#Alia Baroque | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shesnakes · 8 months ago

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𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡 𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗦 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗔 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘 , 𝗚𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗔 𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗡𝗘. 𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗬 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗣𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 ; 𝗜 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗚𝗟𝗔𝗗 𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗧 𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗬 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗠𝗘 .

FULL NAME . visaera targaryen SOBRIQUET(S) / ALIAS(ES) / TITLE(S) . princess of king's landing / the dragon's trove ( alternatively, the dragon's treasure or hoard & various other iterations ), the realm's delight, visaera the younger, ( our lady ) star of the sea, the westerosi pearl, the white lady, lady dragonglass ( to few ) AGE . twenty - five ( 25 ) GENDER + PRONOUNS . cis woman, she + her ORIENTATION . bisexual ALLEGIANCE . targaryens of dragonstone

AESTHETIC .

baroque pearls knotted to silver string, a mobile hanging above the crib of a lilac - eyed babe: the first lesson of girlhood, that the greatest beauty births from the illness of its host / the sound of blades clashing in devotion & fury, ringing out like the call of your name / a retinue of hands weaving flowers into white hair / rose petals & the cries of the people raining from the heavens & trampled underfoot ⸺ the least of sacrifices made in your honour / the outline of a slender body beneath the haze of a nightgown, stood upon limestone parapet: white - capped head turned to the skies as dragons soar above / the iridescent guts of an oyster as it is shucked for its pearl / cold sapphires burrowed into the empty eye - sockets of a bleached skull / a hand extended to call you back to bed / the languid steps of bare feet across cool marble stairs, silver mesh trailing like sea foam in their wake / a blade of dragonglass suspended in pale hand / juice of a ripe fruit spilling down slender wrist, met with a lapping pink tongue: violet eyes watching you all the while / the round marble of a shoulder and the soft curve of décolletage exposed from beneath fallen gossamer fabric / the last prize set upon its pedestal, cool & unmoving as the wolves descend upon it.

PRESENCE .

HEIGHT . stands 5'6", appears taller due to long limbs & willowy frame HAIR COLOUR . pure white, rather than the more oft - seen valyrian silver. she does possess some gold strands, which can shine in the sunlight. EYE COLOUR . lilac BODY . long - limbed, slender and very taut. with a particularly slim waist and full, heavy breasts ( princess bride vc there's a shortage of perfect breasts in this world ) DISTINGUISHING FEATURES . particularly sharp, elegant collarbone and dramatic 90 - degree shoulders VOICE CLAIM . shannyn sossamon as lady jocelyn, a knight's tale.

HISTORY .

glance at the princess visaera's head and you will not only see the soft white hair of a true targaryen, but the shadow of a beast's great paw atop it: from the time of her birth, the weight of her father's hand has sat upon her. the youngest scion of king's landing, visaera stands as the last of the targaryen line, making her the dregs in the bottom of the chalice: either that with the thickest blood, or the weakest. lord hand lymond lannister, controversially, hoped for the latter ⸺ from the time he held the milky-skinned babe in his arms, he know this child would be that of the lion blood. this one, he felt, would be his creation.

the lion's hunt differs from that of a dragon: the winged beast needs nothing but its own power, but in a kingdom filled with stags and wolves, the lion requires precision. its success depends upon planning. from youth, visaera receives an education left to her alone among the children: the art of pursuit, of elegant retreat, and the acts of bewitching that occur in the middle. lymond's subsidiary coaching is in service to the goal to shape visaera into the realm's preeminent bartering piece, the finest piece of silk to be exchanged for the weightiest reward. for that one would not only need beauty and title, which each of his children possess, but the capacity to draw those to her before all overs.

while the intended result is a soft and perfumed thing, the learning is strict, scentless, and demanding: not only the study of such arts of music and performance but that of body language and intonation, how to divine an individual's desires as if peering into a scrying pool ⸺ and then become them. she studies with maesters alongside a famed braavosi courtesan, imported and heftily compensated for her time. the study with mysande involves only intellectual strategy, examining only the art of coy flirtation and mental allurement. as girlhood flusters to something more womanly, the next educator is brought in: the master of whispers and a pair of little birds, lessoning in introductory concepts applicable to her deciphering of the human soul ( WANTED CONNECTION ).

the majority of her childhood is witnessed from somewhere in the foreground, visaera made to sit apart in a gown of pale chiffon, unable to attend much of childhood play. she's not to be hurt, father says, his great hand falling upon her shoulder with the cold affection of an old god. what he means has little to do with pain and everything to do with the bloom of it. what should have been said is she's not to be bruised. a precocious child, she is too quick-witted to remain endlessly obedient, and acquires her freedoms in what stealthy doses she can manage. when that does not work, there's a phrase for the rage of visaera's youth ⸺ the moon has gone dark & the tide has turned. so between stolen moments she bathes in milk, sits with gritted teeth as her hair is combed through and her body oiled with imported lotions. she swallows words of disobedience and allows the seed of them to flower in her stomach, climbing her throat until it blossoms into something enticing and virulent in her mouth. a garden even the lord of king's landing does not doubt. as the years pull and recede and no dragon is bound to her heart, the last remaining child without a beast, lymond lannister's gnarled instinct twists tighter, assuaged, assured: this one is a lion. not a dragon.

who else is there to blame but father, but the god of the golden mane, for the woman she becomes? honed into something sharp but made to embody a trivial thing, visaera is a blade of dragonglass sheathed in a skein of silk, the fatal toxin of a serpent's fangs milked into a jar of dornish honey. having exceeded her father's expectations, there is little else for her ⸺ visaera has played this game too long, and her patience grows thin, these halls weary. intelligent, enchanting, and easily bored, she can be seen sauntering the halls of king's landing with all the languidness of a cat, observing the state of this shaken world with bright eyes. though the court believes her to be a lovely and delicate thing, visaera now seeks to wrest herself from under her father's thumb & attain autonomy. a dragon, after all, may only be kept in the pit for so many seasons before it rises up ( ... ) in fire and blood.

HEADCANONS . trigger warning : animal death, sex work.

though the spelling differs, the pronunciation of visaera and her mother the princess regent's name are the same — a sly 'honour' suggested by her father, as if to distract from the bridle he would slip over his own daughter. because of the pronunciation, this will occasionally see her referred to as visaera the younger while at court.

while the majority of her hobbies were hand-selected by her father to ensure a well-rounded and preternaturally appealing woman, the only one she truly has a passion for is the harp. she's known for her hypnotic playing & similarly enchanting voice, but prefers playing privately than for an audience.

to emphasize her beauty and further create a kind of medieval 'brand,' she'll largely be found in gowns of white, silver, or more rarely pale purples, and often heavily featuring pearls and lace. she's oft-referred / cited to be the loveliest maiden in all the realm by bards and courtiers, and a great beauty of the histories. there's no denying the otherwordly shock of her beauty, but the lymond lannister pr machine works overtime.

there are, here and there, rumours that the youngest targaryen practices blood magic to maintain her beauty - and those that swear she uses glamour to alter herself. the widest-spanning tinfoil hat theory is that a necklace she favours and wears often - believed to be forged not of silver but valyrian steel, with alternating moonstones and opals - is the method through which she glamours.

her hound, seren, accompanies visaera most everywhere. he resembles a white saluki.

in the power struggle between the targaryen broods, visaera sides tacitly with her cousins. she believes both in the natural order of succession and that this course will prevent the greatest bloodshed - in quiet turns, she seeks to persuade her family of this. and vaeles, she does not question, is best suited for the throne among any of them.

thus far unable to claim a dragon nor bonded to an egg, visaera has instead taken to keeping their smaller counterpart around her. with the instruction of maesters in her childhood as to their care, she now keeps several serpents as pets; the smaller ones can occasionally be seen peeking out from beneath the fabric of her sleeves, woven around her arm, while the larger are known to occasionally make their way from her quarters to find habitat in the gardens. as a result of this, visaera has spent the last few years studying various poisons - beginning with that of her serpents, and more recently moving to that of flora. her knowledge is still mild-moderate.

she has, however, found a new application of the milk of one of her favoured serpents - utilizing it to paint an opalescent effect on her nails. it's perfectly harmless... when it's dry ( thank you holes 2003 you cinematic classic ).

visaera's lack of dragon or dragon egg is, predictably, a sore spot. not to be brought up unless you're actively seeking a spicy day.

it's a well-known anecdote that among visaera's many suitors was an iron born bastard, ardent despite the lord hand's disinterest in his pursuit of the princess. his petitions to the king for her hand fell on deaf ears, and was forcedly sent from king's landing. less known is the fact that they had been lovers, but still, all know the result - the captain now sails a ship named the white lady, christened after his love

the prom queen everyone knows is going to be crowned, aka the usual suspect for the awarded of the queen of love and beauty at any tournament she attends.

she shares a coordinating scar with favourite cousin vaeles, after an incident in which one of her father's hunting hounds attacked visaera as a child. vaeles pulled her into his arms before running through the crazed animal with his sword, but not before the dog tore through both their flesh.

in adulthood, visaera made a voyage to braavos. while she told her father it was to visit old tutor mysande and to receive a last bit of advice, she visited more than the retired courtesan ⸺ she paid plenty a visit to mysande's modern counterparts for ( ... ) both private lesson and personal pleasure leasure. she still holds a warm fondness for emerra, otherwise known as the red feather.

after so long denied the dirt and muck in her youth, she's has a love for nature and the sea in her adulthood ⸺ something of a sensual naturalist these days, walking barefoot among the gardens with hands outstretched or wading barefoot into the ocean, uncaring for how it wets her gown.

WANTED CONNECTIONS .

I SEE FIRE . 28+ masc . he who drew the silk from her back and found the blade of a spine beneath. the only man to see at once through the film of visaera's veneer, they fell quickly into a passion that has not found a rest since. this is, of course, as exhausting as it is exhilarating: antithetical in every way & unbent to each other's egos, their continual challenging of one another means they fall into argument as often as they do the bed. inspiration: x / x / x / x / x / x FEATHERS IN THE STRAW . 23-30 femme . the energy of that scene between margaery and sansa. you know the one. some women like tall men, some like short men. some like hairy men, some like bald men. gentle men, rough men, ugly men, pretty men... pretty girls. equal parts meaningless amusement and genuine fondness, visaera has taken an interest in this particular woman - an interest both fathomless and intoxicating to the other. inspiration: x / x BRUTAL DEVOTION . 28-40 . a sworn sword, a knight pledged not to the targaryen's, but to visaera alone: you have seen the depths of raging tide as much as the white glimmer of sun across a still sea. beauty, terrifying, uncanny. it is her safety and honour that they hold above all else. how can it be anything but, when blood has stained the floor between you?. NONE BUT MY LADY . 23-30 femme . cleopatra, charmaine, and iras. mother, maiden, crone. life, death, rebirth. the princess may have many an attendant, but it is these two alone who constitute her true companions, counsel, and remainder of her soul. two handmaidens/ladies-in-waiting, all having been together for 10+ years. that frayed rope of a line between loyalty and obsession; echoes of padme and her handmaidens. beautiful. terrifying. KNOTS & CROSSES . 25-40 . there is no move in westeros that is not part of a larger game: least of all what occurs between you both. you revolve around one another ceaselessly, each with your own goals ⸺ there is something dire you require for yourself or family honour that only visaera could grant, but nothing comes so sweetly. she requires something in return, even if the bargain is not yet decided. yet you continue to bump into one another in this ill-defined mist, dragging ever closer, until what is needed and what is desired soon conflate. how can you distinguish between them with one hand on your sword and the rested upon the crook of her back? AS SLEEP TO THE FREEZING . 25+ . you aimed once for a dragon sat among the red keep ⸺ not visaera but a sibling. your hidden intention, sharp-toothed, was obvious to her as another creature with hidden fangs. she crumbled your efforts to get close to her sister/brother, and this rung she kicked out from under you has not been forgotten. you will have your revenge. FLAG IN THE WATER . 24-29 masc . you were the first, the soft landing ground that visaera's good lord father set her upon: the testing ground for her skill. you thought it was love, and perhaps it was ⸺ even as she skirts it, even as she denies, you can see the bruise left on her from the strong beat of your heart. but the truth ferments in the dark, growing stronger and more bitter with each passing day: you were a project, a trial for the woman she was to become. pip/estella coded lovers to enemies (?) / unresolved feelings / angst. TEARS OF LYS . two muses 25 + . a blade of dragonglass, wearing through its sheath and slipping quietly through the ribs. at the behest of her father, visaera has drowned them in her wiles. the heart she stands as barnacle as was once your own, and you alone see the dark intent swimming beneath the gossamer veneer attention. they are bewitched, but you will end this rotten enchantment by whatever means necessary. / and ariel x eric x vanessa moment tyvm, in which vi is the little sea witch<3 preference for the ariel in this scenario to be femme as i love the girlies fighting !

