6 comments/  15951 views/  10 favorites

A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 02

By: EdenVanEver



He watched her from across the narrow road. Her balcony was only yards from his. He grinned at how sneaky he had been, leasing this little apartment, sneaking into her place and carefully pulling back the curtains just enough to give himself glimpses into her life. His hands still shook at the idea of being able to see into her world. He only saw her at night, it was if she only existed when the rest of the world was stuck in darkness and slumber. He remembered the first time she breezed past him, the creamy, spicy floral musk that followed her like a faint aura was heavenly. She was his. She just didn't know it yet.

Through the slightly parted curtains he saw her wearily come in, toss her coat carelessly, languidly unbutton the deep violet blouse that offset the caramelized ginger of her hair. It floated to the ground as she peeled her jeans off her legs, he felt that he was seeing something he shouldn't and his stomach floated into his throat, his pulse quickened as he took in the milky white of her skin. She was so pale, he hadn't ever seen anything or anyone like her. She was luminous and ethereal. Her back arched as she pulled off her undershirt, her ribs and flat middle reminded him of a cat stretching. He felt his heart throbbing in his ears and against the thick fabric of his jeans. She let her panties fall to the floor and reached in to test the warmth of the bath and he saw all of her for the briefest moment, pink and untouched. 

She turned from the bath, towards him and he could see the pale curves of her, the pink tips of her breasts, just heavy enough to be rounded and still pert. She bent at the waist and touched the floor, her hair falling from her shoulders as she worked her body. The straight line of her spine changed as she pushed her hips to the floor and bent up and back, revealing her tits again, the line of her neck as it curved into her chin. He imagined making her bend like that. Bend to his will. She stuck her bottom in the air again and straightened. He could swear for a microsecond that she saw him. Yes, she saw him and he knew she would want him. 

He watched as she shaved under her arms, then her legs. Her eyes closed and her head rolled back against the cushion behind her shoulders. The bubbles of the bath hiding her deliciously. One leg rested on the edge of the claw foot tub and the bubbles followed the line of her up, up her thigh and back into the water. He wanted to be those bubbles. If he were those bubbles, the places he would go. Reaching down, he unbuttoned his pants. His member ached from being cooped up and he still watched through the curtains, through the binoculars. Suddenly she tossed the razor out of his vision. The sudden movement startled him. She had been so sensuous and slow with everything since she walked through that door.

Her silky face looked relaxed, yet concentrated on something behind those satiny closed lids. Her lips parted slightly and he imagined running his fingers over them. Tasting the sweetness that lay behind them. Slowly, she sunk out of view, beneath the surface, behind wall of the tub. He cursed and wished he had x-ray vision so he could watch her, she must be washing her beautiful, fiery hair. He wanted to run his hand through those waves and loose curls, to entwine his fingers against her scalp and watch her take him. He imagined making her beg and plead. He began to pull at himself, gently at first, then harder as he imagined a look of pain, fear, respect and admiration on her face as he violated her. He jerked harder, slower, imagined again, her smell. Suddenly his heart skipped a beat as she broke the surface of the water and filled her lungs. He gasped and realized he had been holding his breath too. She stood from the water and again he felt like their eyes met. He yanked on his hard cock faster and faster and she broke the smoldering stare and reached for a towel. 

His pace became more insistent as she dried herself, first her hair, shaking her fingers through the wet curls, he watched as she dried her breasts, the way they moved and jiggled a little as she dried and released each one. Finally she propped a leg up on the tub again and dried between her legs. He felt himself on the edge and he finally came, with a moan, watching her touch herself. He would make her touch herself in front of him, it was something to add to his list. He looked down and found a picture he had taken of her walking away from her place was covered in his cum. He smirked and thought, to himself that it would be soon. He would fill her over and over and she would beg for more, cry for mercy. She walked into her bedroom, briefly disappearing from view and then he saw her marble white feet on the sliver of her bed that was visible to him. His Nightfallen Angel. Perfect, and ripe and innocent and just waiting for him to own her, possess her, break her. He would break her. He would crush her, and rebuild her to worship him. She would serve him and he would hurt her and love her. He would violate her and put her on a pedestal. 

Zipping himself up, he grabbed the semen covered picture and pinned it on the wall. The shrine he was just beginning. He needed to study her, so he could know what she liked and what she hated. He smiled as he watched his juice dribbled across her face and onto the floor. He really needed to get back to work and his excitement was already building for tomorrow. She was such a creature of habit. He already knew this and he had only been following her for a few months. Now that he'd made the commitment of getting them a little love nest, he knew she would be his soon. He looked again at her foot, glowing in the light of the full moon. He imagined her sleeping, peacefully and he began to feel turned on again. 

Shaking her from him mind he locked the door behind him and whistled to himself as he played with his keys. He felt happy, accomplished and hopeful as his feet pounded the pavement back to work. Suddenly, his feet stopped. He realized he needed more. Just a little more. His tune changed, and then dithered out as he began to plot and plan. He must be careful, she wasn't ready for him yet. He turned on his heels and dashed back up the stairs to their future home. Her place of rebirth and grabbed a black bag. Unclipping a ring with two keys, one silver and one brass, he tossed the rest on the shoddy desk. They would be too loud. 

Taking the stairs of her place by twos, he reached her door in no time. Slowly, he put the key he'd had made in the knob and turned it. The tumbler inside fell into place and allowed him in. He tutted under his breath at the mess. She would have to learn. Without being able to help himself, he compulsively hung her coat, picked up her laundry, folded it and placed it in the basket in her bathroom. He noticed the water hadn't let out of the tub and shook his head. Leaning over the bath, he paused and took in the fragrance, reached into the bag and grabbed a half full water bottle. Dumping the rest in the sink, he filled it with the water she had washed in. Plunging his hand in, he found the stopper and let the water go. His fingers brushed the bottom and he placed his palm against the bath cushion. Making sure to cap the bottle, he put it back in his bag and slowly raised his wet hand to his face and smelled the feminine scent once more before wiping his hand on the towel she had strewn on the floor. Folding it neatly as he always does, he set it in the hamper. 

Looking left out the bathroom to the door leading out of her home, and then right through the door to her room, to her. He slowly crept closer. Laying on her side, she one had knee up and her hair was braided and lay over her shoulder, half way hiding her face. He could see the smooth, slightly pink folds of her womanhood, calling to him. 

"Just a taste," he thought to himself, and slowly, carefully extended a hand towards her.

He jumped as she rolled onto her back, knee still bent. Her center still beckoning him. Her face turned towards him, he leaned in, on one arm and reached again for her. Pressing his hand against her, he was surprised at how hot her sex was. Warmth emanating from it, he dipped his index finger in between her folds and slowly pulled away. He smelled his finger, and then he closed his eyes and tasted her. Her musky, sweet flavor left him wanting more. He came around to the bottom of the bed and looked outside. He didn't know what for, he just needed to think.

Ever prepared, he reached back into his bag and pulled out a tiny clear vial. It wasn't hard to get a hold of. He smirked at telling his dealer friend that he just needed it to sleep. He decided he needed to just do this, commit to it. He knew he wouldn't regret it. He strode around to her side and licked his finger. He placed it on her lips, just to part them a tiny bit. Unscrewing the top of the vial, he poured it, drop by drop, into her waiting mouth. She swallowed just as the last bit passed her lips and he waited. Watching her, watching the time. He needed to make sure the drug would take effect. She wasn't ready to know just how dedicated to her he was. 

After around forty five minutes, he crawled up the foot of the bed, slowly. Licking his fingers again, he rubbed up the lips between her thighs, then down the slit again. Carefully, just up and down. Teasing himself with how close to her he could be. They were so smooth, she must have shaved them while she was in the bath. He smiled at the idea that she did this just for him. He knew she wanted him, but she would have to wait. He wanted her to be awake when he took her, he wanted to spear her, hard and he wanted to watch the tears in her eyes because she was so tight and him, too big for her. She was so lucky he chose her. She just didn't realize it yet.

He wet his fingers again, licking the tiny bit of her dew off and slipped them between her waiting gash. He admired her, for just a second. How tiny and dainty her pussy was. No inner labia, just the meaty outer lips shielding her tiny little hood over her rosy clit. He thought Pussy was too big, too harsh. He corrected himself. 'Kitten,' he thought with a smile. 

Seeing her open and waiting for him was almost too much, he kept her spread with one hand and rubbed around her clit with the other. He noticed her flower bloomed a little pinker and started to glisten in the moonrays. Smiling to himself, he worked and her button began to ripen like a tiny little berry. The smell of her musk was rich and heady and he loved the way, even unconscious, her body primed itself for him.

"What a good little girl you are," he grinned from her mound, "Sweet and juicy and all mine."

Keeping her spread open so her little trigger stood at attention, it swelled with every pass around his finger tip made. Careful to never touch it, he just teased around, and around. He promised himself he wouldn't take her, but he could do other things. Edging forward, he began to nibble and suck at her mound, and finally touching her bud with his tongue, he tasted and licked. Feeling himself needing to blow again, he prolonged the agony with dessert. Circling her opening with his finger, spearing her a little with his tongue, he decided he couldn't take it any longer. 

He stood up, and pulled his pants off. Never taking his eyes off her lean, tight, little frame, he kneeled between her legs. He leaned to hover over her, and dipped the end of his cock into her honey pot. Careful not to penetrate her, just lubricating himself with her beautiful liquid. His pre-cum mixed with her fluid and he rubbed himself with one hand and pushed his face between her legs, keeping her spread with the other. As he looked up at her, he got an idea. He promised himself not to steal her virtue yet, but there were other ways to satisfy his ever-growing need. 

Standing and pulling her gently over so she was straight in the bed, he propped her head up, just her head, as much as he could. He put one knee on either side of her chest and wrapped one of her radiant, delicate hands around his shaft. He jerked himself with her hand for a while, and grasped at her breasts with his free hand. He leaned up so he could dribble a tiny bit of him onto her lips, brushed his cock into her mouth, ever so slightly. He leaned in and then licked himself from her mouth. Not being able to resist the need, he plunged his tongue in and out, against her tongue and lips. She quivered, ever so slightly against his advances. He leaned back again and fondled her chest, tugging and twisting at her nips. Then he pressed her orbs, like perfect little moons themselves, around his hard pole and began to fuck them. Stopping to milk her opening, careful not to cause any friction, he was careful to use the waters of their love to keep him slipping in and out of her valley in the center of her chest. 

His need overflowed once more and he fucked and pumped her globes and then he realized just before he came that he hadn't thought of how best to clean up after himself. With a growl, he ripped the folded pillow from behind her head and he worked harder and faster until he finished in her mouth. Again, he kissed her, tasting himself on her was as good as getting a trophy or medal for his performance, he thought wryly.

Replacing the pillow under his Angel's head, he grabbed any evidence of his presence, the vial, the bottle of her bathwater, his bag. He redressed himself, stuck his fingers between her legs for one last taste and left. Making sure to lock the door behind himself, he headed quickly to work. He was much later back than expected but being the Boss, they could just shut up and take it. 

Skipping down the stairs, and outside the building, he bumped into a man. He felt like a brick wall and for a moment he head swam. His gut instinct was to keep walking, something about this guy was wrong, or different. They looked at each other, waiting for the other to apologize. The stranger seemed to be eyeing him up, perhaps, smelling him? He couldn't be sure. He felt wrong, and he was in a rush, so he quickly muttered an apology and hurried against the cold winds to where he needed to be. Stopping to cross the road at the corner, he glanced at the man, still standing there. The shadowy gentleman looked to the corner, then up at the building he came out of, made fists of his hands a few times, as if to regain feeling, and then simply disappeared, right in full view. 

Something was strange, his head was still spinning a little, almost like someone had poked their finger down into the jelly of his being. He shook his head as he hurried off, but he couldn't shake the wrongness of the encounter. He reminded himself of her on his tongue, breathed in the taste of her and carried on.

A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 03



Stella awoke to searing pain in her foot, her head throbbed like her heart had been forced into her skull and her mouth was dry and filmy. The haze of sleep lifted with the surge of adrenaline as she darted up to pull the heavy curtains to. Her foot was blistered and angry red. It burned and itched and seeped clear fluid. She limped to the phone and called the only number her mind could find in the maze of pain and confusion. 

"Aimes, can you," she rasped and swallowed, "can you come here please? It's an emergency."

She hung up the phone before she could get a reply and hobbled to the front door. Unlocking it, she sank down against the wall, letting her foot rest on the smooth stone tile. The carpet was like steel wool against her skin. In seconds, she was in a pre-sleep haze. Just as she let her eyes close, the door burst open. Her friend, Amelia rushed in and her eyes darted immediately to the burns. Setting her bag down, she appraised the wounds and shook her head. Stella was glad she only lived across the hall.

"You need to get to a hospital," only just noticing the nudity, "I'll grab you some clothes. Sit tight."

