Path of the Vampire forum

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

<Zelda> It was one of those seedy places that Zelda liked best. In her tours of the city (she’d lived here her entire life, and she knew it like the back of her hand) she’d determined which of the bars were ‘mainstream’—attended only by students and stupids who sang along to Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus—and there were the proper bars, with the proper old-school juke boxes. The ones that somehow managed to convey that old-school smoky atmosphere even though no one was allowed to smoke inside. There were men in leather jackets playing pool for cold hard cash. There were women in jeans and heels and high ponytails delivering the drinks—women who would stab a man who even looked at them dirty, should they feel they ought to.

This was where Zelda felt at home. These were her rough and tumble folk. She herself was a vision in red—a short dress, her jacket draped over the stool beside her. On her feet were some black skates. Traditional skates, and made from real leather, too. A man, perhaps in his late thirties, approached; he placed a sweaty hot palm on Zelda’s thigh, his beer-stained breath clammy against her cheek as he spoke directly into her ear. He was trying to be discrete, but he failed completely.

“You wearrrin’ them so’s you’re easier to manoeuvre, darlin’?” he asked, clearly thinking he was clever. Zelda turned a full bodied and yet vixen-like smile in the man’s direction. She turned, bodily, to face him; she hid her revulsion well. Her long fingernails were painted a bright yellow, and she reached down to curl them around the guy’s genitals. She squeezed, and he squealed.

“You can just go ahead and **** off, yeah?” she says, voice soft and velvety. There was a dead coldness to Zelda’s eyes as she said it—the glint there promised death, were he to try anything more. He squeaked again, and nodded. She let go, and he stumbled away. The smile disappeared and was replaced by the revulsion she’d been hiding. She held her hand as if it were infected.

<Elijah Cole> The playboy in the back corner, among the shadows with his back to the wall watched the redhead. She had been the first the of interest that night as he was jostled with a light heart by those he let crowd around him. The rich kid, the privileged man, the CEO of daddy's latest company, the one with no agenda but the silver spoon stuck in his mouth, the wild child, the one that could get away with murder... Yeah. He was there.

That brooding hunch to his shoulders played out well in the corner at the domestics were handed out and the rounds were placed on a Platinum credit card. Gold had been surpassed years ago and it almost could be perceived that he was bored. He kept his eyes open and his mouth shut, smirked at what his 'friends' said and gave a well placed roll of his shoulders if he thought it was due. He dabbled in investments - money his family didn't even know he had, and mixed the old with the new and still used mom's credit cards like he had every right to. That was true. He had the face of an angel, the tongue of the devil, and the wardrobe that any man would be well pressed if he floated in credit backed up by the ever waning American dollar.

But, he was not currently in the ever loving United States of America now, was he? No. He sat pressed up against the neighbor to the North and had long ago abandoned the watered down Fifth in the tumbler to watch the male approach the interest. He saw the shift, the grab, the man's squeal and a smirk came to his lips. Ah, the kitten had claws.

He extracted himself quite easily from the crowd. From the group in the corner that had their own entertainment and he made his way up behind the woman. He inhaled. He wanted to know what she smelled like. Would she be sweet or tangy? Would she be of flowers and vanilla or some exotic mix of scents? It, of course, was obvious that her red hair already went with that personality. His aged jacket did not even creak. No, it fit to his form like a lithe glove and the dark denim of his jeans gave that swimmer's body an agile physique.

Dark rimmed eyes made the baby blues stand out, showing off just a hint of mirth. And she was close. Close enough that his lips could almost brush her ear from his position at her backside. The drawl from his lips was low, throaty... "If I were you, I'd find some soap. And fast." The smart *** suggestion came easy from his mouth. And he'd be damned if he let her touch him with that same infested hand.

<Zelda> The drink that Zelda nursed was untouched. Rum and coke—her father’s drink. A drink she adopted from a young age because there was nothing else in the house; it was the only thing she could steal. Of course she got in trouble for it. She had got wily after that—watered down his rum, made it look as if she wasn’t stealing so that he’d only find out a week or a month later, depending on how fast he went through his store of bottles. She was one of those teenagers that her parents couldn’t quite control. And she brushed it all off like a meagre piece of dust from her shoulder. Her life was not affected by her past now. It still lingered, but it was of no consequence.

She liked the smell of the rum. The drink had gone lukewarm, however. The condensation pooled on the bar beneath it. What she really wanted was a nice tall drink of red hot blood. She was in this bar because she was waiting for her meal to walk through the doors – and then waiting for the opportunity to steal a bite when no one was watching. She could do that. She could hide herself from the populace. Could feed in the middle of a ******* riot and no one would be any the wiser.

It was a mere minute after her encounter with the filth bag that fresh breath of hot air greeted her cheek. She rolled her eyes. To him, she might smell like Irresistable. Literally, that’s what the perfume was called – floral, with high notes of Turkish Rose and Plum. Long lashes narrowed as she turned toward the newest intruder to her space. She had to give him credit – he was far, far prettier than the last one. But no less cocky. “You must be a glutton for punishment,” she said. She canted her head to the side. “Why don’t you go get me some soap, pretty boy?”


<Elijah Cole> He could feel her muscles tense. He could almost smell her annoyance. To him, the very thought of her face right now was beautiful. He wanted to brush a kiss over her dimples that showed when her face contorted into that blissful blip of anger. He wanted to draw her into a dark corner and see if her mouth tasted like alcohol and those stale peanuts in front of her.

And then his other half inside him rioted. He wanted to know how she felt in his hands. He wanted to know how her *** curved into his palms and how his body would react to her very flesh. Of course, he was a man of not so many few words. There was a grin that stole his lips. It took the ever present serious line and twisted his mouth. With the hand that was closest to her, it rose up and coiled around a lock of that pretty red hair. He brushed it back over her shoulder.

His eyes went from her face, to her neck, down to her chest and further. Their heights were close. He still had an inch or two on her even in those roller skates. If she was making a fashion statement, then they had to travel back in time at least forty years. But for some odd reason, even in that skin tight, thigh hugging dress - they did her justice. "Only if you come with me." He said, just as quietly for her ears as he did for his own. Her attitude spoke volumes and he let his fingertips travel ever so light down her arm before he latched a grip around her wrist and started to make his way towards the dank hall in the back of the bar like he -owned- the place.


<Zelda> Oh no he didn’t. Zelda was not some floozy. A few pretty gestures would not win her over. The heat of his skin against hers was enticing, for sure, but the way he began to pull her along as if she were his play thing to do with as he pleased…no, that didn’t sit well with her at all. Somewhere in the back of her mind she told herself to just go with it. Let him think he had all the power over her that he seemed to assume he did. And when finally in that dark corner, she could really show him a piece of her mind.

