Through Fire and Flames (For Luna)

Darkness clung to the city, only fleeting partially with sporadically filtered lights of the towering buildings and the expansive roadways and highway systems. The place was a testament to mankind's ingenuity and tenacity, as it adapted to nearly any climate to make it inhabitable. Men and women alike, who thought themselves the greatest and most intelligent beings inhabiting the universe, even as they searched for meaning of their own existence, clung to their self importance while laboring to survive. It was pathetic. The mortal race was a fleeting one, already decaying far too rapidly to sustain itself. They had been watched from their infancy, and every step forward that they considered progress, was really another fall that others knew to be decline. The world of man was a truly degenerative place.

In a lone alley, with only the rustle of a cat as the sole sign of life, a small pale floodlight that was over the backdoor of a shady bar flickered and went dark. The cat froze in place, looking up from its perch above the discarded human trash, silent and still for several moments, before it suddenly screeched in terror and darted into the night at full speed. Seconds later, and unseen by mortal eyes, the cement began to glow an ember red, gradually morphing through orange and yellow hues, until it appeared to be white hot and bubbling. Through the liquefied and nearly molten white hot tar, a hand slowly rose, clawing painfully at the air around it.

The smell of sulfur, brimstone, and ash filled the area. An eerie silence accentuated the disturbing sound of the white tar dripping from the hand into the four-foot wide pool that had been created. Finally, the bony and clawed hand dropped down onto the unaffected ledge surrounding the molten zone, and fingers tore at the cement as they tried to gain purchase upon the unfamiliar material.

Finally, a round skull broke through the surface, and the impossible humanoid gasped for air as if it had never breathed before. More white-hot tar flowed down from the rounded head and over its mouth as the creature brought up another hand and placed it quickly on the solid ledge. With great exertion and much guttural sounds, the dripping crawled its way out of the pool of melted ground and curled up pathetically against the wall nearby, searing the stone with its pure heat. Eventually, as the pool gradated from white, back through yellows, oranges, and reds as it seemed to cool, it returned to nearly its normal state, though evidence of the bubbling would be seen by any that noticed for long to come. At the same process, the molten creature gradually faded as well, until it took on normal flesh, and the only thing dripping from its naked form was a cold sweat.

The man, if it could be called as much, had a full head of long, dark hair, matted down as if freshly soaked at the moment. Its eyes, when finally opened, burned red hot, then faded to brown. The flesh tone was pale, nearly sickly in appearance, which was made even further so by the sheen of cold sweat covering nearly every inch. There was not a hair on its body aside from eyebrows and the locks on its head. The creature groaned and clawed at the ground in frustration and agony, as sounds and words impossible for mortal vocal cords to produce fell from its lips in extremely rapid succession. Finally, a recognizable words came from him, in a voice deep and undeniably masculine.

"Fuck."

The man uncurled like a snake unwinding, and lay panting heavily on his back in the near darkness, the lone pale floodlight having resumed its near death bathing of the alley moments after the fissure had disappeared. He shivered suddenly, and folded his arms over his chest. It was cold here. With a growl, the newly born man sat up and tested his legs. Everything seemed to work, but he was hardly an accurate judge. He shook his head and furrowed his brow as he tried to clear the mind. Mortal thoughts are much too slow, much to primitive. He would have to get used to this. The memories flooded now, and with them came another string of obvious, yet unintelligible curses from deep within his throat. The thing was quite obviously displeased.

He remembered her voice, her words. They burned into his very core, even as the chill of this world seemed to freeze his flesh.

Banished. Forsaken. Punished. Bitch.

His punishment, the worst he could have had to endure, was to be sent here. And he only had one way back, one possible method to return. He snarled at the thought of that path, knowing that it was the ultimate in twisted sadistic games for his kind, and knowing that he would have no choice but to go through with it. Finally, the man slapped a hand to the ground and moved to stand. He stumbled slightly at first, unaccustomed to legs, as it were, but righted himself quickly and stood proud, naked, and arms crossed as a barrier against the cold. In truth, it was summer, and the city sweltered even at night. But he was used to much hotter temperatures, even thrived under them. This... this was tortuous. And it would be getting worse.

Voices.

The man tilted his head and flashed his teeth for a moment, before regaining his calm. A number of mortals were approaching. He could smell them as clearly as he could hear them. One... two scents. One of sweat, salty, stale. The other sweater, but with underlying natural tones. Male and female. He stood silent and as still as a statue, brown eyes narrowing until the pair crossed in front of his alcove. Suddenly, he was on them, fingers gripping the male's throat and tearing before the man could even utter a sound more than a gurgled panic. The female stood in shock as her mate fell to his knees, clutching at his own useless windpipes, eyes staring blankly at his attacker while mouth tried gasping vainly for life-giving air. Finally, the man collapsed, and the woman opened her mouth to scream.

Her eyes were wide with shock and panic, tears already beginning to form, as he scream lasted only a fraction of a second before there was a hot, clammy hand shoved over her mouth. She tried to bite down in defense, tried to grab and claw at the hand and wrist that restrained her cries, but the arm was too strong, and she only found out just how vain her attempts truly were. The attacker drew his face to her ear and growled out words she didn't recognize, sounds she had never before imagined possible, then the thing cursed in English, and seemed to try again.

"Pathetic creatures," it hissed, whispering impossibly hot breath in her ear. His mouth felt like an oven set to broil, and now that she focused on it, his hand on her mouth felt like a heated, wet pad. What was he? The man continued to speak, though she barely heard the words by now. "She sends me here, the jealous cunt, to be forced to live among mortals… and that's not even the worst of it. She has gone too far, this time. I will rip her spine from her back, then allow her very minions to rape her over and over for all of eternity for this."

The man's grip grew slightly tighter as his rage obviously grew, and the woman tried to stare at him through panicked and confused eyes. She was having a hard time breathing now, but by the treatment her lover had received, she knew with a sinking heart that her attacker would not care. She was going to die. She only hoped it came quickly, and before the man took advantage of her. But the newly born thing had his plans already set, and the girl would find herself the victim of his rage. He glared at her for a moment, then sneered and slipped his tongue out of his mouth slowly. The burning wet flesh came into contact with her cheek and dragged upwards slowly, as she grimaced and whimpered in discomfort. At least he could relish in tormenting these lost souls in a different setting for a while.

Nearly an hour later, the muffled screams had stopped, and the man stepped out of the darkened alley, alone, and wiped his hands together. The smell of sweat, blood, and female clung to his fingers, but that did not impede the wicked smile he now wore. If he was to be stuck here even for a time, at least he could have a bit of fun. He squatted to the limp form of the deceased man on the ground below, and used a single hand to pick up the corpse and half drag it back into the darkness. Within a few more minutes, the creature emerged again, now clothed in the stolen jeans, dark button-up shirt, and black jacket, and knelt down to adjust the shoes that clad his feet. His temperature was dropping rapidly, starting to equate to normal human standards, evidence of his newly acquired body adjusting to the physical plane of existence.

It stood for several moments, head turning one way, then the other, sniffing as it tried to decide on a route. He would have to get cleaned up before he did anything, as evidence of torture, rape, and murder were not indicative to his plans. His nose caught wind of a myriad of scents, and he followed it before arriving at a packed bar, a gathering for humans and alcohol, a place where lonely men tried desperately to win companionship and mating with lonely women. Perfect. He slipped inside and, through the crowd, found the washroom. He took his time to thoroughly cleanse his hands in the sink before stepping back out into the main room to survey the crowd.

Now, to trick someone into falling in love with me. This will be easy. Then I can go home...

The demon turned mortal scanned the patrons, his eyes settling on his target in moments, and a wicked smile tugging at his lips. He smoothly moved through the crowd, ready to fool the mortal female in record time, and be back for revenge upon the witch who had sent him here.

"Hello there..." The voice was smooth, charming, and the look on his face even more so.

Micah

A Kiss before Dying

The day had started off well enough. Money had been made, assholes had been put to earth in the best way possible, hangers-on had been kicked to the curb and then over it. On a scale of one to ten, the day rated a solid eight, which meant there could only be room for improvement.

The girl slipped from the dark confines of the closet and put paid to her last task of the day. There was a momentary struggle, but it didn't last long. Soft lips brushed his forehead as the shiny straight razor made short work of his jugular. He never even saw her coming. He had thought her an innocent, untrained. Something to use and toss away. She had met him twice and both times, he had dismissed her easily. His fault. Not hers.

No one really knew who she was. All anyone had ever heard was a first name. Micah. A man's name. Yet, it suited her. From the cap of reddish gold curls that framed her face to the tips of her small feet. Micah, a man's name...which fit as she did a man's job. Working in her father's old position. An assassin. A damned good assassin. The old man was probably rolling over in his grave just thinking about her doing his job better than he EVER could.

Fuck him. He had been her very first hit for the old man who ran this town. She had relished putting paid to the idiot who had donated sperm to make her. She had giggled and chortled and bled him, for hours. Letting him feel what she had felt, all the long years of her childhood. He had died in agony...and she had giggled like a mad person.

Fuck him.

Yanking her mind back to the here and now, the small slip of a girl wiped her bloody straight razor on the robe of the man who had disobeyed his final orders, for the very last time. Once that bit of housekeeping was done, she retreated into the darkened hallway and gathered her clothing from the hall closet. She dressed hurriedly and slipped down the stairs and out the back door, using gloves to hide her fingerprints.

