#[My Body Is A Cage Devils Diary > Drabbles]

[creation-is-chaos]

There was nothing in the night save for sighs. Gasping and clutching him closer numbed the atmosphere of much thought. Precision is an attentive lover all of its own. Corvus’ focus becomes her thighs wrapped around his torso, gripping tightly to the warm flesh with his fingers. He marked her there. Leaving imprints of his digits, his lips devoured her throat, tickling the soft skin with each suck. 

His hair was unruly when he lifted his head. Following the swipe of her fingers along his jaw, he allowed her to savor the texture of his goatee as she often does. 

Corvus shifts aside. Stroking fingers along hers is brief. He lets her touch fall away. Quick he is to settle. Harsh breath stirs him out of his highest peak. There is thrill in release. It transforms him to a different kind of terror. Carnality sates his thirst in the physical form. Yet bloodlust remains if the evening calls for such an outing. 

Tonight calls for something else entirely as the midnight hour surpasses itself. A single light follows him glowing with the flicker of a lighter. Exiting the bedroom after fixing his state of dress, Corvus moves to a sitting room. 

He stands near the window. Overlooking an expanse of property Villa Rosa sits majestically. An expensive spot away from inner city. Detroit itself is full of curiosities. There are people who belong to bustling streets. Then there are those weak, uncultured with the life of sleepless cities. Corvus can say he falls in neither category. Though he leans more towards belonging to the smoky underside of it all. That much is true. 

The man inhales smoke. Blowing it slowly through his lips casts fog onto the pane. He stares at the spot. Dark eyes pierce it looking beyond as thoughts come to fruition. 

He does not even hear her enter. Nor does he flinch with her hand sliding up middle of his back. Far more slippery than most she is. Dainty on feet. Yet it is all part of her talents most are none the wiser to discover. That is the difference. Corvus knows most. Perhaps not all but most will have to do. 

“Are you having a moment?” She wondered where his mind veered lately. 

“....you know I enjoy my solitude.” 

“Is it always so bleak?” Her question came rhetorically as she knows the answer. At least it is clear Corvus DeVille is no ordinary man. He is dangerous. Then she has known dangerous up close. “My beautiful moon,” she whispers, pressing a palm to his chest, fingers smoothed against the black fabric. “You perfect how unreadable you are as a person. But even someone who is around you for a long time may see the storm brewing.” 

“Astute, Stefani.” He does commend her observational skills. “I am aware of the tension of the city.” His fingers ghost along her jaw. Placing the cigarette between his lips again, he glances at the window. 

“You are aware of Elijah Kamski.” Stefani states the obvious. While he may not say it she understands how it ripped through him. Corvus is a man of secrets. A walking enigma. Even when she sleeps in his bed, knows him outside the shell of the poised gentleman he still exudes mystery. She is well aware of how fierce he can. He did leave her a trembling mess tonight. That is no different from any other.

When he turned back to gaze down at her, she slipped a hand up to pull the cigarette from his mouth. Her lips pressed up to his. Tasting everything in him left no other richness on her tongue. He is smoky. Wicked and true. “It is alright to say you miss him.”

“I miss no one,” Corvus made clear, gripping tightly to her hip. 

A huff left her as he pulled her close. That motion can damn a thousand others. But she? She craves those hands squeezing her breathless. “Would you miss me my moon?”

His lip curls. Releasing her from the hold, he takes the cigarette out of her hand and smashes it down into a marble ashtray. “Elijah Kamski betrayed everything I gave to him. We were teenagers. He younger. Thrust into a world of academia he had not physically reached but mentally. Others did not understand. Just as they do not understand me.” 

Stefani shifted towards him as he sat behind his desk. She chose to perch upon the edge and adjusted her satin robe for comfort. “You think I do not understand you?” 

He leaned forward. “Would you betray me?”

Oh he counters with weight. Stefani shook her head. “Why should I betray what makes me ignite? You are a hard man to slip into Corvus DeVille. An even harder man to let go.” 

Corvus watched her lips move with the words. An oath. A dedication. He knew it from Elijah. They were dedicated. No one else could obtain what they had together as confidantes. Partners. Soulmates. Loyalty or lack thereof made it crumble down. “I abide by loyalty above all else. When it is broken you are dead to me.” 

Stefani realized only bits and pieces of his relationship with Mr. Kamski. Corvus had mentioned only enough. He never opens up completely. Total vulnerability could never be him but even if he had a moment of weakness she would still love him. It is only a way to show he is human. Yet that is a tall order to expect from a man who is so emotionally closed. He does not speak words of love. He needs not to frankly. Stefani just knows. She also knows hurt hidden in the face of terror. 

“Listen darling,” she encouraged it with a lean, hands cupping his face. Her head dipped to meet his dark eyes. “There is nothing you can do about him.” 

“I may kill him.” 

“Is that what you want?” Oh no she doesn’t think so but it seems that is his deflection for most things. Murder. Death for punishment. Yes he is vicious. She knows being with him puts her in a whole other world of disaster. Then she isn’t an innocent herself.

Corvus says nothing. Their silent eye contact shatters with an abrupt knock at the door. 

“Mr. DeVille! You should see this!” 

Stefani pulls away, curiously but her lover is already up from his seat. There is something frantic about his security’s tone. 

“Remain here.” Corvus instructs her out of caution. 

“....C-Corvus....Deville...” 

