can Buy Via Smashwords & PDF

BUY

$4.99 PDF delivered by Payloadz via PayPal.

$4.99 Smashwords edition delivered via Smashwords.com.

$4.99 Amazon edition delivered via Amazon.com.

Hello, Angst Junkies! I have had the extreme pleasure of working with a fantastic group of artists on a project entitled “Hearteater.”

This came about from a session on Twitter with Remittance Girl. She had recently wrote a fable and asked me to guess what the moral was. I tweeted something to the effect, “Don’t let someone take your heart and eat it.”

Being the enterprising writer that Remittance Girl is, she opened up a blog, invited all to turn in works with this theme, and here we are!

My contribution is a short story coming in at about 1,809 words. I’m posting a tidbit below, but please follow the link to read the rest of it as well as all the other yummy works.

The basement was definitely dank. Smelly, unwelcoming, and a place most would avoid just for olfactory kindness. Metaphorically, it curled the edges of her nose. Yet, not a crease or line betrayed her distaste. Immobile, smooth, pleasant without depth, her face mimicked an advertisement—saying nothing and everything.

She walked each step with precision. Left foot first followed by right directly in the middle of the stair. Pace easy, stride exactly as the one before it. Imperfection could not be allowed to exist. It had to be dissected, analyzed, and catalogued before a suitable solution could be formulated and applied.

She reached the bottom. Her shoes gleamed, not a speck of dust marred their predictable ebony surface, a testament to her raisings as well as Ambrose’s fastidiousness.

Her thighs tensed. Longing made a demon’s bed beneath her impenetrable façade.

Ambrose. Am I ready now?

Read More

She writhed in terrible bliss. Lily crashed into Julian’s marvelously blue stare. Lighter than the crystallized sky, it ate into her with ice teeth. Lily fixated on everything and nothing. Julian’s lips were moving. Tiny, elegant movements orchestrated to obliterate all of her.

I don’t want to think. Shut-up! Shut your filthy mouth, Julian! Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking.

“I will not.” His fingers bit into her jaw, pressing the skin over her teeth until her mouth hung open. “I think you should, my dearest little girl, before you embarrass us both.”

Lily didn’t realize she had been chanting her thoughts out loud, over and over again. Alone in her mind, alone in her conviction, she had become a broken record. Seeking to find that which had never really existed; searching for that someone who had existed only in her head.

Something hot, sticky, and foreign slinked inside the protected parts of her memories. It wrapped around the pretty box scored with Ian’s name and likeness. Dark, dirty, and obscene it soiled all those precious vignettes bearing the likeness of the demon vampire holding her aloft.

The pictures in Lily’s mind singed. Never the same. Always damaged. Always incomplete. A falsity to being an honest representation of the past.

That’s what being next to Julian Douglas did to a person like Lily.

He dirtied her with his peculiar brand of truth. It couldn’t be refuted…only denied. Denied until she screamed herself hoarse. Denied until she spewed blood. Denied until she believed it too.

Lily thought this all in the span of a stuttered breath. She shook her head like a demented thing, seeking to throw his restraint off. Julian followed her, always following, always pressing, always opening, always…always…always.

“Tell me what you want, Lily. Tell me.”

Short, hard bursts of sound gouged through the madness infesting her. It screwed into Lily, deflating her rebellion. Her borrowed power ebbed, dying an uneventful demise. It disappeared. No trace of superhuman abilities, only a body racked with severe chills and the type of sweat accompanied by high fevers.

“I’ll keep feeding you drops of my blood if you don’t give me what I want. I’ll break your legs to keep you from running…your arms just because. Do you think they’ll heal straight?”

Lily’s molars cut the inside of her cheeks. The blood tasted foul, a cheap, disgusting substitution of his. Her head jerked forward and back. Her jaw ached from the pressure of his fingertips. Her tongue flopped, making speech nothing more than a clumsy effort to appear human.

“Tell me, you little bitch! Tell me!” Julian pushed her head back. An insidious urge to snap her neck leapt upon him. Lily’s face paled into a small stone circlet. Perhaps she saw the beast pressing him to kill her and be done with it all. Her black gaze reached out. It sucked him in and smothered him like tar.

Julian shuddered from disgust. Being this close to Lily, scenting her, tasting the tiny particles of sweat covering her skin, taking her into his body as surely as he flowed into hers, made him forget. It made him forget the humiliation he suffered at her hands, at hands such as hers.

So great is my rage, so great is this insidious need to push her away even as I drag her back by her ridiculous hair.

Her coloring was too much. Black hair, black eyes, dusky skin promising swarthiness if exposed too long in the sun…all of it too much.

Julian longed for the peace his eyes found when in the presence of pale hair, eyes, and skin. A long, lithe, willowy frame fit his arms so tenderly, promising companionship without confusion. Lily’s body, small as it was, rioted with curves. It muddled it his body, this juxtaposition of tiny stature and a woman’s lushness.