What she had learned about men, however, was that the thing they disliked most was humiliation. What good was it to kick his *** in some dark corner where no one could see? So, rather than follow, Zelda wrenched her wrist free of his grip. Her clutch fell to the floor as her arm crooked, her fingers curled into a fist. Her body followed the momentum of the skates. She rolled forward, even as she gripped that fist with her opposite hand, and used the full force of both arms to send a very sharp elbow careening toward pretty boy’s face.


<Elijah Cole> Well, if the man would not have had a move or two - he would not of been worth a grain of salt. To think that the playboy grew up without his share of fights and detentions to boarding school was almost laughable. He brought his forearm up and blocked the intended blow to his face. So much so that he arched a brow at her before he bent down. Yes. Right in front of her and his head nearly would end up between her legs. "Tsk tsk, dear. How much have you had to drink tonight?"

And with that being said, he let her stew on his question until he got himself upright again. He handed her over the clutch, to her dirty fingers and all. His hair sliced down against his jaw, that long cut seemed to only make him all that more ******* innocent as he arched a brow. "Blood on that pretty dress of yours wouldn't go so well, even if the red matched." And he had the audacity to chastise her in public. There were a couple of snickers and an 'ooooh' that sounded from near by as if he was sliding into dangerous territory.

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

<Zelda> If Zelda had been alive, her heart might have been pounding. She had asked the pretty boy if he was a glutton for punishment. What he couldn’t know, just yet, was that she was a glutton for this. Just this. Violence, in the middle of a crowded room. She would not back down, nor would she give in. She was schooled in this. She knew how to fight. She knew how to defend herself. On the outside she might look like some princess who’d begin huffing and screaming because she wasn’t getting her way. No way she was going to bow down to that kind of behaviour, however. She had pride, maybe too much of it. It was a physical impossibility for her to give up.

Her tongue darted forth to lick a slow line over her lips. She stood with her legs shoulder width apart. Even as pretty-boy bent down to pick up her clutch, she knew that he’d have a fairly good view, if he so happened to look. She was quite happy to let him see the very thing that he would not be getting. Carmine lips tilted into that trademark vixen smirk.

“I haven’t had anything to drink yet tonight, sir,” she said, the words a veritable purr. This time, it was she who looked him up and down, gaze lingering at his neck. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from pouncing him, then and there, to take from him the drink that she was now so keen to acquire. The guy had messed with the wrong girl. He had now become her prey. “Your second mistake tonight is confusing me with some bimbo who gives a **** about a ruined dress,” she said. She’d taken her clutch back. And now she was swinging it straight at his temple—at the same time, clutching at his arm so that she could bring a knee swiftly toward his groin, completely aware that her actions were causing the hem of the tight dress to creep further up her thigh.


<Elijah Cole> Christ. Was all that Elijah Cole could think. That smarmy attitude and that hell-on-wheels woman in front of him was certainly a beautiful spectra. He wanted to wrap his hands around her. He wanted to feel her anger surge. And he was getting it right now. Right in the middle of that bar as some began to mind their own business and others created that little bit of a step back to give room to the ensuing ring. He would have looked up, but the man had a sense of decorum about him. No, he would not needle her in that respect. He was cordial and provided her every privacy until he was face to face again with her.

"Cole." He murmured to her. Although, he did like the very name of Sir on her lips. It did things to his libido that the woman had no idea of the thoughts she entertained. He was more concerned, in the same moment, with protecting the family jewels with that powerful angled knee than he was about his face. The man had a broken nose a time or two and knew all about the gush of blood. So while the clutch caught him in the temple and split a bit of skin, he managed to step back at the same moment her knee went too far forward.

So, he cupped her pretty knee while the blood welled and started to threaten a trickle. That scent would burst into the air, leech into the very stale smoke and reaking old hops while he pulled her leg forward. Thus, he drew her battering self into him. Chest to chest. And he now watched her angry face while his lips were so close to hers. "Elijah Cole, Miss That is my name." And in that moment, while he was holding her thigh to his hip and his fingers hugged her flesh - he kissed her. He set his lips on hers and took her mouth in a hot, scorching kiss if she'd so have it.


<Zelda> Finally, pretty-boy—Cole, or so he called himself—managed to inspire a gasp of surprise from the red head. There was a surge of pleasure when the clutch hit its mark; a sudden realisation that a man had his priorities, and she now knew what Cole’s were. Though, she also wondered what man wouldn’t protect his little monster over his face? The thought was whisked completely from her head as that taut body of his pulled her toward him. Pressed up against him, slave to the scent of his blood, for a second all she could do was relax into his hot grip. Compared to her own body temperature, his was akin to heavenly.

After the gasp there was a sigh—a dizziness in her mind that forced her into a moment of incomprehension. This man wasn’t like all the rest in the bar. There was a confident swagger to him that the others did not possess. The others were all drudgeons, expired and mired to their lot. They had no spark. This one, however… this one was different. He kissed her, right there, right in the middle of the crowd. And, for just a moment or two, she let him. She let her lips relax and part. The taste of him was delicious, and the ghostly feeling of adrenaline that he had flamed within her earned him a little bit of respect.

The moment didn’t last long, though. The guy thought he could play her, thought he could have his way with her. He did not ask. He just took, without permission. Zelda drew his lip between her teeth. And then she bit down on it, hard. Canines pierced soft flesh—those canines that never retracted—and his hot blood poured onto her tongue. She barely retained the moan, even as she bodily attempted to push him off.


<Elijah Cole> His arm that was not latching her thigh to his hip certainly wrapped around her. Of course, that was, his grip squeezed the fabric of her dress at the base of her back and held her to him as best he could in that moment. He was going to take that mouth while the sighs and chortles sounded around them. Granted, the man had wonderful peripheral vision - his baby blue eyes closed in the mirth of her body melting into his. He stood strong, stead fast and thankful that the family jewels were not mashed up into his body, choking his throat and immediately cutting of precious oxygen.

No, he held her to him. His grip fisted and nails bit into the flesh of her thigh. He smelled of that mixture of expensive cologne; Guilty by one of his favorite designers - Gucci. The man had a decent smell, sandalwood and a hint of cedar under his jacket's collar.

And little did the vixen in his nail-biting grip know that Cole had an astute pleasure for pain. He was a man that had loved the bite of a woman's teeth and the burn of her scratches down his back. He wore the wounds with pride and a bit of a sadistic pleasure in knowing he could have those very battle scars. So while the bite upon tender flesh may have caused the initial quick grimace - he gave his own repercussion for her action and his blood drawn. He let go of his hold at the base of her back and gave one tight whollop to her rear. Yes, he smacked that woman's ***. Right in public, as plain as day, and he held it while she pushed at his chest and he had ample enough time to make sure that blood she drew was smeared across her lower lip. "I didn't get your name, Miss." He said to her in that ever commanding, if not amused tone while his fingers now no longer upon her body reached up to wipe the smear of blood from the corner of his mouth as his bright blues danced in battle.


