Two Households, Both Alike in Dignity (Findarato and Lemon)

The hall was dark, and musty. The stone walls showed its ancient age. It seemed like a long forgotten place, in the depths of the earth. There was some effort to conceal the unfriendly, cold walls with a decoration of tapestries. All along the walls they hung, one after the next, all having different symbols and colors, different animals and plants. They were not recognized as flags of nations, but something else. Groups, clans, factions, possibly families. They were the only thing that gave color to the room, at least far more than those inhabiting it.

There was a long table placed in the middle of the room, made of wood. While there was a great abundance of food and drink upon it, those seated around the table seemed to not be feasting, but rather mourning. It was deathly silent. Occasionally there was a murmur, a forced smile across the table. For the most part, only the sound of the silverware could be heard, the cutting of food. A large man in the middle of the table did not have good manners, naturally his belching and chewing out loud without his mouth closed echoed in the hall way.

There was a distinct difference in those dining at the table. On one end, those occupying the table were pale, tall, and slender. Their faces looked elegant with high cheek bones, and calculating eyes that seemed to speak more than their actual mouths. The opposite end of the table, had a different sort. They seemed more hairy. The women wore their hair in a different manner, assorted with beads, and in general, it seemed more wild than the other side. Nearly all the men had facial hair of some sort. They were more broad of shoulder, more burly, louder. Their faces were textured differently, hard lines and freckles. A majority of them had tanned skin.

The large man in the middle, who seemed to be of the more hairy sort, considering that his shirt was opened up near the top, and exposed dark hair on his chest, broke the silence. "So when's the wedding?" he asked, a chicken leg in his hand. He promptly tore a portion of it using his teeth.

The question had seemed to change the atmosphere in the room. Several stopped eating. Almost everyone looked up, exchanging glances.

One male, seemed thoroughly annoyed by the question. He kept eating, but his eyes had shot up, casting a glare on the opposite end of the table, towards a female who seemed of similar age. His eyes looked menacing- a layer of green on the outside, and directly surrounding his pupil, brown. He was on the more wild, hairy side of the table, but he himself mildly out of place amongst them. His face, lacked any facial hair, and instead of appearing textured by ages and long periods in the sun, it was fair. He was not pale, no, but his skin seemed perfect, without marks. His hair was golden, an abundance of it that fell past his ears, nearly reaching his neck. It was not as long as some of the other males, who had pony tails that reached far and long down their back. It was still in between a medium, and long length. It came down in waves, and when he moved, it swayed with his motions. Unlike his blonde hair and fair face, his attire was black. It was a one piece robe that fell down to his ankles, with large buttons running down the middle. The material itself seemed like it was sleek and leathery. Even seated, one could tell that he was a tall man, his shoulders pressing out against the constraints of his robe. His large hands near his plate, only seemed to speak further of his masculinity. Despite the obvious anger, he remained silent.

A man, directly to his right, who seemed older, with a similar color of hair, spoke. "Zlatan and Venessa will wed in two weeks. It shall be here, at the castle, where both of our people have sworn not to shed blood against one another for centuries. It is here that we shall seal our alliance." Whatever alliance he spoke of seemed poorly received. Downcast eyes, some grumbles. There was no open complaints, but the tension could be felt in the air. "It will be an honor for Zlatan, and our family." His hand rose up, and promptly touched the golden haired male seating on his left on the shoulder with a firm smack to the shoulder.

Zlatan, who had been staring across the table at a certain female, had been steadily shaking his head in a no motion, until he was touched. He sat up straight, his body going rigid, a grimace on his face, but he made no objection.

It sickened her to think that it had come down to this.

Her people were being threatened, to the point they were forced to resort to their very last opportunity of gaining back strength. To think, she was the middleman for all of this, and even without her consent, they were going to go forth and make this alliance permanent. Venessa was the core to this catastrophe of a plan, her hand being offered and willingly accepted by the family that sat across from them. Lycans.. they were hairy, large.. and.. everything she was not used to. Once upon a time they had waged wars and nearly killed one another to complete extinction, despite the fact that their mutual enemy, humans, were far more of a threat than either of them could ever be. Her people were suffering, and because she was entitled to save them from their ultimate demise, alas, the young woman obediently attended the dinner.