Standing up and taking the rest of the apartment in, she saw the living room curtains parted enough to let sunbeams through. She also noticed the cleanliness of the room before her. She smiled a little and then headed to the bedroom. Pulling out underwear, a bra, some leggings and a blue military style sweater dress, she also thought to grab some black knee high socks. With the clothes in hand, she walked back out towards Stella, still in a heap on the floor.

"Really, Stells, you didn't need to clean up for me, you're in no fit state."

"What?" Stella glanced around and then panic washed over her, "Oh my God. I didn't someone's been in here! I left my clothes all over the place last night. I threw my coat over the back of the sofa, my shoes were over there. Someone has been in here!"

"Are you sure?" Amelia held the panties open so as not to touch the blisters.

"I'm positive," Stella said, standing and limping towards the bathroom, stopping, stunned again.

"What is it?" Amelia asked, pulling out gauze and some tape from her bag.

"The bathwater, I never drain my bathwater. It's a bad habit, and I certainly don't hang the stopper like this. My dirty towels are folded, so is my laundry. My dirty laundry is folded in the hamper. Who does that?" her voice would have nearly been a shriek, had it not been for the salty, papery feeling in her throat.

"Let's just get you out of here for now and get that foot taken care of."

While Amelia wrapped the foot in gauze, Stella sipped a bottle of water. They worked together in silence to get her dressed and ready to go. When Amelia got the call that the car she'd called was outside, Stella wrapped her head and face in a scarf, pulled gloves onto her hands and finally, donned her coat. She put on some large sunglasses and pulled the deep hood forward as Amelia led her quickly to the darkened car. Travelling in the day was always awkward, the sunglasses were hardly enough protection for her sensitive eyes, she kept them closed and lived in those 45 seconds as a blind woman relying on her friend to help her get inside quickly. The whole drive, the girls focused on keeping every inch of her pale skin covered. 

The exam and treatment hurt like hell, but the pain meds were glorious, once they kicked in. The headache evaporated and the IV fluids left her feeling much better. The doctors decided to put her on crutches to keep the skin from pulling and flexing while the bulk of the blisters healed. One young, cocky physician tried to lecture her on protecting her skin with her condition. As if she didn't know. As if she wasn't feeling the suns effects keenly enough for one lifetime. She began to feel angry until Amelia spoke up. She knew the Doctor because she worked in this hospital as a nurse. She was grateful for the quick tongue and fiery temper that possessed her dear friend. 

After the stressful ride home, Stella was thankful to be in her own place again. Since she was feeling better, she decided she was starving. Surveying the fridge with disappointment, she decided she wanted something spicy.

"Thai for lunch before you head to work?" she asked over the hum of the open refridgerator.

"Oh I'm not going to work. I'm going to stay while you file a police report. I only have a half shift anyway, I'm covering for Nanette."

"Oh, you don't need to do that, I'm not going to call the cops. I don't need anyone traipsing through here. Honestly, this is like midnight to me, I need to eat and crash."

"Stells, I really think you need to call and get this incident documented. If someone had access to your place, you're in danger."

"If he or she wanted to hurt me, they would have done it."

"We JUST left the hospital. You DID get hurt."

"I'll call Henry and get the locks changed," Stella promised to her friend, who simply huffed in response.

They shared red coconut curry and pad Thai, and crunched on spring rolls that were like little bits of heaven. Nothing lifted their spirits like Thai delivery. The mood lightened and they joked about Amelia's horrible taste in men. Her last boyfriend left her, for his male second cousin. If she didn't joke about it, she felt like she would cry.

"He wasn't even good looking, but come ON! His Cousin!" Stella said, swallowing her next pain pill.

"I know. I swear, I know it's not legally incest, but it's a good thing they can't have biological kids together. The nurse in me shudders to think about it."

"I wonder if I have any hot cousins, out there somewhere."

"You're so gross," Amelia said, tossing a bean sprout, hitting Stella right in the face.

"Ugh, I have to go to Louie's tonight. I need to see Joe," Stella groaned, pulling her hair back.

"Oh, goodness. Why?"

"He asked me out last night and I completely blew him off, I feel awful."

"You're too nice. I'm sure he's used to rejection."

"You're evil! I know you don't like him, but he's nothing but nice to me," Stella flopped backwards.

Stella chugged a cold bottle of coffee and began mentally pondering the current story she was reviewing, while Amelia browsed through old movies in the "On Demand" menu on TV. She really hated turning an author down, and this would be the second rejection for him. She found herself avoiding the manuscript like the plague. It was a tedious, disturbing read, and not well written, at all. It gave her the willies when she was alone with it. 

"Ohhh Gas light!" Amelia said, breaking Stella's thought process.

"That movie freaks me out, and the one where the woman boils that kid's rabbit? Ugh."

"We had to watch both of them in Psych. I thought they were fascinating."

"I couldn't deal with crazies all day like you do. I just don't get how people can't recognize screwed up behavior. It just makes me angry."

"Awww... Stells," she cooed, "You're dealing with this right now. You chose not to call the police, remember? Talk about dumb behavior."

"Wow! Low blow! Way below the belt, there, Aimes."

"Maybe, but I speak the truth, go on and try to deny it."

"Yeah I guess."

Eventually, Stella didn't even care that Amelia refused to leave. She wrapped up in a blanket and plopped her head in her friend's lap. Enjoying the tingly feeling of fingers running through her hair absentmindedly, she soon drifted off into a dreamless sleep. She woke to a pillow under her head and snoring from her other couch. She smiled at her friend's chainsaw imitation and got up to get a drink. Sitting down with some knitting, and the dreaded book on her laptop, she attempted to get lost in the twisted story. She only had a few chapters left, she hoped to knock them out and get them done so she could go ahead and inform her boss that it just wasn't fit for publication.

Finally done reading, and with the blanket she had been working on, she bound off the edge and then fired an email to her boss, Jones. She felt bad dashing the author's hopes again, but not only was the story horrible, but it was written in such a way that each chapter had to be read over and over to even kind of understand what was being said. Even then, it was like an explosion of warped, sick consciousness haunting her in black and white. 

Picking over the pad Thai and curry again, she felt antsy. It was nearly sunset and she had another event this evening she wasn't looking forward to. Dealing with Joe. It wasn't that she didn't like him, she just didn't like him in that way. She couldn't imagine a normal person dating her any way. Her inability to go out in the sun, in her mind, was a universal deal breaker. She tossed her laundry in the washer, did the few dishes left from lunch, and the glared at the pairs of shoes that were mated and lined up against the wall. Suddenly, they enraged her. Who had the right to come into her home and move her things? She thought to sling them across the room, but stopped herself. She didn't want to wake Amelia and she fought to get some control over her sudden rage. 

The crutches were cumbersome and annoying. She hated feeling weak, and they made her feel nearly helpless. She couldn't even use her excess energy to do her usual yoga routine because of the skin on her foot and ankle. Sighing, she quietly crept into her bedroom and flipped on her flat iron. She hardly ever straightened her hair, but she just didn't know what else to do with her hands. She worked some smoothing serum along her ends and set to taming her lion's mane. She thought to herself that it didn't hurt to look nice when she went to tell Joe that she was sorry.

He couldn't stop thinking about touching her, her smell, her taste. He smiled to himself when he thought of her taking what he had to give, even in her drugged sleep. She still swallowed the gift of a piece of him. She had part of him inside her right now and that made him feel smug and tingly. His cock twitched in his pants and he closed his eyes and thought of her smooth pink lower lips against his tongue. He gave himself credit for not plunging into her pink depths. He wanted to watch her face when he took her. He wanted her fear, her respect and her pain. Still, the look and feel of her tits as he smashed them against his rod was consolation.

"She's so lucky," he thought to himself, "she is going to be taken care of, without another care in the world. All she has to do is fear me. Respect me. I'm going to break her and make her worship me."

The apartment was nearly ready for her. He had spent hours soundproofing and running tracks on the ceiling for her chains. He put brackets in a closet so she would hang by her wrists with her feet spread and unable to support her weight. He knew she would try to get away. He had to teach her to obey him. He had special leather cuffs ordered, metal would leave bruises and marks. The only marks he wanted on her skin were the ones he put there. He couldn't wait to watch her cry as he forced her to take all of him. The idea made him feel powerful and when he smelled the bathwater he saved from her apartment, his dick hardened even more. He closed his eyes and pulled and tugged on his member and imagined forcing her face over it. Harder and harder, the rougher, the better. He thought about plunging his tongue into her opening, he still wanted more. Last night just wasn't enough. 

In his mind, he pictured her in the little lacy night gown, tethered in the closet, legs spread and exposed to his will. He imagined himself opening that door, and seeing her face take a shade of fear. He would run his hand up, starting with her ankles, to her knees. He pictured her squirming as best she could, higher and higher he would go. Pressing his hand against her, he would use a leather strap on the inside of her thighs. It would make them red and raw so that when he finally was between them, the salt on his skin would sting her. Imagining she was bound in front of him, he saw himself putting his face between her legs, biting at the flesh, making her cry out. He would resist the urge to force his fingers into her. He would lick and suck at her and then humiliate her when he body began to moisten itself. He might even cut her down and tie her to the bed. Then he would climb on top of her, just like he had before and force her to take him in her throat. He would make her lay there, with his juice on her face until it dried. 

The image in his head of her face covered in his cum brought him over the edge. He came and twitched and pulsed and was spent. But it only served to increase his anticipation of having her. Owning her. 

He folded up the dresses and nightgowns he'd bought for her. She wouldn't be needing pants with him around. They would just get in the way. Putting them in a drawer, he closed it slowly and thought about breaking her completely. He imagined fucking her outside, maybe on the roof or the beach, with the sun gleaming through those dark, golden-red waves. Her begging for mercy. Soon, he thought to himself, soon. It was nearly time for her to emerge from her place, making her usual little journey down to get coffee and then meander through the city. So predictable. So sweet and innocent. 

He needed to make an appearance at work tonight. It was supposed to be his night off, but he just didn't get many of those anymore. Not since he started running things. He made a mental note to fix the curtains, clever girl had pulled them closed today. That won't last long. As soon as she left, he would fix it, again. If she insisted on keeping things closed, he might have to invest in some of those tiny cameras. Of course, the time investment in the installation would mean greater chance of blowing the plan, but it may make things easier and more pleasurable for him. 

He kept a watch out the window, and he saw her leave. On crutches. His mind raced. Why was she on crutches? No, no, no. This wouldn't do. Why on Earth was she hurt? He wasn't going to have damaged goods. He would just have to fuck her and get rid of her if that was the case.

"See?" he thought to himself angrily, "she can't even take care of herself. Stupid girl."

He put on his shoes, locked the door and bounded down the stairs. He was across the narrow street in seconds and his hand paused at the doorknob. His gut told him to stop. He rang the doorbell and then hustled down the stairs. He listened for anything that might indicate that she wasn't alone. Sure enough, he heard her door open and then close. He waited for a moment and then left the building. His heart was racing and he was angry. Who did she have with her? The little whore. She would pay for this. She would pay for having someone else. 

He walked quickly, took shortcuts and practically sprinted to the coffee shop. He needed to beat her there. He needed to find out who the little bitch had in her apartment. When he walked in he felt that strange wrong feeling again. His mind reeling, he scanned the patrons. No one looked familiar, but he just knew something wasn't right here. It made him shift nervously and wring his hands. He wasn't sure why, but he just wanted to crawl out of his skin. 

Stella pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a fitted black deep v-neck sweater over her camisole. She fastened a silver metal belt around the narrow part of her waist and pulled a black flat onto her good foot. It blended in with the black socks she wore to hide the dressing on her burned foot. She left a note for Amelia, who was still asleep, pulled on her coat and limped hastily out the door. 

Feeling that familiar blast of icy wind, she tried to not gasp, but it took her breath away every time. She was already getting quite good on her crutches, and she made fairly good time to Louie's. Joe was sitting at her usual table and she ordered a caramel white mocha. He looked up at her with concern. Obviously taking in the crutches, he didn't look too happy and seemed as uncomfortable as she felt. Grabbing the coffee, she put both crutches under one arm, and he jumped up to help her. She smiled weakly at him as they sat down.

"I'm sorry about last night, Joe," she wrapped her hands around the mug.

"Hey, don't worry about it, I sort of ambushed you. That wasn't really the plan," his eyes didn't move from her leg and she shifted a little in her seat.

"Still, I could have been a little more... graceful, about it."

"No, really, it's fine. What happened to your leg?" he said, only just looking to her eyes. His own had a fire in them.

"I burned it. I'm on crutches so I don't stretch the skin while it heals," she took a cautious sip.

"You work with books, right? How did you burn your foot?"

"Umm, well, that's a long story, maybe best left for another time," she looked away.

"I have time, but I do have to ask," he was boring into her eyes, "are you seeing someone? Is that why you turned me down?"