<Zelda> No ******* way. Zelda couldn’t believe this guy. It was like going up against a brick wall. He didn’t quaver, hardly even flinched as she drew blood. He did not rear up and away from her; he did not swear at her and call her *****, like so many others would have. Instead he held her fast. Blood clung to Zelda’s tongue and coated the back of her throat like a sticky gush of sweet, fresh honey. Oh, he tasted like money. He did not taste like a lot of these miscreants did. He did not taste like fast food. He tasted divine, like something from a five star restaurant. Zelda was not satisfied with just a small taste.

Oh, he might have got what he wanted from her. She might have gone with him, willingly. Except for that slap on the rump. It made her feel as if she were being treated like some piece of meat in a butcher. There was no respect in the action. None whatsoever. A growl ripped from her pretty throat, her hazel hues narrowing to dangerous slits. She forced her foot down to curl behind his knee. Clinging to his leather jacket she wrenched so that the two of them would tumble down onto the hard wooden floor. A gush of air leaves her as they land heavily, though she knew that he’d have caught the brunt of the blow.

Zelda straddled Cole and she slapped him, hard, across his face. “I am NOT some prize cow who exists only for your pleasure. **** you. You don’t get my name,” she said, her voice moderated but hard. Blood dripped from the corner of her lips. She licked it away. She intended to get up. Intended to stand, to run, to lure her prey out onto the streets. But her brain wasn’t quite sending the instructions to the rest of her body with any kind of success. She remained straddling the guy, her palms pressed into his chest.


<Elijah Cole> She was beautiful. Her body moved against his like she was made to dance with him. He started to fall hard for every curve and every move she possessed. No, really. He fell hard. He went down with her, his world upended and his back hit the bar floor in his favorite ******* jacket. Somewhere, in the back of his brain he barely registered the different view because he cradled her in that fall. He took that woman, almost wished he could protect those pretty knees because she was going to be needing them for a -long- time to come. For him. With him. And though the woman's crack across his face rang out and no doubt caused a ripple of excitement in the bar beyond them; the bartender called 'Enough!' from somewhere behind the counter and his hands went to her hips.

He gripped her. He didn't retaliate at that moment. No, he let her have her way as the fingers smeared the blood from his temple down across his cheek and painted his face with her unknowing want. He saw the anger that flared across her face and the pure flash of hatred in her eyes and he knew, in that very moment, that he got across to her. She might not like it, no - but she certainly would learn from it. And he licked his lip where the blood didn't quite clot right. No. She'd see that it seemed to slowly leak across his temple, trickling with gravity's pull. "You will tell me one day, Red. One day." He said just in such a matter-of-fact way that there was no anger to his words. Instead, that heat that he possessed was right against her very core and he arched his hips in a way as to situate her better. Situate her, of course, better on top of his body that she straddled and he tried not to flare his nostrils with that deep breath in.

The woman's touch against his chest - inside that unzipped jacket now caused him to drag his hands upwards and push up. The man could sit up unhindered despite the weight of her. "You are no prize cow. You are gorgeous." And with the flesh of his pale skin readily outlining her palm print, he smiled at her. Yes. He just smiled at her as he held her while she was sitting in his lap. The most comfortable weight of the world was her.

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

<Zelda> Zelda had two different urges. One, to lick the blood from his head; one long, sensuous lick to mop it all up. The second urge to was kiss him. There was blood there, too, on his lips. If she kissed him again, she’d taste it. She wanted it, oh so badly. The way he shifted beneath her, she could almost imagine yelling, like some Amazonian princess, and tearing his clothes off. Right there, in front of everyone. If he wanted to be rough, she could give him rough. All these plans were made, of course, with Zelda being completely oblivious that they were being watched.

The sound of feet heavy against the wooden floor alerted her to their company. “I’m sorry, but you guys are gonna have to take this outside,” the bartender said, gruff and clearly not really apologetic. There was a smug look on the face of the man she straddled, as if he’d got her right where he wanted her, and this was his plan all along. She reared back and slapped him again, on the other side, this time. Just for good measure. She shoved him away, at the same time hauling herself to her feet.

“Gladly,” she said, heading for the front door. She slammed it open, her skates landing heavily on the pavement outside. She had her clutch with her, but had left her jacket behind.


<Elijah Cole> His body was vibrating. He did not know if it was from his laughter that he choked on in the back of his throat or if it was the blood that was pounding so hard through his body that his ears fell like an amplifier was set up right next to his head and the bass was shattering. He took a deep breath and managed to contain the woman in his lap for not longer than thirty seconds. The way he wrapped his arms around her, to the moment the bartender interrupted he watched her pretty eyes just flare. They showed a sweet of self-righteous.

They showed a sweep of self-righteous anger, of mild contempt, and pure interest. And in that moment, he won. He even won when her hand came down and smacked itself across the other side of his face. He had been too enamored in that moment to bother to stop her. But the blood still trickled when she shoved him away. Which, that meant, that the man's back met the floor again and the laughter and snickers continued as the woman climbed off. He let his fingers trail down her hips and the back of her thighs as she pulled herself up off of his very unhappy, abandoned lap.

"Woman." He muttered out as he rolled to his side and pushed himself up. The bartender himself gave him a helping hand up the rest of the way. And the tip? Well, there was none but a shake of that man's head and he took that as a complete indication not to mess with the woman that stormed out and made his cheeks burn. Too bad. Elijah Cole was a man that certainly gluttoned for punishment.

And it only took a moment before that jacket was thrust against his chest as he bothered to head out. No monetary tip was given for those behind the bar. Oh. Oh no, not when they all gave him a wide grin and that ******* innocent look. Cole sent them a scowl and flipped them off. So, he stalked in the wake of the woman. "Where are you going, Princess. I think you forgot something." He murmured as he didn't bother to hold her jacket out. Oh no, he kept it in the crook of his arm and walked along behind her irritated self. She was even more gorgeous when she was mad. And his blood - his scent - was quick to permeate the icy cold evening.


<Zelda> The plan was to leave him there, but Zelda would be a fool not to admit that she was happy—amused, even—when he followed her. He said something about forgetting something. She saw her jacket in his arms. She left it there. The cold didn’t bother her. She wore the jacket for looks, more than for anything else. They were passing by a nook—a little cranny in this old city. Not quite an alleyway. An abandoned stoop, maybe; a hollowed out hall beneath an abandoned complex, where once there might have been buttons and an intercom to call up to those who lived there. Now no one did. Zelda didn’t say anything as she circled the human; as she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and all but threw him into the shadows, shoving him up against the wall. He was taller than her, even though she was wearing skates. But her strength was superior than to what it once had been.