MISCELLANEOUS . king's landing targ detractors, those integral to her early-years training!!! old tutors!!!, suitors past or present (particularly those hunger for power, and willing to devour a woman to achieve it), angsty childhood friends that have for some reason soured !!!, cat and mouse, court frenemies, keeping-it-on-the-downlow hedonistic partners/participants.

TRAITS . observant, manipulative, enchanting, intelligent, elegant, delusive, witty, coquettish, ethereal, intense, judgemental, tactical, materialistic, vain, shrewd, graceful, sensual, languid, curious, seductive, repressed.

CHARACTER / MEDIA INSPIRATIONS . shiera seastar, asoiaf . helen of troy, greek mythology . lucrezia borgia, the borgias . estella havisham, great expectations . vanessa, the little mermaid . margaery tyrell, asoiaf . ingrid magnussen, white oleander . jesse, the neon demon . princess irulan corrino, dune .

#asobai.intro #me not able 2 think anymore and stuffing handfuls from the garbage to fluff it up and finish

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furious-rogue-stuff · 8 months ago

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A Feral Interlude, Chapter 9: Ravenous Attention & Carnal Affections

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 17,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 9: Ravenous Attention & Carnal Affections

He hadn't been in Paris since WWII. Back then he hadn't cared much for the city, let alone its inhabitants.

The decades that had passed hadn't diminished his distaste for the traffic-clogged, surly and pompous city. The baroque and picturesque architecture reminded him of gaudy messes overshadowed by the cold and sleek edifices that hovered throughout the overpopulated cityscape.

Standing in the lobby of the Four Seasons George V Hotel just off Avenue des Champs-Élysées, Victor couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the extravagant opulence around him, and all the stuck up snobs that filtered through the marble parlors adorned in 16th century objets d'art. Leaning against a whitewashed marble column, he watched the bellhop take their luggage to their room while Isabela was being gushed over by the concierge. From what he could surmise, her alias of the moment was divine royalty of some sort and the plump little man was verbally contorting to promise her the best accommodations in all of Paris.

He'd decided to hang back; moments like these wouldn't be facilitated by his ferocious and intimidating appearance. The fact that she didn't take kindly to him crowding her during these moments was a big part of his presumption to the former and latter, so he entertained himself with eyeing her and looking the part of an imposing bodyguard.

A woman with a miniature yorkie bustled at a shallow pace towards the concierge and interrupted the man's verbose ass-kissing, allowing Isabela to collect the room key and assure him she was fine with letting herself in the room. She even petted the lapdog before heading towards Victor.

"I hope you don't think you'll be getting a dog," he murmured with gruff amusement once they were in the elevator.

She glanced at him and smiled cynically. "What do you mean? Why would I want a pet?"

He leaned in close. "Figured you'd want something to keep you company when I'm not around. No dogs though. I'm not putting up with some mutt's territorial bullshit," he snickered and smirked at her when she turned to look at him.

Her expression was cool and unfazed, with only her brow expressing her sardonic reaction to his confident retort. "Why would I need anything to keep me company," she mused matter-of-factly and turned to face the elevator doors before continuing, "I don't need a pet."

Anger bubbled in him, but he submerged it. The doors opened and she walked out towards their lavish suite with him a stride behind her. Ever since they'd landed, she'd reverted back into the ice queen temperance of the first time they'd met in the Vegas conference room. Her affection had cooled, and her focus had made her demeanor nonchalant and measured—businesslike. He could sense her resolve building, growing taut like a bow inside of her, but he didn't know just what she was guarding herself against.

When they entered their luxurious suite draped with the finest décor and furnished in regality, Victor slammed the door behind him. He watched her turn unconcerned towards him from the terrace doors with a magnificent view of the Eiffel Tower across the distance and the hotel garden below.

"What're you thinking?" His question was more growl than anything.

Isabela couldn't help but smile. "That's something I never pictured you asking," she murmured softly before taking her coat off and draping it over the back of the couch and heading towards the bedroom.

Setting his jaw, he followed her, walking past their luggage packed with a few sexy outfits for her and his laundered clothes. He was currently wearing a tailored dress shirt and slacks—fashioned after his all-black ensemble—she'd wrangled getting for him before their trip. Mustn't look like a vagabond, lover. She'd purred to him when the tailor had walked away. If you're gonna strike fear into mortals hearts, you should do so in style. Her fingers had curled into the dress shirt to claw the undershirt plastered to his hard muscled and furred chest. There's nothing more terrifying than a well-dressed killer, especially one with a mischievous smile. Her eyes had danced with affection and coy allure, her lips softening with a provocative smile. He was getting hot just remembering the desire in her tone and the feel of her body against his as she seductively adjusted his clothes, hands lingering playfully on his body.

That heat was gone in her now and Victor felt a grating agitation because of it.

Their bedroom was pristine and lavish, but he didn't really bother looking around. Instead, he watched her from the doorway as she pulled her boots off and caressed her legs before crossing them. She knew he was rancorous with her impassivity, sizing her up and scrutinizing what her motives could be. Standing from the divan, she worked the zipper down the back of her dress, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she slipped out of the material slowly. Victor watched her slink out of the dress and leave it with her discarded boots before entering the gold and marble bathroom without a second look at him.

It pissed him off.

He grabbed her, his claws possessively digging into her flesh as he trapped her in his arms. Isabela's breath hitched, but her expression didn't flicker. The sweet and spicy smell of her arousal wasn't as copious as he'd gotten used to, and the smoldering scent of anger didn't register at all. Tracing his fingertips down the curve of her jaw, Victor's eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared crossly.

"You're thinking of leaving."

His voice had been cold and calm, but the fire that burned in his eyes spoke volumes for him. Isabela leaned into him and stood on her tip toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

"No, Victor. I'm thinking of what happens next." His eyes sharpened and his jaw clenched. "Right now, I'm thinking of a hot bath," she kissed him chastely on the lips. Her hands snaked into the collar of his coat and massaged down his collarbones before fanning out to shove his black trench coat off his broad shoulders. "Join me?"

He stared down at her, skeptical but ferociously hungry for her affections. She knew how to touch him; knew just when to kiss and bite, lick and suck. But most of all, she felt right in his arms and under him; it felt natural, unlike any other interaction he'd had with anyone since his childhood days with Jimmy. He wasn't prepared to let that go, regardless of what she was really thinking.

Shrugging out of his clean black trench coat, he kept his arms around her—possessive as he watched her unbutton his shirt and undress him until he had to let her go in order for her to finish getting him naked. Once he was completely stripped free of his black ensemble, he and his viper caressed and nuzzled each other teasingly while the tub filled. Victor picked her up and climbed into the tub once it was brimming with water, easing into the heat and continuing his brusque affections with her.

His mouth brushed her pulse before he hesitated in sinking his fangs into the tender spot.

"Tell me what you want, Izzie."

She blinked and stared at him, taken aback by the irrevocable determination in his eyes as he pulled her close and onto his lap.

"I don't know what I want."

"Bullshit," he barked gruffly and tangled his hand in the back of her hair. "I'm not a goddamned idiot; I can see it," he growled and bared his fangs in irritation at her. "You're plotting…can smell it on you."

"Victor…" she paused and gazed into his eyes, knowing she was at an impasse. She felt butterflies in her stomach and a knot tangle in her chest; sensations she hadn't suffered in decades. Since the moment she woke up in his arms, she'd felt muddled and trapped, but not by him. For the first time since Argentina, she didn't know where she was going, and it scared her, not because it was potentially a dangerous trap, but because it excited her, and she was growing to want more…

"I want to continue living as I have…without strings attached," she replied and felt his fingers tighten in the back of her hair. "You want to keep me as a trophy…"

"I just wanna keep you, period."

Her eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn't read before she smiled and averted her eyes to his chest. Caressing her palms along the muscled and furred planes of his pectorals, she mused, "You want to keep me on a leash. Getting a pet to keep me company while you're gone? You expect to keep me in a gilded cage while you what, continue being a mercenary, globe trotting while I sit in some glass tower somewhere waiting for you? What if I don't want to play by your rules? Your expectations are—"

"Expectations?" he hissed in and bared his fangs in a sneer. "I want you. You're mine. You don't have to worry about expectations as long as you fucking get that!"

She sighed and shuffled back in the tub, creating some distance between them. "Would you accept this if it was the other way around?"

Victor snarled in vexation. "Whatta fuck are you talkin' about—?"

"Stop snarling and think about it!" Isabela actually slammed her hand into the water and hissed warningly, "You're trying to iron out some sort of commitment here, where you keep me like some fucking piece of ass somewhere, expecting me to comply and be yours unconditionally, but you sure as hell don't presume to do the same, now do you? What if I demanded the same from you? If I said I'd be yours only if you were mine, would you submit?"

"…are you asking if I'd fuck other frails or something?"

Isabela balked at him. "Victor…you're amazing," she gasped with biting sarcasm as she climbed out of the tub and stalked into the shower stall set in the corner of the bathroom.

He watched her start to shower, and couldn't help the gloating smirk tug his lips. Sure he'd probably pissed her off something awful, but at least he'd gotten her out of ice queen mode. Most of what she'd said was valid on a feral level, but to him, she was a woman first, so he really didn't care what her objections were. He would never consider her his pet, but she was his; that's all that mattered in the end.

Ending the bath, Victor went over to join her in the shower, figuring at the very least that Isabela was riled up enough to really work out some of their equal frustrations out before they headed out on the town.

She huffed when he crowded her from behind, snaking his arms around her to glide his hands down her soapy body.

"Déjà vu, huh sweetness," he purred before licking water off the shell of her ear.

Grunting, she turned her aggravated gaze at him under the cascading water. "Where do you think this arrangement is going, cub?"

Nudging his arousal against her, he murmured in a gravelly tone, "It's going where I want it to go, viper. You're along for the ride, so you might as well give in and see where it goes."

"You mean see where you take me," she murmured implacably.

He grinned, a dark chuckle tickling up his throat as he brushed his mouth and sharp fangs over her parted lips.

"Now yer gettin' it, Izzie."

_____________________________________

He loved attending black-tie affairs. Not for the ambience or the ability to network with the Parisian and international elite, but for the rush of knowing he had every person in the room in his pocket; knowing he had enough dirt on each socialite and politician to insure cooperation in any endeavor made him feel alive more than anything else. The thundering sense of power left him lightheaded and introspective at times like these, when he was alone with his thoughts in the sleek elevator that ascended up to his office.