"Ahh... no. I'm not seeing anyone," she blushed, "me turning you down is also a long story."

"You don't have to lie," he said harshly, "I mean, it won't hurt my feelings," he spilled out more gently.

"I'm not lying," she said softly, "I just don't really want to talk about it, it's kind of personal."

Stella shifted in her chair, again. She couldn't tell if it was Joe's strange mood tonight, or maybe she just was on edge, but she just felt exposed. Perhaps it was just that she knew someone had been in her place uninvited and she didn't know who. "It could be anyone in this room," she thought anxiously. Taking another sip of her drink, she looked out the window to see snow falling. It made her smile.

"What's so funny?" Joe interrupted her daze.

"Nothing's funny, I just love snow," she said, looking back to the window, "It's so pure and clean."

"Yeah, I guess," he said glancing outside for a second and then back to her.

"I need to get going, my friend Amelia is back at my place and she's going to be worried about me."

"Do you want me to walk you home?" Joe asked hopefully.

"No, I'm going to take the long way and enjoy the sound of the snow falling."

"Snow doesn't have a sound," he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.

"Yes it does. It sounds like tiny little bits of magic falling."

She pulled her coat close and did up the toggles. He watched as she pulled her gloves on, and wrapped her scarf around her. She looked beautiful tonight. Tiny, angelic and as pure as the snow that was falling outside. Almost like that snow was part of her. It was the same color as her beautiful pearlescent skin. He let her words sink in and got up from his chair hastily. Suddenly, he realized that the wrong feeling had vanished too. Pulling his own coat on, he left, and made sure there was enough distance between her and himself, so that she wouldn't notice him following her. 

He still needed to take care of a few things, so he would follow her a few blocks and then get his errand done. He hated to tear himself away from her, but he reminded himself of what his mother said, "Moderation in all things." He needed to be careful, so as not to blow his plan. At least he knew now that the person in her place wasn't her lover. She was still untouched. Still his. He replayed every word that had come out of her mouth in his head. He watched her a half block in front of him, meandering around the city streets and she well and truly seemed to be listening to the snowfall. He closed his eyes and just couldn't understand what she had been talking about. 

He stopped in his tracks when the wrongness returned. He was nearly where he needed to stop following her, so he turned off her trail and once he was a few blocks away, the wrongness vanished again. Pulling his coat around himself, he stopped in a corner store and grabbed a few essentials and some film. The TV on the counter blared snow warnings, he planned on spending tomorrow shopping around for a solution to her bad little habit of shutting him out. 




A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 03



She propelled herself forward, listening to the icy little flakes falling around her. She avoided the gallery that had so enraged her the night before. A few blocks after she left the coffee shop, she felt that safe presence fall over her. She stopped and turned around, and the sidewalk, as far as she could see was empty. Still, she felt watched, but not in a scary way as she did every time she let herself think of the intruder in her apartment. It was almost like a feeling of a child's safety blanket. A warm, soothing presence, just at the edge of her consciousness, the feeling stayed with her until she got home. Amelia was gone, but had left a note saying she would check in on her tomorrow.

All was right with the world for just a few hours. Staying up later than usual, she began knitting a shawl that she had been drooling over and had finally gotten the pattern for. She listened to music and in the middle of counting stitches and rows, got lost in her thoughts. She began to feel tired, so she put the shawl, needles and yarn back in the basket by the sofa, locked the door and began brushing her hair, and getting ready for bed. 

In the middle of brushing her hair, she heard it. The door knob began to turn slowly, slightly, before catching on the locked tumbler. She flicked the lights in the entryway on hastily, limped toward the door and looked into the peephole.



A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 04



He needed his fix. Her skin was like silk spun from the moon itself. Her smell had gotten into his bones and he ached at seeing her in the coffee house. So close and unable to touch her. It was torture. He knew every time he went to her, he was taking a risk. He still had plenty of vials, even if she did wake, he counted on the amnesia that came with the death like sleep. He knew he was playing with fire. He didn't know if he would be able to hold back from taking her much longer. That would ruin everything. He popped up to the apartment across the street from her and grabbed his bag. He peeked through the window and saw no signs of life in her place.

As he left and crossed the road, that sickening feeling hit him like a wall, he paused just a moment. What in the world was causing him to feel this way? No matter. Nothing would keep him from her. He took the stairs two and three at a time. Clinging to what he knew of her and hungering for more. He stood in front of her door for a moment and listened. He heard no noise from behind the door, so he lifted his hand and reached for the knob. Turning it to see if it was locked, he breathed in as it caught. He reached for his keys. He would not be denied tonight.

Suddenly he was on the sidewalk. Keys in hand, confusion and strangeness washed over him. How did he get here? What just happened? The overwhelming wrong feeling held his feet to the concrete like lead. He struggled to breathe. It was like the aversion you feel at the smell of dead bodies or dread at something painful. His every instinct said to turn around and go home. He couldn't think straight and squeezed the keys in his hand so hard they broke the skin of his palm. He almost felt like he wanted to heave, but he couldn't be sure why. He walked quickly back across the road and up the stairs. He needed to regroup. 

Stella's breath caught in her throat as she raised up on her toes to peek through the hole. Suspecting the worst, she held her breath so as to be as quiet as possible. As she put her silvery grey eye to the little glass lens, she tried to hold back her terror. 

She saw nothing. Nothing was there. She must have imagined it, maybe too many painkillers and not enough sleep. She rationalized her way to a little bit more calm. Her stomach was no longer in her chest, she breathed through the fear like an older child does after hearing the boogie man doesn't exist night after night. She pulled over a kitchen chair and wedged it under the knob and set a vase upside-down on top. She wandered to her bedroom and huddled under the covers until her sleepiness won over her fear. 

The next day, she got a letter from an attorney. It said that she had an inheritance to see to. Stella had no family and knew no one who would have handed anything down to her. She called the lawyer and told him she couldn't leave during daylight hours, he said he knew of her problem. She wanted to know what the letter was about, and he merely offered to come to her the night after next. It was all rather cryptic and it was the last thing she needed in her life. More mystery. She tidied up and did a bit of knitting. She couldn't keep her hands busy enough to drown out the questions in her head. Like always, she waited for the cruel sun to set and free her from her cozy little prison. 

Eventually, the night did come and she burst out of her apartment like a bird from a cage. She decided against going to Louie's. It had simply gotten too awkward. She turned the opposite way and decided to find somewhere else to go to watch people go by. Her feet and crutches pounded the pavement and left foot prints in the dusting of snow that still covered everything like a veil. She found a lively little martini bar and decided that though she doesn't usually drink, tonight would be as good as any. 

She ordered an elderberry and pear-tini and sipped at it while she watched life go on around her. She got lost in the noise around her and ordered another drink. Her limbs felt warmer and her stress slowly began to fade to a dull buzz in the back of her skull. She made eye contact with a gorgeous little blonde down the bar some. She smiled a little and looked back into her glass. Suddenly, the girl was next to her, her front pressed against Stella's side. She smelled like citrus and berries.

"Georgia," she said into Stella's ear over the music.

"Stella," she replied with a smile and ordered another drink.

"I've never seen you here before, Stella."

"I've never been here before. I just decided to step out of my little box this evening."

"You're really fucking pretty," Georgia smiled and then looked down, blushing.

"Thanks. You're not so hard on the eyes yourself," she felt like a different person, and Georgia seemed like a nice girl.

They talked for a while about the city, how long they'd lived there. About the weather, music and books. Stella continued to drink and Georgia seemed closer than she had already been. She watched the glossed lips and blonde curls move while she spoke. Something drew her in. Suddenly, she looked up as Georgia tucked an auburn strand behind her ear. Her fingers lingered on Stella's pale cheek. They both looked back down at their drinks. The bar spun around them and Stella wondered for a moment what she was doing. She'd never even been kissed by anyone, and here she was enraptured by another girl's mouth.

Suddenly, there was a small hand on her thigh and as she looked at the hand and then up, her lips met with another set. Slowly and softly she kissed back and her heart pounded and her stomach fluttered. The bar spun faster and she parted her lips, just a little for the soft little tongue that licked at them. Somewhere in her mind, something muted from too many drinks told her that she didn't know feelings like this existed for her. She reached her hands up and caught Georgia's face gently. They pulled away from each other for a moment and Stella's thumb wandered from the girl's cheek to her lips. She watched as her thumb traced another woman's face and her breath caught in her chest. Closing her lips around Stella's thumb, she sucked softly and closed her eyes. Then she watched as the beautiful red head tasted her mouth on her own fingers like someone tasting a bit of whipped cream. 

"Would you like to come back to my place?" Stella whispered "I'm sorry, I've never done anything like this before."

"Neither have I," she said back, "Your place would be fine. Let's just see where things fall, shall we?"

Nodding and hopping down from her barstool, she grabbed her crutches. Several alcoholic drinks and crutches are a difficult combination, but Georgia was gracious and carried her purse. They walked quietly sneaking glances at each other. Something was in the air and it was exciting and new for the girl who the sun shunned. By the time they got in the door, the tension was at it's peak and snapped like a violin string as they reached for each other. A slow, aching fury of red and blond hair, pale and paler skins slipping against each other. Feeling hands touching her tummy and breasts for the first time, she gasped and she let herself be pulled down onto the bed. She ran her fingers through the tight little blonde curls and she pulled back so she could kiss her neck. 

Suddenly, Georgia was on top of her, kissing her softly, but deeply. Her smooth thigh rubbed between Stella's ivory lips, against that little button of sensation. She bit and kissed at her neck, cupping her breasts in her hands, twisting at the nipples and sucking at them. Stella moaned and her hips began to match the rhythm of the girl on top of her's leg. When Georgia pulled away, there was a microsecond of disappointment until her fingers replaced the pressure against Stella's clit. It was nearly too much and she couldn't reach to touch her new friend. Dipping into her honey pot to lube things up, Georgia bit and played with the rosebud pink nipples. She traced circles around and around, deliciously varying the pressure and watched the stunning silver eyes flutter in pleasure. She brought her nearly to tears with pleasure. Just to the precipice of orgasm and then slid down. She kissed the soft planes of the body in front of her and then breathed gently on the slit in front of her.

Stella watched as she was kissed all the way down, but the feeling of someone's breath on her lips was new and unexpected. Her pulse quickened and she let her head rest back on the pillow as fingers spread her open, not yet tasting her, but blowing and teasing. Appraising the blushed folds, exploring every inch of her, Georgia bit and tugged with her teeth on one of her labia. Sending shock waves up the body before her, she then licked up the closed line where the smooth little pussy guarded it's delicious little secrets. 

The feeling of a cool tongue on her most private area was amazing and scary and beautiful. It was even more shocking when that very same tongue made contact with her delicate little bump. Closing over and sucking at it, this alluring mouth that had just been kissing her was now bringing her close to the edge again. In all the pressure of suction, she felt her clit being traced around and around again and suddenly, gloriously, fingers speared into her and sent her over the edge. Georgia kept nursing at the engorged little spot, drinking everything she could get. Spreading her hole open and stroking that secret little spot, in and out. Her fingers felt a gush of heat and she refused to stop. She watched as the pleasure because too much for her little victim. Her body wracked with spasms, her kitty squeezing at her invading fingers. She reached up as she continued the orgasmic assault and wrapped her hands into the waves and tendrils of auburn hair and as she pulled Stella's head back, the orgasm became so intense that the poor girl literally lost consciousness for a couple of seconds.

Lapping at the sweet musky juice, she gently finished her dessert while Stella ran her fingers through her curls. She knew every lick would be like pleasurable torture, but she kissed and pampered the pretty little gash in front of her anyway. Stella hardly complained, but instead pulled her up and kissed her deeply. She reached down and traced the line of skin between Georgia's legs as they massaged each other's tongues. Soon enough, she was on her back and watching as the goddess above her nuzzled and nipped her way down. Fingering her gently, she stopped and licked at her fingertips and closed her eyes as if she had just tasted heaven.

Watching this angel-like woman enjoy the taste of her was enough to make her wet and hot. She spread her legs wide and ground herself against the creamy hip between them. Not to be outdone, Stella pulled away and began rubbing her bead again, spreading her wide enough to almost hurt and leaving the clit that exposed was amazing for Georgia. Flicking the bean back and forth, while keeping her spread, she gasped when Stella's smooth mouth found her. Teasing her clit, licking around it and over it made her feel desperate. She wanted to die from the torment. Finally, she closed her mouth over her and finger fucked her, as hard as she could, Georgia ground her hips on those fingers and came hard and fast. Taking a cue from her teacher, Stella kept sucking and fucking. She reached up with her free hand and Georgia sucked and lapped at it. Cumming and writhing, the two of them were completely satisfied. Cuddling up together, they both fell into a satiated sleep.