Now, hidden from sight and alone until someone might happen to walk past, she did not hesitate to give in to her every whim and desire. She’d never been one to hesitate when there was something that she wanted. Nor was she ever one to back down, if a fight was required. Never would she willingly allow someone else to win—unless she, too, was winning. Unless there was something in it for the both of them.

This stranger was so forward as to kiss her in a bar without knowing anything about her. Not even her name. And now he was hers. One hand reached up behind his neck so that she could pull his head down to her height. She leaned forward and licked the blood from his face, her tongue following the trail all the way up to the gash in his forehead. Her lips closed around it. Oh, ******* delicious.


<Elijah Cole> She smelled wonderful. She had tasted even better. He had followed her outside because he wanted to know her name. He wanted to know who it was that slapped him twice without even so much as a defense and got -away- with it. Of course, she was a woman. She was a woman that hadn't been tossed over his knee at the first mistreatment and tapped on that sweet *** a time or ten until it hurt and she was squirming - and crying - that she wouldn't ever do it again. No. His current satisfaction was walking away from him and he could not have that. No! Not in some poorly lit street with icy, ******* below zero weather, and she owned the city in her roller skates.

"I've about had enough of this little bout of power struggle, my dear." He murmured as her grip on his jacket tightened and he found himself shoved back against a wall. He scowled briefly, scowled until he felt her lips on him. He swallowed deeply. His Adam's apple bobbed and he drove his hands into her hair as she leaned in and laved up the side of his face. He should have been put off. He should have been disgusted. But instead, he buried his nose into her hair and held on while her tongue tasted him. The gash oozed his particular flavor all over her taste buds. His skin gushed that redness onto her tongue, not hesitant at all to let her pretty set of lips have a man's essence that could not clot very well on his own.

"Pretty." He called her, fingers curled into her hair and his body stooped. He was at least six foot. That dark slash of hair shoved to the side, some of it already had been matted in that dark slick hair of his. It was easy for him to hold onto her like that. To give the woman some of his power. It wasn't easier said than done; no. He just stood there for her. His warmth was against her skin. His heat permeated the front of her body. His hands gripped her ***. Yes, gripped. And he tilted his chin just enough to brush a kiss to underneath her jaw. Other than that - he held still while she took.


<Zelda> He gripped her *** and Zelda let him, this time. She felt supported by him, even as she trapped him up against that wall. Little did he know that he could try to overpower her, but she’d probably be able to beat him at every turn. Maybe, deep down, she didn’t want to. Beat him, that is. Of course she wouldn’t admit to that, nor would she act on it, just yet. She leaned back after she’d cleaned his salty skin of blood. She slowly licked her lips, the heat of his kiss still lingering on her jaw. Oh, he was so warm, though, and the air was so cold. It was veritably frigid, out. But she was not frigid. Not at all. A purr-like grow reverberated in her throat as she resisted the urge to take more blood. She knew she could, and tomorrow he’d be none the wiser. But she didn’t feel like reducing him to a clueless mess just yet.

“Who the **** are you?” she asked. It was both a very straightforward question, and also a far more complex question. It was a question with layers. Who the **** was he that he felt he could just kiss a girl in a bar and expect her to follow him? Who the **** was he that he would let that girl lick the blood clean off his face and not question it, not push her away it utter disgust? Also, she just really wanted his name.

She lifted her leg so that her knee rested against his hip. She still had one hand wrapped around behind his back, the other pushed up against his chest, along with her clutch. She enjoyed being enveloped by his warmth.


<Elijah Cole> "Cole." He gave his name over to her in a breathless whisper. Of course, where she may not be bothered by the cold; it was starting to sink into his skin. He cared not, for he had a lot of heat to go around. But, he was willing to even share what he had. With her. With this woman that clutched his jacket, welcomed his touch, this time, in a dark corner of the street where there was no one else to see his handling of her body. He smelled her. He wanted more of her. His first instinct was to tease her about his name. Not give it to her. Lie to her. However, for some reason he answered her straight up.

She could go onto Yahoo and Google and search his name and learn his history and his bad boy ways in a quick heartbeat; and even as he gave her his first name - he grimaced against her neck. "Elijah Cole." He said while his hand that gripped her *** loosened his hold to support that woman's thigh. Yes, he ran that hand up along her thigh in a manner that spoke of possession and no tickling factors. He cupped her to his body in a way a lover would. He did not bother telling her anything more than what she asked. And once again, with her lips gone from his wound, he was surprised that he did not feel the trickle of blood once again begin to creep down his face.


<Zelda> “Mmm,” Zelda hummed. The name sounded familiar, somehow. She did like her gossip. She got the vibe that ‘Elijah Cole’ and ‘scandal’ were two sentiments that fit well together. She pushed her fingers through his hair, her gaze brushing the contours of his face. If she were human, she might have second thoughts. If she were human, she might just work to make sure the two of them stayed right there, out in public, just in case he should turn out to be some kind of sadistic serial killer. She had far too much ego now, though. Too much confidence in herself. A wicked grin spread across her lips, the paint smeared and blurred due to the way he had kissed her.

“Zelda Faye,” she said, lightly, the name tripping off her tongue. She quite liked her name. So many attached to her sire’s bloodline had changed their name after being turned, for obvious reasons, she supposed. There was a suggestion that she should officially change hers to ‘Pixie’. It was a name she had given, once, when she didn’t feel like she wanted to be known. This time, however, she gave her real name. She didn’t know why. Maybe she liked this guy.

“Tell me why I should take you home with me, Elijah Cole,” she said, posing the question as if she were a potential employee, and this was a crucial job interview.


<Elijah Cole> His thumb caressed the outside of her knee. He looked to her as she gave him her name. He considered it. Zelda. It fit her well. It was a little zany and a dash of eccentric taste. He briefly narrowed his eyes. Yes. Truth. It fit her well and he let out a breath to caress her jaw. His heat was permeating through her thin clothes and barely kept in by the jacket of his that was open. "You like the way I kiss." He said, looking at her lips. They were full and bruised - at least, that was what he heard some erotic romance novels call that pouting look to her luscious set.

"You like the way I look." Attraction. Chemistry. Both of them knew that. They were drawn to each other even in the most cellular of ways. His baby blue eyes looked demanding on top of seductive and he arched a bit of a brow as he was giving her reasons. "You like the way I touch you."