The strangled words of the man in the foyer give no answers to his state when Corvus arrives. Blood leaves a trail on his floor. Several people are already around the man. Security of course but one of the house staff cradles the man’s head. Incoherent words spill form his lips as he fades in and out. 

“Where did he come from?” 

“He was dumped over the line, Mr. DeVille.” 

Nodding his head, he steps over. Over the line from Kamski territory. Yes, it seems to be a message but not a very discreet one. Sloppy these days, Elijah? Or simply uncaring in your missteps? “Good, Sterling.” Corvus understood they brought him here for a purpose. “What has he said?”

“Kamski’s name. Regards.” The man simply known as Sterling answered with a dead stare down at the man bleeding. He stepped over and reached down, feeling for the knife still lodged deeply. A groan of pain rippled up the stranger’s throat when it was removed. 

Corvus took it out of Sterling’s hand. Flipping it over, he sniffed the air briefly recognizing the blade. “Calling cards can be subtle if no immediate mark is viable. However there is something about the particular model of a knife that tells a story.” Smearing the blood off the side of the carbon steel painted his index finger. Elijah. “A random man sent to stir me. Out of character or paranoia. Get rid of him if he has nothing else to give.” 

Taking the knife with him, Corvus pauses, gaze resting on Stefani’s appearance. She looked at the man they were now carrying off. A quick look but then she met his eyes. 

“You never do listen my ivy.” 

“Corvus, who-?”

“I will be in bed shortly.” He interrupts her chance to ask him any further questions. This knife will be kept in his private collection. Awaiting its owner....

feat. muses: @st300x​ @cyberneticxcollective​

in response to @creatorofclay​ | here

[creation-is-chaos]

Even a man who is pure in heart And says his prayers by night May become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms And the autumn moon is full and bright 

“Loup-garou! Loup-garou!” 

Cry of the terrified peasants of the old age echo their fear to this modern day. All so melodic comes a chorus of screams. He recalls his last visit to France. A beautiful country. An even more beautiful city in the old streets of Paris he invaded with a scent for blood and taste for flesh. It is always a curious thing to come across another of the culture. Their accent is reminiscent of that time. It is why the Wolf King’s mind falls to memories of old. 

The ancients of time forgot are part of him. As unnatural as he is, Corvus is more than true modern werewolves. He was born long before the revolutions of France and the Americas. He was christened among the first great siege of the world. In his eyes the Crusades are unmatched. Blood spilled effortlessly, bodies burned and the stench of melting flesh infused him with that raging blood lust. 

His eyes darken. A touch of red borders the ink of his iris. The subtle hint of his true yearning comes quickened with the pulse of this French visitor. Oh but they come to the manor seeking a truce that cannot be given. 

“Tell me,” the King finally does speak. “What did you expect to find here?” 

“Not all of us want a war great King of Wolves.” The vampire insists. “Please hear me out Sire.” 

“Sire.” Corvus tests the title on his tongue. What sires do vampires heed but their one ruler? The one who happens to be his greatest enemy? “I am not your sire and you are not my subject. You are my enemy. Tell me what does King Caleb want to know?” 

“King Caleb doesn’t know I-”

“You are here?” Cutting the undead off from its lies, Corvus leans forward in the chair. Velvet backed in scarlet it is a comfortable place for the werewolf to seat himself in this private study. Large, expansive with books on display it gave off a rich aesthetic. They are not mere mortal’s books. Neither is it simply an office for mortal instruments. “If that is true vampires are less intelligent than I perceived them to be.” 

He lifts a hand. The flash of the silver wolf adorned on his finger gleams with a silent command. 

“Sterling.” One word. 

“King Corv-” The vampire’s words stifle, choke under the merciless clutch of another’s hand. He sinks to knees screaming at the burning. 

Seared flesh would typically be appetizing. This is undead rot. The smell of death clogs Corvus’ nostrils and they flare. He huffs at the audacity of this lone vampire walking into the den of the werewolves’ prime leader. The only leader. Corvus is the original wolf. The legendary ancient with extended life far beyond his species nature. There is only one. 

“There can be only one King.” Corvus rises. Full height above this leech who begs burning, charred from his faithful hand’s choke hold. The glove on Sterling’s hand fuses with the burned off flesh. Melted skin peels in a layer attached to the servant’s hand. An imprinted cross is barely visible now in the fabric of the palm. The stitching is obvious of the holy relic. “Werewolves do not fear religious artifacts. They can look upon God without shrinking away in fear.” 

The vampire’s carcass struggles upon his floor. Oozing black mucus through the pulsing wound on his throat, Corvus merely avoids the grotesque with a swift crouch over the dying dead. “Tell your king there will be no truce. Though I do believe you. He does not know you are here. Caleb will never call for an end to our grievances. Still I have one final job for you.” 

“....it - burns....” 

“We all burn in the end vampire.” 

Punching a fist through the pyre’s chest ceased the plea for release. As a king he can only grant the wish even to his enemies. He wrenched his arm. Removing his fist from the cavity produces only the black stained heart. The organ crushes in his hand seeping black. “Report to the rest of the pack. Tell them the vampires have made their first move.” 

“Yes Sire.” 

Corvus watches his aide briefly. Dropping the organ in a glass case, he seals it, dipping his hand in a basin of water to clean the vampire’s blood off. “Do you even know your loyalists.... my brother?”