Armand de Lioncourt didn't feel like going home to his posh townhouse just yet. He didn't have anything in particular he needed to do in his office, but he just loved to sit in his opulent leather chair and stare out at the City of Lights.

He was alone in the building, and that was fine with him. Walking down the hall towards his office, he reached into his tux jacket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with his gold-plated lighter as he swiped a keycard and gained access to his stately office with the sprawling windows overlooking Paris. The lights from the city glowed like golden crystals and gems. Armand loved the cityscape, considering it the most glorious sight he'd ever laid eyes on. The door clicked quietly behind him as he crossed over to his expensive hand-crafted desk.

He didn't notice the Tupperware container right away, not with his gaze roving the cityscape before he sat in his exquisite leather chair and leaned over to flick the ash of his cigarette into his gold-plated tray. The light blue lid mockingly stood out from the rest of the items on his desk, and he swiveled around to look down at it inquisitively when he finally sensed he wasn't alone.

"Hello, Armand."

The sinuously murmured greeting made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

His eyes jumped up to stare across at the shadowed lounge tucked in the corner of his office. He first was shocked to see an imposing man lounging in the darkness on his leather couch, swallowed by the black of his clothes and making him all the more fearsome as he glared impudently at him. The woman was the next shock. She was rather breathtaking, and his eyes locked on her, since she'd offered the greeting.

She was in a glistening red gown, seeming to emanate the light that buzzed from the cityscape just out the windowsill she was leaning against.

"Who the hell are you?" he managed to bite through his clenched jaw, rising furiously from his chair. "How did you get in here!"

The vicious man in black chuckled gravelly in his throat, his eyes flickering to the woman when she pushed off the windowsill and slinked across to the middle of the room.

"Oh, we let ourselves in through this lovely window. I hope you don't mind," she mused affably and strutted over to lean on the edge of his desk. "I must say, this is quite a view you have. It's beautiful, and it's the only thing you don't own, which is why you sit here most nights looking out on it, isn't it?" she purred, her brow arching at the fact that the cigarette between his fingers was about to burn out without him noticing.

He hissed when the ember burned out between his fingers. Angrily grinding the bud in the ashtray, Armand smoothly reached towards his middle drawer with the diversion.

"Now that is incredibly rude of you, Armand," she admonished and leaned over to stare murderously into his dark eyes. She could smell the gun oil, and even if she didn't, de Lioncourt had a penchant for keeping a Beretta close at hand. "Sit down."

Armand couldn't hide the shiver her venomous hiss sent through him. He dropped down into his chair and stared up at her. "Is this about money?"

Her eyes twinkled mockingly before glancing back at the man still sitting casually behind her. "Oh no, not at all. This has to do with you and your arrogance. I came to repay you in full, Armand," she retorted glibly and smiled. "I'm not here to collect your money, even though you owe me for services rendered…just your life."

"Who the hell are you…?" Armand whispered through a tense throat as he started to sweat.

"I'm Isabela Montecristo." His almond eyes widened and his mouth pressed in against his teeth, fear pumping through his scent. "You had Basset plan a little double cross, but please don't worry about him, he's been taken care of. Now, what's in the container is all that was left of another hired agent of yours," she remarked serenely before gesturing towards the Tupperware. Armand looked thunderstruck and petrified. His eyes widened in terror at her before flicking down at the container. "Open it," she ordered with a dangerous edge.

His swarthy face visibly paled. Armand did as he was told, his brow furrowing when the lid popped open and he looked inside. Slowly he realized he was staring down at a chunk of branded flesh, and hot acidic bile rose in his throat as he dropped the container onto his desk and shoved away from the horrific packaged gore.

"Now I know you have an affinity for collecting heads, but really—a head is such a chore to get through security. Lugging it around isn't very convenient either. It's such an archaic idea: 'Bring me his head!' and all that. It's amusing, but I felt this little piece of Jin was enough," she mused while he choked back his horror. "It took a good while to hack through him. He made such—lovely noises. His cries were quite moving. I'm just sorry you couldn't have been there, Armand—"

"I'll pay you whatever you want!"

She paused and looked incensed. He recoiled when she slinked closer to him, her long legs moving in a blur as she suddenly came to sit on his lap. The man on the couch growled dangerously, and Isabela looked back at him, implacable eyes vicious with silent warning.

Without taking her eyes off of Victor, Isabela leaned in close to Armand and whispered, "There's a funny thing you don't understand, Armand. Money can only take you so far in life. I know, because I have enough of it to never have to work again. I don't do what I do for the money. I do it because I love it. Especially during times like these…"

His eyes flickered up at her mouth when she smile and her teeth began to elongate carnivorously.

Victor watched on with ravenous attention as Isabela's skin began to shimmer in the dim light a coppery sheen. The swarthy mogul cringed back into his chair just as Isabela grabbed his throat and leaned in to watch him contort in slow agony. He seemed to be choking, his limbs locking up and his body jerking spasmodically as poison laced into him. The pheromone zipped through him, shutting down his respiratory system before his nervous system overloaded. He would die from the devastating neurotoxin his own body was producing from the contact with her skin, but not before she delivered one final blow.

Leaning to be nose to nose with the convulsing man, Isabela gave him her kiss of death, smothering the little breath out of him just as his lungs collapsed and his heart burst in his chest. Armand's mouth filled with dark blood as he seized into death, his eyes rolling back into his head and his body wrenching violently one last time.

Isabela spat out the mouthful of gore onto the floor, sighing from the rush of bloodlust as she stood from the dead man's lap after plucking his pocket square out of his tux jacket and using it to dab at her mouth and chest. She concentrated on shifting her fatal pheromone back into dormancy before looking back at the predator turned voyeur.

Victor hummed appreciatively from his seat, his lust for her thick and electric in the air. He was so hard he was having a difficult time reining back his impulse to fuck her right then and there, among yet another corpse slain by her sadistic seduction.

"Oh, he's a member of Le Chevalier!" her delighted gasp snapped his attention back to notice she'd just plucked something out of the dead man's tux.

He raised a brow when he loped over and saw her looking at a polished plaque-like card. "Did you just pilfer the guy's pockets?" he gave her an astonished fangy grin that lit his smoky blue eyes. "You're a cold one, Isabela."

She glanced at him, taken by surprise. That was the first time he'd called her that since he'd sequestered her.

It sent a surge of heat through her.

His hands cupped the curve of her hips before turning her to stare up at him. "Not a hair out of place, and not a spot on your sexy dress," he husked against her temple as he trailed a claw down the curve of her cheek and her throat before catching in the neckline of her gown. "You just know how to kill without a fuss and still make it fun to watch," he purred before kissing her, pleased when she pulled him closer and deepened the kiss. He pulled away, savoring the tang of blood still sweetening her mouth, and caressed the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone. "Such a vicious little man-eater," he growled and smirked, enjoying the heat of her eyes.

He let her go and strode nonchalantly away from her, his gait relaxed. When he looked back at her, he saw something shift in her, minutely. He figured if there was any time for her to put the brakes on him and make a break for it, now was that time. Instead, she walked up to him, grabbed his clawed hand and silently beckoned him to the window so they could look out on the magnificent view.

He stood behind her and possessively encircled her waist, holding her to him as she leaned back and nuzzled under his jaw.

They stood there in the most comfortable silence, all restlessness quieted within the lapse of time they gazed at the radiant city beyond.

_____________________________________

"This place is fucking swanky."

Victor leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips at her puckishly. Isabela ruefully smiled at his brash comment, noticing their waiter's indignant airs as they sat at the china and silverware-clad table.

She brushed a rogue strand behind her ear and fingered the spaghetti strap of her glistening red gown as she mused coolly, "You have to be a card-carrying member to get in. So nice of Armand to take care of our entertainment for tonight, don't you think?"

Victor snorted at that and eyed their surroundings. He felt absolutely out of place. The intimate lighting, posh décor and weird-looking food made him wrinkle his nose. Isabela, on the other hand, was radiant in the scene, not quite part of it, but a striking fixture nonetheless. He stared at her, his hungry gaze roving the delicate column of her neck down to the defined contour of her collarbones and the dip of her clavicle above the swell of her breasts.

Her eyes flickered up to his from the menu, her lips softening coyly. His scent was spicy and thick, making her dizzy with heat for him. Their waiter, dressed in a starched dress shirt with obsidian buttons and pressed slacks came back, his snooty air cooling as he addressed Isabela and broke their smoldering stares.

"Que voudriez-vous commander, mademoiselle?"

Isabela hummed musingly, her eyes flickering over the menu one more time as the tip of her tongue seductively traced her pillowy bottom lip unconsciously. "J'aurai le tartre de veau, avec un verre de merlot," she ordered fluidly, and before Victor knew it she and the froggy-looking waiter were looking at him.

"Steak. Bloody."

The waiter looked from him to Isabela, some little snobbish quirk to his expression as he commented. "Ne préférerait-il pas assortir votre ordre? Malheureusement nous ne sommes pas un grill commun."

Victor arched a brow, his eyes growing flinty, and flashed a humorless sneer as he answered gruffly, "If I wanted veal I'd have ordered it, garçon. Now, why don't you go fetch our orders before I take you back to the kitchen and teach you some manners, got it?"

The waiter blanched and swallowed his embarrassment. "So sorree, monsieur-!"

"And while yer at it, bring the whole bottle of wine, and keep 'em coming," Victor ordered curtly and tilted his head in a dangerous gesture of authority.

The waiter flustered another apology before retreating to do his bidding, leaving the ferals in their private alcove.

Isabela lowered her lids and giggled softly, absolutely impressed with Victor. He was the most unrefined man she'd ever met, but it didn't mean he was ignorant. He liked to hide his brilliance behind a primitive swagger, which made others underestimate his intelligence. Looking over at him, she approvingly admired his handsome features, pleased with his dashing ruggedness in such a fancy setting. He was sans his trench coat, smelling musky but clothed in clean clothes vacant of the usual aromas of his attire; death, blood, and something savage. The tailored black dress shirt fit him exquisitely, embracing the contour of his branny physique but muting the aggressive undertones of his appearance. Only his retracted claws gave him away, but they were practically alone in their little alcove, making it an intimate setting charged with dueling attraction.

Once their meals were served, they ate with gusto, eyeing each other as if they were part of the dessert course.

Victor downed a glass of wine and leaned back in his chair, staring at her provocatively as he idly flicked his fork onto his empty plate. She'd insisted on coming to Le Chevalier, flirting about them both being all dressed up with nowhere to go. He wondered if she'd planned it all, but then he berated himself. She's always in femme fatale mode. Little minx might be behaving, but she knows what she wants. There was no question she was negotiating around him—working to show him a world she'd learned to navigate with finesse, something he didn't have. It was as if she was subversively trying to warn him of the burden and hassle that came with having a pet like her.

He was prepared to take her subliminal posturing in stride. His intentions were still murky in scope, but Victor knew that he wanted her completely, and that was all that was important. He envisioned keeping her somewhere exalted and worthy—somewhere away from the fucking degradation that was regular living, where she'd give herself over without entrapment, kept craving for him as much as he hungered for her. For the first time, Victor wanted to tangle himself in another living being—wanted to feel ownership of a life that went deeper than impulse and gratification. But most of all, he wanted to feel more of her because he felt whole when he held her and she let herself be his. It was addictive how her affectionate touch made him feel exhilarated. Before, only violence and carnage had made him feel like that, but as quick as the spark lit, it burned out within him. When she gave into him, it was more fulfilling than any conquest he'd taken by force.

He wasn't going to part with that.

