The Other Side of the Tracks

[Amaranthia]

Mordechai:
A single eyebrow slowly rose as he whirled gracefully through the next series of steps. The woman before him seemed to know no boundaries… She constantly moved within his space, not that he minded, but it was such an unusual action, as most either feared, or reviled the hulking monolith of a killer. Yet this petite allurist was constantly reaching out to him, touching him, almost as if reassuring him that there was nothing wrong with who he was, what he is. The twinned meanings of the musical words sliding from her scarlett moue were not lost upon the warrior. The silken slide of her delicate fingers as they slipped over his cheek, brought an intensity to him that most often felt deep within the enemies territory as the crosshairs gently settled into position, finger slowly tightening. All sight sound and scent outside the 50mm circle evaporated until there was only hunter and prey. The feelings were the same, but this time, he considered it was possible… that he was the prey, not the hunter.

Amaranthia:
Little did the mind really consider, just what this dance was. It was an ebb and flow, the giving and receiving of power, the constant transfer between hunter and hunted. There was no true victor, not if the steps were followed, and adhered to. Though, when did Amaranthia truly follow the plan? This hadn’t been her plan at all. In fact, up until these last few evenings, there had been a polite boundary between the two and her only plan was to enjoy the company of one who enjoyed history. Sure, she’d toyed with the idea of more, but he had always had someone “at home”, and unless it were necessary for her survival (an instance very few and far between especially now given that she was a mistress of the night) she would never cross that boundary. Her own “at home” had been taken from her in much the same way, then estranged, while she had been upon her death bed. She would not do that to another, unless they had earned such a cruel fate. Upon this run of meetings though, something had changed, and he’d spoken a truth she didn’t even want to admit to herself that she had longed to hear. She may be doing her best, to control and lead the dance, but the truth was, as with any dance, it was the male dancer (or the person taking the male position in a dance) that truly held the sway. Until he figured it out for himself though, she’d keep hold of the small twist of power that she had in the exchange, elsewise he might utterly convince her to forgo her home and follow his every step for hope of but a morsel of his attention and time. It was a dichotomy of self betrayal, the instincts to fight his sway over her battling with her instinct to attempt to win him over. His scent filled her mind, and she closed her eyes briefly, letting it linger and record itself upon her psyche, as she felt the contraction of the muscles in his arm guiding her into a spin. The allurist followed his lead, folding herself into his presence, reminding her of days long since past dancing in the ballroom of the grand estate of Versailles. To be anything short of cliche, she felt very much like a princess in that moment.

Mordechai
The game of cat and mouse continued, as the pair gracefully followed thru the regimented steps of the dance before the killer gave a small snap of his wrist putting the allurist into a perfect twirl, then pulling her in to end with her back conformed to the chiseled planes of his chest, their arms entwined around her belly creating a muscular shelf for her assets. It was a fitting end to the dance, and he held the position for a moment absorbing her into his senses. The feelings coursing through him were strange to him. He had felt drawn to another once, but the feelings had been different. This time, there was a deeper seated need. A need to go beyond. Beyond loyalty, beyond faithfulness, beyond protectiveness. Simply beyond. Already there was fierce need to protect the woman, and the more time spent together, the more he saw her, scented her, touched her… everything else became more as well. The male had always been a tool, a weapon, in someone else's arsenal. This time though, it was for himself. Turning with the music to place his back to the audience they had earned with their movements his head lowered towards her as one massive hand formed a fist in the tumbling waves of silken tresses tipping her face to the sky, to him, as his lips laid claim to the woman in his arms.

Amaranthia
Dichotomy, she lived in a world of dichotomy black and white. It was so much easier that way. It was either against her morals, or not. Yet, this one...this one was tricky. He somehow wound his way into her mind, slipping between the synapsis and weaseling his way into her thoughts, not that she would tell him that of course, and made her wish to conceal nothing, to lay herself bare under his gaze. It wasn’t wise to let feelings trickle, let alone pour, into the mixture. Mixing pleasure and business rarely turned out well. Her gaze fell upon his own mismatched orbs, the last thing she saw before lids fell over her own and she allowed her lips to be claimed. “What have you done?...” the words echoed in her mind. Her own fingers claimed his hips, using them to stabilize her stance as she stood on her tippy toes boosting her height enough to ease the level at which he had to bend down to reach her. “Careful now, or I’m going to have to take you into my office…or better yet downstairs to The Dungeon” She whispered to him telepathically. Actually she was more than tempted to do so already. The allurist couldn’t deny the fact that she had been so thoroughly seduced by the man, it made her question whether or not there had been some fae mind trick at play to fell her guard. This was one night, she wished she would have worn a dress.

Mordechai:
As their bodies had swirled across the dance floor, so did his mind swirl trying to collate all the new data that was constantly being entered in regards to the beautiful creature wrapped within his arms. Allurists. They had always been the worst, the hardest, never logical, always emotional. Always a thorn in his existence. Amaranthia. The name rolled off the tongue like the name of an exotic gemstone, the name of an exotic metal… The name of an exotic Allurist. She had brought change once more within him. Once more logic was failing him. He should be out hunting those that threatened his people, but he was here, unable to let go, unwilling to let go. Inhaling deeply he drew her scent in caressing it, memorizing it once more, before letting the breath out with a contented sigh. The corners of his lips quirked slightly as her voice smoothly slipped through his consciousness. Scooping her up into his arms and drawing her tight he tucked her against his chest as the shadows once more wrapped them. “Which would you prefer?” softly rumbled from his lips as he kissed her throat.