A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 05



Stella awoke and the first thing she noticed was the emptiness of her apartment. Had it all been a dream? She was hung over and giddy. She'd never been with anyone before and she certainly hadn't pegged herself as bisexual. She showered, brushed her teeth, dressed, and made herself breakfast. Lately, she really hadn't been feeling herself. She tidied her place up and began checking her emails. Her boss had agreed that the latest story she'd forced herself to finish just wasn't right for their company to publish. He sent her a few more manuscripts and she checked the rest of her messages. The lawyer said he would still be showing up as planned. Aimes sent a message to say she got caught up with double shifts. She junked a few spam emails. She didn't want a bigger cock or a Russian Bride, thank you very much. 

The afternoon lulled by as she read through her work and knitted the rest of her shawl. She still felt so bad as to never want to drink again. Amelia would call her a lightweight. Unable to concentrate, she found her mind wandering. She thought about her grocery list, bills she needed to pay, everyday things flowed through her mind and distracted her from her work. She drank cup after cup of coffee, hoping to feel a little more alive.

She thought about her mother, remembering a memory she never knew she had. She had gotten up from her bed, very, very late at night and her Mom was gone. She walked outside, thinking she would find her, but she didn't. Instead, she heard singing from the woods. Stepping cautiously through the forest, she came to a clearing. Her mother, Viola, and several other women seemed to be praying through song. They all were pale, glowing in the full moon and seemed perfectly at peace. Stella remembered not being able to take her eyes away. She remembered a man telling her she should be in bed. He seemed to appear at her side. He lifted her up and carried her so fast through the forest that she barely had time to breathe. He had earthy green eyes and dark hair. Something about him made her feel safe and with him in the cottage, she remembered falling asleep quickly.

Shaking herself from the daydream, she got up and stretched. She still wasn't allowed to move her ankle or foot too much and that made her feel stiff and almost trapped. It was nearly time for the attorney to arrive and she made herself another cup of coffee. Why had she thought about that evening? Did it even happen? She found herself doubting a lot of things recently. Not least of all, herself. Some strange man with green eyes carrying her from her mother worshipping in the woods seemed a little far-fetched. Her Mom wasn't very religious, at least, Stella couldn't remember her being of one faith or another.

A knock on the door came right on time. She let a short man in with glasses and snowy hair. He had a box and a briefcase with him. She took his coat and hung it up for him and showed him to the sofa. He sat down silently and she was surprised to hear a deep southern accent roll out of his mouth.

"Stella, I have here a parcel that is meant to be delivered to you on your twenty fourth birthday. That is next week, is it not?" he drawled.

"Yes, it is, I guess I had forgotten. When you have no family, birthdays aren't much to celebrate," she said.

"Well perhaps you might find something in here worth being happy about. It's the deed to your family home, a few letters and I'm guessing heirlooms. I was instructed not to open the box. I just need you to sign here, here, and here and I'll be on my way," he held a pen and a stack of papers to her.

"My family home? Letters?" Stella paused, overwhelmed.

"Yes, Ma'am. They were left in my care nearly twenty years ago and I am a man of my word, go on and sign, now."

Feeling confused and shocked, Stella signed the papers and the man bid her farewell in an old fashioned way and let himself out. He seemed to be awfully eager to get on with whatever he had to do. She looked over the deed to the cottage and it's land, about 300 acres, and couldn't quite bring herself to look at anything else. She suddenly felt alone and for the first time in years, missed her mother with a hollow ache that seized her throat. Her apartment felt as though it were threatening to close in on her. She put her cold hands up to her face and tried to compose herself. 

She paced back and forth and wanted to scream. It wasn't quite dark enough for her to leave and the idea of it was driving her mad. She had to get out, get away from the box and it's secrets and the letters and their words. She felt certain that if she tried to read them now, it would be like trying to read some exotic language, not spoken in centuries. She paced some more, and then she went in her room to get dressed. Something had taken her emotions over and she didn't quite feel like she was in control of herself. She didn't know where she would go, but she had to go. Now. She slipped on some dark jeans and a silvery tunic. She pulled her red hair up into a messy ballet bun. As soon as she felt she could without burning, she burst from her front door like a race horse in the Kentucky Derby. 

The frigid blast was welcome and it cleared her head up some. She skipped down the stairs as fast as she dared on her crutches and walked. She walked and felt herself becoming angrier and that anger was a comfort. It was an emotion she could recognize and control. It was like all the swirling vortexes of undefined feelings were melding together inside her into a ball of frustration and mad and she breathed through it. She focused on her breathing until she realized she wasn't quite sure where she was. 

She stopped and looked around. The artsy, hippy part of town that she lived in had morphed into a more hostile scene. Not knowing how long she had been walking, she attempted to turn around and try to head the way she came, only, she wasn't certain of the way she came. She felt like a pissed off rat in a very complex cage. She knew looking lost or confused might make her a target, so she put on her most determined face and carried back the way she thought she came. 

"Looky here," she heard from behind her, "I think this is our pasty little snitch, come to us, special delivery, like."

Her paced quickened with her heartbeat and she cursed herself for swearing off cell phones. Her crutches made her feel like she was moving slower than if she ditched them, so she put weight on her foot. She felt the burns stretch and scream at her and the adrenaline of hearing them closer behind her made her not care if her leg fell off. As long as it fell off after she'd gotten somewhere safe. She heard them behind her start to run. So her body sprang forward like a gazelle, her hair beginning to fall out of her pins and wave in front of her eyes. 

Suddenly there was someone next to her and she swung one of her crutches that she didn't realize she was still carrying. She thought it made contact, but she didn't break her stride. Pushing her feet forward, she breathed in the icy air and then she felt something grab her arm and pull her to a stop. She fought as hard as she could, reaching for eyes, kicking for that golden area between a man's legs that would free her. The grasp was like iron and she stopped fighting when she looked up and saw eerily familiar green eyes boring into her. She regained her balance and watched as he paced back to the two young men trailing her. They had stopped, obviously eyeing the situation up. 

Seeming to think they still had the upper hand, one of them threw a punch, which was dodged and Stella saw a silver flash in the other's hand. The first boy nearly lost his balance and the second came in with the knife. Just as quick as a blink, the knife was thrown into the street and the kid took a punishing knee to the face. Swinging around from putting the second boy down, the green-eyed man turned and knocked the first guy out. They were on the ground and Green-eyes stormed back to her with a look like emerald death on his face. 

He grabbed her arm and led her home. The whole way she pulled and struggled against the grip. She demanded answers and fought for the anger she had earlier, willing it to keep her from going easily. For some reason, she felt an unwanted calm pushing it away from her. 'Who are you?' seemed to find a constant rotation in her protests and questions and as they came to her door she exploded.

"It was YOU, wasn't it?" she demanded, refusing to unlock the door.

"Me what?" he said, sounding exasperated.

"It's YOU who came into my home when I was asleep and left my curtains open and burned my foot!"

"No. He came into your apartment?" the man was obviously pissed now.

"Who's he? It was you, you knew where I was, you knew where I lived, how else would you have known to bring me here?" Stella began to get confused. 

She studied his face and found that it went through a whole prism of emotions from anger, to frustration to sadness. She realized that her foot was now screaming in agony and suddenly, all she wanted to do was open her door and bury herself in her bed. At the same time though, she had an unexpected feeling of wanting to curl up in his arms and cover herself with him like a blanket and the idea of it nearly knocked her over. He was watching her and the electric green of his gaze made her want to die in it. 

"Go inside, lock the door and go to bed," he demanded and turned on his heels.

"You're not my father," she hissed at him and he stopped dead in his tracks, but not turning.

"No, Stella, I'm not, but he would tell you the same thing given the circumstances."

She felt her jaw drop and in a blink, he was gone. He knew her name? She was standing in the hallway, shivering with adrenaline, pain and cold. She had nothing left to do besides open her door and go inside. She slid down the wall in her entryway and cried. She sobbed uncontrollably and felt like her chest would explode from the gasps and moans that came out of it. She cried about her mother, the men who chased her, the pain in her foot. She cried about giving herself to a stranger, she cried about liking it. Once she had exhausted her supply of tears, she numbly got up, threw some painkillers down her throat and limped to bed. She simply didn't have anything else left to feel. Before she could think about her head hitting the pillow, she was sound asleep.

*****

He found himself drawing her face on his sketch pad. Over and over. He wouldn't go see her tonight. He didn't want to ruin the plan. He planned on the time away from her being both a test of his will and a punishment for his excitement making him sloppy. Seeing her face in his mind, the only way he felt he could purge himself of her was to get her out of him on paper. Looking up from his frantic drawing, he found himself surrounded by her face on scraps of paper, napkins, and he'd even created her likeness on the bedroom mirror with a dry erase marker. She was staring up at him from the floor, the desk, the wall, everywhere. 

Eventually, he talked himself into just peeking out the window when he heard woman's voices outside. There she was with a blonde woman. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn't. He watched her walk, slightly drunkenly, to her building. He was glad that it was her and also glad she'd hadn't let someone else have her before he got to her. He found himself staring at her building long after she'd disappeared, longing to get a glimpse of her again, but she didn't come back out. He sighed and turned around. Suddenly angry at how long it was taking and how weak he was. He ripped her down from the walls and scattered her across the room. He pressed his fists into his temples, hard and growled to himself. Stupid bitch for making him feel this way. 

Seeing her ripped face on the floor, he immediately felt a surge of guilt wash over him and he tried to tape her back together. He felt as though he had ripped the essence of her being in half and part of him felt a twinge of arousal at hurting her, the other part of him cursed himself for ruining the photographs and drawings that he had spent so long on. What would she think when she saw that he had ripped her up?

He suddenly remembered being locked in a closet, bloody and bruised. He remembered begging to be let out and tearing at the door until he ripped his own fingernails off. He deserved it, she had said. He would stay in there until he learned some self-control. He grabbed the leather strap and pulled his shirt off. He swung it backwards, hard, feeling it bite into his skin. 'I deserve it,' he thought and swung it onto his bare back again. 'I need to learn some self-control,' he thought as he struck himself again. He wouldn't stop until he felt blood. This was his punishment for being too hasty, for peeking at her after he swore he wouldn't. He struck himself because he obviously couldn't keep to his own word, and there had to be ramifications for weakness.

He struck, harder and harder, until he couldn't swing his arm anymore, he felt the skin on his back welted and blood running down it with a tickling crawl. 'Have I learned my lesson?' he asked himself. 'Yes, I think I have.' He stood and folded his shirt, placing it in the hamper, he pulled his pants off. He wanted to be delicate in how he moved, but he didn't give himself the benefit of it. This was his punishment and he would take it like a man. He turned the shower on, screaming hot. He folded his pants, socks and underwear and placed them in the hamper as well. He did not allow himself a moment to brace for it, and stepped into the shower with his raw, splayed back to the steaming hot and unforgiving jets. He concentrated on the pain and focused it into a tight ball in his mind. Then he thought about her back and what her face would look like, giving her pain to him. He found himself erect, even through the searing pain and jerked himself off, just like the entire night, it was rough and unforgiving. He visualized strapping her creamy back and the idea of her dark, red blood against the cool ivory of her skin brought him over the edge. 

He washed, let the soap sting the swaths of flesh on his back, rinsed and then fell into bed, face first. He was ready for her, he knew it. He would begin making the final arrangements and then she would be his. She needed him to make her a more perfect version of herself. He would give her the gift of discipline and care, and she would give him all of her. Whether she appreciated it or not, she would. He comforted himself with the thought that soon, she would be his. He drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

The next day, he picked up his mail, had a cup of coffee and whistled tunelessly as he cleaned the apartment. Things must be right, things must be perfect. He ironed his pants and pulled on a black shirt, just in case there was bleed-through on his back. He mustn't look sloppy. He pulled on his socks and set about his day. Absentmindedly day dreaming about having her to himself, finally, completely, his excitement was building back up and he felt practically giddy. He had to be at work tonight, but absence makes the heart grow fonder. He would have to make do, because all good things come to those who wait. 

He swept the floor at work and arranged the chairs. He made busy with the people who came and went. He busied himself with reorganizing his office in the back. Straightened the paintings on the walls and when he came back to the front, he saw a petite blonde. She turned to look at him, her curls bouncing with the slightest movement. He knew exactly who she was, he saw her coming home with his moon princess. He put on his best smile and went to greet her casually, yet professionally.

"I have something you want," she said, with a smile, before he could speak, "And I can help you get it." 



A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 06



After a family loss, I'm back. Many apologies for my absence at such a cliffhanger, I was so busy dealing with grief and moving on that my drive for this story fell by the wayside. I had planned on working the painting of Stella's Mom into this chapter, but it just didn't work out. I hope you enjoy it and I promise, no more girl-on-girl unless it's tagged as such. I wasn't aware that chapters could fall into different categories! Feedback is always welcome!