"You know, I could get used to this," he mused and leaned forward. "This lap of luxury shit isn't so bad. Wouldn't be hard to make it work," his voice lowered seriously, his eyes growing sharp with intent as he measured her reaction.

Isabela tilted her head sardonically and poured herself some more wine. "Living the high life isn't about work, not usually anyway," she chuckled, but the mirth didn't quite reach her exotic eyes. The challenging blaze of the russet rings made the frond green of her eyes shimmer.

Victor grunted snidely. "Your scores have been settled, Izzie. We're done doing things your way," he stated with an imposing edge to his baritone, eyes catching the flicker in hers.

Isabela closed her eyes and took a sip of her glass, feeling riled but not trapped just yet. She knew he was testing her—seeing just how compliant she was willing to be and if she'd push his buttons with some sort of resistance. Brushing a hand over her silky hair, she met his smoky blue eyes and smiled.

"That's not exactly accurate, Victor. Still have to get those government operatives off our case, but that's an easy task I can take care of," she paused, choosing her next words carefully but still keeping her expression alluring and flirty. "Funny. I'd promised myself a vacation once the Nagaraja job was over. I had expected you to come after me, but I hadn't anticipated you being so…resourceful. I was going to go down to South America, spend some time deep in the Amazon—see if you'd be able to track me while I relaxed and played coy; see if you were…worthy, but I figured it'd take you long enough to allow me to tie up loose ends," she remarked and crossed her legs as she idly traced the stem of her wine glass. "I thought about you exhausting every connection you had and still not being able to pin me down; then you came out of nowhere and loped into my life, so effortlessly…made me feel so silly. I underestimated you, and I should regret it…but this has been much better than anything I could've planned, lover," she mused candidly, her eyes capturing his in a scintillating look.

Victor stared at her. Her candor made his bones itch with something primal, an overwhelming sense of pride and triumph surging through him. Triumph made his skin hot, but he kept staring into her eyes. She wanted him to feel that; make him feel secure so she could turn the tables. Grasping at straws. She was a hellion, cunning to a fault, but he wasn't going to play coy. He was incapable of it, but there was nothing he could think of that would guarantee him getting what he wanted: Her, unconditionally. She was too wild to keep in a gilded cage…and he was too savage to compromise.

"That doesn't sound like it would've been much of a vacation," he muttered instead and crossed his arms, staring at her impassively.

"Well it wouldn't have been for you. That's the point," she joked, pouring herself more wine. "You're good for the cold, I'm not. I could live in the Gobi desert without a problem, and you'd go mad from the heat," she quipped and sipped her wine glass. "I should've figured it wouldn't be so easy. I think I'm incapable of taking vacations," she mused and snickered softly.

"'Cept for this," he rumbled, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. "What the hell do you consider a vacation?" he snorted, watching her as she seemed to relax while he grew more and more agitated.

She eyed him, feeling the edge of his temper as he sat across from her, fuming silently over something. It was ironic; just when one of them was growing complacent, the other would grow tense. It was as if they had to constantly be on guard with each other—keep each other on their toes just to feel a semblance of comfort. But then it made sense. Neither of them were complacent animals. They'd both struggled and learned to trust no one, but now they were constantly circling each other, riled and cautious, unable to size each other up. It was yet another fallacy to her: they wanted to trust each other, but couldn't, because it wasn't in their natures. Isabela didn't know what he was thinking, but could feel the tension in him, as if he was waiting for her to turn around and run for it. Meanwhile, she was actually doing the opposite; wanting to stay close to him. But then she hated it when he became the lackadaisical predator, watching her get wound up and agitated. It just wasn't in their natures to end up quietly content with each other, cuddled up and keeping each other warm with their guards down.

Victor would never trust her, and she would never trust him. There are no companions for the devil, not even his own reflection…

They were incapable of loving each other. The thought struck her, and it stung.

Tracing the rim of her glass, she mused, "Not killing anyone. No surreptitiousness of any kind; just leisure free of my talents; being able to walk around with just myself—not playing a role; my guard completely down without a second thought. But we can't do that."

"We?" he raised a derisive brow. "Speak for yourself, sweetheart. This has been a pretty fuckin' good vacation for me, so far," he snorted.

She hummed. "This isn't a vacation. I've enjoyed myself way too much," she smiled sultrily, but a pinch of sadness tugged at her lips. "Last vacation I took was more of a hiatus, and the vacation before that was a complete disaster," she reminisced, shaking her head.

"What, couldn't find a 'worthy' enough sugar daddy?" he questioned sharply, his eyes hard and impatient, waiting for the other shoe to fucking drop.

Her delicate brow arched. "No. Because I woke up in a coffin, buried six feet under ground," she answered matter-of-factly and aloofly adjusted the napkin on her lap when the waiter came in and placed her dessert in front of her. After she took a bite of the scrumptious pastry, she looked over at Victor, who was staring at her as if she'd been joking. "What? Never happened to you?"

"Didn't know it was a natural occurrence," he muttered snidely, his gaze as incredulous as he'd show. "Guess its right up there with "lost my luggage" and "got stuck at the airport", huh," he sarcastically sneered, shoving the saccharine-smelling pastry away from him and across her end of the table.

"Well with that nasty attitude I'm not gonna tell you about it," she primly stated and continued to eat her dessert.

"Like hell you aren't!" he growled.

She rolled her eyes. "Lets just say that vacationing in Transylvania in the summer isn't something a feral should do…" when he raised a brow and grunted for her to go on, she sighed. "I was on my way to the Black Sea during the summer of 1887. I'd spent some time in Budapest…had to get away suddenly and wanted to travel east, which forced me to travel into Transylvania. I guess I should say I was running away…had some trouble in a small Hungarian town.

My carriage had suffered a breakdown, so I had to stay in some town while the local blacksmith made repairs. Word spread, and I was offered homestead by one of the rich sons of the prefecture judge. The boy was accommodating enough, so I accepted the offer and moved into his home. Seems I ruffled one of his admirer's feathers, cuz the little bitch took it upon herself to expose me at this dinner party," she aloofly mentioned, absently slicing slivers of the dessert while she glanced up at him.

"Didn't help that the night before she'd followed me and seen me kill some mugger in one of the back alleys," she mused, "She accused me of being a vampire, of all things. I'd laughed it off, until she'd slapped me in front of the ballroom filled with guests and shoved a silver crucifix in my face. Instinct kicked in," she shrugged, and drank some more of her wine, intending to trail off at that.

"And?" he groused, a slow smirk playing on his lips. "Can't leave me riveted, sweetness," he purred sardonically.

She smiled. "I grabbed the crucifix and shoved it down her throat, to the horror of all the guests and my host, of course," she smirked ruefully. "It was quite funny, now that I think about it. I really don't know what came over me," she shook her head cynically. "Funnily enough, that wasn't what got me buried 6-feet underground," she tapped her chin, gaze shifting thoughtfully.

Victor grunted, intrigued but not wanting to rush her on. He watched her expression quirk at some memory, her lips pursing before softening tenderly.

"I'd escaped before they could think to capture me, and stumbled upon a Romani village on the opposite hillside from the town. They were more of a traveling carnival, but their encampment was quite grand. One of their carnival attractions was a wolf-boy. I heard about it…and went to the sideshow. I'd never heard of such a thing…was curious to see if there was someone like me. Of course this was before I knew what I was" she paused and drank some wine.

Victor was listening, watching her intently.

"Sure enough, the wolf-boy was a caged feral. He couldn't have been over 18…just a cub. He had an iron collar around his neck…it dug into the scruff of his neck, and he was filthy. I was horrified. After the carnival ended and everyone bedded down, I snuck in to the tent where they kept the cub, and broke him out, but he was terrified of me. He knew I was like him, and he was so afraid…I tried rationalizing with him, but he resisted and started howling for help. I was caught, and the whole village came out. They just knew I was an animal too. After a big mess, the town banished the Romani for bringing dangerous freaks," she bitterly laughed, "and they took me to the gallows. The boy…they decapitated him in the middle of the town square, right in front of me…he was staring at me as they lowered the ax. They would've done the same to me, but I'd managed to touch one of the town elders. He bickered with the others, and managed to convince them to at least send me to the gallows…"

Victor remembered the ordeal he'd suffered when he and Jimmy were just a pair of runts on their own; remembered the torture—tied to that stake and left out like a fucking scarecrow, having holy water thrown in his face in the hopes that it would burn through him. His eyes darkened with the memory and focused on Isabela, absolutely incensed that she'd suffered the same, and irrationally wishing he could've killed for her.

"I then understood superstition; a woman draining a man in an alley at night? A werewolf-like boy caged in a sideshow? Creatures of folklore alive and well in Transylvania," she shook her head again, a hint of disdain in her eyes. "After the stool went out from under me, I felt a pop," her voice was faraway, contemplative. "White hot pain flooded my brain before it went black. I don't remember feeling anything…then the next thing I knew I was waking up in a wooden coffin," her eyes flickered up to his, an awkward smile tugging her lips. "I had to claw through the wood and crawl up the fresh dirt to the surface. I was lucky it wasn't a cold night; the soil would've hardened instantly after it was compounded on top of me. Needless to say, I wasn't very happy…" a vicious smirk appeared slowly as she added, "I went back to the town, and burned it to the ground…took the executioner's severed head and placed it on a pike as a grave marker for the boy…and cut my vacation short."

His smile was fierce, a surge of pride warming him, making him hot for her. He wished he could've done the same to the cowards from that Canadian settlement, pay them back for the days of agony and misery—

The image of the little frail with the cornsilk hair popped into his head, unbidden. His thoughts got murky then, remembering his first kiss, and the subsequent horror he'd suffered because of it; he and Jimmy's first attempt to live in society after he'd gone through the change had been a complete failure because of him…he'd been so embarrassed he hadn't told the runt about having kissed her…and Jimmy had played along, never mentioning the event ever again.

"I guess after 453 years, you've been through all sorts of shit," Victor rumbled offhandedly, his gaze distracted.

He didn't notice how she stiffened from head to toe.

Isabela stared wide-eyed at him, feeling as if the rug had been pulled out from under her. She'd never told him how old she was, let alone thought he'd ever find out for himself. She had made sure not to disclose too much—always speaking in general terms about her past; for him to know her exact age left her thunderstruck. The wary shock made her hackles raise, and Victor sensed the shift, his eyes sharpening back to her and his brow quirking questioningly.

"…Yes, all sorts of things," she replied, trying to regain her composure as she drank the last of her wine, and frowned at the empty bottle. "…After that, I decided to take a trip to America…change of scenery…" her eyes focused on his, trying to quell her own anxiety and anger, hoping he couldn't pin her motives down.

Grunting, Victor eyed her, unsure of her sudden cool veneer. It faintly registered to him that he didn't really remember what exactly he'd just muttered. Something about going through all sorts of shit? Why would she go into ice-queen mode over that?

"Mademoiselle, monsieur" their waiter suddenly appeared next to their table, shifting both their thoughts away. The froggy bastard was holding a gold gilt box. "Compliments of Le Chevalier, you have private access to ze exclusive wine cellar. Would you care to partake?" As he pitched, he opened the gilt box and revealed an ornate elevator key cushioned in red velvet.

Isabela glanced at Victor before smoothly answering, "That sounds delightful. We'd like to enjoy the amenities by ourselves, if that's all right."

"But of'course," the waiter drawled, pulling out her seat—to the annoyance of Victor—and leading the way through the opulent restaurant.