She walked lightly, steadily and soon enough she had reached the abandoned parking lot that held her old Jeep Cherokee. It was the work of a moment to strip off the gloves and wipe her hands down with baby wipes and then alcohol. All of these things were bundled together and stuffed into a plain brown bag, for burning, once she was safe, at home.

At the club

She had gotten rid of anything that could conceivably tie her to the death at the Capo's house and then reported his demise to her boss. Money was slotted into her Swiss bank account. She checked the balance and giggled softly. A nice day's pay. And with nothing pressing for the next few weeks, she decided a night on the town would be bliss.

A hot shower. Burnished copper curls washed and spritzed. Copper colored eyes made up using only a hint of black eyeliner and mascara. Full lips glossed with clear coat. She encased her small frame in black leather~fitted pants, boots, gloves. The shirt was mesh. Black. She looked like a little girl playing dress up in her big, mean sister's clothing.

And then? She headed down town. Each club held the same amount of asinine assholes. The same mix of dolled up, empty headed women and drunk or drugged up men. The only difference that she could see, from one club to the next, was the type of music played. In this one~old 90's grunge. In that one~hip hop, trip hop. In the other one? House music. She stayed in the last one for a while, enjoying the vibe, allowing herself to unwind.

And then? There was a voice.

"Hello there..."

Micah looked up at once...and then kept looking. He was a well built specimen of manhood. Tall, angular, lithe and lean, pale. He looked almost savage. Had she the time for something to blow the cobwebs from between her thighs, she was sure he would fit the bill admirably. Alas, for him and for her, she just wasn't interested.

Who had time for that type of shit when for all she knew, he might be the next one on her list? Without so much as a by your leave, she waved one small hand in his general direction and cut her eyes away, at the same moment. Her voice was low, soft, seductive. The words, weren't.

"Hello yourself, handsome. Now if you'd excuse me, your blocking my view of the floor. Move it...or lose it."

She was perfect.

His smile grew ever broader as she seemed to effectively brush him off. At first, one might consider this a hindrance to his overall goals. But this was a challenge now, and he was far too arrogant to admit defeat now or ever. She would be the one, and it would make his return all the sweeter. At the moment, he didn’t care if it took the rest of this mortal’s life, he would have her, and she would be his ticket home and to his vengeance. After all, he had the countless eons of eternity to work with. What was time, but a fleeting concept of the mortal?

The demon slid next to her, breathing subtly through his nose. She smelled of death. Even better. It was like the icing on the proverbial cake, and he was going to relish it. Not a word was spoken as he back away slowly, though his eyes remained locked on her form. The look on his face, a wicked smile, grew ever more devious the further away he got, as his feet carried him backwards to the center of the dance floor. Upon his arrival, he stopped and stood stock still.

His eyes did leave her for the moment it took to pick a scantily clad woman from nearby. The girl was locked in an embrace by her obviously clumsy and rhythm-lacking partner, but the embrace was broken when the demon grabbed her elbow and spun her close. The man she was dancing with, if it could be called dancing, protested for only a brief moment, when the demon glared with bright red eyes. The dejected man conceded and backed away. The girl was spun in the newly-born creature’s arms, as the demon once again stared at his former target from across the room. This was going to be good.

As if on cue, the music shifted and morphed, the beat heavy, thrumming its sensual rhythm through the building. He placed his hands on the girl’s hips, pulled her firmly against his body, so that her back was against his chest, and moved her hips to match his own. The pair rocked in perfect time, swaying fluidly with the beat.

While he was dancing with this random girl, who was dressed in a ridiculously slutty outfit, his eyes remained locked on his target. They had resumed a more natural brown hue by now, of course, but the grin on his face was nothing less than wicked, as he visually marked what he already considered to be his. Amazingly, there wasn’t a single soul that ventured into his line of sight, as if there were something keeping them at bay. He held no power over them, however, so it was not his doing directly, if at all.

As the music continued to thrum its bass-driven beat, slow and methodical, his hands rose up the sides of his current partner. Fingertips teased, then guided her arms up and over her head, to bend behind his. Their bodies seemed to mesh as one perfectly, the music fueling their movements into the sensual artform being displayed. His hands grazed her flesh as they began their trek back down. Fingertips followed small rivulets of sweat that formed under her chin, ran down her neck, and cascaded subtly between pert breasts, which were held tight by the top that was entirely too small for her. The digits did not delve further, only just enough to tease, before abandoning the tops on fleshy orbs to encircle her stomach possessively as his lips brushed her ear and traveled lightly down her neck. All the while, the display continued while his eyes remained to glare at his real target: the woman who had brushed him off; the woman who smelled of death. His tongue licked across his lips slowly, hungrily. His desire was obvious.

The little tool in his arms was near moaning at this point, and the demon could clearly smell her arousal. But he was not interested in silly, easy sluts. Besides, chances were it would be a long time before she even knew what love was, much less figure out how to fall into it. And to take this girl would be admitting defeat before even attempting anything with his true target. And he would not admit any such thing, leastwise before any and all options had been exhausted. He was far too arrogant and stubborn for such things.

His hips swayed, still guiding the girl in time, fluid movements continuing even as he roughly grabbed the girl more fully and pushed her aside finally. Her protests went ignored. Instead, with body still gyrating and pulsing to the hefty rhythm, he raised a single finger and beckoned his target to join him. While his mouth remained silent, his eyes and smile spoke volumes.

There’s nothing wrong with a simple dance, right?

'Oh my.'

That was the beginning and end of her thoughts. The man had moved away, without a by your leave and insinuated himself within the crowd. People had moved away, leaving a circle, a pathway, one that meant he was directly in her line of sight. Micah had swallowed, hard, and torn her eyes away but somehow they had returned to him, again and again.

It was the sheer unadulterated sexiness of him that kept her gaze returning. His command of the floor, of himself, of the other's who stood in his way. When he grabbed the pale slut and pulled her against him? Micah wanted to whimper. He had the presence of a rock star, a movie idol. He was in total control of the situation. THAT was hot.

Micah shifted slightly, picking up the ice cold glass of straight vodka and gulping it down with barely a breath. By now, it had become apparent that whether her mind thought it was a good idea or not, her body was all for riding that particular carcass til the sun rose. She tried to ignore it. Even as the beat went deeper, even as the throbbing grew more fierce. She forced herself to look elsewhere, again and again.

But his body, the way he moved? Most white boys didn't have ANY rhythm. It's why she would never date them, much less fuck them. But he had rhythm, lots of rhythm and sex appeal for fucking years. The girl who gyrated before him, moved at his command, moved at his whim and she looked as blissful as could be. That was one woman only one short grind away from orgasm...and he knew it.

His eyes looked an odd mixture of red and deep chocolate. How did she know that? Because. he was staring at her. Watching her, eating her up while he drove the slut in his arms to utter distraction. It made Micah NEED another drink. She craved one, like water on a hot August day. Her pulse beat and throbbed and pounded and it took ALL of her composure to not jump up and run away.

Finally, he had released the woman, who looked as if her heart might break. For sure, her clothes looked as if they were more than ready to rip at the seams from the force of all the flesh she had stuffed inside the tight fitting ensemble. The man had raised one querying eyebrow and beckoned, to her. To her?

'Stay or go? You chickening out?'

Micah shook her head, just once, left to right, even as she stood up. She felt DRAWN up, as if the force of his presence demanded some recourse. She could feel herself moving forward, the bass line drawing her ever nearer. Even while she fought with herself, she drew closer.

He dwarfed her height of 5'1". His hair was dark and beautiful, his eyes the same. His skin was like marble, pale ivory with hints of veins running beneath the skin. Arguing with herself did no good. She had already reached him, had already slung one taut, muscled leg around his longer one. Her small hands had threaded their way up over his chest and tangled into the wildness of hair at the nape of his neck.

Her hips moved in perfect accordance with the bass that throbbed through the club. A steady tick tock, like a pendulum. She didn't allow herself time to think, she didn't give herself time to argue. She just moved. Flowed over him like a caramel river of tight muscularity and soft femininity. She felt strong hands close over her hips, but she didn't draw back, instead she pressed forward, upward until she could touch his lips with the tip of her pink tongue.

And when that song came to a close, in the momentary silence that engulfed the floor, she said only four words.

"Thanks for the dance."

A moment, just one, where she looked into his eyes and filed his face away. Then she turned away and walked, limbs trembling, 'but not from need, never that...I don't care what you think about it!' away from him and out of the club. It was past time to go home.

The newly-born man was loving this game now. The sensual dance had ended, after having had a full opportunity to inhale her scent, feel her body beneath his hands, taste her soft, pink tongue. It was certainly different than the other two mortal women he'd touched since his arrival only a short time ago. She was the only who smelled of death, tasted of sweetness, and felt of strength mixed perfectly with softness. He was fascinated by her, an enigma among an otherwise boring race of creatures. But he also sensed something more form her.

Lust.

The demon knew lust, was more than intimate with the concept. But this wasn't the same type of lust given off by the silly slut he'd used as a tool. This was deeper, more meaningful, and resisted. His grin broadened as he watched her hips sway in her near calm retreat. Almost imperceptible was the slight shaking of her limbs. She was as good as his, for the taking at least. But would it be enough?