******

It wasn't her fault. She doesn't know her legacy, her past, her responsibility... yet. She didn't know the forces in the world beyond what her human life had shown her. To her, her mother was a simple victim of a genetic anomaly, an albino. Her father, a mystery. Her skin was merely fragile and allergic. She doesn't know the power she just gave to that blond wretch. She's not aware the predator in her shadows, lurking, hunting, waiting to snatch her. All she knows is what she's seen. 

"I've failed her!" he shouted in his head, feet crunching the snow on the sidewalk.

He couldn't believe after so many thousands of years, he could screw up in such a profound fashion. How could he not have picked up that vermin's scent? How did he let her be taken in and seduced? He pulled the collar on his coat up, jammed his fists down in his pockets and got lost in his rage. He just didn't know everything was already coming to a head. 

*********

Planting the coffee down in front of the strange woman, he sat across from her and nursed his own cup. Steam was rising off smelling of vanilla and caramel. She didn't move to touch it, in fact, she hardly moved at all. She just sat there, smug and still. He had no idea where to start. She wanted something. He could feel it. 

"She tastes almost like she smells," the small woman said and watched the emotions dance across his face.

"She's pure, you have know way of knowing that," he fought back his anger.

"I know it the same way you do," she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, "Except she knew I was there and begged me not to stop. She tasted like vanilla, spicy vanilla and woman. When I lick my lips she's still there. Would you like to taste? You're welcome to if you don't believe me."

Suddenly his cup was out of his hands and this tiny blonde was straddling him, her nose almost touching his. Her eyes glowed with a primal light, he knew she was more than human then. She ran her hand up his abs, up his chest and touched his lips. He could smell the familiar musk on her fingers and his blood began pounding in his ears. He leaned away from her and gave her a hard glare. She pulled her fingers up to her own mouth and began to lick them. Suddenly he slapped her hand from her mouth and tried to shove at her hips, but it felt as though she were made of steel. She clenched her thighs and he felt like his pelvis was going to shatter. 

"What exactly is it you want from me?" he seethed through his teeth, through his pain and anger.

"Access," she whispered nipping at his neck, seeming to feed off his pain, "I'm going to help you take her and I need unrestricted access to her."

"Why on Earth would I agree to that? What could you possibly want from us?"

"Us!" she giggled and threw her head back, grinding herself against him, "You're an 'Us' already? How absolutely... boring. Do you expect to chain her up until she loves you, force her to have your disgusting little children and then what? Live happily ever after? Ha! I suppose you'll be her world, but what about when you're away? At work? Do you think you can be to her what you're going to force her to be to you? I can feel you getting hard. I can feel you liking what I'm doing to you. You aren't even capable of a modicum of self control. You want to fuck me, you want me to make you fuck me. What I want with her is more ancient and amazing than your tiny little mind can handle. You'll just be the perfect babysitter. Keeps me from having to get my hands dirty," she lifted herself off him, "You need a history lesson, my boy. You have a lot to learn, especially about yourself."

"Maybe it's you who has the learning to do," he hissed.

"You'll do well to mind me, unless you want to lose your little play-thing before you even get a chance to unwrap her."

Suddenly she was gone, and a letter in black ink on silvery paper said simply, "I'll be in touch." He rubbed at his thighs and hips where she had crushed him with her legs. She had promised to make delivery of his prize. He straightened up his office and made his way out front to see if there were any customers. 

*******

Stella glared at the parcel. The box sat on her coffee table. It needed to be opened and she walked a circle around it and then went into the kitchen. She ground up some coffee beans and put the kettle on. She munched on some grapes from the basket on her counter and mused about what could be lurking inside the package. The water began to bubble so she poured it into the glass carafe and set the timer, absently popping a few more grapes in her mouth. She hadn't heard anything about her mother since her funeral. She barely remembered it all, it was if some kind of protective haze clouded the parts that should be painful. 

The timer went off and there was a knocking on the door at the same time. She sighed at the French press and went to see who it was. She straightened herself out as best she could before opening it. It was morning for her, after all. Smoothing a few strands and tucking them behind her ears, she crossed her arms across her chest to hide that she wasn't wearing a bra yet. She reached forward and turned the knob, positioning herself behind the door. She was stunned when she peered out and two green eyes met hers.

"You! What are you doing here!" she said, shocked.

"I'm here to explain some things," he replied softly. 

"I think you've done enough damage," she retorted, thinking about her foot.

"I didn't do any damage! Speaking of which, I trust it's healed now?" he raised a brow at her.

"I..." she stopped realizing that her foot was indeed feeling back to new, suddenly, "yes, how would you know anything about that?"

"Like I said, I'm here to explain some things," he shrugged. 

She pulled the door open and swept her arm grandly towards the inside of her apartment. Making sure to pull her robe around her and cross her arms, modestly, she returned to the coffee, setting the lid on the carafe and plunging it down, waiting on her visitor to begin. He didn't, he just shifted uncomfortably.

"Coffee?" she asked, as brightly as she could, hoping to get him saying anything.

"Umm... yes. Yes please."

"You're from around here?"

"No."

"You came to explain something?" she followed his gaze to the box.

"Yes," he glanced back at her briefly and returned to studying the mystery on he table, "You haven't opened this yet?"

"Ahhh, no," she handed him a mug, "I was just getting ready to."

He sipped intently for a moment and then suddenly appeared by the box, resting his fingertips on it, lightly. Stella, visibly shocked at his movements, made her way cautiously over to it. He squatted down eye-level with it and seemed to smile a little. As if the box was whispering fond shared memories to him. She suddenly realized that he was a beautiful man. He wore jeans, a thin argyle sweater layered over an oxford shirt and under a gray wool Navy coat. The Burgundy in the sweater seemed to make the jade in his eyes glow, or perhaps they meerly were glowing. Either way, he was a sight to behold. 

He looked up at her, as if he were suddenly reminded of her presence. He smiled a little more and appeared beside her. He sipped from his mug and gave an appreciative "Mmmm." She felt comfortable, like she imagined she would feel with family. They enjoyed the silence of each other's company for a few moments and then they moved in unison to sit on the sofa. He pulled her mug from her hand and set it with his on the end table. Carefully he reached forward and popped the tape off the brown packing paper. Stella was grateful for his initiative. She had a sense that whatever was in this box was going to change everything in her world. He pulled the paper off and folded it up neatly. Staring at them now was a storage box with a lift off lid. He pried the tape off for her and stopped. She caught herself in a daze watching his fingers work the tape off carefully, she realized that now she had to take over. The simple act of lifting a lid seemed as thought it might as well be an Olympic Triathalon. 

"It's ok," he reassured her.

She looked into the backlit emerald and jade of his eyes and took a deep breath. She leaned forward and slowly lifted the lid. The first thing she noticed was a musty, storage smell. Then it hit her. She remembered the smell of her Mother, underneith the smell of years sitting hidden away was the soft, floral scent of the woman who gave her life. She wiped the tears away from her cheeks and looked back at him. He opened his eyes, was he smelling it too? He smiled at her and nodded to encourage her. 

"I remember her," she sighed, "I remember her smell now."

"Yes," he nodded, "Your mother was a remarkable woman."

"You knew her? You're no older than me!" Stella gasped. 

"Little Starlight, I am many, many times older than you, what you're going to learn today is exactly how much looks can decieve you," he placed his hand over hers. 

*****

He watched the door to the coffee shop. The longer he waited, the more anxious he became. This was strange, she was usually having her normal cup of coffee by now. He closed his eyes and thought about how absolutely furious he was at the idea of someone else between her ivory thighs. The skin on his back was hot, and angry and added to the hostility he felt. As minutes ticked by, the door that his eyes were glued on became nothing and his thoughts drifted to the image of his delicate, auburn haired princess. Her head fallen back in ecstasy, her snowy fingers clasped in tight blond ringlets between her legs. The heat of his anger flickered into a pool of boiling lust as he pictured them, the mysterious golden haired woman lapping and nipping at the soft petals of his love's womanhood. He drew himself farther back into the shadows and felt himself rise to the fantasies. Throbbing, warm and hard, the back of his neck prickled.

"I thought you said she would be here?" she said, jerking him out of his daze.

"She usually is," he looked around, suspiciously.

"Well, it seems you don't know her as well as you thought. You didn't even know she likes the feeling of another woman cumming in her mouth," she grinned and cast him a sideways glance through her flaxen curls. Her eyes alit with mischief, "I didnt think she was ever going to stop sucking on my clit. For a virgin, she's quite full of surprises."

He flexed his hands into fists several times, feeling the leather of his gloves tighten around his knuckles. He glared at her as she batted her eyes under raised brows, sipping at a throwaway cup of coffee. For someone who looked so much like a very fuckable porcelain doll, she was a filthy bitch under it all. She flicked the collar of her coat up around her neck and face and looped an arm through his. 

"It's off for tonight," she sighed, "I went past her apartment and her lights are on. I looked through the spyhole."

He grunted and looked down at his feet, disappointed and frustrated.

"All's not lost though," she said in an upbeat tone, "You may not know what my face looks like buried in her crotch, but you can learn first hand what it looks like in yours."

He felt his face flush red and then blanch white. She was obviously enjoying the show of colors because she was smirking quite openly. His eyes were wide with the realization that she must have some sort of mind reading ability. She saw what he'd been lusting about.

"You're a filthy little whore," he said finally.

"Ahhh, whore. After all this time, that's the best men can come up with. You don't burn women at the stake anymore, but fuck me, it seems 'whore' will always be your go-to for anything you don't understand. I'm much more than a whore, I am much more than the women you have known in your life. I am lust, I am vengeance, I am sex and I am darkness. I can be the best thing you will ever know, or the things your tiny mind can't even have nightmares about," her tone still even and matter-of-fact, "Now, show me where you'll be keeping her."

He grumbled and began walking. Her arm still looped in his. She felt tiny against him, but there was power in her. He'd felt it in his office as she was crushing him. From the outside, they must have looked like any other couple, but the disdain and lust burning off of him and her cool, calculating stride was there, under the surface. They strode up to his apartment, he opened the door and followed her in. She took note of how tidy and organized everything was. There were no sharp edges in case their soon-to-be captive got desperate, she even noticed the tracks in the ceiling.

"For her chains, I'm assuming?" she said pointing up.

"Yes."

"Show me how they work, I want to see the chains, the shackles, everything."

"I decided against shackles," he strode towards a closet, "I had leather cuffs made. I felt like shackles would cause unwanted damage to her skin."

"Ahh, I see," she watched him pull the chains back and forth along the track.

"I also have this closet made for light deprivation and there's four restraint points," he said flipping on a switch inside the small space.

"You've light-proofed the rest of the apartment, I trust?" she ran her fingers up his arm.

"Why would I do that? I've made the closet light proof."

"So you're going to leave her hanging in a closet during all daylight hours? You are a twisted fuck," she smirked.

"Why would I do that?" he pulled away from her.

"So she doesn't burn? She's allergic to sunlight. You knew that right?" she glared at him.

"Who the fuck is allergic to sunlight? She just works all day," he snapped.

"You complete and utter moron, she is allergic to sunlight, she burns, instantly. It's part of her lineage, part of why I need access to her. Fuck's sake," she hissed, "How can you stalk a girl for months on end and NOT realize something so absolutely crucial?"

Suddenly, it made sense. She'd been on crutches because of him. He pulled her curtains open so he would have access from across the road, and he'd felt disgust and rage at her when he saw her injured. It was HIS fault. He ran his hands down his face, his mind racing with blackout curtains, maybe painting the windows. Suddenly his hands were above his head in cuffs, attached to the track. She'd strapped him up so fast, he'd not even felt it. His eyes went wide with fury as he looked at his curvy little companion slinking around him.

"No matter," she said, dismissing the lightproofing situation, "Easily fixable."

"Let me go," he said flatly.

"Do you have any idea of the things that are out there? The things that go bump in the night?" she was inches from his face now.

"What are you talking about?" he glared.

She stepped backwards from him and he noticed her eyes glowed with a fire that seemed to suck his very soul into them. She unbuttoned his shirt, and then ripped it off his arms, the rough assault searing the flayed skin on his back. She spared him no sympathy, though as she furiously undid his belt and ripped his pants from him. She even took the time to tear his socks away and his boxers were sent in shreds to the other side of the room. His head clearing from the pain, he, for a moment mentally chastised her messy ways. For some reason, he wasn't afraid. He glared at her with as much hardness as he could muster. She slapped his face, hard.

"You can't even hang there like a good boy," she sighed, "You could have played along earlier and this could have been easier for you."

"I wouldn't dream of playing nice with you," he whispered harshly.

"Fine," she said and stared at him for a moment, seeming to mentally critique his form.