Pinpricks of color bloomed beneath his fingers. Julian’s insides coiled. Lily’s blood, her wretched, impure, disgusting concoction of instinct and impunity dragged him closer. His mouth touched her chin. He closed his eyes, head moving slightly as if hearing the symphony of life and death play between them.

“Lily, you are filthy creature. If I caged you up, locked you far away from prying eyes, how long would it take to turn you into an animal? A week? A day? How long, Lily? Should we try? No? That’s too bad. I am going to lock you up, you know. I’m going to lock you up in cage right in front of the whole world.”

Lily bent her head until it rested against his. She whined. Inevitability had already chained her to him long ago.

“Tell me, Lily. Call me by name.” Julian slid his hand away. Lily’s mouth hung open obscenely. He pulled back to look at her. Limp, sweaty hair, glazed eyes, and puffing breath all created a tableau of sexual satiation.

A lie, like so many of the ones between them. A beautiful one though.

Lily’s entire body fixated on Julian’s lips. She wanted to taste and ravish him. The wish that she could have a penis, if only for an hour, just to fuck him senseless shocked her.

Only a little.

She never would have birthed this deviant thought for Ian. However, Julian made her hard, wicked, and immoral.

He wanted her to call him by name. As if he could draw her closer by making her pronounce those gliding syllables. Stupid man. Julian already had her in his net.

Lily open and shut her mouth, imagining herself as his fish. His dinner to cut open, consume, and take into him. It sickened even as it made her press closer. Her tongue slipped out and tasted the corner of his exquisite mouth.

“Julian.”

He rushed forward and slammed her against a tree. Lily’s sharp cry hushed into a trembling moan. Julian’s mouth, his precious, gorgeous, hurtful, sharp, terrible mouth attached itself over her virgin nipple.

The love she had once, liquid and warm like honey, hardened into something malignant. Her beautiful world was gone. Beloved friends, disciples, and supplicants were dead by her hand. She looked down at it, seeing the puffy skin attempting to swallow the knife whole.

Memories burst all at once.

The faces dropping back like broken flower stems, necks exposed to her with precious trust and devotion. The skin so soft, so trusting, so pure for her silver death. The children cried. Their screaming terror, wordless pleads for a bit more life, drove into her ears. She remembered how the weeping mothers and fathers held them still. Their taut shoulders and liquid eyes pleading for quick, flutterless death.

Her hand, her rotted, deviant hand, had struck true. Their precious baby skin had parted the easiest. Severed cries morphed into pitiful gurgles.

She swayed before the white demon. She watched him watch her. He was pristine, clean in the middle of all that precious death. His white hair, braided back high on his head, shimmered like dying starlight.

His lips moved. Their fullness a tribute to crimson, clotted gluttony.

Her arm rose. There was no more reason for one such as her to exist. Goddesses could only live if someone believed in them. Her believers all lay dead. It was time for her drop among the sickly-sweet blossoms.

For a young goddess, she had become ever so wise to what awaited her. None would remember her. None would mourn for their beloved deity. She might very well have killed the mother who had birthed her and the father who had carried her to this temple the very night of her birth.

Eyes dropping, sewing themselves shut with blood, couldn’t see him approach. The world switched to black. Fingers tightened, nails digging into the sticky handle, needing to ensure her strength for one more slash.

Wrist locked, will immobile, she created the violently beautiful move to end her reign.

Liquid agony wrapped her hand. She screamed a tiny, pitiful sound. Lashes struggled to release their bloody hold. He stood before her. Gloved fist possessed hers. He shook his head once.

Rage. Unfamiliar, poisonous rage turned her into a paper monster. She roared at him. Her eyes became steel. They promised terrible suffering for thwarting her precious, pure will.

He squeezed his fist.

She keened. Her head snapped back. She slumped away from him.

He dragged her to him with restrained, careful movements. The stench of blood didn’t offend. It was familiar, if not always desired. He knew what he wanted from this child-woman. His burning stare flicked at the ebony men pacing about the perimeter.

Their base desire meant nothing. He would crush them like the flowers beneath his heel.

Let their fucking be assuaged when they returned to camp. Their followers were many. The conquered trinkets would be plenty to assure a pleasing romp and gentle hand for these hardened warriors.

He looked at the unconscious creature cradled like sin against his fighting arm. She pleased his need for likeness. She could’ve been his dearest sister. Instead, she would become his slave.

“I won’t hurt you, Katharina.” Mikhail bent over her, cheek pressed against soft hair, and whispered, “I won’t ever hurt you. I promise.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Mikhail. I’m just…”

“Afraid?”

“Yes.”

“I am too.”

Katherine looked up at him, one eyebrow drawn up ever-so-slightly. “You’re afraid? Why?”

His gaze flicked away, scattering the confidence there and replacing it with somber dimness. “Everything changes and yet it doesn’t. I’m afraid that this will end before it begins. I don’t want that. I don’t that to happen at all.”

She licked her lips. The urge to sink into his misery dominated. Katherine scuttled away from it. She had already invaded him too often since meeting him. Instead, she listened to the comforting thumps beneath her ear.