Her mind was racing. Every fiber of her being was telling her to run. Anxiety arrested her impulses and made her appear cool to everyone around them, except Victor. The damned feral knew her! This whole time, he'd been manipulating her and setting her up for…for what? She was confused. Utterly confused, and it made her angry. Could he be working for someone? How the hell would he know, and just what did he know about her? Her mind flooded with images, recollections of their first meeting, anything she thought could lead to an answer—a motive. She needed time to think…needed to just—

His hand snaked around the crook of her elbow and held her close to his side, her surprise registering in her eyes when she looked up into his chiseled features. He could smell her tension, and she was sure he was going to sense something in her, but Victor leaned close to her ear and murmured, "Stop walking ahead."

Her lips softened as he folded her arm in his and escorted her, not for any sense of gallantry, but because he wanted every damned blueblood around them to know she belonged to him. She looked radiant in her glistening gown, exotic and alluring. She seemed too distracted to realize everyone was looking at her out of the corners of their eyes, as if to look upon her would be a penalty. Victor liked that, and liked that they now looked at him as the only man worthy of touching her.

Their waiter led them to a single stainless steel and gold-gilded elevator that was flanked by a concierge podium and a single dapperly-dressed attendant. The waiter handed the gilt box to the attendant and excused himself. The attendant greeted them, and explained their accommodations.

Victor leaned close to her and muttered, "Where the hell are we going, Fort Knox?"

While her mind was riddled, she managed a small smile. "It's one of the oldest wine cellars in all of Europe. It's underground to ensure the fermenting process is very rich…they only let elite guests down to pull and taste any wine they wish. We'll have it all to ourselves for the night, if we so wish," she trailed off, her eyes lowering sensually.

Victor hummed, his nostrils flaring at her heady scent. He was already turned on beyond belief when the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. The attendant stepped in, and inserted the key, instructing them to simply turn it to the right to descend to the cellar, and to the left to ascend back to the foyer.

They both stepped in and Isabela turned the key. The doors slid shut, and they began to descend slowly. Victor's hand descended down her back to trail her spine, the stroke of his claws sending shivers through her. Swinging around to face her he pulled her against him, his hands pawing down her curves.

"I've wanted to fuck you bad for too goddamned long tonight," he husked against her lips before engulfing her mouth with his. Isabela's head swam, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer, even when she recoiled inwardly with smoldering rage.

Victor meant to keep her. Always had; that was clear to her now. A furious vice constricted tightly in her chest, even when he pushed her up against the elevator's wall and tangled his hand in her hair, tipping her head to the side so he'd have access to her slender neck. She gasped, clutching at his powerful shoulders as he roughly kissed her neck and nipped at her pulse, worrying the tender flesh soothingly. His other hand held her by the small of her back, lining her hips to be flush with his.

She was addicted to him…he'd made her crave every one of his touches, sensual and rough, all to keep her pliant. She felt consumed by him, and for the first time, she was afraid.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Victor pulled away, leaving them panting and pressed against each other. Her lust for him was like static current in the air, a heat that made his blood rush in his veins.

Isabela was thankful it masked her intentions.

"How 'bout a nightcap before we continue?" she purred, caressing her hands down his pectorals and pushing against him.

Victor chuckled and back stepped, letting her slink around him towards the open elevator doors. "Fine by me." He responded with a gravelly tone, his eyes carnally fixed on her as she walked out of the elevator. Making sure they'd be alone, he went to follow her out into the Romantic-decorated parlor. He looked around at the lavish marble-tiled floors and rich wooden paneling with inset wine racks from the floor to the ceiling. A circular granite-topped buffet table sat in the middle of the wide parlor, and glass cases glimmered with stockpiled champagne bottles. He whistled as he stepped out of the threshold, his eyes surveying the Swarovski crystal wine goblets and flutes nestled on the mantle along the far wall. "Fancy…"

"Yes, quite…are you sure you want to stay down here…and have a drink with me?" she mused, her back to him as she surveyed the opulence and reckoned it should hold him over.

He snorted, loping towards the closest wine rack. "As long as you admit that this is a pretty fuckin' nice arrangement we've got—!" he turned when he sensed her quick advance, taken by surprise when he saw her copper-shimmered skin and determined expression. Her hands grasped the sides of his face, and instantaneous pain radiated through him, blazing excruciating sensations of agony into the very marrow of his bones.

He roared, chocking when she clamped her hands deftly around his throat, holding on with all her strength as he thrashed and grabbed her shoulders, trying to wrench her away. His knees buckled when the poisonous sensation constricted his lungs, the full force of her pheromone knocking him back as she fought to wring away from him. She jerked away and fell to her side, gasping and shaking as she watched Victor fall to his hands and knees, his claws extending to screech across the tiled floor as he struggled to regain his breath.

Victor thrashed wildly, his jaw clenched and foamy spittle seething out of his gnashed teeth as he writhed towards her. His muscles locked up and he fell hard to his side instead, his arm lashing out towards her as he gripped his chest. He could feel his heart straining against his constricting arteries, and just as he lunged dangerously close to the stunned femme fatale, the pressure tore his aorta. His heart burst inside his chest.

He choked and hacked up blood through his clenched teeth, his eyes wide and wild with agony and fury as he collapsed, his body convulsing with the throes of her poisoning.

His eyes feverishly locked onto hers as he stopped moving, a dim awareness still backfiring in his mind as his vision blurred on her.

Fucking…bitch!

_____________________________________

Isabela watched Victor die in front of her, by her own hand. Even in the throes of death, he'd tried ripping her apart, fighting until his heart burst from the strain in his arteries. When his convulsions died away and she couldn't hear his lungs struggle for breath, she averted her eyes, crawling and struggling to get to her feet.

The terror in her chest became a heavy knot of pain, her body still shaking from the adrenalin and the aftereffects of using poison. She dug her talons into her palms, furious and hurt, but unable to think rationally why. She stumbled to her feet, wavering. The amount of poison she'd laced her skin with was toxic to her, stunting her stamina for laboriously long minutes. Propping herself against the pillared wall, she covered her hand over her face, fighting the nausea that threatened to double her over. A shaky breath rattled through her, forcing her to shudder and lean against the wall for support.

I guess after 453 years, you've been through all sorts of shit…Her mind replayed his comment, along with all his carnal affections and dangerous promises, leaving her feeling confused and furious all over again.

Victor Creed had miraculously tracked her down and thrown her life into a tumultuous spiral where she couldn't tell what was up or down. All along she'd thought it was just payback for having used him and left him like a cheap fuck in Vegas, but now she knew it went deeper than that. He'd wanted to capture her; deconstruct her whole being by any means necessary, including seducing her. And she'd been stupid enough to fall for it all. Every leer, touch, and carnal delight had been for the expressed purpose of luring her into his grasp to be torn apart. He'd played dumb for the last time, unwittingly revealing how much he knew about her and making her strikingly aware that he was the only living creature to know her mind, body, and soul. It had all been a game, and unbeknownst to her, she'd been ensnared by it. She'd craved everything about Victor, including his dominance, and that terrified her.

But…why did he let me go? She suddenly questioned. He'd had her right where he wanted: in his cabin in the middle of nowhere atop a snowy mountain. It made no sense. If he'd wanted to break her down, then why would he have let her go? Why would he have trotted along with her…giving her enough freedom to genuinely want to be with him? She felt stupid, various assumptions and suppositions shouting for dominance in her head while the animal side of her seethed at her for even caring—He made a fool out of you!

Fighting her anger, she managed to stalk into the elevator, desperate to get the hell away from all the confusion and rage, but when she went to turn the key to ascend back to the foyer, she was shocked to find it missing.

Thunderstuck, she looked around, but there was no sign of it in the elevator. An icy feeling trickled down her spine as she looked out to the parlor, realizing Victor must've taken it and slipped it into his pocket before he'd gotten out. She felt the blood drain out of her face as she stepped back out of the elevator and turned to face the prone form, shrouded in black. His head was still turned in the direction she'd been slumped, so she exhaled a slow breath and walked back to him, thankful that she wouldn't have to look into his now cold blue eyes and not see the vibrant spark in them.

Crouching slowly, she kneeled down next to him. Her fingers were cold as she reached under him to slip into his pockets. His skin was still warm through his clothes, and his scent was still musky and wild. Her heart wrenched in her chest as she tentatively dug into his pocket and felt the edge of the elevator key. Just as she was going to resolve to roll him onto his side to dig the key out, she yelped in shock when her wrist was seized by a deft grip.

In a flash, Victor rolled towards her and grabbed her by the throat.

Isabela's shocked expression was fleeting as he slammed her down to the tiled floor. The exertion however, forced him to cough up the bile and blood that had clogged in his lungs, allowing her to push him away with a kick to his chest. Victor fell hard onto his back while Isabela rolled and crawled away before she realized her throat was slashed. She gripped her throat and fought the choking sensation as she tried to concentrate on healing. Her heart skipped several beats as her adrenalin shot up, making her hypersensitive and aware of Victor's erratic pulse. His regenerated heart was pounding like a backfiring car engine, his blood zipping like quicksilver through his veins. As soon as he'd grabbed her wrist, she'd felt his heart start again, shocking her from the sheer macabre novelty of it.

"You fucking bitch!" Victor snarled as he spun onto his side and crouched onto his hands and knees, spitting the blood that clung to his mouth and tinged his teeth before lunging for her ankle and hauling her backwards. Isabela cried out when the side of her face slammed against the marble floor as he yanked her back. She tried wringing out of his grip, but he dug his elongated claws into the meat of her calf, earning a hiss of pain from her before she kicked her other leg out and connected with his solar plexus. He roared, retaliating by hauling and wringing her away so violently that she slid across the floor and into one of the champagne cases. Swearing and falling back on his haunches, Victor glared down at the stiletto heel embedded in his torso before yanking it out with a shout of pain.

Isabela struggled to climb out of the mess of shattered glass and oozing bottles of champagne, hobbling on her one good heel before yanking her shoes off and ignoring the stinging bite of glass crushed underfoot.

Snarling at her, Victor climbed to his feet. "You motherfucking whore!" he lunged at her, catching Isabela by surprise as he grabbed her with both hands by the throat and slammed her against the closest wall. "You wanna kill me—like one of your fucking playthings? Huh? You treacherous cunt!" he roared lividly at her, squeezing her throat and hauling her up so her feet dangled off the floor. She dug her talons into his arms, breathlessly fighting the vice-like grip threatening to collapse her trachea. "Try to kill me, you venomous bitch—! I'm gonna snap your fuckin' neck!" he seethed, incensed and irate that she'd tried to escape by killing him like he was a pathetic goon. Isabela was taken aback by the fierce incredulity in his eyes and the waves of hostility that poured off of him. "What the fuck? Stop looking at me like I'm outta my fucking mind—Oof!" he barked in her face before grunting from the swift knee she jammed at his groin.

He let her go and doubled over, giving Isabela the opportunity to drive her knee up against his jaw before she slipped in the glass and landed hard on her side. Victor hit the ground with a guttural snarl, rolling onto his side and shaking off the blow before he earned a solid kick that propelled him across the floor to slam back-first into a wine rack. The mahogany panels splintered from the force of his frame crashing into it, bottles crashing around him and splashing him with cabernets and merlots that mingled with the scent of blood and acrid fury.

"Give me the key," Isabela hissed slowly, her eyes narrowed on him as she pulled shards of glass out of her arm.

Victor climbed to his feet, his shoulders hunched as he ignored the glass and splinters that dusted off of him. He bared his fangs and went on the attack. Now on her game, Isabela side stepped and used his own momentum to propel him into the champagne case she'd crawled out of minutes before. Bellowing with rage, Victor whirled and slashed his lethal claws across her stomach, narrowly missing disemboweling her as she lunged backwards and bounced off the pillar behind her.