She walked around him, stopping to run her fingers along his lash marks. She was less than delicate and when she came back around to face him, her fingers were saturated in his blood. She licked it off, seeming to savor it. Her eyes met his again and she stepped back a few steps. She began to undo her coat, giving him glances of hot expectation. He didn't look away from her eyes. The jacket slowly slid from her arms onto the floor, revealing a pinstripe corset over a black shirt, slightly worn jeans tucked into black stiletto boots, which she unlaced, making sure to stay at just the right angle to give him the most optimal view of her assets. She stepped free of her pants and reached back to begin unlacing the bunny-eared bow of her corset. He finally let his eyes wander as she finished unfastening the busk and dropped it to the side of her. She watched him with a wanton expression as she undid the buttons of her top, one by one. 

His arms were aching, but so was his pride. Still, he found himself responding to her little strip tease. She was now in black panties and a matching bra. She had that self-assured smirk that seemed to have a near full-time place on her delicate features. She walked over to the bed and crawled on it, looking back at him and beckoning him forward on the tracks. He refused. He stood in his spot, refusing to give in to her harlotry. Suddenly he felt as though there were a force behind him pushing him forward, like a wall of air. He slid across the wood floors, wide eyed with anger at the loss of his ability to deny her anything. His shins cracked into the bed frame painfully and he winced, slightly. Trying to hide his discomfort from her, since it obviously brought her pleasure. She divested herself of her panties and bra, staying on her knees, exposed to him, only inches from his shaft. She lowered her top half onto the bed and reached between her knees. She used her tiny fingers to spread her nether-lips open. He looked down at the bloom of soft pink, her tight holes and noticed the scars on her back. A slash across each shoulder bone. He dragged his gaze back down to her flower, spread open in front of him. She looked too tight, he wanted to plow himself into her and make her scream in pain. While her ring and pointer fingers splayed her lips out, her middle finger traced around her bud. Her other hand busied itself twisting and rubbing her pale nipples. Dew began to trickle towards her nub, and the smell of blood oranges and fresh berries hung in the air, suddenly. He felt himself turn more primal than he had ever felt before. Against any self control, he was desperate to be inside her. To fill her up and make her beg him to stop. He pulled against the chains, thrust his hips forward and she looked back over her shoulder and simply rubbed her clit harder. He thrust again, hard and he felt his tip just touch her opening. He wanted to feel his fingers wrapped in her curls, smashing her face into the bed as he made her submit to him. 

She watched as he thrashed in his bonds, she knew he was spraining his wrists. She also knew her inhuman pheromones were driving him over the line of madness. Her power wasn't what it once was, but it was still quite effective. She felt the few semi-successful lunges of his rod against her hole. She rolled over onto her back and spread her legs to him, changing the energy she released into the room. His thrusting stopped and his eyes grew wide with hunger. She arched her back into the sensation of self gratification and complete dominance over him. 

When she rolled onto her back, he wanted to plant his face into her center, to take everything she had down there into himself. It was sheer cruelty when she popped her fingers into her mouth and "Mmmmmm'ed," with pleasure. It was like he was suddenly the thirstiest creature on the planet and only her essence would satisfy him. He felt such longing that he thought he would die if he couldn't taste her. His damned hands tied up, she was so close if only he weren't tethered to the ceiling. She quit playing with her breasts and waved her hand strangely. In a flash of heat, the leather cuffs turned to ash and he was free. He paid no mind to the ache in his shoulders and arms, he merely set his eyes on his prize. He scooped his hands under her thighs and pulled her to him. She caught his forehead with her palm. He looked up into her eyes and she was very stern. He felt he was going to drop dead if he had to wait any longer.




A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 06



"Do it right," she said firmly, "Tease me and make me want you first."

He felt his heart drop. She was already slick with liquid, her lips closed since her hand had pulled away. He could smell the fruity musk and could hardly contain himself. He swallowed hard and breathed against her slit. He nuzzled his nose lightly up the line of her lips. She sighed softly. Slowly, lightly he nipped at her thigh, then tracing gently up towards her heat, he began working up the other leg. Bringing a hand down under her ass, he traced up and down her with his thumb as he bit and licked her smooth inner thigh. She moaned a little and rocked her hips towards him as he came closer. He licked from the very bottom of her lips, up... then nibbled each one, careful not to delve into her yet. He added a slight bit of pressure once he found her bucking with each pass, only slightly pressing between her folds. Making sure to add bites to her labia here and there to temper the tickling. 

She was quite surprised he could restrain himself enough to pay any mind to her thighs. She had done a lot of the work for him, although, watching him go from pissed off to aroused helped lubricate her somewhat. He was a fine specimen of a man. Raw, controlling, obsessive. It had been centuries since this type of male had been applauded. She had missed it. He was built athletically. No one muscle group worked more. He wasn't overly beefy and his pale hazel eyes were quite alluring. She wasn't expecting him to take such care in his job between her legs. Usually pigs such as he were sloppy, like livestock feeding at a trough. He seemed to actually care enough, much like a well bred Roman as if the female orgasm were an art. She found herself missing his warmth when he pulled back slightly and her expectation of the cool, roughness of his tongue was building. She smiled to herself. She hadn't enjoyed this, quite this much in such a long time. She gasped a little when his mouth ventured just beyond the outside of her lips. Dipping ever so slightly into her pool. She found the pressure in her to be building quite quickly. 

He felt her tighten up a little and instinctively knew she was getting close. He finally grabbed her roughly and pulled her farther down the bed. She gasped in surpised and he spread her open to reveal her pearl. He could hardly contain himself, he dipped his tongue below it, into her hole, and then swirled up and around it. Careful not to make any contact, he felt her hood stiffen slightly and he plunged down again, tasting her sweet tanginess. She moaned and he finally pinched her clit a little and then latched onto it, suckling it, circling his tongue around it. He finally found that sucking and flicking it inside his mouth worked best for her and he began circling her opening with his finger. Soon, she was desperatly bucking against his face and hand and he felt a flow and her whole body tense up. He felt her peak and shiver. Cumming and moaning. He refused to relent the oral assault, she collapsed back on the bed, spent, he released the suction over her button, and resumed tracing it with his mouth. She purred softy and began to run her fingers tenderly through his sandy brown hair. He cast a glance up at her and saw her watching him. A new softness to her features. 

"Thank you," she said, "You can stop now."

He ignored her, with the exception of reaching up to push her gently back to the bed. He kissed up and down her thighs again and she arched into him. He kissed up her slit and then began nibbling her lips again, circling her opening and tasting her juices. 

Not since years long past had she felt such electricity. She had cum so hard, and he rode through her spasms of pleasure, refusing to stop. She had cum, and he had prolonged it as long as her body could handle it. She felt the pressure building again and she looked down at him. She realized she had long stopped giving off the energy needed to keep him in a frenzy, and yet he was still eagerly pleasing her. She suddenly felt a longing she hadn't felt in centuries. She brushed his hair with her fingers, and then pulled his chin away from his task.

"Let me taste you, and then," she stopped and looked away slightly, "I want to feel you... in me."

He furrowed his brow and bit his lip. This venomous little creature, this little doll, wanted to reciprocate. He found himself feeling the anger and hatred towards her had melted away and he saw what? Vulnerability? He wanted to please her. He felt kindness towards her, but he, for the first time in his life didn't feel that she, a woman, needed to be dominated or controlled. He sat up towards her and caught her mouth in his. He saw surprise in her eyes and then she melted into him. She ran her hands up the sides of his face and he wrapped his arms around her tiny body and moved her up the bed. He pulled a pillow behind her just as he laid her down and began to set back to his task.

"I mean it," she caught him and looked into his face, "Let me taste you."

He felt something in the air. Like this was something rare. Something she never did. He felt that protesting would hurt her so he let her guide him down where she wanted him. He felt exposed, and he almost felt as though he were imposing on her. She traced his muscles on his chest and swirled her tongue around his nipples. They stiffened in her mouth. She moved down and nipped and kissed at his abs. He gasped a little at the sensitivity of it and she giggled softly before catching the bottom edge of his navel in her teeth. She resumed her journey down his body and before touching his cock, she paused and glanced up at him. He answered her look with a raised brow. She almost seemed intimidated, but wasn't she just joking about this outside the coffee house?

His skin was soft and smooth, he had a patch of chest hair and a path down from his belly button. She could smell the musk of him and being face to face with his manhood made her realize how long it had been since she had taken a man. It seemed like eons. She peeked up at him and he raised an eyebrow back at her. He was definitely a handsome guy. She grasped the base of his pole carefully and lowered herself to trace the line on his sack with her tongue. His pubic hair tickled her nose, and his balls tightened up. She massaged them and he sighed. She let her cheek graze his member as she worked on his scrotum. Every now and then she would give him a long, slow stroke. She felt him grow harder and harder and she breathed on his tip, licking it and breathing across it again as she fondled his nuts and worked his shaft with aching slowness. She was so turned on by his arousal, the cool air in the apartment on her exposed, wet center made it all the better. She saw his hands clutching at the sheets, trying to grasp at any restraint he could, and she popped the end of him into her mouth. Tonguing the hole and around the head, sucking and working at him with her hands, she felt him trying not to force himself into her throat. He breathed heavily and she took a little more of him, working what she had in her mouth, in tandem with her hands. It was slow and excrutiating.

She hummed a little self-satisfied hum and he groaned at the vibration. He didn't think he could take much more. She worked a little more of him into her small mouth slowly and he fought the urge to thrust. He tried not to look at her full, pink lips stretched around him. He knew it might send him over the edge. Suddenly her torture was over, she took all of him, into her throat and he felt a cry of joy and pleasure escape his throat. He wove his fingers into her hair and felt her bobbing up and down on him. He felt his dick throb and he stopped her. 

"I'm going to cum," he gasped, "I really can't hold back anymore."

She answered by slowing down again and tugging lightly on his twins. He breathed through it and he heard her mouth pop off him, loudly. He laid back with his eyes closed and felt her crawling up to him, softly. He peeked at her when she stopped, straddling his hips and she smiled at him, almost sheepishly.

She wanted him to cum in her throat, but she wasn't sure either of them could take another round and she really wanted to take him inside her. She knew it would hurt, but she wanted it. She wanted to cum with him. When he gazed at her through heavy lids, she knew he was very nearly spent. She leaned forward and touched his face, tracing his lips with her thumb. He opened his mouth a little and sucked the tip of her thumb in. The sensation of it turned her on and she brought the thumb up to her mouth, licking the taste of him off. She lowered herself and bit his bottom lip, then licked it gently. She pressed her mouth against his and he wrapped his arms around her and flipped her under him. He ran his hand down her body and began rubbing her clit gently. She spread her legs to him and he laid between them, kissing her carefully. 

She positioned herself so he was against her. The slight pressure of him there felt amazing as he continued to flick her bean. She sighed and let the energy build up in her as he worked and she kissed him like there was no tomorrow. She reached down began stroking him again, feeling the movement against her as they worked each other up to nearly peaking again. She needed him in her now and removed her hand. She tried to pull him into her with her legs, but he resisted.

"Not yet," he gasped.

"I need you," she sighed.

"Not yet, you don't need me yet."

He continued his massage, a sheen began to form on his body. She kept trying to push herself down on his hardness and he kept pulling back. Soon she was panting and moaning.

"Please!" she begged, feeling weak from the energy she expended on seducing him, "Please! Oh! I'm so close!"

Feeling she had no fight in her, hearing her beg, it was too much. This creature of such immense power was begging him to take her and he did. He plunged into her over and over, feeling her body resist and then give way with a slight tear. She cried out in pain and pleasure and they both throbbed and came together. He laid on her with a sigh and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, tiredly.

"Koala bear," he mused.

"Mmmm?"

"You're like a Koala bear."

She giggled and snuggled into his neck. This feeling of closeness to another being was dangerous and she knew it. The scars on her back pulsed as a reminder of what she had just given this... human. She didn't care though. She was weak now and she felt oddly safe under his weight. She felt the fluids of their coupling dripping down as he grew soft inside her. The salt of is stinging her wounds. She felt oddly at peace with the pain. She needed rest to regenerate and she knew he had no harm to offer her. Her diabolical plans would continue tomorrow. Tonight was for closeness and rest. 

******

"So you're telling me," Stella said with doubt, "That all the things in myths and fables are real?"

"Kind of," he said with a laugh, "Like all myths and fables, things have gotten distorted over time. Like playing Chinese Telephone in grade school."

The box was still unopened, but a cold bottle of sweet mead sat nearly empty nearby. She was still in her pajamas, her deep-firey mane was thrown over one shoulder, waves tumbling carelessly around her face. He took a sip and laughed.

"I suppose it would sound crazy coming from your perspective," his face grew serious, "You really don't remembere me do you?"

"You seem familiar," she pondered and reached in to touch his face, "I remember your eyes, I think."

He took the wine glasses and sat them beside the cold coffee mugs from hours earlier and squared himself in front of the box. She, tipsy as she was, tried to mimick his position, only to ruin it by drunken laughter.

"It's not going to open itself," he said, seriously, "No more avoiding it. I promise, what is in this box won't bite you."