He'd also discovered something else in his dance with the woman. The human nervous system was such a fascinating structure. Every touch, every feel, experienced for the first time. Heat from her body, the brush of skin and lips, the feel of soft, wet tongue across his own. It was near intoxicating. How did mortals handle the stimulation? He had to have more. It was then that he realized that this brand new mortal coil was actually reacting to the idea of more, as his loins stirred and his mouth curled up in a sneer. He would be following her out tonight, and seeing just how far he could get.

Eyes watched him as he strode confidently and smoothly out the door several meters behind the girl. His own eyes never left her form, studying, drinking every curve in completely, filing away every inch as he could. She was attractive, surprisingly so, for a mortal. It was the way that her subtle power mixed so perfectly with her feminine grace that intrigued him the most. He was fascinated, nearly enthralled, actually. Admitting as much would be a different story, but... His lips curled ever further into their sneer as he made his decision. It was time to see just how far he could take the girl, and just how she would react to it. This would be fun, no matter the outcome.

In reality, they hadn't even gotten very far from the entrance when he made his move. His speed was still formidable, even if most of his demonic powers had been stripped in this form. Speed and strength, to be clear. But he wasn't looking to rape this one, so his strength would only be enough to take charge, not force himself upon. The fun here would lie with the seduction, anyways. In only a few silent, bounding steps, he was behind her, and his hands smoothed around her stomach to pull her back against his body. His lips brushed against her ear, and he allowed his extremely warm breath to cascade over the soft lobe.

His next action was to attempt to turn the girl to face him, his lips aiming for a deep, sensual, possessive kiss.

There would be no words spoken just yet. No names, though if asked, he would simply make one up anyways, as his name couldn't possibly be produced in mortal tongue. There was only the moment, and the physical need he was hoping would be ignited beyond control within her. The demon thought he had love figured out. He was convinced lust was only a step away. The demon did not understand as much as he thought he did.

'Fine. You did it..you got away. Now, get home. You can take the edge off once you get there.'

The thought was pedantic, just a repeat of what she knew. Yet, it seemed that her mind wanted to underline that fact, again. Micah gave a slight smile as she slipped outside. After all, she hadn't expected him to let her go so easily. Probably it had surprised him, when she had turned and walked out.

It was while she was having these thoughts, her feet hitting the pavement with amazing regularity that some one had come up from behind. 'Some one? NO. Him.' His hands had curled over the flat planes of her belly and tugged her, backward, against the long length of him. She knew it as soon as she felt those hands, that body. She knew it as soon as she smelled his breath, his scent.

Myrrh, something like ash or a burnt match. It was an oddly intriguing mix. How had he managed to move so soundlessly? How had he managed to come outside without her knowledge, without her even being aware of his presence until just NOW?

She stayed where she was for a long moment, hearing and feeling his heated breath by her sensitive ear. She stayed where she was...until she felt him attempt to turn her about. Then? She leaned back even more, rising up on tip toe to push the jut of her ass into his groin. One small hand slipped down and then in, aiming for his manhood. She found it, gripped it, squeezed it, hard.

"It is not polite to follow a girl outside and then grope her. It is definitely not polite when said female has already said she doesn't want your company.

She squeezed again, her small hand was extremely strong, and then she turned slightly, into his embrace, her copper colored eyes gazing up, up, up into the heated darkness of his own.

'However, I will let it slide. You ARE a fine mass of male. I ask that you let me go, now. My hand hasn't begun to do real damage...and I would hate to hurt something I might want to fuck one day....' Another warning squeeze. "But trust me when I tell you, that fine or not, wanting to fuck you or not, I will rip this mother fucker OFF if you don't let go."

Micah smiled then, pretty white smile, and rose up on tip toe to take HIS mouth in a kiss. Teeth nibbled, tongue tasted, quested. One more squeeze, her nails meeting in flesh, and she released his length, all while finishing the kiss. When it ended, when she felt sated, she dropped back, flat footed and stared at him once more.

"Next time, think about buying a bitch a drink and let her decide if you are worth the trouble. Try asking her name. Other women aren't as nice as me."

She ducked slightly, her body moving sinuously to try and escape his grip. Would he be nice and let her go?

Every moment spent in this mortal shell was proving to be greater fun than he'd had in millenia. He had thought all human weak, pathetic, boring, and just generally not worth his time. While others delighted in terrorizing and turning the mortal beings into toys for play, he much prefered doing so to his own kind. This happened to be precisely the thing that had led to his current predicament. But this... girl. This killer wrapped in curves.

I must have her...

His face turned in curious manners as she gripped his recently granted phallus, a mixture of bemused surprise and a twinge of pleasure as he made no attempt to separate her hand from his member. The being listened to the woman's words in silence, which was only broken by a slight intake of breath as her nails dug in briefly. When she finally turned to meet his embrace and begin trying to wriggle free of his grasp, he spoke the first words since his initial hello to the woman.

"Fascinating, my dear." The voice was smooth, silky, and undaunted by her threat. He had no doubt she would follow through if she had to, but it didn't bother him in the least. What was the point in worrying about such a weak mortal skin anyways? His lips curled in a smirk while his eyes came dangerously close to burning with the fire that lay just beneath the surface. "So much strength, so much will, so much beauty, so much... Lust." The last word was accentuated as his head dipped to bring his lips to graze against hers. Her taste and smell were intoxicating, so he kept the close proximity as his arms remained locked in place behind her back. He didn't squeeze, didn't threaten; the hold was enough.

"Tell me... did you enjoy what you felt? Was it a good specimen of manhood? How long has it been since you've allowed yourself any real pleasure?" His cheek moved to slide against hers, so that by the end of his question, his soft whisper would fall directly on her ear. If he had to guess, it had been far too long for her, and if the demon could find the right buttons to press, and possibly the right order to press them in... she would surely be his for the taking.

His hand slid under the mesh shirt that covered her torso and hand moved upwards, snaking along flesh slowly, until the strong fingers grasped and squeezed at one of the firm mounds contained within. As soon as they made contact, his eyes shifted back to hers in an attempt to capture them by sheer force of will, and his lips barely parted as he whispered once more teasingly. "A feel for a feel... only fair, right? Don't worry, I will let you go momentarily. But when I do, you will be given a choice... an opportunity. Rare, valuable."

His hand gradually released the breast, his own nails dragging along her skin while the limb made its slow retreat from the mesh shirt entirely. Once free, he released his grasp in the same deliberate manner, but kept his form aginst hers. It would be on her to pull away if she chose.

"I offer pleasure. More pleasure than any man or woman could ever give you. Of course, your first thought is somethjng about having been promised that before... but looking into my eyes, having seen me move, felt my power... do you really believe I can't grant what I offer? The choice is yours..." He moved to circle her slowly, a part of his body in contact with her for the entire duration, as his feet shifted him smoothly in a circle. "...let me give you the most amazing night of your life... or walk away... and miss the chance for all time."

As the man had reached directly behind her, his lips settled on her ear. "If you like... I can get you that drink, first... and even ask your name... before giving you what you want."

The demon was not impeding her escape any longer. This was her choice entirely.

'Of course, he would mention lust, as if that's the only thing about me worth mentioning...just like every other white boy on the face of this planet...sees brown skin, forgets there is a fucking person attached.'

Micah KNEW that wasn't REALLY the man's thought process but the anger helped her to maintain her sense of balance. It helped her to not react when his strong hand found her breast~small, firm~and squeezed. It focused her in a way. Anger had always done so. Most women didn't have her strong dislike of men. Most women would have already fallen at his feet in worship. Between his sexy voice, his dark eyes, his gorgeous physique? He would be any woman's dream. Just not her's. 'Sure, sure. If you can convince yourself of that...I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you, cheap, cheap...'

She had spent so long arguing with herself that it took a few moment's for his final few sentences to penetrate the haze in her mind. The words themselves were spoken low, gently, and dripped sex in a way that most men would cheerfully murder for. She couldn't believe he had actually said them.

An offer for a night's pleasure, for passion? As if she hadn't heard all of this before? As if she hadn't been fending off wanted and unwanted advances since before she KNEW what most men were like? Was he serious? He had finally released her though, his body brushing close as he circled her, like a cat with a cute little mouse. His final sentences had been breathed, hotly, into the shell of her ear. Her body shivered, in response.

Did she doubt his ability to do, to give, to be...any of what he claimed? No. Not really, but she didn't fall into bed with strangers. EVER. She valued her health, her sanity, herself, far too much to change that rule for some man, no matter how sexy he appeared to be. Stepping around him, she gave vent to all of these thoughts with a simple statement.

"When I was giving you the heads up on how to approach a woman, I didn't mean me. I am not on the market. I prefer my partners be a little less....domineering. However, I am sure the next fifty or so that you try that on? Will be eating outta the palm of your hand, no problem. As for me, not interested...no matter what my cunt says. Have a good night."

She finished stepping around him and then continued on her way, tossing her name over one shoulder.

"I am Micah. Pretty sure I will see you around..."

There was a hint of some dark musk, and the wind picked up slightly, causing a shiver to run dancing down her back, but she kept it moving. Sexy ass male or not? No time for sex games. Tomorrow was an early day...and she had plans. Inviting some rock star wannabe along, wasn't listed anywhere in her daily planner.

Soon enough, she was in her beat up Jeep and on her way, out of the city, back to her quiet little house in the suburbs. And if his dark eyes~sometimes red, sometimes a black so dark they drowned her~popped into her head from time to time as she made the drive home? Wasn't anyone's business but her own.