A wild punch caused his fist to smash a chunk of marble out of the wall right by her head, leading Isabela to sidle away and hit him with a crane-style fist jab in the left kidney. Victor roared and swung his elbow around, clocking her on the side of the head and driving her to the ground. It was now his turn to kick her across the room and into a marble wall that buckled with a loud thwack! Isabela cried out and nursed her side, feeling her lacerated ribs mend slowly as she panted and glared at him.

"Whatta fuck is wrong with you?" he shouted at her, his eyes wild and his expression contorted with unbridled fury as he stalked towards her.

"Stay the hell away from me you goddamned bastard!" she screamed at him, stunning him. Snarling, she elongated her carnivorous teeth at him and vaulted on all fours to a vantage point in the havoc-ridden parlor. "I want that key. Give it to me, and I'll let you live," she ordered with furious chill in her hissing voice, the russet rings in her eyes dilating with her rage.

"Let me live? Hah! You gone bat-shit crazy—?"

"Shut up and give me the fucking key, Victor—!"

"Not a fuckin' chance, bitch!" he snarled with a nasty grin, his bloodlust making him sadistic. "Yah better give me a good reason why you're acting like yer on the rag, right now," his voice darkened as he prowled dangerously towards her, "or I'm gonna show you what its like to have your goddamned heart crushed when I tear it out and show it to you."

"Your heart wasn't crushed, you moron, it burst. You can at least try and understand the difference, you fucking savage!" she barked scathingly, grabbing a crystal vase and hurling it at him.

The vase exploded against the wall when Victor dodged it. He whistled at her fiery temper. "Got a saucy mouth on yah, huh Isabela," he sneered at her, "Now why dontcha use your big girl words and tell me what the fuck's gotten into you?"

"I'm tired of you playing the dumb fuck!" she hissed in a measured snarl. "What do you want with me?" the question made him furrow his brow. "How long have you been lying to me!"

"What the fuck are you talking about—?"

"For fuck's sake, Victor…I won't be taken for a damned fool!" She suddenly lunged at him, causing a melee to ensue, with them yelling and tearing at each other.

Victor fended her off until she did a fancy maneuver where she pinned his arm behind his back and tried reaching into his slacks pocket for the elevator key. He thwarted her by slamming back against the edge of the buffet and whirling to grab her by the throat again. She thrashed against him before slashing the side of his face and jabbing the heel of her hand against his nose. His eyes watered and he let her go, furiously cradling his broken nose and backhanding her with enough force to knock her over the buffet. Isabela landed on her belly, her face throbbing from the blow while Victor set his nose and grunted nasally.

Gathering herself up, Isabela scurried up and prowled like a lizard on all fours to get a running start up the circumference of the wall before vaulting off and aiming a high kick at him. Victor jolted, instinctively sidestepping and grabbing her in mid air before flinging her across the parlor into the wine racks. Her own momentum propelled her bone crushingly into the racks, bottles and shelves shattering around her. Cold wine cascaded down her body, causing her to yelp and arch away as it stung all the slices that were mending shut along her back and shoulders.

Making a sharp noise of pain as she forced herself out of the stacks, Isabela landed on her hands and knees, glaring daggers and panting at him through her tussled hair as she watched Victor advance towards her. He crouched down in front of her and grabbed her by the back of her hair, yanking her head up to look at him. His fangs were gleaming at her as he snarled, "How dare you double cross me—think you could poison me? Leave me down here while you run like a scared frail? Did you think I would let you go?" he shouted, "You're fucking MINE! Since the moment I saw yah you were mine!"

She defiantly stared into his smoky blue eyes before suddenly throttling him away from her. She pounced on him and went for his throat, sinking her teeth to tear into his neck. Victor arched up and hollered a guttural sound of surprise and pain, his hips slamming up against her. Isabela recoiled, releasing his throat and staring incredulously down at him. His arousal was pressing against her with urgency, shocking her long enough to be tossed over him. They both rolled to face each other and tangled in a flurry of blows.

Isabela kicked away from him just as his hand lunged up, claws catching on the seam of her gown and tearing it up to her hip. She shouted in anger and slashed at his chest, tearing jagged lashes across his dress shirt that momentarily welled with blood before the wounds heeled over. Victor laughed and grabbed her, wrestling her up the closest wall before shoving between her legs so she couldn't kick at his family jewels again. She puffed her chest and thrashed against him, seething venomously, "You stupid prick! Let me go, you goddamned motherfuck—mmh!" He cut her off by boorishly kissing her, smothering her curses while he simultaneously slammed her hands above her head and held them there as he ground his hard-on against her.

She fought him, her eyes furiously narrowed at him while his crested with deviance. When he pulled away, Isabela tried chomping her teeth at him, but he leaned just out of her reach and growled chauvinistically at her. "Promise to fight like this every time, alright Izzie? The make-up sex'll be fucking amazing," he suddenly purred, nudging his stubborn arousal against her.

She gasped, her eyes widening. "Are you making fun of me? Is this all a fucking joke to you? Or are you delusional enough to think I really do belong to you—that you can keep me?" she spat, "I might've been through a lot of shit after 453 years, but I've never dealt with someone so wretched and bestially stupid as you, regardless of what you've learned about me!"

Victor recoiled from the irate barrage she snarled at him, her words like a slap to the face. He'd tipped his hand, and she was furious that he'd dug up her past—that he'd been using it against her. Baring his fangs, he hissed, "So the cat's out of the bag, so what? We've gotten this far, why not just give it up already? Instead of acting like a stupid fuckin' cunt!" he slammed her against the wall. "Yer mine! The more you fight, the more you prove it to be true, Izzie—!"

She lashed out, lunging at him. "I will never belong to you! You're a fucking worthless animal too stupid to know how utterly insignificant you are! Too goddamned afraid to see how pathetic and lonesome you really are—how you'll forever be because you don't deserve anyone! You don't even deserve hatred you're so wretched! I could never belong to you!" she bellowed in a vehement tirade, her eyes blazing with ardor at him.

Something shifted inside of Victor, fierce and savage. His sight narrowed in, red bleeding into the edges of his mind as a rabid rage tore through him with bestial force. His clawed hands snapped around her neck and squeezed, his fury chocking his snarl in his throat as he shook her brutally before hauling her up and flinging her into a nearby curio.

Isabela crashed to the floor while the curio collapsed all around her in a shattered heap. Before she could regain her wits, Victor hauled her up by the back of the hair and swung her across the parlor to slam against the edge of the buffet table. She doubled over the cool granite counter, her breath robbed from her lungs as she struggled against the vice-like grip at the back of her neck that kept her head pressed down on the table. The waves of savage bloodlust were radiating off of him, along with the scent of rage burning out of his pores. She furiously kicked at him, shouting ravenously and clawing for purchase on the tabletop before Victor shoved hard at her legs.

"You're gonna be mine," he seethed darkly against her and started forcing her knees up and apart. "You'll be mine—I'll make you scream you're mine!" he growled in a hushed breath as he started hiking up her gown.

Isabela's struggles became frenetic; her swears and curses melting together in a flurry of venomous snarling. She managed to arch up and kick back at him, earning a growl and a short grappling session before he wrestled her down to sprawl flat on top of the buffet.

"Go to hell! I'll fucking rip your balls off, you bastard!" she bellowed as she tried to slink off the table's edge. Victor snarled and gripped her thighs, hauling her back to the edge of the table and fighting her writhing form as he worked his trousers undone. Isabela held onto the edge of the table and pulled, managing to get her knees planted on the tabletop in order to try propelling herself off the edge, but Victor yanked her violently by her hips back down and tore at her panties, snapping them roughly off of her before tugging and forcing her hips into place.

She cried out, a gasp catching in her throat when he pressed his cock against her from behind. He growled, rutting against her and groaning possessively while she froze and arched from the onslaught of sensations. His hand curved down her belly and cupped her crotch, rubbing his fingers possessively along her dampening sex, claws scrapping her silky skin.

Victor groaned at the feel of her under him. "Look how wet you are for me," he purred darkly against her temple before chuckling contumely, "all that talk means shit when I got you like this, begging for my cock!" He yanked her further down and brushed against her tender flesh, and Isabela gasped. The cold metal of his dog tags were dangling and dragging across her back, a sharp contradiction to the heat of his body enveloping her. Victor fisted his hand in her hair and pulled, forcing her to turn her head and snarl in pain.

In retaliation, she bucked back against him so that her tailbone connected with his groin with bruising force. His hiss of pain turned into a scornful growl and curse as he slammed her head down on the table and tore into the side of her dress. Isabela's temple throbbed with radiating pain, leaving her dazed. She groaned and struggled limply as he held her and forced himself into her sheath in one brusque stroke.

His groan was hoarse against her ear while she cried out in surprise, her body stiffening as he dug his fingers into her waist when his other hand fisted in the back of her hair. She tried wrenching free, but Victor held tightly to her and thrust into her roughly. With every following thrust, he grew bolder in his dominance, setting a fierce pace as he fucked her hard against the table. Isabela gripped the edge of the table in front of her and arched against her will, her body relishing the brutality while the rest of her seethed. When she felt his mouth bite down on the tendon connecting neck and shoulder, she mewled and grew taut under him, despite herself.

He purred at the sound, snaking his hand around her throat to turn her face towards him so he could claim her in a sloppy kiss. She bit him, slicing his bottom lip. He squeezed her throat and kissed her again, this time forcing his tongue into her mouth. Instead of the teeth he'd expected to pierce down, her tongue twirled against his, deepening the kiss. He parted from the kiss and nipped her jaw, aiming his next thrust upwards. When he felt her shiver with pleasure, Victor slid her down the table and slipped his forearm under her, pressing her back against his torso and holding her so she'd have to hang onto him and brace a hand on the table for purchase.

Isabela groaned with need, completely at his mercy as he dominated her. Her instincts were a muddled tangle of desire, rage, and conflict, but she couldn't deny the powerful lust her feral side was smoldering with. Victor tugged on the neckline of her dress, ripping a spaghetti strap clean off as he forced her bodice down to free her breasts to his greedy touch. His claws pinched her supple skin when he fondled a heavy breast, fucking her wantonly while she arched against him and cried out.

Victor was drunk with savage desire, completely high on his rage and lust for her. She was totally submissive—couldn't even reciprocate his thrusts or do anything to stop him, and she was getting off on it. Her body was yielding to him with pleasure, and the sounds she made were making him frenetic with need.

The feral current between them was tantalizing, scorching. Their animalistic rapport made their awareness narrow to the carnal sensations of each other's bodies, and their mutual rage for each other was a powerful aphrodisiac that made their coupling all the more explosive.

Victor began to quicken his pace, his ragged grunts mingling with the sounds of her soft moans and whimpers as she tossed her head back, desperate for him to mark her as his. Victor shoved her down to the table and yanked her knees off the counter, balancing her precariously on his pounding hips while she sidled unsteadily for purchase on the buffet.

The friction of the smooth cool granite against her breasts while he press against the bundle of nerve endings deep inside her made her buckle from the onslaught of pleasure, her climax rocking through her. She grew taut and arch sinuously, crying out his name with starved passion. Victor moaned from the rippling pressure that flooded her sheath, strangling his throbbing sex. He hunched over her, his tawny-clawed hands splaying on either side of her as he drove into her shuddering and eager body with several desperate thrusts before he shouted his climax. Her hands slid to rest over his, gripping them as he groaned with savage completion before burrowing his nose against the side of her neck.

