Post by Kesterel on Jul 22, 2008 12:42:46 GMT -5
Ghostly blonde hair was tossed in impatience as the lycan spoke, and as Kesterel circled him her feet pawed the ground slightly, toes tucked and curled, and the earth seemed to grow hot. Simple beast he was. It was why he fascinated her so, yet the Nephilim could not help but grow more unforbearing at his attempts to placate her, to appeal to her basal desires. It was tempting, though. Images leapt, gazelle like, through her brittle mind's eye. Naked breast rose and fell eurythmically and she spiraled closer, ever decreasing the distance between her body and his until their breath mingled and their scent intertwined.
"All in good time," she breathed, her voice a heady concoction, expertly blended to serve her purpose, and she leaned into him but slightly though no touch was to be had but for her fingertip on his grizzled jaw and his knotted palm on her alabaster cheek. "That, however," she continued, her voice gaining in power, haughty and mesmerizing. "Is not what I desire of the boy." She moved away, a clear rejection, though a subtle smile played at her predatory lips, indicating perhaps that his offer would not be forgotten. In her own mind, however, a new thought had sprung, bright and wicked. Oh yes, that offer would come back to bite him... perhaps in more ways than one.
"I do not wish to explain myself," she went on, prowling leisurely away, her starlit gaze snapping back to the man in red with terrible sharpness for a moment, utterly at odds with her sighing voice. "And nor may I - be content with your new daughter! Let not this mere human interfere with your intentions; he is naught more than a bothersome fly to you and I. No, better than that," she purred suddenly, feline grace and hunger lighting her features, and she pivoted swiftly on her heel to face the girl-child. "Perhaps this one will be hungry when you are done with her. Keep him a while and see if your daughter is all you hoped for."
Her piece was spoken. No longer did Kesterel of the Nephilim wish to bandy words with lesser creatures. Instead, like the rippling of water, she moved to the prone form of the boy - Sparky, had the girl named him? - and with lithe ease took him into her arms. Standing tall and proud, clad only in the dappled forest light and cradling a child she could have been some proud protector of the weak, a god.dess of justice, an embodiment of every female's maternal instinct. Those in the clearing, though, knew better and instead she was a witch of fairy tales untold, terrible and wicked, stealer of babies and eater of the young. Then, with a shining smile and a flash of shimmering white skin, she was gone, and the boy with her.DERP!
"All in good time," she breathed, her voice a heady concoction, expertly blended to serve her purpose, and she leaned into him but slightly though no touch was to be had but for her fingertip on his grizzled jaw and his knotted palm on her alabaster cheek. "That, however," she continued, her voice gaining in power, haughty and mesmerizing. "Is not what I desire of the boy." She moved away, a clear rejection, though a subtle smile played at her predatory lips, indicating perhaps that his offer would not be forgotten. In her own mind, however, a new thought had sprung, bright and wicked. Oh yes, that offer would come back to bite him... perhaps in more ways than one.
"I do not wish to explain myself," she went on, prowling leisurely away, her starlit gaze snapping back to the man in red with terrible sharpness for a moment, utterly at odds with her sighing voice. "And nor may I - be content with your new daughter! Let not this mere human interfere with your intentions; he is naught more than a bothersome fly to you and I. No, better than that," she purred suddenly, feline grace and hunger lighting her features, and she pivoted swiftly on her heel to face the girl-child. "Perhaps this one will be hungry when you are done with her. Keep him a while and see if your daughter is all you hoped for."
Her piece was spoken. No longer did Kesterel of the Nephilim wish to bandy words with lesser creatures. Instead, like the rippling of water, she moved to the prone form of the boy - Sparky, had the girl named him? - and with lithe ease took him into her arms. Standing tall and proud, clad only in the dappled forest light and cradling a child she could have been some proud protector of the weak, a god.dess of justice, an embodiment of every female's maternal instinct. Those in the clearing, though, knew better and instead she was a witch of fairy tales untold, terrible and wicked, stealer of babies and eater of the young. Then, with a shining smile and a flash of shimmering white skin, she was gone, and the boy with her.DERP!