Micah ran her mind, her body, her thoughts. No one else did.

Six months.

It had been six long months since the demon had been locked away in the mortal body, ostracized from his kin and exiled to the physical plane. The comforts of this world had been thrown at his feet, but the only real consolation to his forced exodus was his growing throng of worshipers. On earth, he was now akin to a god, under the guise of a star.

His body rolled smoothly out of the silk-clad bed in the center of the penthouse suite of the hotel he currently occupied. Even though there were a pair of sluts sleeping like the dead within, he never quite forgot the woman he'd met that first night of his arrival. Her scent, her touch; like no other mortal he had met. And she was by far the most intriguing. As he slipped silently to the full size window that overlooked the crowded city, his mind turned to the memories of how he'd gotten there in the first place.

For the next several days, he played the bar and club scene nightly, searching for any other that could prove a potential challenge, but to no avail. One night, in a rather non-descript dive, a mediocre band played their nightly set, while its vocalist belted out the words with all the skill of a child coloring with finger paints. The demon grew tired of the noise rather quickly, and had been on his way out the door when he suddenly stopped, a strange desire overcoming him. A desire that he simply had to see through once it arrived.

Without a word, he moved easily through the sparse crowd and simply stepped on to the stage as if it were his own personal property. The music filtered to a stop in their surprise, as the creature neatly shoved the vocalist out of the way. A few random shouts of surprise and protest rose from the otherwise stunned bar crowd. The singer protested, but a single glare was all it took to shut him up, in much the same way the slut’s boyfriend from a few nights ago had. Amidst the sudden and awkward silence, the demon turned to the guy behind the drums and marked time with a single finger, planting the beat subtly within the drummer’s mind, who, after staring dumbly for a moment, shrugged and began a rolling beat, as if driven to do just that. It was a beat he simply had to get out, like a stroke of inspiration.

The bassist was next to join in on the forming music, and after a similar scrutinizing look from the stranger who had just seemed to replace their lead singer, he followed a thrumbing rhythm with the fat strings of his instrument. When the guitar jumped in, the music was deep and crunchy, but carried a certain unplaced melodic tone that had the entire bar staring at the stage in enraptured awe. The pale, large man that took center stage tossed the microphone away in disgust and stripped away his leather coat and shirt. His hips began to sway to the music he had inspired, the rolling drums matching his movements, rather than the other way around. For several measures worth of the dark, enchanting song, the creature seemed content to writhe and pulse to his own creation. Then his voice came.

It was like honey to the ears. Smooth, deep tones produced from his throat, perfectly on key, and easily reverberating throughout the bar, microphone not even needed. When the words came, the small crowd shifted its attention from the band itself to solely its new frontman. The love was immediate, and the spell had been cast with absolute precision.

Back in his penthouse suite, the demon who had taken the name Anthel turned on the hotel’s television, uncaring that the pair of free sluts in his bed had yet to awaken. The monotone voice of the female newscaster reached his ears while he silently padded towards the kitchenette for a drink.

“...say that Anthel’s rise has given concern to teens and demonic practices. Parents across the globe have petitioned for the boycott and eventual ban of all Anthel-related merchandise, including the debut album, Worship. When asked to comment, the band’s PR manager simply stated that Anthel was unable to comment, which raised the question: will the most popular frontman in the world meet his critic’s accusations?”

The demon sneered and lifted the bottle of whiskey to his lips before taking a heavy swig. How dare they question their new god? Fuck them. He had plenty of worshipers already across this pathetic world, with more being converted every day. Shows were regularly at maximum capacity, sales were at record peaks, and live broadcasts were made to every major country within the world on a near nightly basis. He didn’t need their bullshit. Anthel was angry now.

His body crossed the room with surprising speed, and each hand reached into the bed to grab at a fistful of tousled and messy hair, pulling and lifting the pair of nude women from under the covers and half dragging them through their shocked protests and groans of near panic as they realized what was going on. “Get the fuck out, whores,” he growled as the door was opened and the two bare-fleshed bodies were unceremoniously tossed into the hall. He cared little as they shouted for their clothes, which were still laying in discarded piles on the floor. Anthel had a show to get ready for, and many more followers to win over this night.

Hours later, the deafening crowds surrounded the stage of the domed stadium, as many thousands more packed into the seats above. The creature stood silently backstage, waiting for the show to officially begin. The band would be first to make their way onstage, which would be any moment now. He never cared to meet with them, didn’t even care what their names were. As far as he was concerned, they were nothing more than his puppets, whose sole job it was to glorify their master. And he would be glorified. A smirk tugged at his thin, pale lips as the music began, and he strode confidently to the stage.

Just the same as in the bar that night, the demon writhed and moved to the music, his motions designed to instill lust and desire or jealousy in all who observed them. These people belonged to him. He opened his mouth, and without the aid of a microphone, could be heard clearly by all present. The same milky-deep tone graced the collective throng of ears, as the crowd screamed in adoration.

Desire,
Lust-filled puppets of need.
Given,
Taken in a single heartbeat.

One purpose, feed me.
One desire, submit to meeee....

The music seemed to rise on its way to an eventual crescendo as he swooned his followers with expert skill. They were his slaves. But through it all, she was still on his mind.

Micah. The deathbringer.

The Break

There had been a period of time when the man who had accosted her, had lived in her every waking thought. Yet, she hadn't seen him. Not on her nightly rounds, not during her daily drive to the job she held in the day light hours. It had taken her all of three weeks to erase him~his scent, his voice, the feel of his body~ from her short term memory. She understood it. Micah always understood herself, even if no one else did.

He had been something new, something dangerous. He had been something other. That, more than anything else, had made him unforgettable. At least at first. But his constant emerging into her day light life, into her thoughts? Those things, whether he had meant for it to happen or not, made him unsafe. Unsafe for her. Unsafe for her real work. So she had scrubbed him out of her mind. And had kept him gone. Well, she had kept him gone until she had chanced upon him on one of the music channels, three months ago. Micah's thoughts spooled backward, returning her to that moment.

She had just come in from her evening run, her body flush with adrenaline and sweat, her short cap of curls sticking to her forehead. There were plans to be made for the night's work. A certain public official had become too loud, too sure of himself and would have to be taught a lesson. She could do it. She relished the challenge.

That meant thorough planning. So Micah had turned on her television and headed for the shower. Five minutes later, she was wrapped in a warm robe and contemplating the blueprints her boss had provided. Blue prints of this man's home, his offices, hell, of his life. The wife didn't know about the little apartment where he took the young ones to beat and rape, but Micah did. It was there that she planned to end his miserable existence.

No one harmed children on her watch. Even if that wasn't the reason she had given the boss for her consent. No one harmed children while she drew breath. They could not fend for themselves so she would do it for them. The little ones he had already harmed? They couldn't be made to feel any safer, but he would not have a chance to hurt another. Not while she lived and breathed and killed.

It was while she was packing her bag for the night's entertainment, that she had heard a voice, his voice. Soft. Melodic. Sensual. Her feet took her to the living room and it was there, on the television, that she had gotten her first real glimpse of what that man had become. A godling with the name of~

"I am Anthel. Watch and you may see me in your neighborhood. But be wary. Not all pretty things are good for you..."

~his laughter, dark, seductive, had caused an instant reaction. Goose flesh. A shiver that walked the length of her spine. He had cast his spell on her mind, with just that sentence.

Micah pulled herself from her thoughts, dismal as they were. Seemed like everywhere she turned, there he was. On the radio, on the television, in the pages of her favorite magazines. She could not escape his dark gaze, his deep voice, his body that beckoned for her to stroke, taste, tease. Truthfully, she didn't want to. It didn't matter. She refused to buy his music, stopped watching the music channels, withdrew from the music that had always made the most sense to her. She wouldn't be taken in. He was other. She just didn't know what kind of other he was.

Soon enough, she pulled into the parking lot of her newest day light job~a used book store. She slipped from her Jeep and stretched, five feet and a bit, of girl flesh. She shook the bangs that swooped over her forehead out of her line of sight and went to earn the pittance that made her other work, possible.

Jess, store manager extraordinaire, had greeted her with a list of things to do. Micah had set about getting them done. The day had felt full of potential. Two hours in and Micah knew that she should have just turned around and left. Anything that felt that good, that complete? Was definitely an ill warning. She should have listened to her head. If she had? She wouldn't be giving in to temptation. Temptation in the form of~

"Mikey! I have an extra ticket to go see Anthel. Not the best seats in the house but my partner bailed on me and I know you dig my kind of music. What do ya say?"

Fuck! Three months of avoiding this very thing. What could she say? It wasn't like he would see her, recall her to memory. Too much time had passed. And she did want to know what all the fuss was about. But what could she say?

"Yeah. I'll go."

It begins.

Micah dressed with care~black on black~leather and silk. Her hair was tinted bright pink at the ends. Her make up was heavy, dark. A mask on the face of a girl. Something told her to be wary. She ignored it. Something warned her to be afraid. She laughed it off. And when her ride came to get her, she was ready. As ready as she could be.

The drive was made in silence. An hour and more of nothing but his music, pounding through the car, her body, picking up the pulse of her nerves. No words were spoken. How could they be? His voice took words away, made it impossible to think. Micah stopped thinking. Until they reached the stadium and heard the roar of the crowd within.