He panted softly against her before grunting and reluctantly leaning back to look down at her. Isabela was watching him over her shoulder, hair tossed in a tussled cascade all about, lips bruised and parted with carnivorous teeth peeking at him, and her frondy green eyes half-lidded. He growled at the sight, prowling down over her and brushing his vicious mouth tenderly over her shoulder. Isabela sighed wistfully as he stood straight and hauled her up to press back against him.

She shivered, his sex still inside of her as he brought her up for a feral kiss, their lips, tongues, and teeth brushing passionately and tenderly. She hooked her arm to pull him close by the back of the neck while he caressed her breasts with possessively gentle strokes of his fingers before dragging his palms down to encircle her waist. The thrum of their pulses and the heat of each other's scent was soothing as the endorphins began to ebb away.

"Victor…" she murmured breathlessly against his mouth when their lips parted, her eyes glowing at him with heady intoxication.

He nudged his head against hers, exhaling softly through his nose. "I had an old contact dig up what he could find, but he didn't find much…" he rumbled, his expression pitiless, but his eyes earnest and blazing with heat. Her eyes focused intently, seemingly reading into his soul.

He wasn't lying, at least his scent wasn't, nor were his eyes for that matter. She knew he had to know more, and that he would never tell her just what he knew, but there was something reassuring in that. Just as she'd learned about him, he'd learned about her. She didn't have to worry about him double crossing her to a third party, because she would never do it to him.

He stood back and let her slide down his body, turning her to face him, but still held her close as he sat her on the counter's edge. She was half naked, smelling of blood, alcohol, and sex. He figured he didn't fair much better, but it made him swell with savage accomplishment nonetheless.

When he tucked himself back into his trousers, Isabela reached to tenderly brush her fingertips across his cheek and along his mouth, her feral teeth retracting back as she gazed at him.

"I don't know what to feel…" she whispered.

He watched her for long moments, incapable of answering. What he felt wasn't something he'd ever talk about, but he knew for sure that he felt bound to her. She'd tried to fucking kill him, but his stubborn will still surged with the need to make her his.

"S'got nothing to do with anything."

She stared at him, not modest in the least that he'd now figuratively and literally stripped her naked. Her eyes grew sad, and for the first time, he knew it was for him—for some alien concept that he was too thickheaded to comprehend and that she pitied him for. He felt a wave of anger rise in him, but it was snuffed out when she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest.

"You're so infuriating, Victor…"

"I know."

She snickered against his chest, shaking her head at his acerbic tone. "What do we do now?"

His clawed fingers combed through her tussled mane, the gesture meant to be possessive but to her felt more like a soothing caress. He snorted into the top of her hair, surveying the rampant havoc they'd created in the once lavish wine parlor. "We get the fuck outta here before they give us the bill, that's what," he grumbled with sardonic humor in his tone as he tipped her chin up and gazed down at her aloofly amused expression.

"Well, yes of course that," she mused, "but I wasn't talking about that."

He huffed through his nose. "Why's everything gotta turn into an itinerary with you. We ate, we fought, and we fucked; what's next has gotta be fun enough to not hafta plan for it," he gruffly purred as he pulled her bodice up and adjusted it over her breasts.

Isabela hooked her arms around his neck and held him close, pulling him down to be nose to nose with her.

"It wasn't personal."

His head tilted dangerously as he grunted, "Yeah it was."

Her mouth clenched and her eyes softened. "Not towards you."

"Sure it was viper. If it wasn't personal, you'd've tried it a long time ago," he bluntly declared.

Isabela's eyes intensified, russet rings narrowing. "If it had been personal, I would've taken your head clean off—!"

"But you didn't," he smirked. "Same way I didn't snap you in fuckin' half. It's very personal, Izzie. Goes beyond it even," he growled provocatively before kissing her. He pulled away suddenly and flashed an impish grin as he teased, "Now promise you'll make it up to me, or I might just fuckin' change my mind."

Isabela laughed. "Maybe," she smiled, "if you promise to spoil me like this more often, lover."

Victor's brow arched with intrigue, his fangs denting his lips as his vicious eyes twinkled with primal smugness.

_____________________________________

He couldn't believe how long they were down there. He hated having to stand by at the beck and call of the card-carrying pompous elite, especially when it meant he had to stand by the elevator to the wine cellar and wait for them to come back up. Le Chevalier didn't take customer service lightly, and the wait staff was the most overworked in all cosmopolitan Europe. He sighed and looked around the foyer and along the dining hall, watching all the blue bloods and obscenely rich stuff their faces and prattle on.

The concierge caught his attention, gesturing to the elevator as it dinged twice to announce the arrival of the intimidating couple. Standing at attention adjacent to the elevator, he inwardly cheered, praying they'd be toasted enough to get their coats and hit the wet pavement. When the elevator doors opened, however, he and the whole main floor seemed to freeze in shock at the spectacle that stepped out of the stainless steel threshold.

The woman's once glistening red gown was now a tattered wine-stained mess, with claw marks gouged down the side of the dress and a seam torn open all the way to her hip. The imposing behemoth next to her was barely clothed, his ragged dress shirt torn across the chest and the knit of his slacks frayed and tattered. They were stained with blood, looking as if they'd been mauled by a pack of beasts and survived without a scratch on them.

The ambient chatter became a murmur of shock and whispers as Victor suavely escorted Isabela by the arm to the middle of the foyer as if nothing was wrong. The waiter stammered after a brief moment, but immediately shut his bobbing mouth when the behemoth of a man turned towards him.

Victor's eyebrow quirked sadistically, eyeing the guy. "I know what yer thinking," he declared in a gruffly amiable mutter, pulling Isabela close to him to illustrate what was becoming clearly obvious to everyone else. "My lady friend and I enjoyed the primo accommodations. All that wine and grub was a real mood-setter," Isabela hummed in agreement, so Victor added, "Couldn't keep our hands off each other. So just put it all on our tab," he smirked sinisterly and looked around with a raised brow of debonair disdain before Isabela actually had to smother a sultry giggle against his chest.

Leaving the poor waiter to gape at them, Victor grabbed Isabela by the hand and led the way as they grabbed their coats and made their quick exit. Dining and dashing, they rushed out into the raining street while managing to slip into their coats as the cold winter storm poured down. Laughing, they ran through puddles and avenues, avoiding the Parisian traffic as they headed back to the hotel. Their hands locked together, they walked into the bustling lobby out of the storm, completely soaked but unfazed. Sneaking past the front desk, they headed up to their suite, not really noticing that the hallway lights were dimmer than normal. Halfway down the hall, Victor whisked Isabela up into his arms bridal style, teasing her for leaving her heels behind. Isabela smiled and kissed the column of his throat, playfully chiding that she could've used the pick up before running barefoot throughout Paris as they entered the suite.

Firelight and the shimmer of candles illuminated the room, while the rainstorm outside battered the windowpanes.

"The power must've gone out," Isabela mused.

"So much for being a four-star hotel," Victor snorted and put her down so he could peel out of his drenched trench coat.

Isabela took both their coats and set them to dry by the marble fireplace. A knock to the door made Victor growl. He stared across at Isabela, silently communicating he wanted to be left alone, but she tilted her head and pursed her lips at him, raising her brow delicately to be patient.

Huffing, he went to the door and answered it. The night manager stared up at him before giving a greeting and apologizing for the lack of power in their suite, explaining they'd taken the liberty to prepare the room for their return and asking if they'd like to be served dinner in the suite. Isabela practically materialized next to Victor in order to stop him from verbally lacerating the man with his impatient temper. She accepted the invitation and requested in fluid French what they'd like before the man nodded, noted the tattered condition of their clothes but minded his own business, and went on to set the dinner order.

When Victor closed the door and raised a derisive brow at her, Isabela waved his mocking look off as she headed towards their bedroom. "Don't give me that look. I know you're as hungry as I am after that fiasco. Come for a quick shower?" she turned and saw her reflection in one of the mirrors and grimaced.

Victor chuckled and went to stand behind her to take a look himself. They'd been lucky there'd been a power outage and a commotion, otherwise people would've thought they were a couple of maniacs. He watched her reflection in the mirror, caressing his clawed hand to trace the contour of her shoulder before trailing down to her clavicle. Isabela's eyes fluttered, relishing his touch.

They managed to share a shower without getting amorously carried away just in time to answer the door when room service arrived. Victor had scowled while the bellhop set the table for them, tersely telling him not to bother them for the rest of the night. Once he locked the door, he turned and paused at the sight of Isabela.

She smiled at him, amused that he'd answered the door practically in the nude. He was bare-chested save for the ever present dog tags around his neck and resting over his broad chest; tailored and tattered slacks hanging snuggly around his hips, zipped but unbuttoned.

Victor's eyes appraised her in the warm candle light. The long silk champagne nightgown draped her curves exquisitely before flaring out around her legs. She looked luminous in the firelight, her damp hair cascading along her shoulders and swaying as she walked up to the table and started prepping their dinner—his possessive gaze studding her delicate nipples under the thin silk while her coy glances made his blood rush south.

Hunger sated, Isabela lounged on a plush leather ottoman next to the fireplace in the bedroom while Victor watched the storm intensify outside.

The respite was foreign to them, but intrinsically welcomed after the tumultuous night. Questions still hung in the air, and neither of them wanted to voice them. Instead, they relished the silence. Isabela glanced away from the fire to gaze across at the imposing feral. The candles and firelight played across the planes of his muscled torso, his shadow cast across the floor like a shroud behind him.

Leaning back sideways, her eyes surveyed the ominous shadow before falling on the leather satchel tucked into the corner with her suitcase. Curiosity suddenly leapt to the forefront; wonder what his contact dug up…She shifted, intending to stand.

"What d'you have planned."

Isabela paused, glancing up at him. He was still facing the storm outside, so she cocked her head to the side. Victor turned to look over his shoulder, lips creeping into a cold smirk. "Wasn't a rhetorical question, vipe,r" he turned to face her and leaned against the corner of the wall. "What do you have planned?"

Isabela sighed and averted her gaze. "You're asking as if you intend to give me a say on the matter," she mused pensively. Her preternatural eyes were flaring green and gold in the firelight, her lips soft and moist under his keen gaze.

"And you're acting as if you're not gonna fight me every step of the way," he rumbled, crossing his arms.

Isabela's gaze flickered away from the fire to glance at him. Melancholy shone in her expression before she betrayed a forlorn smile. He watched the ice queen thaw from the inside out as she sat by the fire, the ultimatum he'd expected from her nowhere to be seen. Instead, she contemplatively stared back to the fire. Victor could smell the mixture of sweetness and savagery that perfumed her, senses buzzing when she scooted to the edge of the ottoman and tucked her legs under her.

Her eyes roved up his body before locking on his cold blue spheres as she tilted her head thoughtfully. "I don't want to fight, Victor. I'm not going to fight you; we've done enough of that for tonight—"

"Stop placating and say what you're really thinking," Victor interrupted crassly, starting to pace like a tense predator.

"I won't if you keep brooding," Isabela softly chided. He shot her a searing look, but she held it defiantly. "We're perfectly wrong for each other, cub. Very soon your patience will outrun your desire for me, as you've said—"

"Give me a fucking break," he barked in. "What the fuck is this—you're 'it's not you it's me' speech? I'm not gonna repeat myself goddammit—!"

"We both know this is a fling," Isabela calmly stated, her eyes becoming serene. "Neither of us is suited for…whatever this is trying to become…"

Victor snorted disdainfully, going back to pacing. "Still carrying a torch…" he derisively spat and gestured dismissively at her.