Of course. He tossed that in there because they both knew damn well the woman wouldn't have hauled off and smacked him. Not once, but twice. And to reiterate that, he would stroke his fingers from behind her knee to cupping her thigh. She had wonderfully, toned thighs. They were soft, full, and could become rock hard in a muscle flex at any moment. But most of all, he wanted those thighs hugging either side of his head and her screaming his name. One day. Maybe tonight. He took a deep breath of her, his blood still teasing the air. It was stolen by the breeze as it clogged in his hair while he looked at her, his gaze ever intense. "I will keep you warm on cold nights just like this, Zelda Faye."

He said it like a promise. He said it like a sweet nothing whispered in her ear. His tongue caressed her name and he leaned down again. He kissed the tip of her nose. And then he brushed his lips against her cheek. And before long, his lips skimmed over that pretty, color smeared set again in something that one could call just a little bit more gentle than what he had given her before.


<Zelda> Zelda was grinning, now, ear to ear. He was describing all the things that she did indeed like. She wasn’t going to disagree with him. But nor did she want him to think that she could be walked all over. She wanted him to know that she would be in charge. They would be in her domain. And anyway, she was now questioning whether it was actually a good idea. She did live in the middle of the Quarantine Zone. She would have to lead through the sewers, if she was going to take him home. Maybe she’d just have to tease him with the prospect and then leave him hanging.

She nodded, sagely. She let him touch her. She let him kiss her. She enjoyed it, very much. It had been far, far too long and there was a fire in her loins that screamed to be satisfied. She sighed, but she did not move. She kissed him back, denying her desperation and kissing him slow, exploring. When she pulled away, she leaned in to whisper in his ear: “And will you be mine?” she asked. She was teasing him. Testing him.


<Elijah Cole> He stood there with her in that cold corner, with the brick of the building half against his back while he smoothed his hands back up along her *** and holding her back. He let his fingers still, digits barely pressed into the dress she wore. In any early relationships, it was all about want. Was it not? A quick kiss, a hurried touch, an exchange of needs and freedom to walk away. He considered her grin. He considered her nod. He reached up, cupped her cheek. His concern seemed to beat into his heart for a moment. The constriction in his chest was real while his eyebrows narrowed under her sigh. Her lips were cool against his mouth now. There was no longer the structure of warmth around them. "I will be yours for as long as you want me to be."

He gave her that much. He gave her that will of his. His thumb would stroke against her cheek before his fingers coiled within her pretty hair. His concern was obvious, though perhaps brief as soon he tried to smile for her. He tried to lighten that mood that seemed to weigh her very thoughts down. Now, it was his turn to ask her. "Do you want me, Zelda?" He tilted his chin up a bit, as if he could take the rejection she might be tempted to give in that dark corner on a cold night with his hands on her person and her jacket still situated in the crook of his arm.


<Zelda> By all rights, Zelda should have been freezing. She wasn’t, though. No steam billowed from her mouth. She did not shiver. The cold embraced her like a cloak—but it didn’t touch her. Her skin was cold, and these days she was more like an amphibian then a mammal. She was cold blooded. She preferred the cold to the heat. Cole’s answer satisfied her—she would start calling him Cole, as that was the name he gave her first. She did, of course, wonder how he could tell her that he was his when he didn’t know her. Not one bit. She leaned against him. She could tell he was cold. She let him suffer, for a few more minutes. Her arm wound around his neck. She held back, so that she could stare him straight in the eye.

“What if I told you I was a vampire. That I could never go out during the day. That I lived in the middle of the Quarantine Zone, that’s filled with Zombies. You couldn’t take me out to dinner ‘cause I wouldn’t be able to eat anything,” she said. She held his gaze. This was a complete and utter no no. She shouldn’t be telling any human what she was. But seriously? She assumed he’d think she was nuts. He wouldn’t believe her. This was still a game.


<Elijah Cole> His fingers would cool eventually against her flesh. She was cooling with the air around them, the breeze teased both of their hair. He arched a bit of a brow as she leaned in, as if he was waiting for what bomb she'd drop next. Or what curious question. Or what simple statement she spoke to try to make him squirm. His heart throbbed, the constant boom boom boom of adrenaline in his ears barely settled since she had him flat on his back in the bar. He had come here for a friend. No, scratch that. He came here following a cold trail for a friend he lost sight of. He sensed this place was a little different. It had a few too many secrets, too many people looking over their shoulders, and too many with varying degrees of suspicion and fear in their eyes. "I guess that means no tampon or ice cream runs at two in the afternoon then. And that I would have to get you flowers or jewelry instead of chocolate if I **** up.

And I prefer the pizza delivery or the take out to go, anyways." He held her gaze. He watched her face. He was as dead serious in every response as she was with hers. In fact, he did seem to frown even a little bit more. He wasn't sure of the whole Zombie aspect or where this Quarantine Zone was. "Couldn't we just live in my Penthouse?" Yes. That was the only thing he seemed to have a problem with.


<Zelda> A ******* penthouse. Did he just say that? Penthouse. ****. Yes. Screw going back to her place. Her own brow arched sensuously. Although he appeared to be completely serious when he answered her, she still assumed that he was, underneath it all, kidding. That he didn’t believe her. How could he? Unless he already knew about vampires. Which was fine. That meant she hadn’t technically done anything wrong, right? Still. She liked the idea of keeping this guy. Of making him her little secret. Elijah Cole. Who lived in a penthouse.

“And you didn’t think to include that? When I asked you, why I should take you home,” she said. She supposed, then, that he wouldn’t think to mention his penthouse when they were talking about going back to her place. She took an unneeded breath and held it, before continuing. “All you had to say, pretty boy, was ‘why would we go back to your place when I have a penthouse?’” she asked. She laughed, the sound clear and concise. No, Zelda wasn’t really all that shallow. If she had a reason to get attached, she’d get attached. But she didn’t know this Cole. And in her experience, men preferred women who were not clingy or possessive. Of course she didn’t know, then, that as soon as he said ‘I’ll be yours’, she took him very seriously.


<Elijah Cole> He started to smile at her. No. No, that ******** was grinning at her. Yes, well... He had his parent's money. And he used it wisely to some effort. With a deep breath and that chilly breeze of the fog he created, there was a chuckle on his lips. "I did not think it was going to be a big deal until you told me your house is in some cornered off zone with ******* zombies. Really? Like some Walking Dead come to life." He eyed her now, just a little bit. He dropped his hands down her sides and would stroke his palm over that pulled up hip. He touched her. He touched her like he had every right to touch her and had touched her for years already. "It has a king size bed. Lots of pillows. Pretty little decorative pillows that hit the floor. And then every time I go to crawl back in it, those ******* little pillows are back." Yes, he said that like he had a distaste for pillows. But in truth, he knew that a women loved those damn little pillows. "I even have an extra toothbrush." He leaned in, nipped at her lower, cold lip. He swiped his tongue across that pretty line and shook his head. "So a Vampire, hmm?"