They were seated in the middle section, rows and rows away from the stage, but close enough that she could see it, very well. She waited. Like the others. She waited. And when the warm up band was finished? When she heard the first driving chords? She stood and looked, up at the stage, where he would soon be.

He entered. Stage left...and sang.

Desire,
Lust-filled puppets of need.
Given,
Taken in a single heartbeat.

One purpose, feed me.
One desire, submit to meeee....

Micah...stopped waiting and screamed. Her whole heart was given to that yell. Ecstasy. Bliss. Forgetfulness. The rest of it? A blur.

The lights were hot as the shined down directly upon the demon. It was under these lights on a regular basis the Anthel felt most at home. His crowds of worshipers didn’t hurt that feeling of elation, either. It was in this element that the creature was feeding off of their lust, their adoration, their praise. His arms raised horizontally as his hips swung in full circles while the music lifted to a heavy, melodic chorus. The music was designed specifically to enhance himself, and it worked precisely as intended, as the heavy drums rolled, the bass tugged at mortal heart, and the guitar lifted with supreme elation. Then came his voice once again.

So feeeeeeeed me!
Release all your hate, all your love, all your lust.
Feeeeeeed me!
No room for the righteous, the caring, the just.
Feed me...

His legs carried him swiftly to the edge of the stage as he sang, and smooth pale fingertips reached and barely brushed along outstretched hands of his followers. Anthel couldn’t care less about what happened to each and every person he touched after they left this night, but for now, they were his loving devotees, and he would grace them with his touch. When he moved back towards center stage, the verse was beginning once again, so he turned and allowed his voice to fill the dome.

Corrupt,
Needy and wanting you find yourself here.
Stupid,
They’ll never have what you hold so dear...

One purpose, feed me.
One desire, submit to meeee....

The music built up, as if nearing a precipice, a damn ready to burst forth with power. And the power came all at once, as the song reverberated through the building, through televisions and computers around the world, through the hearts and minds of millions of people. Pathetic mortals, only serving a singular purpose.

This forced exile had been useful for one thing. It had been far too long since a demon had received such praise and adoration from mortals as a whole. It was intoxicating, and it was something that the creature could hold over the others’ heads while he sought his revenge on the female that had trapped him here. Even as the chorus approached again, a sneer spread across his lips as he vividly pictured the way she would be bound and raped by her own minions for eons to come. So perfect would be his vengeance. And she would know far too well just how much these mortals had worshiped his very being in his short time on their world.

So feeeeeeeed me!
Release all your hate, all your love, all your lust.
Feeeeeeed me!
No room for the righteous, the caring, the just.
Feed me...

The musical bridge had begun, and Anthem took the opportunity to glare at the PR manager off to the side of the stage. The man knew his job, and with a resigned sigh, set about to alert security. Anthel was going to be inviting someone on to the stage. Again.

The demon lifted his hands and stared lustily into the crowds, scanning back and forth as his fingers beckoned. Getting a woman on stage was an all too easy task, and what he did with her would always ignite the passions of the crowds to new heights. Editors, producers, and the television crews present knew to be ready for the splotchy blurs that would censor the most outrageous acts, if Anthel chose that route tonight. The creature, turned man, beckoned with pale fingers, inviting, drawing the lucky and faithful to his embrace. Only one would be chosen, one would be lucky.

You say you’re not ready for me.
You claim that you want to be free.
But freedom, so lonely, is a dream.
You’re a slave to this world and its gleam!

So feeeeeeeed me!
Release all your hate, all your love, all your lust.
Feeeeeeed me!
No room for the righteous, the caring, the just.
Feed me...

As the chorus and song neared its conclusion, Anthel scanned the gathered hopefuls as security held them at bay. The PR manager was watching him carefully, ready to pick the selection from the group at his boss’s indication. Who would he pick this evening? Who would it be?

The music was echoing, cajoling, begging. There were no words now, not while he stalked back and forth, an untamed lion, a hunter on the prowl. Micah had fought the urge~ the urge to stand up, stride forward, to look upon him, up close and personal. She had fought the need, the want, the must have.

At least until Meri had stood up and left the row, her long legs carrying her toward the stage, toward the man who beckoned. Micah stopped then. Thoughts became a mess of words, a morass of wants, needs, must do's. Still, she fought the urge. She would not throw herself up there and beg for notice. Not from him. Not from ANY man. Being noticed got you killed. Got you hurt.

'Not for me. Let Meri go...it's not for me.'

The thought was heavy, stolid. Micah listened. With a small sigh, she resumed her seat, dropped her head and prayed for this to all be over soon. She didn't want to look at him anymore. She didn't want to be here. It was worse than she had feared, far worse. His otherness shone out like a lamp through a Tiffany diamond. She wanted no parts of it, of him.

'Riiiight,. And THAT explains why my heart is hammering and my knees are weak....'

His voice rose, a crescendo of mastery, of domination. He owned the crowd and every one in it. Micah shook her head. Not everyone, he didn't own her. Meri returned, long enough to grab her arm and jerk her out of the seat where she had hidden.

"Get your ass up! He always picks the same types~pale Goth looking girls. You are unusual enough that he might see you. For sure, you don't fit with the usual mix here. C'mon."

Micah was yanked, but she allowed it. She was pulled, but she allowed it. Not because she couldn't stop Meri. Obviously, she killed men for a living, she could have stopped her day light friend, no problem. She allowed it for one simple reason. If he saw her, would he choose her? And if he chose her, would he remember her?

A few well placed elbows made a spot for her, just beyond the reach of security. One man called himself reaching out, to touch, to control. She glared at him, crossing her arms over her breasts. His hands went elsewhere. That was good, for him and for her. She would have hated to hurt him.

And while all of this was occurring? Her head was down, her dark cap of copper and pink curls blocking any decent view of her face. Finally, she looked up and waited to see just who the singer would choose. Her eyes focused upon him~Anthel~ with an intensity no one else would have believed her capable of, not unless they saw her in her other life. And those who saw her in her other life, weren't left alive to carry tales.

So feeeeeeeed me!
Release all your hate, all your love, all your lust.
Feeeeeeed me!
No room for the righteous, the caring, the just.
Feed me...

His pointing finger ticked left, ticked right...and she watched. She waited. Deep inside? She yearned. Her face gave nothing away but anyone with eyes would see the pounding of her pulse as it beat in her throat. She never moved though, never screamed or drew attention. She just stared up at him, her copper eyes narrowed against the bright light...and she waited.

The music had reached its final crescendo, and was ending with the simmering fade, which transitioned smoothly into the next song. The key shift was barely registered, but present, as the beat slowed into a more soft, sensual feel. Anthel’s eyes glowed dangerously as he scanned the rather formidable group of females (and a few hopeful males) for an appropriate partner to tease and coerce. It was then that he saw her.

It was as if she stood out from the crowd, despite the fact that she was smack dab in the middle of it. His eyes flashed a full red as they met hers, and his lips curled in a sneer. So, she had returned to him. The creature didn’t know the circumstances, nor did he care. The woman had come to his show, come down to the stage, and waited to be picked. Granted, she was simply standing, which was quite the stark contrast to the others, who nearly tried to clamber over one another in attempts to be noticed and reach the stage.

And thus followed the conundrum, the demon’s first real one since coming to this world. What would seal her fate even further as his? If he called her up, he could directly tease, could use his music, motions, and touch to further her desire. But this hadn’t worked the last time. Sure, it had planted the idea, but didn’t go as far as he had planned. However, if he called another up, and replayed the game of watching her as he teased another, would it go over better than last time? She had certainly responded, insomuch as she had approached when he beckoned her for a dance. But how much closer to his goal would doing it again land him?

All this ran through his mind as the beat continued to roll and pulse through him, just as much as it rolled and pulsed through the crowd. Interesting, how he couldn’t decide so easily on the best course of action. Anthel’s eyes had returned to their deep brown as they continued to lock on to hers. Decisions, decisions.

A sheen of sweat across his shirtless, pale skin shone in reflection of the heavy spotlights that all focused on his form. His dark hair was matted nearly flat, the long locks cascading over shoulders and only ending halfway down his spine. Muscles rippled under flesh, as his anticipation and excitement grew. And all the while, his sultry dance seemed to fuel the music that wove its way through the masses like tangible wisps of aural smoke. This was his element now, the power to create and fuel lusts and desires. It was his masterpiece.

The intro for the new song continued as he pointed directly at the girl and beckoned with his finger. The PR manager followed the pointing digit and moved through the unruly crowd to arrive at the girl, and placed a hand on her shoulder, ready to guide her to the stage as soon as she moved. Meanwhile, the most popular frontman in the world was staring her down, a gleam in his eye that he hoped spoke volumes.

Micah. My delicious death dealer. You will be mine.

He could almost smell her scent once more. Blood. Exquisite. As he waited for her arrival, the time for words came, and with burning eyes still on her, he started to sing once again.

Surrender is all that now remains.
Rapture so sweet; running through veins.
Take my hand and you will find out
My touch can erase even the worst of doubts.

Lips take hold and never let go.
Desire fueled like fire, and you know
Nothing else can ever compare.
Lose yourself with this hand in your haaaaaaaiiiiiiir....

The offer had been given, the words spoken, and Anthel waited to see what his prey would do. Would she meet his challenge, or run from it? His smile grew broader as he licked his lips impatiently. And still the music rolled on.

