Symmetry
and delicacy define beauty in all things, even the silk of her hand-knotted
fishnets. What a perfect mother she would make.
But
he was getting ahead of himself, a deadly sin with a creature such as this. She
hadn’t even consented to a dance.
He
approached her cautiously, hesitantly. Her allure pulled him beyond mere
physical attraction. Long, strong legs, raven black hair with just the right
splash of red, the sensual curve of her body, her calm aloof even when surrounded
by a circle of admiring males. And her scent, a delicate blend of perfume
perfectly matched to her body chemistry. Like nectar to a butterfly, it
inspired a hunger in him too powerful to ignore. That scent alone had drawn him
out of hiding, enticing him from the solitude and isolation that defined his
life despite the proximity of his murderously jealous rivals. Her perfume was
an elixir.
It
was her reputation that worried him, even repelled him - until now a counterbalance
to his desire. But he couldn’t get her scent out of his head, along with the
warm glow it inspired within. She was a killer brunette who chewed through men as
if walking through a spider’s web, pausing only to brush away the remnants that
tickled her lovely face like errant hairs blown out of place. One by one, he
had seen his rivals fall before her only to end tangled in her web, drained and
discarded, without so much as an invitation to dance. As much as he wanted to
believe he was better, deep doubts gnawed him inside like a demon brood
struggling to emerge.
When
he dwelled on the fear, it paralyzed him. Nearly. Until her siren song of scent
coaxed him back heedless of the consequences of failure, intoxicating him with
desire, armoring his confidence to invincibility. One dance with her would be
worth whatever price, whatever sacrifice she demanded. With her beauty, her
strength, her sleekness, theirs would be powerful children. If only she would
give him the chance.
His
desire flared to naked lust, a primal ache, a procreative need so strong he
almost rushed headlong into her embrace.
Terror
and sanity resumed their tenuous grasp upon him, freezing him before he
advanced a step, turning his eyes away before she interpreted a challenge. Any
such move would end in suicidal rejection. He needed subtlety and caution. A
sprint now would brand him an unrestrained adolescent and set her temper aflare.
There would be no dance once her fangs came out. A dance required courting, a strict
ceremony with slight variations to arouse her curiosity and appeal to her
individual tastes. With a beauty such as hers, he would get only one opportunity.
His
desire cooled to measured rationality. While he could no longer fight the pull
of her attraction, he knew he had to follow the established ritual, risking
rejection in its harshest form and forum, before witnesses.
To
calm his nerves, he checked the wrapping on his gift, ensuring the silk ribbon
was tied just right. That alone marked him as a hopeful partner among his rivals.
When she first made her appearance several days before, he knew she must be
his. Her song of scent captivated him even as her dark eyes looked right
through him, noticing neither he nor the other assembled males as she tapped
out a rhythm of desire that defined the circle of the dance floor.
After
her debut, he had spent days hunting up just the right sacrifice for his
goddess. He quickly discarded the idea of baubles and trinkets. What use would she
have for such trifles? Food seemed the likely answer, a meal, though not one
she would share. One meant for her alone to show he was a provider, quick and
cunning. A morsel to whet her appetite, to demonstrate he was strong yet
sensitive enough to appreciate her refined tastes. Something small and
succulent so as not to drive her into a torpor of sated disinterest. Something
sweet to sooth her fiery temper without banking her internal flame. An
aphrodisiac.
He
had spent day after day testing and rejecting each prospect. One was too plain,
another too bitter, a third too sweet. He stalked through all his usual haunts
finding nothing suitable. Driven to desperation, he tried the unusual and,
finally, unorthodox locales. With each day’s failure, he grew more certain that
his moment would soon pass.
He
was nearly despondent when he had stumbled upon his gift. With a jolt he had
seen it waiting then seized it like an opportunity. Like her, it was a perfect
shape, a perfect size, a perfect taste, or so he hoped. Elegant, not gaudy,
needing only to be wrapped in a silken bow.