<Zelda> Zelda does rather like pillows. And lots of pillows. The description of his penthouse is sounding far more alluring with every word that he utters. “Hey, look. I didn’t create the zombies. Don’t you speak to me like that,” she said, though she was still grinning. He leaned in, nipped her lip. She did not pull away. She slipped cold fingers up beneath his shirt, starting from the belt of his pants. She allowed more of the cold in as she traced lines over his toned torso. Very nice, indeed. “Yes, vampire. Can’t you tell?” she asked. And she did so seriously. Really. Could he not tell?

She had licked blood from a wound on his head. She was deathly cold. She wondered whether she might have actually managed to pull him into the current cranny they nestled within were she still human – she’d never tried that one before. She couldn’t tell whether it might have always been a possibility. She licked her lips. She liked the taste of him. She wanted some more. But she could be patient, when she needed to be.


<Elijah Cole> "Jesus Christ." He muttered nearly against her mouth as she slipped those icy fingers up his taunt abdomen. The man's skin was hot, and his abdomen clenched at the onslaught of her cold digits. "I would rather have you some place a little more ... accessible than Zombie-land, Zelda." He spoke to her like that. In that tone that smeared with reprimand and a dash of playful teasing. He shook his head, the cut of his hair slid against his jaw. Of course, never mind what was clumped against his temple. "This place is different. People are different here. So many are suspicious." He murmured to her quietly. As if his playboy teasing attitude was what brought out other's staring at him. Or through him. He did not relish venturing with her to this quarantined home. "You should come to my place. See if you like it." Yeah, he said that so nonchalantly. Even if there was a -lot- of hope that she would.

--The following transcript is a live chat roleplay--



<Zelda> Zelda narrowed her eyes at Cole. "Mmm. Maybe I should be suspicious of you. Maybe it's safer out here than in your love nest," she said. Oh, yeah, she made that kind of assumption. She assumed he was a playboy, what with his forward nature and his confidence. She assumed this penthouse of his was designed to please the ladies. "Maybe you should try better to persuade me," she said.


<Elijah Cole> "A love nest? Seriously?" He seemed quite impressed by the fact that she called his home, however temporarily that he wanted it, a 'love nest.' He did not know whether he should be offended or impressed that she thought he had women and - or - a combination of men revolving through his door. "You could come over and judge for yourself how much of a 'love nest' you think it is. Though, I will warn you, it came mostly pre-furnished. So don't judge me on the color scheme alone." And of course, he thought to the black leather sofa, the candy apple red vase, and the white suede sleeper chair that first came to mind in the living room. "What if I told you, if I like you and decide to keep you, that you can redecorate?" He knew this would inflame her even more.

Of course, he took that very moment to run his hands from her hips to her rear in that dress and pull her close and into him. He grinned, so that serious face couldn't be held much longer. No. He was enjoying this as much as she was. The tease of words back and forth was certainly a battle enjoyed.


<Zelda> The smile that spread across her lips was dangerous, to say the very least. She hadn’t really thought about it in a while—this whole possession thing, when it came to men and women. She was at that age where all her single friends moaned and cried about getting old and having no men. They stressed because everyone around them was getting married. Zelda, however, never much cared. If it happened it happened. If it didn’t, it didn’t. She wasn’t going to get upset about it, or care whether she fucked some guy who wouldn’t claim her the next day. She’d move right on, and claim it as a good and fun experience. Why the hell not? The idea of being a ‘kept’ woman was entirely foreign to her.

“Woah there, horsey. Who says I want you to keep me?” she said. He was grinning at her like a Cheshire cat. He may very well have been teasing. This was a game, this volley of words. She could veer away and take fright, and nearly did. But couldn’t, because of the way he chose that moment to pull her closer, to keep her there. She chose to assume he was joking around. “For all you know, I might be a mad woman. Completely insane. ****, I call myself a vampire and say I live with zombies. Don’t you think I belong in an asylum?” she asked, her green eyes wide, a slight pout to her bruised lips. She continued to trace cold lines across his abdomen; she enjoyed the way he tensed, the way his muscles hardened under her touch.


<Elijah Cole> "You said nothing about the toothbrush and now you have your feathers all ruffled over me calling you a potentially 'kept' woman?" He shook his head at her. He squeezed her hips once again and let his fingers travel up her sides. Elijah Cole had all kinds of women. In truth, he steered clear of those kind that were a little clingy, but that was only because he did not reciprocate their feelings of needing to be close twenty-four seven. There was a one way like - the bedroom, and then they simpered when he booted them out. He had a poker game to get to, a meeting at his elusive 'job' which more or less turned out to be another drink in another bar as he looked for that wayward friend. He told himself that he didn't care about his parent's plastic, his mother’s wistful phone calls, or his father's latest banter about the market and where his stocks were. Cole invested some of his 'income' and lived off the rest and when his parents didn't much care what he did as long as he made an appearance on the Board and gave his prospects for revenue; Cole's time was his own. He donated to those wonderful causes women tried to feed the hungry and clothe the poor - Elijah spent his time at the local humane societies and worked to place those candidates with hopeful owners.

"You said so yourself that I was dense enough not to realize what you were, right? You can keep the Zombie part. I think I have enough to adjust to by you telling me you don't eat ice cream or all meat pizzas." Yes, though he was teasing - Cole seemed to be a little bit serious too. As the wind kicked up, his hair flicked over his face half hiding his blue eyes and giving him that pale exterior. "If I thought you belonged in an asylum, then why am I still talking to you?" He asked her quietly. His gaze was intense as he looked down to her pretty, pouting face. He gave her a smile and nearly swore again as she teased his skin. Damn that ticklish sensation - but he ignored it when muscles clenched all the more and that abdomen crunched again under her spread out touch.


<Zelda> Zelda gave a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe you’re a weirdo yourself. And you like crazy girls because they keep you on your toes,” she said with a smirk. With that, she totally planned, spontaneously, to do just that. Keep him on his toes. She disengaged completely, reluctantly pushing away and out of his sphere of warmth and heat. She rolled out of the cranny she’d thrown them into. She rolled backwards, slowly, waiting for him to follow. The breeze messed with her hair just as it messed with his – strands of fiery softness drifting in front of her eyes before she swiftly pushed them away again, tucking them behind her ear.

Truth was, she really wanted to see his place. She came to a stop, her back heel pushing down on the break. She glided everywhere; she did so smoothly. She skated better than she walked. It was natural to her. Even when she did walk, these days, she drifted; something her vampiric subconscious must have picked up on and kept. A nifty little trick that meant she didn’t have to go through the tediousness of lifting one foot after the other to proceed forward. She could just drift, like some ethereal ghost. She glanced left and right. “Which way, pretty boy?”