Pandemonium. Women screeched, begged, beckoned, but the big oaf who had originally reached for her had somehow gotten to her side and cleared a path to the stage. Micah was in shock. Serious shock. 'He sees me. He knows me. He is beckoning for me. What do I do?'

The guard's voice whispered into the shell of her ear, his rancid breath making her gag, slightly. "Don't know why he wants you when there are plenty of better looking bitches here."

Micah turned, her small hand finding his cock with no hesitation and grasped it, twisting slightly. Her nails buried themselves in his flesh, through the heavy denim, and pulled, once. Sharp. Fast. Her words were soft. Her eyes cold. "Good thing he has better taste than you, huh, Jabba?" She released his dick with a grimace.

Some other man waited for her, just off to her left. He beckoned her closer and clasped her elbow tightly as he helped her through the tumultuous crowd. The screaming, pissed off women. The crying, saddened men. Micah paid them no mind. Her eyes were focused solely on Anthel. He was waiting. Dancing. Writhing. Commanding. Demanding. She would go to him, this time. After all, this is what she had wanted. To see if he remembered her. To know if their attraction had been a fluke.

The music goaded her, caused her body to jerk slightly, caused her heart to race. It was like an orgasm, by crescendo. His eyes caught hers, as words flew from his mouth. His voice rose, sending a deep shiver into the center of her body. Her eyes were locked on him, on his body, on the dark silk of his hair. The voice, though, that was what made the next bit a done deal.

Surrender is all that now remains.
Rapture so sweet; running through veins.
Take my hand and you will find out
My touch can erase even the worst of doubts.

Lips take hold and never let go.
Desire fueled like fire, and you know
Nothing else can ever compare.
Lose yourself with this hand in your haaaaaaaiiiiiiir...

Somehow she found herself on the stage before him. Somehow. Her body dipped while his swayed. Swayed when he dipped. A cord bound them. She felt it, some shimmering thing that only tightened as he moved closer. She couldn't allow him to have all the fun. What good would that do?

So before he made his move? She made hers. Pressing herself to him and gliding, silently, around his body. Front, left, back, right. She kept her body locked to his, so that he could feel the hardness of her nipples against his bare skin and when she found herself facing him once more?

One hand went to the heft of his dark hair and tangled through the mass of it. One strong leg locked itself to his hip. The other hand? Rose to touch his cheek with something akin to awe. She forgot that anyone else was there. She no longer heard him singing. Instead she focused on his skin. Pale, flawless, beautiful. And when she was done touching? She stepped back, just one step and knelt at his feet, her warm breath caressing his manhood through the tight pants he wore, low on his hips.

Were there words being sung, even now? Were the crowds noiseless? She didn't know, didn't care. She inhaled his essence~bitter herbs, myrrh, sulfur...even now, sulfur, and waited to see just how the song, this song, would end.

'He fascinates me. But...that isn't enough...not by far...'

Rising to her feet, she waited...but in silence...and silence...was bliss.

The demon’s eyes were locked on her approach. When she made it up on the the stage and her hips began to move in response to his body, his sly grin formed. All the while, even as the words to the song continued to drip smoothly from his mouth, he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stop watching her. His eyes, when not locked directly on hers, slid down her body hungrily. It wasn’t that the man was hard pressed to find the company of a woman, but more that this particular woman was something special, something that drew his attention, as the only woman worth more than a passing fuck and toss away that he had found on this world so far. The prospect of turning such a cold killer into his hot lover was too enticing to pass up. And since he had focused on her, his pride would not allow himself to admit defeat.

So, he made no move to stop her as she pressed herself to him. The action was clearly meant to tease, and was working, but that didn’t hinder the words of the song from continuing. She slipped around his body and came back to the front eventually, before gripping his long dark hair and wrapping a leg around him.

Teasing the tempter. What an intriguing mortal.

Long fingers slid along the girl’s body as she slid to kneel and slipped into such close proximity to his manhood, and the smile grew on his face. It was quite an enticing idea, and thoughts rolled through his mind even as the words rolled from his lips. Images, passion, control; the ideas were certainly plenty to choose from. But why choose? It would be so much more satisfying to just have them all.

When she stood, his eyes once again traveled her form, and his tongue slid slowly along his lips. It was his turn to pay back in kind, and the demon had just the plan to leave her wanting for more. As his feet began to slide fluidly and close the small distance, the chorus began. Simple, yet effective.

Surrender...

His body pressed against hers, shifting downwards slightly to ensure his chest met the top of hers, hand placed in small of back, possessive, it pulled her closer, matching hip to his, and the creature guided them both to sway to the music. His other hand hung loosely at his side for the moment.

Surrender...

Anthel’s eyes bore into Micah’s, his face so close to hers; breath mingling, sweat mixing on collective flesh, their heat becoming one under the spotlights. The swaying grew more dramatic with every measure, and he finally lifted his free hand to run through copper hair. Fingers clasped closed, and head was pulled back to allow impossibly hot breath to glide up her throat.

Surrender...

Eyes focused on hers once again. The points of contact their bodies held each had their own significance. The hand in her hair was control, taking charge and leading them where they both wanted to be. His chest pressed against hers was intimacy, heartbeats pounding to reach out and touch the other. Hand in the small of her back was possessive, a claiming of what she offered when she was ready to do so. Hips pressed against one another were lust, the desire to free the body from the clothing that acted as a barrier, before two flesh became one.

Surrender...

Then, the contact was slowly changed. His hands moved along her form, teasing, exploring, but avoiding any overtly sexual contact for the moment. Thighs, back, stomach, neck, face, arms... All explored by his searching hands and grazing fingers. All the while, his body smoothly shifted around hers, careful to keep contact at all times. Once behind her, he pressed his hips against her ass, letting her feel the manhood locked within tight pants, and ran the back of a finger down her cheek. This was when the last words were sung in a whisper that was meant only for her.

“Surrender, Micah...”

Sweat collects. Drips. Micah is screaming inside her own head...yet her body...remains still. He is stalking her by not moving. Seducing her by fingertip and body heat. Caressing the part of her that wants to lay down, take it, take him, fall apart, die. She is cold, so very cold.

Yet the sweat, drips.

She can feel him. Lithe. Lean. So very seductive. Caressing. Dancing. Weaving a web of desire that can not be broken. A spell. His body~a David made flesh. Marble and cool, she wants him. Needs him. Must have him. Can not have him, not in a way that would matter.

Still the sweat, drips.

Her mouth is filled with an insatiable hunger for his taste. Her nostrils are assaulted by his scent. Her eyes crave the sight of him. Her hands want to touch and rip, flay and seduce...all at once. She yearns and in that yearning is the seed that will be her undoing.She knows it. Takes strength from the idea...and yet, she can not deny him a partial victory. He knows that he has her.

And the sweat, drips.

Micah's body trembles, there on that stage. She knows he can feel it. She knows he is tasting her, testing her, taking something from her. And she knows that what he craves she can not give to him. Surrender of her heart, her mind, her soul, her body. He wants to rule her, own her, break her down, remake her in his image. She can not, will not, allow that to happen.

Surrender...

She can't. Not and remain as she is, as she has made herself.

Surrender...

She can't. It is an impossible request. A thing that will change her, forever.

Surrender...

She can't. To do so would kill her.

Surrender...

She wants to. The voice in her ear whispers, asks, demands, requires, an answer.

“Surrender, Micah...”

"I can not."

The sweat drips as she turns within the circle of his arms. The sweat pours as she lifts her mouth to his in one fleeting kiss. The sweat sticks as she stares into his dark eyes~ her body held over an abyss of loathing, longing, fear, need, want. The sweat drips, dries and starts anew. She whispers, against the pale column of his throat.

"Doing so, would break me. May I go now?"

Anthel had her, and he knew this as fact.

The moment she turned and met his lips in a brief kiss, the fact was solidified, and only reaffirmed once again by the tone of her voice when her reply to his seduction: “Doing so, would break me. May I go now?"

His eyes studied hers for several moments as the music continued, and they both seemed oblivious to the noise of song or crowd, as their movements had stopped, and even the demon who had known eternity, felt this experience would never end. For the briefest instant, the mortal heart that pounded in his chest skipped an actual beat, and his eyes widened nearly imperceptibly in his realization of what he had just felt. The creature had always brushed aside the idea of a muscle responding as such to emotional state, and experiencing it himself caused a near wave of confusion to wash over him. But he forced it back to focus on what must be done next. Micah. His hand of death. Would he break her?

The root of his body’s slight betrayal escaped his mind, since he was blissfully caught in what he deemed to be more important business, as he weighed the options quickly.

He knew without question that he could force the issue. He could force her surrender. It was very likely that he could very well guide her back stage that very moment, abandon his worshipers without a second thought, and make this woman his for the next several hours. But what would come of that? How would that affect his overall goal? Would she come out of the experience feeling used, betrayed, hating him for his control and hold over her? Or would she snap in the opposite direction. Humans... so fucking confusing.

And still the music rolled on.

If he let her go, would she be too afraid to ever come back to him? Chances were good, at least as far as he could tell, that she would recognize this as the close call it truly was, and run as far away as she could, never looking back as long as she could help it, and thus defeat him unknowingly at his own game. What would she do if he were to grant her freedom?