"Stop bringing him up!" Isabela hissed with subdued ardor. Victor whirled around and stepped towards her, but paused and grappled with his impulses. He was angry and resentful, but not towards her, so instead of digging his claws into her, he clenched his jaw and dug his nails into his palms. She watched him stalk back to the windows, a snarl rumbling into a gruff growl in his throat. "I'm here with you…I haven't thought about him at all, until you've thrown it in my face," she murmured, her voice smoky with repressed emotion.

Turning, Victor caught her glancing at the satchel tucked into the corner. The look in her eyes was the same look from the day before, when she'd told him about heartache and fate. It's best to just settle for the brief moments, and not get so possessive when those have to end. He adamantly disagreed with what she'd said, but looking at her now, he wondered how much of that she really believed. Huffing, he turned to glare out at the stormy Parisian sky.

They were at a stalemate. Both could sense the ambivalence that needled into the rapport between them. It was like a pendulum that swung between them, threatening the unknown. In the end, it was more than ambivalence, and it wouldn't be solved by butting heads or boasting demands for insurmountable expectations. He wasn't going to give up anything for her. She wasn't going to open up and let him in. Neither had the key to unlock the other, nor were they capable of putting a leash to whatever whirlwind affair they'd had so far.

I want you…I'm not yours. You're not mine…I'm not putting a collar on you.

Victor silently fumed, grappling with the bestial fury that curled in his chest, threatening to scold through him. He was grappling with a ferocious loathing that left him seething internally, unable to piece together what he wanted and how he would take it. He knew he wanted her, but there was a cavalcade of issues that left him feeling muddled and resentful.

Isabela would never tell him how her heart ached for him—for everything he could give her. But, she knew he wouldn't allow himself to be the mate she yearned for, not with how possessive he was of her and how incapable she was of giving herself to him. Only a few days before, just the idea that she would grow to want what she couldn't have with the other feral stunned her. It brought to surface every lie she'd told herself, unearthing the fallacies of her mind to her heart. She felt betrayed and utterly alone. Her eyes focused on the brooding rival that had inexplicably become her lover, the isolation welling in her chest as she watched him stare implacably out on the deluge, ruminating intensely.

Victor would never love her.

The sadistic thought was compounded by the realization that on some primal, baser level…she did. Staring at him, she couldn't help but balk at the irony.

Her longing for him made it easy for the surge of arousal to radiate throughout her.

"Victor. Please don't brood." He turned around to shoot her a deadly glare, but ended up staring as she stood from the ottoman, watching as her skin began to shimmer bronze in the firelight. Her eyes were luminous as she slipped the straps of the nightgown off her shoulders. "I promised to make it all up to you. Can't do that if you stay surly towards me," she murmured sensually, letting the nightgown slip off her arms and glide down her body to pool around her feet.

The primal current between them became intoxicating, her heady scent growing tantalizing while she strutted alluring to the bed, climbing onto it and silently beckoning him to join her with her provocative stare. Victor watched her, his mouth watering as his eyes roved over her nude form and breathed in her addictive scent, spiced with her arousal for him. He licked his lips, practically able to taste her need for him in the air as he unzipped his trousers and shoved them off before walking towards the bed. He prowled around to the foot of the bed, fangs peeking menacingly behind his smirking lips—appraising her like a predator does his mate before approaching.

Isabela sighed tenderly. Rapture was ignited in every single nerve ending, from her toes to her scalp. She felt like heat tingled throughout her body, waiting to blaze into a wave of pleasure just from a single touch.

Victor was turned on by the anticipation he sensed buzz through her when he climbed onto the bed and prowled towards her. He knew enough about her rapture pheromone to take his time and hold back on initiating the first touch. When he sidled up to her, Isabela hesitated, a hint of anxiety in her scent.

He chuckled gravelly, leaning in close without touching her. "Afraid I'll bite?" he growled provocatively, his warm breath against her cheek sending a shiver down her spine.

"Just wary," she replied, her eyes coy.

He was about to scathe a remark, but stopped himself. She wasn't lying, and he knew there'd be hell to pay if his nasty retort slipped out. So instead, he leaned even closer, dangerously close. "M'not gonna regret this, am I?" he husked.

Isabela met his smoky blue gaze but remained perfectly still, afraid to move and accidentally brush against him before she was ready. "Not as much as I will if you keep testing my patience, lover," she purred and leaned away cautiously. "Once you touch me…there's no going back. I don't know how potent it will be…"

He'd read about the 'mechanics' of her pheromone; how long her 'victim' would suffer from the effects of rapture, how the potency of rapture depended on the level of her physical arousal, and how with each additional touch after the initial contact the effects would be shared twofold by the viper and her victim. The fact that they were both ferals insured that the sensations would be an explosive combination, but the idea that Isabela would be at her most vulnerable shimmered with rapture made him disregard her insecurities.

Holding her gaze, Victor reached his hand to cup her cheek, confident and paying her caution no mind as she froze in anticipation. As the pads of his fingers caressed her flushed cheek, the contact instantaneously caused warmth to rush through them, similar to the heat that surges through the body when blood roars into excited tissue, except that the sensory bliss was magnified through the synching of their primal natures. The sensory exchange caused her to shudder and gasp while he stiffened, eyes widening as a current of sensation flooded up his fingers to thunder through him and undulate back through her. Biology, evolution, and feral lust ignited in them unlike anything they'd ever had before, synching into the primal imperative that was intricately part of their DNA.

Isabela fisted her fingers into the bedding, arching into his touch but still wary of reciprocating. Victor felt like a livewire was shooting sparks off under his skin, the thrumming tingle of arousal throbbing all over him. Every touch ignited more, sending jolts and surges of animal hunger to skitter down into his loins. He could feel her need for him, taste it in the heated air around them and touch it through the electricity of their skin-to-skin contact.

His hand caressed down her neck and pawed at her breast while the other trailed down her shoulder and encircled her wrist. He was panting, starved for her touch and throbbing all over. Isabela gasped and whimpered when he leaned in and brushed his mouth against her jaw before rolling the tip of his tongue along her cheek. She saw colors explode in the corners of her vision, her lips parting in a strangled sigh that hiccupped in her throat. The electricity dancing on his tongue made Victor groan for more, wrapping his arms around her waist and hoisting her into his lap. Isabela mewled and trembled, her hands flying up to grip his shoulders.

The sensation of her hands touching him was like someone plugging him into a generator, hypersensitive nerve endings pulsing with heat as he groaned and gripped her in his arms. Isabela arched, her head thrown back as she mewled and shivered in his arms. Victor dipped down and licked a trail from the valley of her breasts up to her throat, making her writhe in pleasure and splay her hands across his chest.

When his mouth pursed around a studded nipple, Isabela cried out, arching away from Victor and trying to fight the shudders of pleasure his touches and mouth ignited. Grabbing her by the small of her back, Victor thwarted her from slinking away, holding her close as he leaned in and brushed the tip of his nose to gently nuzzle her throat before nipping his fangs along her pulse. Her hands gripped his forearms when he growled against her throat and licked up her jaw before capturing her lips in a mind-blowing kiss. The moment their lips connected was when their true hunger for each other blossomed, emboldening them to demand more.

Isabela vied to turn the tables, dragging her hands down his jaw and neck to push against his chest and force him to lean back and give her ravenous mouth access to his hot skin. Victor tipped his head back and growled when she licked up his throat, momentarily nipping on his Adam's apple before setting fiery kisses down his chest. Tangling his hand in the back of her hair, Victor tilted her head back yanked her to press flush against him, settling her to straddle his lap. The instant his arousal thrust against her womanhood, Isabela cried out for him, blushing self-consciously and hiding her flushed features against the crook of his shoulder.

Victor nudged his head against hers, brushing a smile along her hairline and growling a purr before pawing his hands to cup her rear and roll his hips up against her. She bit down on the muscled slope of his shoulder and moaned when his ramrod erection slid against her eager flesh as he dragged his retracted claws down her spine. Growling against his neck, she scraped her blunt teeth against his pulse and laved the bite mark as it healed while Victor groaned and rutted against her.

Writhing, Isabela bucked down against his crotch, mewling for him to take her, mouth pleading as she bit and suckled his throat before licking his lips. Victor plunged his tongue into her mouth and swallowed her whimpers for more, reaching between them to caress his usually lethal fingers against her heat, tenderly. She bit down on his lip and thrust against his hand, gripping the back of his neck and panting against his lips as she ground his engorged flesh between his apex and her womb.

The exquisite friction was enough to make Victor's control slip. He pressed his thick sex into her molten sheath, thrusting up and slamming her down to buck against his lap. A moan tore free from her as she arched, her skin scorched with rapture. The sensation of being embedded inside her tight and desperate body revved through him as he became hyperaware that her flesh was becoming scolding from the rush of rapture pulsing through her skin.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Isabela mewled for him to take her, her talons biting demandingly into his upper back for more. Swinging around, Victor slammed her down on the bed and rammed his thrust upwards. She cried out, clenching around him as he fucked her with barreling strokes. Pressing his forehead against hers, Victor panted with her, sharing a breath as their erratic pulses fell into rhythm and rapture zipped through them.

He took her voraciously, leaving her flushed and taut under him as she whimpered his name and cried out heartily. The moment of her climax was the most breathtaking he'd ever seen, her lips parted in a throaty sigh, hooded eyes blazing up at him as her hands reached up for him. Her sheath contracted wantonly around him, and when he thrust home, Victor threw back his head and roared his orgasm—hands fisting into the bed under her as he road his climax to its crest. Soothing fingertips caressed the sides of his face when he bowed his head and panted, his skin tingling from more than afterglow as he collapsed on top of her.

Isabela shivered softly under his warm body while he trembled from the aftershocks of rapture still thrumming through his system. The flood of sensations washed over them as they cuddled and kissed. Victor pulled away first, adjusting to lounge possessively over her and survey the sated and vulnerable hellion under him. His strong fingers combed the hair away from her face, claws delicately scraping her still flushed skin. Her eyes shone brilliantly as she smiled soothingly up at him and ran her fingertips affectionately along his brow, wiping away a few errant beads of sweat before trailing them down his cheek. Victor closed his eyes and relished her gentle touch, licking her fingertips when they brushed along his mouth.

"You regret it?"

He opened his eyes, the usual chill in his crystalline depths glinting with another emotion as they crinkled around the corners. Her fingers retreated from his face to instead wrap in the chain of his dog tags before tugging lightly for him to dip down and meet her for a sensuous kiss. When they parted from the kiss, Isabela whispered the question again.

"Only thing I regret is not getting this to happen sooner," he mused, the gloating zest in his eyes wicked as he nuzzled her jaw roguishly.

Isabela hummed, encircling his chest before she curled into his arms and tucked her head against him. She focused on his heartbeat, lips brushing a kiss against his pectoral as her mind wandered. Victor rested a clawed hand over her ass while the other stroked his claws up and down her back, languidly. Silence reigned between them for long moments, the crackling of the fireplaces and the sounds of the rainstorm outside fading into the background while their breathing and heartbeats sank into a relaxed state. She felt the most at peace than she'd ever had. He felt the most sated he'd ever had.

It felt right…but it wasn't.

Victor was shortsighted, uncaring about the threat his possession of her posed to him and her. Isabela, however, wasn't in denial; she knew better than either of them the risks they posed to each other—had been warning him of the absolute impossibilities of his stubborn will surmounting the reality of their natures. Subconsciously, they knew their animal natures couldn't be suppressed, nor that the reality of their circumstances could be changed. Neither wanted to acknowledge that they couldn't see a future that included the other— that they couldn't comprehend the magnetism that radiated between them, only to end in unrequited feral desire for the unattainable: each other.

They ignored their instincts for the time being, pushed their resentment and wants away to instead bask in each other's embrace.

____________________

Read Chapter 10: Besetting Memories

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