Stella looked away from his face to the box. She bit the inside of her cheek and reached forward. All she had to do was lift the lid off. She carefully placed her hands on both sides and pulled the top free. Inside seemed perfectly mundane. A leather sack with, what? Crystals and other strange things. A huge, thick manilla envelope, secured with a red toggle and string. Letters sealed in old wax stamps. Pictures of her and her mother. What felt like ancient, leather parchments with odd symbols on them. None of this was worth being afraid about.

"It's all junk," she said, relieved, but almost disappointed. 

"You don't understand any of these?" he held up the parchments.

"Nope, looks like a 4th grader wrote them."

"This!" he said triumphantly holding the Manilla slab, "Is the deeds to your family land... your land!"

She pulled the paperwork out, it was all in legalese, and she was no lawyer. She did remember the cottage, with all the land and the midnight garden her mother kept. Since removing the top of the box, the smell of her Mom filled the air again. She reached in and pulled out a shawl. She remembered her Mother wrapping herself in it on chilly nights. It was delicate and yellowed with age. 

"None of this brings my Mom back," she said softly, "None of this gives me a family."

"You have a family, Stella. They just gave their corporeal lives up to protect something they believed in greatly. They were something of warriors."

"Your mother," he said, pulling out a picture, "Wasn't an albino."

Stella looked at the photograph and gasped. Her mother, young and raven haired, with silver eyes like her own. Waves bouncing and crystals bound around her neck.

"She was what, I suppose, you would call a priestess," he thought about it, "Maybe that's the wrong word. You come from a long line of Guardians and Sages. Your mother was such a prodigy that she became sensitive to the sun. She gave up the ability to day-walk so that she could fulfill what she felt, were her duties."

"So what?" Stella said angrily, "I'm cursed for it? I don't want this. I don't want any of it. I want a tan, I want to see the sun, feel it's warmth. I want to lay in greengrass, dry, in the middle of the day, not soaking in dew."

She flipped the box and it's contents out on the floor. He sat and watched her, she paced, she grabbed the coffee mugs and threw them into the sink, sending ceramic shards flying. He watched as her back began to shake in silent sobs and he went to her. She tried to keep her back to him, but he turned her around and pressed her into him. 

"The reason this is all happening now is because there are forces out there, that will want to hurt you. They will want to use you to achieve things, long denied them."

She looked into his face, tears streaking down her pearlescent cheeks.

"There are demons, fallen creatures of darkness who will want to subdue you and drain your life away to suit their own needs. Not to mention, there is a human obsessed with you because of your natural allure. It's part of your... inheritance. It goes along with your sensitivity to the sun and your will. You are almost pure moonlight, centuries of pure blood. Remember I told you that there are mythical and fabled creatures walking in modern times? You not learning to control your gifts will play you right into hands that can tear apart the age of humans."

She began to shake. She was overwhelmed and her head was spinning. Suddenly, like a soothing fog, she felt strangely calm. She buried her face into his chest and the edges of her vision closed in. She was being carried, and then she felt her bed. The cool cotton enveloping her. She heard shuffling in her room and a weight on the bed next to her. The haze became heavier and soon, she was asleep.



A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 07



Yes, I've been a bad writer and I've neglected my story. Here is the next chapter, it's lacking in the sex, but I wanted to get the plot back on track. I guess being a multi-part story, it can't be all sex all the time. Thanks for reading and the patience. I'm sorry it took so very long. Feedback is always appreciated! ~Eden

******

Stella awoke refreshed and unnaturally calm. The events of the previous evening were surrounded in her memory with a mist of calm. She was alone in her bedroom, the clock reading 2:37PM. She wiggled her toes on her formerly injured foot and sighed at the pleasure of the absence of pain. The pillows on the empty side of the bed still held a slight indentation, telling of someone's body having lain on them. The smell of coffee filled her nose and she pulled her red mane up into a ponytail. She was still wearing yesterday's clothes, but the caffienated temptation was more than she could resist. 

Her mysterious visitor plunged the grounds down in the press and his steady gaze met hers. She wasn't surprised by his presence, she just felt safe in it. He poured the dark drink into frothed milk in two mugs. The wine glasses from the night before shone, hanging polished and clear in the rack under her cupboard. The sparkle from them seemed nothing compared to the new vigor in her guest's eyes. 

"Coffee?" his voice said, lightly.

"Please," she skimmed her tongue over her teeth and drank, "Oh, this is magical. Mmmm."

"I'm a man of many talents," he grinned into his brew as though remembering an inside joke.

"Man? After you telling me the boogey man is real, I'm wondering if that's all you are."

He sputtered into his cup, then straightened and set it down carefully as though it would bite him. She stifled a smile by sipping carefully at her own mug. Then shifted her gaze to him as seriously as she could. Her eyes demanded an answer to the silent questions filling the void between them. 

"Ok then," she said to the pause, "let's start with easy questions. I remember you from when I was a child, but that's not possible. You seem so young. However, there's the whole, 'Everything is real,' thing. So how old are you?"

"That's not the easiest question to start with," he frowned.

"I have a feeling that easy is a relative thing," she rubbed at her hands, not meeting his eyes.

"I suppose you're right," he sighed, "Truth is, I have no idea on my exact age. My homeland doesn't exist anymore, it's not even really a fable it's been gone so long. "

"I'm sorry, what?" her mind spun with the implications.

"Yeah, I told you that wouldn't be the easiest place to start," he frowned.

"How are you older than your own people? What happened to your land?" her eyes were sad, this surprised him.

"It's at the bottom of the sea," he said slowly.

"What, like Atlantis?" she gasped.

"No, much smaller than Atlantis, my people were different."

"I'm sorry," she said soothingly, "It must be hard to never be able to go home."

"The ache dulls with time," he reassured her, "You've felt like this your whole life."

"I suppose so," Stella nodded, "You knew my mother," the stentence hung heavy with question.

"I did, she was magnificent, and also quite old."

"My Mother, old?" it came out like an incredulous gasp.

"Yes, old and powerful."

"Old like you, or old by human standards?" Stella realized there was a distinct difference.

"Well," he considered, "Very old by human standards, but she had the life in her, the unaging, undying."

Stella felt the need to change subject. She needed to let that soak in for a moment. So many things were reeling in her mind. He'd mentioned Guardians, Sages, Priestesses. All these questions. Immortality, lands under the sea. Her chest ached. Suddenly she realized she hadn't asked his name. She knew he'd saved her, she knew he'd been watching over her and that he knew her mother.

"I've not asked your name," she whispered.

"I've been called Caed. Caederyn," his stare bored into her.

"Caed," she tried it out, "Caed. I like that. It suits you.

He smiled and took her coffee mug to refill it and she watched his hands work. She suddenly remembered she hadn't showered and was still wearing her clothes from yesterday. He set the frothy concoctions down in front of them and she sighed. The ivory and brown liquid swirled invitingly in front of her. 

"I need a shower," she said into the foam.

"I'll be right here when you get out," he encouraged.

"This latte is too good."

"Mmmm... I can always make more."

He wanted her to be comfortable, they hadn't even scratched the surface of anything. He leaned over slowly until his face was inches from her neck. Her heart leapt at the nearness, she saw the flecks in his eyes and she sat, stock still. He then made an exaggerated sniffing sound, and she flushed and giggled. Tossing a dish towel at his face has he pulled back quickly, smirking. 

She stood up and grabbed her bathrobe and a towel from her bedroom. Then she stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Divesting herself of the fabric, she let them fall to the floor. Then she stooped over quickly and shoved them into the hamper. She looked at herself for a moment, raking through the auburn strands of her hair and the realization hit her. She is not who she thought. The world is not what she thought. She will never be the same again. Staring into the hard mercury of her own eyes, the ghost of his scent passed through her memory and she shook the thought out of her mind. The room had filled with steam and she stepped into the hot streams. They stung her in just the right way. She purred with relief as she washed last night off her. 

Once she worked shampoo and conditioner into ther hair, she began to lather her body. Her hands paused before she touched her flower and she thought of Georgia's tongue and the path it blazed and she was suddenly disgusted with herself. What on Earth was she thinking? Why had she allowed herself to be swayed like that? She scrubbed between her legs almost harshly and rinsed the conditioner from her hair. A thought from her night with the girl came to her, a memory of two slashed scars across the shoulder bones. She'd barely noticed, but the ping of something hit the back of her mind. She filed it away and dried off. She wrapped the towel around her head, twisted it up and shrugged the white robe on. 

Stella exited the bathroom on a cloud of vanilla spiced vapor. Caed couldn't help but notice the smell as she paused at the door to her bedroom. She looked at him and his eyes caught hers. Silver melting into jade. She bowed her head a little as she broke the gaze and ducked into her bedroom. His breath caught and he silently chastised himself. Still, he found himself closing his eyes and bask in her fragrance for as long as he could. 

"Sorry about that," she said as she came out of the bedroom, rubbing leftover lotion into her hands, "I tried to be quick."

"No, you were, that's fine, I mean," he furrowed his brows.

"Do you," she started, suddenly feeling awkward, "are you hungry?"

"I could eat, but we really need to talk," he locked eyes on her, willing himself not to look like the kind of hungry he really was all of a sudden.

"We could order something, there's a great vegetarian place, or pizza?" she rushed to fill the space left in the conversation.

"I could make something," he offered.

"You cook? I mean, of course you cook. You're like a million years old or something," then it hit her. She'd just believed what he had said about her mother. She'd found it more acceptable that he was really an ancient person and her Mom was magical than to call bullshit on the whole thing. Something about him was truth and mystery.

"You're wondering why you believe it all, why you believe me," he said.

"I, well, yes. Yes I am. But how do you know that?" she narrowed her eyes at him. 

"I can feel the general shape of your thoughts. It isn't mind reading, but I can sense the gist of things up there," he pointed at her head.

"What about," she breathed, "in here?" 

He let his line of sight drop to her hand. She was indicating her heart. He felt profoundly sad and he sighed heavily. Stepping towards her, he took her hand and held it in his for the slightest moment and let it drop back to her side. She looked up at him, waiting for an answer.

"That isn't something I ever mastered," he said quietly his hand almost on fire where he had touched her skin.

"Oh," she sounded slightly disappointed, "I don't think I even know what's in there anymore."

When he woke, his apartment was silent the chains in a pile on the floor. He wondered for a moment if he had dreamed the whole thing when he saw her corset still on the floor where she had dropped it. The fruity, sweet/sharp scent of her still lingered on the sheets a little and his head swam. He still tasted her on his lips and rather than jump up to scour the bedroom and his skin, he just sat there in a daze. He wondered how this entire thing would change his plans with his obsession across the road. He wondered why the woman wanted her too. Unrestricted access? What could she possibly want?

He smelled his hands and licked his lips. Then he stood and that's when he noticed the blood on the sheets. It wasn't blood from his back, but rather this was a few spots mixed with the dried pool of their coupling. He felt his prick twitch. He felt powerful having made her bleed a little. She was something not entirely human with her power to sear the cuffs from his hands and how she had seemed to control enough wind to propel him forward while he was shackled. He broke himself free of his reverie and began cleaning up from the night before. Once he stripped the sheets and remade the bed, he got into the shower.

As he stood under the scalding spray, he tried to focus on his tasks for the day. He began to feel guilty for allowing himself the indulgence of last night, but he couldn't quite explain how it had all happened. He went from hating her one minute to exploding inside her the next. He scrubbed harder and harder at his skin, resorting to scratching at the places he remembered her touching. 

"You disgusting little snake," his mother shrilled in his ear, "look at the mess you've made! LICK IT OFF! You're a pervert, I'm going to cut if off if you keep sticking it in places it doesn't belong. STAND HERE AND LOOK AT ME!"

His hands were shaking. He couldn't get the whore's smell off him. Mother wouldn't have liked her. He was a failure. He couldn't keep it in his pants long enough to take his princess for his own. 

"FILTHY LITTLE BASTARD!" mother shrieked.

"STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!" he screamed and covered his ears.

"DISGUSTING LITTLE SHIT! STAND STILL AND TAKE IT!"

"NO MORE!" he cried and slammed his head into the tile wall, blood bursting around the point of contact.

His head reeled and he began to fall. Before he hit the ground he heard, "No one is ever going to want a little maggot like you. You're vile."

After a couple of hours of decsion, then preparation and joking around, the smell of mushroom stroganoff filled the kitchen. Stella watched Caed stir sour cream into the sauce, then he drained the egg noodles. She hadn't had a homecooked meal in forever and while she loved the coconut curry from her favorite Thai place, nothing could compare to the decadent aromas coming from her stove. 

Conversation, so far, had been light. They talked about wine, favorite television shows and he insisted she tell him her source for the amazing mead. He got a little starry eyed and said, "I haven't had proper mead in nearly a millenia and this is the closest thing I've tried." She felt sad for him again, but he just went back to cutting mushrooms. She suddenly felt enough liquid courage to ask, probably the most ridiculous question of her life. He set her plate in front of her and he sat down across from her and began to eat. 