He hoped
it was to her liking. He knew that she could be finicky from watching his
rivals’ rejections one by one. Some approached too early, before she was in the
proper mood to dance, tricked by her swaying to the music like the
over-exuberant adolescents they were. She had no interest in them anyway. The
newly mature tapped out the wrong counter-rhythm, one laced with too much
aggression and not enough submission, to be driven off with a venomous glance
or dismissive flick of her wrist. The more experienced made it close enough to
offer gifts. Some were rejected on smell alone, others on presentation, one on
taste. That one found him holding his breath knowing her acceptance would end
any chance for him. But all who approached had felt the sting of her anger, the
poison of rejection, and staggered away from an anticipated embrace having
failed to dance a single step. After each she returned to swaying to the music,
oblivious to their failure and her remaining suitors.
Not
that he didn’t owe them, the ones who failed. Watching their downfalls had
taught him, helped him refine his approach. He learned the subtleties of her
tastes and expectations. The young were the most fortunate; they might get to
try again. The old nearly as much so, as they took a final stab at glory
regardless of the consequences. It was the ones in their prime who were drawn
deepest into her web of seduction, not wanting to risk passing into the balding
desperation of their elders, heedless of the second chance they might be
offered by failing gracefully. Ones like him. The lucky ones she merely turned
away. The less fortunate she drained of their desire.
Alone
in the center of her circle, she tapped out a new tune. The beat resonated in
his chest and seemed to call him forward. Now or never. He gave his hair a final
pass, ruffling its spikes to just the right angle. He approached her cautiously
at first, not too quickly, not too slowly. Neither aggression nor exuberance would
be rewarded. At the edge of her demesne, he matched her beat measure for
measure, perfect timing. Her posture shifted as she changed the tempo, adding a
hint more sway, permission to approach.
An
opening.
Though
he could feel his remaining rivals watching, his eyes remained fixed on her. Her
own eyes casually, coyly remained turned away as though she hadn’t noticed him,
a sultry gesture that fortified his resolve. The pulsing beat of the music only
the two of them seemed to hear dispelled all hesitation, anxiety and fear. Instinct
took over as, cool and confident, he strode toward her with the slightest swagger
of his own to advertise his intent. His heart raced then nearly melted as her
radiant heat increased with each step that brought him closer.
A
pace away fear once again gripped him, enough to note the annoyed expectation
that had crept into her latest pose. She was still open to his advance, but
there was protocol to follow with a goddess especially for a mortal such as him.
He
paused, uncertain whether he had ruined his only chance before remembering his
gift. He extended it toward her, laying it in front of her, an offering. Outwardly
calm, he waited, the demons inside restless and writhing.
At
first she only sniffed the air as if testing it. Approving, she turned her gaze
upon his gift as though curious how this parcel had arrived at her feet. She
admired the painstaking precision he’d taken in wrapping it. A second test
passed, she lifted it daintily and began to tear away its delicate covering,
revealing the morsel within. She considered a moment, cocking her head, then sniffing
a final time. The allure of her nostrils’ flare with each breath made him
tremble. Her sultry detachment drove him to a near frenzy. But he remained
frozen, knowing his quest for this one dance balanced on the next few seconds.
Gingerly
at first, she nibbled at his offering, pouting seductively as she chewed the
tiny sample. As she swallowed, her radiant heat intensified. Her eyes rose to
meet his.
An
invitation.
“Shall
we dance?” he asked hoping his voice was steadier than his legs.
Licking
a finger, then her lips, she nodded.
Acceptance.
He
fell into her embrace and began swaying to the music, ignoring his rivals’
jealous stares. The young would try again; the old could not. His peers
consoled themselves with the thought that they could be him had they only moved
a little faster - the same thought he’d consoled himself with as he’d watched
others dance the times before.
Their
bodies swayed in harmony, their legs entwined in the careful steps of this
ritual, rhythmic dance. His consciousness of the others fell away as her
perfume enveloped him completely. So close, so soft, he thought as he caressed
her hair. The swell of her abdomen pressed against him. Her teeth played along
his neck as they danced in time, the tempo steadily increasing. It was finally
happening. She was finally his.
As
his passion peaked into fiery bliss, he barely felt her fangs sink as deep
within his neck as he found himself in her. Each drained their fire into the
other, his spreading life, hers a poison.
Consummation.