<Elijah Cole> "We are all a little bit crazy. Some just hide it better." As she moved away from him, he frowned. But it was as if he did not want to break that contact. Whether it was because he still had quite an interest or she played a wonderful shield to block the wind; he stepped forward towards her. She was beautiful, the light of the street to her back and it added a fire light to her hair. She certainly was an interesting package. A woman who preferred skates, who liked short dresses, and who was ice cold with no need for chocolate or steak. He almost wondered what he would do with her. If she would get bored. If his needs for meat, orange juice, and cake would turn her off after a while.

He wondered if she would like that Jacuzzi tub, the fireplace in the 'Master' bedroom, or the fact that he was currently fostering a blind Greyhound who was only about two and had a penchant for chewing on shoes and stuffing his nose in guests' crotches. He reached out as she waited for him. He easily lifted his arms and deposited her jacket across her shoulders. "Second to the right and then straight on 'til morning." He gave her a wink and offered his hand as he started beside her.


<Zelda> She didn’t take his hand. They weren’t all quite as fuzzy as that just yet. It would make them look like some couple who’d been dating for months, rather than two people who’d just met. It was far too weird for Zelda, to take his hand. Instead she chose to skate circles around him, doing so, so that she would not leave him behind. She had a need for speed. And she couldn’t take the lead, anyway. If they were going back to his place, she needed to know where they were going. She snorted at his little joke. She watched him warily out of the corner of her eye. My, he was pretty. But what was she going to do with him?

The fantasy entered her mind of using him as a continuous and willing source of blood. She could make him eat different things, and test whether diet changed the taste of a person’s blood, or whether there was something inherently magical in it. Whether someone’s blood didn’t actually taste different given what they ate, but instead because of how they acted. She inadvertently licked her lips as she thought about it.

“Should I call you Peter, then?” she asked. “You know I never liked that story,” she said. “I didn’t like the way Wendy came back, in the end. In my opinion she should have stayed right where she was. No point in growing up. Ever,” Zelda said. It was her firm belief that growing up was quite a dull affair, and one should always strive to have fun. At all costs.


<Elijah Cole> "No, thank you. I don't really care for pumpkins too much." Ah, another joke. He briefly looked down to the ground. No, scratch that. As they walked, he was watching her skate. He managed to half tuck in that shirt her fingers played with. He inhaled deeply, a little too much - the couch out was a sigh of just a couple frozen lungs. He wished he had that second rum and coke now. Too late, though, as he thought about just what kind of alcohol that he had at his place. A Vampire? A ******* vampire.

What the **** was he going to do with a God damned Vampire? Literally. All the movies and folk lore and books that he had read. The smart *** in him wanted to ask about garlic; but he figured it not pleasant territory at the moment to tease a woman about her 'condition' and any adverse side effects if he was going to actually have her up to his place. There was a shake of his head for no known reason. Each pass, his eyes held onto her strong legs onto they were once again gone from his view. "Growing up is just about responsibility. Continuing the chain and all that. We are all animals." He murmured, because in truth - dead or alive, that is exactly what they were. The same.


<Zelda> “**** responsibility,” she said, almost shouting it out to the street. A couple across the road gave her an odd look. She grinned at them, smug, and gave them a polite little wave. Of course Zelda did have her grown up habits. Even before she was turned she had her own place. She knew what it was to pay rent. To have to be responsible with money in order to end up out on one’s ***. She knew all the kind of responsibility one needed to stay comfortable, and alive. But that didn’t mean she was responsible in other aspects of her life. This man was fun. This Elijah Cole, a whole truckload of fun. It wasn’t smart, or responsible, to be letting a human know everything about her. Everything. But she did it anyway. Because it was fun.

Cole had coughed, and she found herself turning to him in consternation. “Look at you. We should warm you up, honey bun,” she said, flashing him a coy grin as she passed him by, and swept around behind him again. Only speaking up once she was back around the front, having caught his eye. Her own had narrowed to smouldering slits as she watched him through thick, long lashes: “Go back to the nest, where it’s nice and warm. And you’re going to treat me like an animal?” she asked, the words not disdainful, but more of a challenge.


<Elijah Cole> "My, aren't you the wild one?" He said that with a grin on his face. He sank his hands into his pockets of his dark slacks and continued walking along the street. The names? Not important to him. He knew the direction of that hotel and the blaring lights, the wide spread marble floors, and the prissy workers in uniforms with fancy names like Host, Hostess, Concierge. He rolled his eyes briefly about her concern to get him warmed up. She had no idea what he wanted to do to her. The down and dirty. The need. The visceral tug to have her under him, over him, next to him. Claim? Kept? His? Words like that barely even surfaced within his mind. She was the kind of woman, from attitude alone, that left. And for a brief, heart kicking moment; he considered what it would be like to wake up alone. "I'll be plenty warm with you soon enough. I'll treat you well. I'll treat you with every respect. I'll give you pleasure and pain if you want it. I'll give you everything you need and maybe more if you're a good girl and say 'please.'"

He was teasing her to a wretched extent. The collar to his jacket was now upturned as they walked. He did not bother to zip or button the expensive clothing. The label alone was worth a couple hundred, despite the actual material. "Is there anything you don't like? Something I should know about in advance?" He thought about what he -had- in that suite. In that love nest. In that sort of den she wanted to prowl. But he wanted to take her to his -actual- bed, and not just the one he tapped the females in and sent them on their merry way. It had been a while, after all. Not because he was on a dry streak, but because after a while - some are all the same. And this red head was not at all the same. "Well, Red?" He waited for her outrage. Or her truth. He wasn't sure which one he'd get at that moment.


<Zelda> Now he sounded like some kind of salesman. If Zelda were human, her ears might have flushed red. If she had a collar, she might be getting all hot and bothered underneath it. As it was, she kept her reaction well hidden, as nonchalant as a cat playing with its prey. When next she did her rounds, her fingers trailed across his torso—up his arm, over his shoulder, around his back. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who wants a simpering, prissy woman who always says ‘please’,” she said. Maybe he was, though. Maybe he wanted to be the dominant one. The thought made her sigh. She was having far too much fun. And that’s what sex was to her, too—fun. A bit of adult fun. Maybe she wouldn’t have liked to have been Wendy. Peter could never have satisfied her in that way. Maybe that’s what the story was all about, all along. A girl needed satisfaction from a man.

“That’s your job, good sir. You need to figure out what I like and don’t like. You’ll have to do your research. Call it… a practical experiment,” she said, purringly, leaning in close to his ear as she said the last two words, before launching away again. “You’ll find I’m very open to new ideas. Want to give me a few?” she asked, her eyes again wide and seemingly innocently inquisitive.