“Mikhail, you know this isn’t natural.”

“What?”

“Falling in love so quickly. Are you sure we’re not just falling in lust?”

“Lust isn’t like this, Katharina.”

“How is it?”

“Lust is all about taking. Love is about giving. I want to give you everything. Everything there is for me to give—I want to give it.”

A million warnings detonated. Naivety couldn’t drown out the realism of things. People did not just meet, fall in love, and live happily ever after. The likelihood of bucking the natural order of things was probably about nil.

But we’re not natural. Not me and definitely not him. Doesn’t it stand that maybe the rules don’t apply to us? Maybe love can happen just like this. Maybe it’s not as hard as I’ve seen it be.

“Do you believe me, Katharina?” Mikhail inhaled sharply. “No, don’t answer. It’s too soon. I know I can’t just rely on words alone. It’s something I must show. Prove. Words…they can’t…you can’t trust in them alone.”

Steps paraded past them. Different pitches, scuffles against gravel, and the pungent smell of cigarette smoke. They flicked against the glass walls erected about Katherine and Mikhail. Seen out in the open but hidden at the core.

“Mikhail, am I still shaking?”

His fingers slinked across the back of her neck. “Yes.”

“You’re right. I’m not used to being touched. No one really touches me and I’m not used to anyone doing it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Katherine’s mouth pressed down on instinct, trapping the ready words of, “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m fine.” Instead, she murmured, “Thank you.”

“I like touching you but I won’t do it if you don’t like it.” He moved back, arms at the ready to let her go.

Katherine rushed forward, cheeks blazing with embarrassment over her boldness, but committed to keeping his touch. “Don’t let me go. Your touch…I don’t want to lose it.”

“You won’t.” He wrapped his arms about her. Fear shook his heart. Fear of what he was, of what he never wanted to be again, stalked him. It threatened to tear away this fragile beginning. He couldn’t let it grow any stronger.

I’ll bury it. Make it so it doesn’t exist. I can do it. I don’t want to lose Katherine. I can be a better man. I have to. She has nothing to do with Adria. Nothing to do with my family. My future.

Katherine is clean of all that.

“I’m not shaking that much anymore, Mikhail.”

He smiled. “No, you’re not.”

“See? Your touch is magic.”

***

That life produces a line greater than the star-filled sky. Too many to count. The Gods are pleased. So are they. For a time that feels like forever and never all at once, they see each other and remember. Cleansed of the hate but filled with regret, they are eager to try again. They believe the next life will be better, longer.

They are wrong.

***

This time she is white like a flower. White hair, white skin, eyes so light a blue they’re silver. She is cherished, adored, and worshipped for looking like a goddess. Hidden in a temple, kept sated, she is happy with her life. Peace is like a net. It allows her safety from the hungry pinchers of man.

This time he is colorless with power. Whiter hair, whiter skin, eyes so light a brown they’re gold. He is brutalized, hated, and tethered for looking like a spirit. Exposed in an army, kept hungry, he is miserable with his life. Hatred is like cage. It keeps him embittered from the endless cruelties of man.

Hatred keeps him well-fed even when pushed beyond endurance. He grows larger, stronger than the biggest shadow. He kills without remorse. He fights his way to the top of their war machine. He controls them, directing their base savagery to benefit him. Disobedience is met with instant death.

None can topple him. What was once hated is now revered.

Love inspires her to serve those who serve her. The supplicants believe she can protect them from harm. Whispers of a black army tearing through their country drives them to her temple. Flowers adorn every inch of walking space. Her crimson robes drag the petals wherever she goes.

She can’t admit her fear. They love her too much.

Eventually he arrives. Knowledge of wealth beyond compare tugs him to their splendid mountain. His pitiless stare strips the walls clean of defense. He knows his soldiers will breach the temple before nightfall.

He sends them forward with a punch of his fist.

Inside the death cage, the supplicants swarm over their lady. They scream for divine mercy. Terrorized beyond coherency they beg for her help. She knows of only one way to do it. Her silver stare freezes, trapping the overwhelming love she feels for them all.

Dusk seizes the day when the walls give.

He leads them in, leashing their savagery with a bloodless stare that stretches to the very last man.

The streets are littered with decaying flowers and fresh corpses. They swarm in controlled patterns. Every man, woman, and child lie dead. Hundreds of them. Perhaps thousands. He eyes the slit throats with dispassion. This scene of mass suicide matters not to him. He doesn’t fear the revolt of an army filled with blood-lust. Gold will keep them in line.

He rides to the center. The ivory temple shines like his skin. He sees her seated on a throne and believes this little goddess to be dead too. Black robes, blood-red hair pricks his curiosity. Her swollen hand clutching the ceremonial knife snares his attention.

When she rises on swaying legs, the men murmur in death whispers.

He sees patches of white. Neck, crown, and leg.

Her hair is like his. So is her skin. In all the world he had razed, never had he come across another like himself.

She views them through bloodied lashes.