There was no mistake in his mind. Her freedom was his alone to grant in that precise moment. And for the few literal seconds that it took to mull over the options, he had no idea if he would grant it or drag her backstage, bend her over at the waist, and make her scream his name for hours to come. In each choice lay the possible paths, ones that would lead to his freedom from this mortal plane, others that would lead tom having to start over from scratch. For the first time in his countless eons, the demon found himself at a loss for a prompt decision. His hands tightened around the curve of her back, and his lips met hers once again, the kiss not nearly as brief as hers had been the first time, but not as passionate or involved as he desired. His decision, it seemed, was made. It was time to live with the consequences one way or another.

Lips, heated, covered in her salty sweat from dragging along her cheek to rest on her ear, parted slowly. The words came from them, words that once again, only she would be able to hear. This was their moment, for no one else in the world. As far as he was concerned, the rest of the pathetic mortal race could burn in hell as they shared this moment.

“Four Seasons. Room 600. Midnight.”

Five words. Five words were spoken, then his hands slipped away from her form, and he stepped away slowly. His eyes remained locked on hers for several more moments, then he finally turned and immediately began to sing the remainder of the song. He had missed a verse, but the audience didn’t seem to care.

One last fleeting glance was all Anthel could give to Micah as he realized that his chances had dwindled so far now.

Their dance was a prelude to the passion he could engender without even trying. It had been this way, long months before. It hadn't changed, only deepened, blossomed. Grew. A weed in the midst of her too sterile life. Finally, she noted, his complete lack of movement. His puzzled expression. The I want line clearly visible between the wings of his eyebrows. Her thoughts scurried like rats in a maze, like ants in the rain. They clarified when he kissed her.

Micah was shattered. By the admission, by her inability to move away. By his complete lack of motion. Her body felt pulled apart, torn in fifty billion different directions. She had said too much. He knew too much. His lips had plundered hers, claimed hers in a way that no other man would have dared. But it wasn't love, only lust, only wanting, that made her tremble so.

The music rolled on and on, yet she didn't hear it. The bass throbbed, low, in her gut but she couldn't move away. He hadn't released her. He hadn't agreed nor disagreed. He had only watched her with that slightly puzzled expression and then he had kissed her and whispered into her ear, five very tempting words.

“Four Seasons. Room 600. Midnight.”

Eventually, his strong arms ceased to hold her close. Eventually, his lean, powerful body had stepped away. Eventually, his voice rose into the night and allowed her to escape. A hand gripped her elbow. A body led her from the stage. The music roared and crashed and throbbed...and eventually, she returned to her day light friend and sat, in her seat. Alone. Alone. Alone.

“Four Seasons. Room 600. Midnight.”

The concert ended, but she didn't recall. The drive to her place was made in silence. Not that Meri hadn't asked questions. She had. But Micah had no words with which to answer them. Truth be told she couldn't have answered had she wanted to. His voice, those five words, drowned her with longing, with wanting, and she could not speak. All she could do, all she could think, was~ 'Do I go? Do I run?'

Home. The time 11 o' clock. Her thoughts were no clearer. She was dazed, scared, hungry, needy, wanting. 'Do I go? Do I run?'

A shower. Cool to ease the stink of arousal. To ease the ache of wanting. She wrapped herself in warm terry cloth and wandered into the bedroom. 'Do I go? Do I run?'

Copper eyes flew to the bedroom clock. Half an hour left. Shaking fingers slid on a pair of lace boy short panties, a matching demi cup bra, both in baby blue. Trembling hands pulled out boot cut, men's style jeans, a tight white baby tee. Socks. Baby blue Timberland boots, slipped the ensemble on.

She was out the door and in her Jeep before it hit her. 'Do I go? Do I run?' had turned into 'Will he want me? Will he be waiting?' She pulled out, into traffic, and drove to the hotel. Her mind was gone, filled with want of him. Her body burned, for need of him. She arrived with a few minutes to spare.

Into the lobby. Someone spoke but she never heard a word. Her eyes focused on the elevator. A small finger, nail bitten to the quick, jabbed the UP button. When the doors opened, she stepped in...and went up.

“Four Seasons. Room 600. Midnight.”

A moment of terror. Of fear. She found the room and stood before the door, her heart hammering. Finally, a small fist rapped. she wanted to NOT be doing this, but it was too late, too late by far. He had beckoned...and she had gone running... and ended up coming straight back.

The demon stood on the balcony of his room with arms crossed, looking out over the city created by mortal hands. This was the height of man's reach, the final act of humankind's time on stage. Yet they scurried along below, too caught up in their precious jobs, lives, families. Oblivious. Pathetic.

Even in the dead of night, the lights below burned brightly. His eyes flashed red as they watched the activity below in bemused silence. There, on the streets six stories below, a woman tired to coerce a man into relations for money. Fifty feet away, boys barely in their teens huddled in a circle, passing a joint back and forth as each took their turns keeping watch. Even less distance away, a man covered in filth tried to fix his newspaper blanket to conceal more of his body. Desperation, rebellion, shame. The small block below was just one example of the state of the great mortal race. And the hotel Anthel resided in for the evening wasn't even in what most would consider the shady part of the city. This world was ripe for destruction.

He turned suddenly and drifted back inside. His bed, this evening, was empty. Even if he hadn't been hoping for a specific visitor, the demon had started to grow bored with the random sluts throwing themselves at his feet and into his bed. Despite the knowledge of being worshiped, the demon craved something more.

But what?

For the life of him, Anthel couldn't place the craving. What more could a demon possibly want than to be worshiped and adored by mankind? It was supposed to be the epitome of all a creature such as him desired. Yet it left him feeling... Hollow. Empty. Alone?

He cursed under his breath. That couldn't be it. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew that there was no loneliness. Such an emotion would require that he actually care. That he actually desired someone's presence. Someone. Micah's image flashed through his mind, and his face softened slightly. Maybe it was the desire to go home, and the knowledge that she would soon be granting that desire, that fed his feelings now. After all, to think of her as any more than a tool to meet his goal was foolish. It couldn't possibly be. So why did his heart pulse and speed up when the knock came?

His eyes drifted to the clock as he silently crossed the luxurious room towards the door that would grant her entrance. 11:59. Punctual, if nothing else. Fingers grasped and closed around the handle slowly, and he paused for a mere moment. When the clock changed to midnight exactly, the door drifted open.

There she is. My ticket. My tool.

It was almost as if he was trying to convince himself with those thoughts, as he drank in her image in front of the doorway.

His hands reached out in a flash, and with a bit of a show of strength, they closed one on each upper arm and pulled her inside. His face was drawn and tight, more out of lust than anything else, and with a firm push, he pressed her against the wall just as the door closed behind them. They were alone now.

Lips sought neck, teeth scraped flesh, and tongue traced fresh bite-marks. It would take something truly drastic to stop his advances now. But through it all, his grip was not threatening, not violent, not forceful. Just firm. He knew that she could take anything he could dish out, shy of actually intending to harm her. The smell of death that lingered on delicate skin told him this much. The woman between him and the unyielding wall was more than capable of protecting herself, and taking things rough when she chose.

His hips pressed to hers, his stiffening member straining through leather to press against denim. Hands left her arms and slid up shirt-covered chest, exploring, needing. She had plenty of opportunity to escape should she choose. This was best. Make it seem like rape, and his plans would be foiled.

I cannot lose my chance at her love...

He mentally pushed back the wondering at whether or not there had been more behind that thought than he'd originally intended.

The hallway is silent. Micah can hear the pounding of her heart. It beats triple time and against the pace of her pulse. There is a vibration, a waiting, that causes the few hairs on her body to prickle with unease. A warning of what is to come? A worry that once she steps inside, once she is within his embrace, she will never be able to escape? Possibly. She knows the truth. Escape will become a passing thing. It won't happen. Not fully. Not ever.

She wants to turn away but something holds her there. A moth to his flame. She knows that he is drifting toward the door. She can practically feel the heat of his body through the solid door that divides them. Wanting to turn away and actually doing so are two very different actions. She stands there, her heart and pulse and breath at odds with one another.

And then he opens the door.

There is a hint of red, flickering in the deep chocolate brown of his eyes. There is a bit of controlled speed, of barely leashed violence. It calls to her, echoes her own barely hidden self. He connects with muscled flesh and tugs her. She can not resist. Does not even attempt to fight. All the fight has trickled from her in the course of the evening. What she has left, ALL she has left, is raw need.

His mouth ravishes her neck. His hands hold her arms in a somewhat less than punishing grip, his maleness pokes her belly~an obvious statement on their height difference. All she can do is respond~body softening as he places her between the wall and himself.

All she can do is moan low in her throat as her fingers skim upward, tracing marble pale, marble cool, flesh. All she can do is take what he gives. And what he gives is a hunger that seems to meet and surpass her own. She would be shocked by that thought, had her brain been able to think it coherently. As it is, she is not shocked, only shook and devoured.

Her clothing is still on. She notes that with a moment's passionate befuddlement. That needs to be fixed. With a low growl, a groan, she shakes his hands off and glances up at him.

"I am here, as you've asked. I have come, as you commanded. Don't rush me...only...let me take my time with this. I plan on giving into temptation tonight. You will become just my fantasy, later. Give me room, let me breathe. I won't run. Not yet. Not now."