<Elijah Cole> The smile was so very slow to come to his face. He looked at her, every time she passed in front of him, with some type of mischievous grin. Of course, he wanted to give the lady an opportunity to cry 'No!' instead of foul play. But as he understood from her words that such a thing would come in time. How much time, he did not seem to be sure of. As he took a left, his strides were long and sure of themselves. He walked that way, with his head up and his eyes sure. He arched a brow at the 'good sir' and tried to ignore the way his body reacted to her teasing. Christ, he wanted her. He wanted her hard and fast. He wanted her slow and gentle. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and keep her close and smack her *** all over again.

"You don't have to always say 'please.'" And even in that tone, it was hard to tell if he were teasing or true to his words. But the cocky grin on his face would have leveled the notch towards 'sly' - a slot between the two. With a long exhale, it could be mistaken for a sigh. Yes. In truth, he did not want a woman that always said please. He wanted one that bucked and battled and gave as good as she got with a touch of dirty and doused in pleasure. He watched her. "Oh, it will be practical all right. But why should I give you ideas? Didn't you just want to experiment with them?" Yes. He was a smart *** as his voice drawled out, teased low and away by the wind.


<Zelda> “Aha, but you misunderstand me,” she said, licking her lips as she caught the rhetorical train and rolled with it. She was having fun; this game of word volley was certainly more interesting than the last. She checked to make sure that the path was clear for a while before she spun and began rolling backwards, as he walked forward. The wind whipped the hair into her face, and she tucked it away again so that it would get caught on her tongue.

“A woman shouldn’t have to say please. You should be able to get the hint. I’ll call you a real man when I don’t have to tell you what I want and what I like. When you can know, just by instinct,” she explained. She wondered whether he really did have it in him. Whether his words were full, or empty. Whether he would be a complete disappointment. She even had a flutter of fear – what if she was a disappointment? Because there was no doubt. Even if she decided to tease him tonight, to leave without giving him what he wanted, she would find out where he lived. And she would have him, one way or another. Maybe she wouldn’t have the patience to make him wait.

“Just like these ideas. You can show them to me, rather than tell them to me. Use them. As experiments, to find out what I like. And what I don’t,” she said.


<Elijah Cole> "Do I really misunderstand you, though?" He looked at that face of hers. She looked young. Not terribly young, but enough that she certainly would have some experience behind her proverbial belt. After all, she was beautiful. And certainly he would treat her with every respect he could muster. But if he did not like what she would do or say, he was not opposed to slapping his palm on her ***, either. He listened to her as she rolled backwards, fully aware the road was clear for a while and still - he kept his eyes ever more vigilant just in case something were to get in her way. "Instinct takes a little while to develop. Especially with another being beside you. I might want to **** your backside, and if you did not want that - you'd have to tell me no. Or, I could take your hint if you slapped me, Red." His breath fogged in front of him, hands tightening in his pockets just to help keep warm.

"I plan to try them, use them, show them, and let you take part in them. That is... So long as you come back." He did not want to scare her with the word 'stay.' Because she could come and go as she very well pleased. He nodded his head, tilted his chin to the right to indicate it was time to turn down the next street while she watched him. "I am a male. We aren't always the greatest with hints."


<Zelda> To this she gives a slow nod of understanding. Everyone was different. And she supposed she was glad that he did not think that she would be like every other woman he had ever had; did not assume that she would be the same, and thus like the same things. “I see what you’re saying. We’ve got to work together to find a harmony,” she said. The smile the curled her lips was devious, and perhaps a little too excited for her own good. Harmony didn’t seem like quite the right word—though she did feel a ghost-like lurch in her unbeating chest as she imagined a slow dance. As she imagined this man treating her like royalty, catering to her every desire in the bedroom. As dirty as she talked, she knew that, deep down, she’d like a little sensuality, too. She bit the inside of her mouth.

“You’ll know, if you do something I don’t like. Trust me,” she said, grinning now from ear to hear. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe he wasn’t some pervert who was going to be far too sadistic in the bedroom. Maybe she wouldn’t have to kill him. Maybe they’d actually be perfect together. She had to stop that train of thought – she was getting far too girly. She didn’t like it. Cole indicated that they needed to turn. She spun on her skates, righting her direction, and continued to roll forward, very slowly, her circling ceased.


<Elijah Cole> "Someone once very wise told me that communication is the key to a long, healthy bonds in life, Red." He said that to tuck into her a bit of confidence in the Y gene he had. It was unsettling to try to please someone with not knowing much about them. He wanted to ease her up against the wall and kiss her until she kissed him back. But soon, he knew there was an elevator for that. The long black hair of his slashed against his jaw. With every step it was a quiet power he commanded and it seemed like that very bit of him was being leeched and played with by this lovely in front of him on roller skates. He wanted her legs wrapped around his hips. And these blips into his mind just kept coming.

Most of all, he wanted her next to him. Against him. He wanted to sink into bed and wake up knowing he had a chance to please her. To make her comfortable. And he didn't know where all the **** this was coming from, either. Maybe it was her smile. Or maybe it was the lash of her tongue. Hell, maybe it was her damn red hair that had him wanting to beat his chest and scowl at everyone else that looked her way. But he played it off, kept his interest his own, besides her ***. Christ... He wanted to run his hands up and down those muscles that no doubt were extremely toned. "I have a dog. It is a foster right now. He's a little playful. I hope you won't mind." He said it as if he did not plan to lock the pup in a room while she was there with him in the Penthouse.


<Zelda> “Course not,” she said. In fact, she loved animals. “Animals love me,” she said, only realizing afterwards that he had compared them all to animals. She threw him a wink. But really, she was being serious. She’s always loved animals. Had even volunteered at the nearest pet shelter because she loved playing with them. Got the role as a ‘puppy cuddler’, getting them used to the idea of human company before they were adopted out to young families, or singles who needed the company. She had thoroughly enjoyed that job. Unluckily, they didn’t have a night shift. They tried to get the animals to sleep at night. Pft. And now, as a vampire, they seemed more drawn to her than ever. She had no idea why. Some instinct, perhaps, that she wasn’t aware of. She was completely oblivious to the fact that it was a singular trait that most other vampires did not have.

She gave a sigh. Her breath remained colourless in the cold air. There was no steam from her cold body. She wanted to meet his dog. Fuckit, she wanted the warmth as much as he probably did. The warmth and privacy of a place where they could do as they pleased for as long as they goddamned liked. “Are we there yet?” she asked, her impatience getting the better of her as she peered around, looking for any building that might be home to a penthouse.