"Goblins," she half giggled.

"Where? What?" he looked completely caught off guard by the subject change.

"Goblins? Are they real?" she made her best serious face and he laughed at her.

"Yes, and they can be a real handful," he laughed, "and they bite."

"No. Really?" she looked at the hand he offered her. There was a small semi-circular scar.

"That, right there, got infected," he inspected the mark, "Goblins have filthy mouths."

"Oh, well, I suppose that makes sense," she looked into her glass, as if in answer, he poured more, smiling at her as he did.

"So werewolves? Zombies? El Chupacabra? Fairies?" she rattled off.

"Yes. Kind of. And I'm not sure but probably . Oh and Fae. Not fairies."

"Well then," she said and put her glass down a little harder than she meant, "I feel like my head is going to explode and you're so casual about it."

"I've never had the priviledge of ignorance," he said and when she tried to glare he corrected, "By ignorance, I mean the absence of knowledge of the supernatural. When I was... young... the spiritual word, the 'supernatural' world, was just part of the world. Humans became somewhat segregated slowly. They're a very destructive and parasitic race to the natural resources of the planet. They've done terrible things to the other races who share this planet with them. Eventually, they lost their place in that world. Halflings had to choose sides and magic in human blood is pretty rare now. It used to be quite common."

"They?" she said, "So am I not a "they' or am I like you? Wait, no, I meant..."

"You," he said, "are drunk."

"But am I a they? A human?" her eyes were somewhat pleading now. 

"You are the product of generations of magic. You, no, you're not completely human."

She folded her hands in her lap and she looked suddenly very small. He felt her thoughts and feelings swirl around her and he remembered having coffee in her mother's kitchen, watching her braid a tiny Stella's unruly mane. She had her hands folded the same way then as she does now, only now she was a woman and he felt a tightness in his chest he thought he would never feel again. 

"Stella, we don't have to discuss all of it at once. I've been here your whole life. I'm not leaving now," he reached across the table and held his open palm out to her. She looked at it and then slowly placed one of her finely boned hands into his. The back of her neck tingled at the contact. 

"It's all very mentally exhausting," he soothed, "Don't try and take it all at once."

She nodded and stood. He stood automatically, probably some old chivalrous habit. She came around to his side of the table and took his empty plate. Her lashes casting long shadows across her cheeks as he looked down at her. When she finally met his eyes, the palpable emotional energy around her blazed like a metallic fire. Her hands trembled and she dropped the plate back on the table with a thud. 

"I'm sorry," she said as the spell was broken but his hand flashed out and gripped her forearm. The heat of his chest heavy against her own body, just inches away. She looked at his arm, then up to his chest. She couldn't will herself to look any higher. He lifted her chin up and she felt his even breathing hitch against her face. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for," his gaze was fierce and protective and she felt herself pulling closer to him like a slow moving magnet. Just as she reached her tip toes and her nose brushed against his, the hand holding her arm moved up and stopped her face, "Now I'm the one who has to be sorry. There's still so much for you to know and as bad as I'd love to do this, I can't in good conscious do it without you being fully informed."

She sighed against his mouth, it was a sweet and torturous feeling, and her face flushed pink as she stepped away from him. She grabbed the plates up and turned away from him. He wanted to stop her to throw the plates out the window and wrap his hands around her narrow waist, to let her kiss him and the sudden agony of it was like an insatiable hunger in his chest. There was still so much more she needed to know before she hurled herself down the rabbit hole of this world she belonged in. 

"Stella," he whispered.

"Don't," she said. Her voice cracking and he read the feeling of rejection and unworthiness hanging from her like a great weight.

"I want to hold you so desperatly. I never expected it to be like this. I never expected you to be so... right. Please Stella, trust me. Everything will make sense soon enough, I swear it."

She scubbed the plates off with an iron demeanor and then looked him square in the eyes, "If taking it all in at once is what I have to do, then fine. Tell me everything. Ruin me with the truth of whatever it is if you have to." He went to the box and handed her the parchments. 

"These are the key to your understanding."

" I. CANNOT. READ. THOSE!" she tried to rip the into shreds but they wouldn't give, she pulled and pulled and then collapsed on the ground under the enormity of it all. He went to her, unsure of how to comfort her without touching her. She just kept pulling at the fragile looking sheets, getting nowhere with her frenzy. Tears streamed down her face and she finally felt her resolve and composure break.

"Stupid thing," she stood in the door of the bathroom glaring down at him on the floor, blood coating the tile wall in a circle about the size of her palm, it's source trickled down his face.

With a sigh, she turned the water off, clamped her apple in her mouth and dragged the rest of him out of the tub. Being as strong as she was compared to a human was fine, but getting leverage when you're as tiny as she is... it's a challenge. She finally got her arms under his knees and around the back of his shoulders and unceremoniously dumped him on the bed. He began to come to, but she gave him a sharp slap for good measure.

"You're an idiot," she said and he glared at her.

"You're ruining everything," he hissed and gingerly touched his forehead.

"How so?" she mockingly pouted.

"You and your seduction shit," he spat. 

"You act like I did everything all on my own," she straddled him.

"Get off," he said as she ground against him.

"Gladly," she said and ground harder, moaning a little. 

"I mean it!" he shoved at the iron vice of her minute body.

"Say please," she growled, tightening her grip around his bones.

"Get. Off."

"Please?" she tightened more, watching for his face to betray the pain he was in.

"Please. Get off, get out. I'm going to take her and you won't ever get to her. You'll never find us."

"I don't think so, my pet," inside her fist began to glow and with a puff, she blew whatever it was in his face. 

His body thrashed a little, like a seizure or convulsion and he was still. She unmounted herself from him and sat at the desk. She began reading his journal of the girl's comings and goings, the entries were punctuated with drawings. The most recent drawing in the journal was a rather realistic sketch of Stella's pussy. Her prone form a background to the piece, obviously oblivious to the world, but it was a startling likeness of the bloom between her legs. The entry mentioned his aborted mission to her place, the feeling of wrongness and being unable to enter the building. Her finger released the ringlet she had been tugging on and she hissed a little through her teeth. This was very certainly a problem. She was naively hoping there was no guardian to contend with other than her witchy friend. The order still watched over her. This was both fantastic and terrible. She must truly be the key after all. She was glad she didn't just drain the girl the other night and call it a day. She will never be what she was, but this was a whole other world of possibility. The scars on her back ached and her heart leapt at the whole new journey she was about to undertake. 




A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 07



She pulled at her essence, and spit a pearl sized bead into her hands. Gasping at the effort of it, she braced herself for a moment to stop the spinning room. She went over to her sleeping captive and dropped the glowing red jewel under his eyelid. She couldn't guarantee his sleep otherwise. She could falter and he would wake and ruin everything. She slung the padded closet door open and then folded him into the space. This apartment would be just fine for right now. 

She called his office and said, with his voice, that he would be taking some time off. She explained a family emergency and then she hung up. Tapping her finger to her lips, she flicked the blackout curtains back and looked across the street. According to the notes, Stella should be on her way out, this would be the second night in a row her routine was shattered. It must mean something. Perhaps her protector was finally teaching her about her birthright. 

As she cried, gasped, and railed against everything, he stood in the hallway to give her a bit of space. She'd had a little too much to drink and her entire world view was shattering. He knew this was coming, he just didn't know he would end up being the crack in the dam. She seemed to be calming down a bit when her front door opened and Amelia stepped in. Her caramel colored skin set the honey color of her eyes off. She surveyed the room as if she had just walked in on someone doing something bad. Her eyes went to Stella and then to Caed. She dropped her keys and Stella looked up. She saw the exchange of looks between her best friend and... well... whatever Caederyn was to her and one more reality slapped her in the face.

"You know each other?" she sniffled, "Of course you do. Of fucking course."

"What have you done?" Amelia hissed at him rushing to her best friend.

"What has he done?" Stella asked incredulously, "What have YOU done? You're a lie too? You and I? I loved you, you were my only family!"

"Sweetie," Aimes began, the tone was soft as if she were talking someone down from a ledge, "You and I were never a lie. I'm just not as... ordinary as you thought. Neither are you though. He's been here, how long? With the box. Caed... you've given her the box and no one thought to have me here? I had to walk into her going through this all alone?"

"She's not alone," Caed defended.

"She doesn't know you and you swoop in with that BOX and tear her whole life down? She has no one here with her to help her through it."

"I'm here!" he repeated.

"As am I," Stella wiped her eyes, "I'm here and you are talking about me like a child."

"No," Amelia locked her gaze on to her best friend, "no you aren't a child, but you shouldn't have had to go through anything like this on your own. How much has he told you?"

"The boogey man is real," Stella smiled despite herself.

"Well he's a big fat liar," Caed threw his hands up at the sudden course of estrogen turning against him.

"Just that most mythical creatures are real, except for possibly El Chupacabra. That kinda killed my Mexico trip, ya know? Oh and I'm not human."

"What with you and that goat sucker thing? You're seriously miffed that it might not exist?" Aimes poked her and then hauled her off the floor, "I'm a cambion and a witch, if it makes you feel better."

"I have no idea what that means, where's Cambi-whatever? It has a nice name."

Caed and Amelia laughed and now it was Stella's turn to be exasperated. Caed set about making coffee and Amelia and Stella lightened things up talking about Aime's day subbing in on the Psych floor. The antics of some of the patients always manage to cheer them both up. Stella felt tired of the vastness of the realitys of her world. After about a half hour of completely avoiding the subject at hand, Aimes looked at Caed.

"We should take her to the cottage," Stella's eyes flashed back and forth between them.

"We could," Caed nodded.

"But my skin!" she interjected.

"I have a van," he said, "It's got a nice dark back. No windows."

"That's at least a 12 hour drive!" she felt like no one cared what she said. She was going to the home of her childhood.

The girls packed while Caed went to get his van. When he met them outside, even in the dark, Stella couldn't help but nearly pass out from laughing so hard. He was meticulous in his mannerisms, his clothes, even his hair. Apparently that same meticulousness had applied to this monstrosity in front of them. It had shag carpeting in the back in brown and orange shades. Mirrored panels alone the inside wall, a sleeper sofa back seat. Stella half expected a disco ball or some dice on the rearview. 

"Dear god, Caed," she cackled, "Were you a hippy?"

"Wrong decade. I got this in the 70's, but yes, I was a hippy too," his pride in the care he'd put into his van was deflated, "It's come in handy. Don't knock it."

Stella settled herself in, sitting on the floor between the driver and passenger seat and ran her toes through the carpet and giggled some more. Is that an 8 track? She couldn't quite believe it. Next to the CD player was a cassette deck and an 8-track slot. She had now entered the 1970's. Dr. Who had a TARDIS, Caed had a shaggin' wagon.

"Are you going to have us jamming to Journey?" she asked crinkling her nose.

"Are you making fun of Journey?" he looked back at her, mock appalled and she clamped her lips shut to stifle another laugh. He really was a relic.

She unfurled her MP3 player from it's earbuds and was shifting through looking for a particular song. Finally finding what she was looking for, she stuck the buds in her ears and fished around in her bag for her crochet hooks and the pattern she had hastily printed up. No sooner did she put the mp3 player down, did Caed snatch it up and plugged it in to the van's stereo. He made an approving, yet surprised face, as he listened to her music.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"The XX," Stella said, "What were you expecting something horrible and girl-poppy?"

"Yeah, I think I was," he grinned and she got chills from how beautiful he was in the passing lights of traffic. It was hard to picture him as a hunter-gatherer of a caveman or whatever he was originally. Aimes got up and went to the sleeper sofa in the very back and Stella climbed into the front. Her yarn and hooks hastily shoved back in her bags. It was night, glorious night time and she was going to savor it. 

When they reached a red light, Stella was intently staring out the window, Amelia snored softly in the back and Caed couldn't take his eyes off her profile until someone came up behind them, got impatient and began honking for the beast of a machine to get going again. Her eyes met his again and they both shivered on the inside.

She'd taken her eyes off the building for just a moment, but the slivers of light between the heavy curtains had gone out. She cursed herself and ran down to the street below, snow catching in her hair, once again blanketing the world. She ran over to the girl's building across the road and she saw footprints, vehicle tracks and nothing else. 

Screeching into the night with rage, she vaulted up the stairs and unlocked the door. The apartment had been shut down. Extra electrical things shut down, hangers on the bed. Stella had left and she had no idea when she would be back or where her quarry went. Walking back into the living room she stood in the darkness, thinking. Something caught her eye under the edge of the sofa. A white business card. It read Edmund Branwell, Attorney at Law. She grinned to herself, locked the apartment back up and went back to her stolen home for the night. This lawyer would know something and if there was one thing she could do, it was make men talk. Tomorrow would be fun. She loved scavenger hunts. Any hunts really. Her teeth sharpened a little and her scars pulsed. 

Game on little one.