And while she spoke, her voice low, hungry, husky, her fingers plucked at the tee shirt that hid her from his gaze. She wanted the clothing gone...but not if he wouldn't step away. Not if he couldn't let her breathe. He could control the rhythm later, but not yet. She was here, at his command, true. But that wasn't the extent of it. She was here because of her own body's wanting. The sooner he understood that, the better it would be.

"I am here, as you've asked. I have come, as you commanded. Don't rush me...only...let me take my time with this. I plan on giving into temptation tonight. You will become just my fantasy, later. Give me room, let me breathe. I won't run. Not yet. Not now."

The demon turned man paused for a moment, then withdrew his head from the crook of her neck slowly. His brown-red eyes stared at her in confusion, brows furrowed. He didn’t quite comprehend the request. Well, the request was easy enough to follow, but the reasoning was beyond. Don’t rush? Room? What was the point of all this? He would never understand humans. It was a pleasurable experience, so why would there be any hangup or slowing down of this nature?

The eyes, which had shifted more towards the red end of the spectrum in his excitement, traveled down her curvaceous form gradually, then made their way back up. A curt growl of ascent, and he took a single pace back, hands falling to his side.

“Fine.”

While confused, he did realize that conceding to her wishes right now, especially, would go much further towards his actual goal than simply ignoring her and pressing on. Nothing good would come of that option. Humans, for some reason, did not generally appreciate being given things, even things that felt amazingly good, against their wishes. Free will was one of their most guarded treasures, even if they never fully realized or appreciated it. Infringe on that, and she could very well be lost to him forever.

So there he stood, a single pace away from the woman of his desires, trying not to show impatience or frustration in his confusion. After a few moments, a smirk started to grow across his cheeks, and his hands lifted to grab the hem of his own simple white shirt. Slowly, inch by inch, the fabric lifted, gradually revealing pale, toned flesh. He had a very defined body, and he knew that was one of the few saving graces to his exile. He wasn’t afraid to flaunt it. When the shirt finally came over his head, he tossed it aside and grinned wickedly at her.

Fingers toyed over the snaps that held leather pants in place, and with a deft series of motions, the snaps opened, and thumbs hooked in waist. Rocking back and forth, he slid the leather down past hips and groin, revealing a complete lack of undergarment beneath. Once the pants were free from feet completely, they too were tossed aside. He now stood nude, toned, and pale before her.

And he was smiling, hunger clearly etched across his face.

"Fine."

His voice didn't make it sound fine. His voice made it sound as if some ignorant person was taking something of import, from him. He was curt, aloof. Micah drew a breath, deep into the pit of her belly and blew it out. No matter how he sounded? He had stepped back. Just one step, enough for her to breathe. She wanted to smile but she couldn't. Her nerves had carried her this far, but they were failing.

'What do I do? What should I do?' Her voice scampered through her brain. Going round and round without ceasing. She felt...ILL. 'You buck up, bitch, and do what you planned on doing~ on all those long, lonely nights~ before you kicked him out of your brain. Get naked and do what is needed.' That voice was firm, no nonsense... and it worked...until he started to strip.

"Fuck me."

The words were released on a quiet sigh. He had stripped down with no shame, no effort, no thought. He was a beautiful specimen~cut up, lean and very well muscled. She forced herself to look him over as he had done to her, not stinting on any one area. The breath wheezed out of her when she saw his soft length, lying like some sort of pale snake against his thigh.

'Who in their right mind would want THAT? Obviously, me...but I don't think I would be here, had I known...' The thought came and went, a summer storm. Was too late, far too late, to think on it now. So, she stopped thinking and set her body on auto pilot.

First, the tee shirt. Blinding in it's whiteness, it is a direct contrast to her darkly burnished skin. She tugs it up and off, folding it and placing it on a near by chair. Boot laces are loosened next and the boots are then toed off, left then right. Her fingers start to tremble, but she doesn't pause. Jeans are unbuttoned, unzipped and slid down over the muscles in her thighs. She drags the socks off as she steps from the jeans. Finally, she stands up and faces him again.

Her body is curvy but exceedingly dense with muscle. The baby blue set shows off everything and gives a delightful peek at the things hidden. Micah stands hip shot, her eyes glaring up into his darker ones. But only for a moment...and then she steps closer...that one little step...and kneels.

A strong hand reaches for his tumescent length and strokes it, lightly, from base to tip.
Soon after, a warm mouth follows and suckles the head, a tongue tip swirling along the underside of the shaft. Her eyes close. She needs nothing else from him...only this. The feeling of him swelling and filling the warmth that is her mouth. She only wants this...but in the back of her mind, a lone voice, speaks.

'Don't forget the condom...and don't tell him that he will be the one YOU choose to be the first. It isn't his business...and it will be over before the sun rises.'

The look he was giving her was one laced with both hunger and appreciation.

The demon had stood patiently, nude, body hairless naturally, aside from face and scalp, and watched as she slowly moved to reveal the form that he desired. And he wasn’t afraid to admit that he desired it. After all, lust was a fallen’s forte, or at least one of their many. And her body was something to be physically desired. Soft, luscious breasts, inviting to the touch and caress, held captive yet by the blue undergarment that lifted and added ever more mystery while enticing. Wide hips, an unconscious desire in sexual practice for most males, as they hinted at fertility. Man as a gender has forgotten such things. The demon remembered. The apex of strong, smooth thighs was cupped perfectly by the matching blue piece of material, hiding petals from view. That would change soon enough.

For a moment, he simply drank in the view, every inch of flesh under lover’s gaze. His eyes glowed the faint red that might have betrayed his origins, but he didn’t care. His tongue slipped out between his lips to lick them slowly.

One thing that interested him was the sheer difference in tones. Next to his pale, sheened skin was her darker, mocha hue. It was a rather fascinating contrast to behold, one that was amplified as she stepped closer and slipped to knee to begin the task of bringing his manhood completely to life. He groaned softly. No matter how much he tested and enjoyed it, the human nervous system was still so new to him, and was taking some time to get used to. Her tongue and luscious plump lips were sending all the right sensations to his mind. It was marvelous how a demon soul had been trapped in a mortal shell and connected so well to it. But that thought was brushed aside quickly as her mouth continued to work.

One hand slipped to the back of her head, and his sharper than normal nails scratched lightly at her scalp before grabbing curls and gripping tightly. He didn’t hinder her movements, or impose his will. He simply held.

The other mortal paw slid slowly, sensually down her neck, unafraid to allow the nearly claw-like nails to graze skin on their trek. He reached clasp of bra after the gradual teasing, and pinched with thumb and forefinger, releasing the hook and letting the strap open and lay uselessly across her back. Fingers trailed back up her shoulder and lightly, methodically, and slowly slipped the one side off shoulder. A reach around her head, and the other shoulder-strap followed in kind.

Anthel stroked Micah’s cheek idly as he decided to enjoy the current moment a little longer.

He stroked. First idly and then with intent. One handed. The other held tight to her short cap of curls. The hand that stroked? It's fingers teased apart the catch on the back of her bra and slipped delicate baby blue straps off of muscled shoulders and away. She felt the slight drop when small breasts gave into the tug of gravity. Not too much, just enough to underscore the fact that she was getting older.

He did this. No muss, no fuss, while she savored each delectable inch of him. From head to base. Her hands filled with pulsation, her mouth gorged to just above full. It didn't matter that her jaw ached, that her knees hurt, that the soft tug of curls caused strain in her neck, along her back. What mattered was the taste of satiny flesh. What mattered was that she would not be hurried. And in this case, what her body craved could wait. This giving to him, was enough. It soothed her.

Eventually, the pain in her jaw caused sharp white teeth to graze sensitive male flesh. Her mouth was over full, with saliva, with hard flesh, with the taste of brimstone and sulfur and sweet tangy musk. She released him with a barely heard POP and leaned away. The bra shifted silently from lap to floor. She stood up and gazed into his eyes, as small hands went to the waist of her panties and pushed down, away, letting gravity do the work once they were past her knees.

Her pubis was bare and carved into the flesh of her mound, still easily seen, were two letters. M B. Thick, the carving was. The scars a jagged mass of healing flesh. The last gift from her first kill. Her father. Michael Branson. Bastard extraordinaire. The Jagged lettering was paler than the surrounding flesh. He had marked her as his for all time. The fucker.

Micah stared at the man, the Other. His eyes flared red. That was it. That was all. No other sound. She stepped away, retreated to her pants, pulled out the gold wrapper of a Magnum condom. The girl was glad that she had planned for such an eventuality. She had wanted him to be the one she chose...but she had never really intended to go through with it. Some head to finish him off and then slipping soundlessly away.

She hadn't expected him to be so beautiful.

With her body turned away, for that moment, Anthel could see her back. Covered in scars. Thick. Thin. Pale. Some jagged. Some not. Gifts from the bastard who made her. Knives and straps and whips and canes and sticks. All there to be read with fingertips and mouth. She wondered if her was disgusted. Most men were. But she didn't really think of him as male. just Other.

She turned around, her eyes moving up over his body. From feet to eyes. The gaze never tarried, never hurried. Not until it reached his face. Her gaze stopped at his eyes.
Her voice, unheard, unused for long minutes, was husky. Low. Soft.

"I have two of these. We will use both of them, I trust?"

No other words. What else was there? She stepped past him and headed for the room containing the large bed. Her heart had led her as far as it had been able to. It was up to him to teach her the next part, even if he didn't know it yet.