Stationed across from her fiance, she had yet to look over towards him. She didn't need to. She could feel his gaze burning holes into her flesh, or at least attempting to. It was amusing, she thought.. if he could, he would have reached over and snapped her neck long ago. That, would be quite foolish. His anger, though, it was overwhelming and only fueled her own. Venessa was an immortal of upstanding mannerisms, however.. and though well-equipped with a silver tongue.. she preferred to strike when it counted most. Here, it was not needed. Their parents were discussing the plans for the future and while she wanted to tell them to all shove it where the sun certainly didn't shine, she couldn't. Born into the most powerful house, as the only child.. she had responsibilities to fulfill. Standards, to meet.. and expectations to exceed.

Two weeks.. and she was to be his. His wife, sworn to stay together for eternity. Her stomach was twisting into knots, and if she had a heart it would have fallen down from it's nest in her rib-cage. Venessa knew that she would have to bear his child, one that was to be the heir.. the standing element of their alliance. Her father had been adamant that she didn't try to ruin this for all of them, knowing all too well that she was more than capable of getting under another's skin, when she willed it so. She hated him, wanted nothing to do with him.. and certainly, the thought of being in the same bed as he, made her want to vomit.

The mention of honor made her quirk a dark brow, slender and trimmed. Her mother reached over then, a hand gingerly caressing her wrist, "As we too, are more than honored with this decision of bringing us together." Finally, orbs of pale blue snapped up and she gazed towards the one throwing daggers at her. Her face was beautiful, a mixture of soft and sharp lines, bringing to present a youthful appearance that would seduce any heterosexual man. Her lips were plump, a vivid hue of red fading from the middle on out. She let them part, accentuating the curvature before her tongue lapped across the bottom petal, a casual motion as she studied the hulking beast before her. Something about him was.. strangely arousing. His broad shoulders, and unkempt hair.. she blamed it solely on the fact that her parents forbade her to sleep with anyone they did not approve of, which was everyone so far. Her sexual urges had heightened to the point that she actually found this.. lycan, to be attractive. Venessa was going mad, that was the only explanation.

She too, was donned in a dark ensemble. A dress made of velvet and lace, the gothic piece intricate and clinging to her supple frame greedily. A healthy amount of cleavage was on display, her breasts, more than a handful, pushed and squeezing against the dipping neckline of her gown. She was obviously slender, and quite small compared to her betrothal. Despite that, her appearance was fierce. Curled, silken locks of ebony reached the small of her back, tangled in a delicate working of crimson ribbon, the thick braid cast over a nimble shoulder. Her flesh was that of ivory, flawless and tempting to touch, having the texture of cream itself. She was everything he was not, and the difference was nearly violent between them, but.. she only watched, tipping her head curiously to the side as her vision roved over what she could see of him.

Reaching out, she grasped onto the nearby wineglass, taking it towards her mouth, which curved dangerously into a smirk. Not once, did she take her eyes off of him, pinning him with those icy hues that were hidden beneath thick, lovely lashes. A red drink, of thick richness within the goblet and she purred, ignoring the forced chatter off to her left. Venessa was far too busy pushing at this one's buttons, a droplet of blood staining the corner of her mouth, before she lapped it away gracefully. If she had it her way, she would eat him alive right now.. sink her fangs into that delicious neck and drain him dry.

Months ago, Zlatan had happily been prowling highways at night, engaging in major skirmishes that had often had the taste of vampire blood in his mouth before the night was over. In the recent months, the battles had lessened, both sides were too afraid to put themselves at risk with the growing threats. Then it came down to an alliance, and marriage. And now he would be marrying and sharing the same bed with the prized gem of the major vampire house. Zlatan couldn't be anymore disgusted. It showed on his face, an open snarl towards the woman who was suddenly staring at her, an amused expression on his face. It only made him more furious. His fair skin turned red at certain parts, to express his anger.

She just sat there, staring at him, using her tongue to caress her lip, taunting him. Zlatan's hands curled into fists upon the table, for all to see. His mother was speaking, discussing further arrangements. Zlatan did not pay attention, her voice coupled with Venassa's own mother was like background noise. All he could hear was his mind speaking to him. "I want to kill this fucking bitch. I want to rip out of her guts right in front of her eyes and laugh in her face as she dies."

Zlatan's father, who noticed the anger, placed a hand on his son's shoulder to relax him. He leaned into Zlatan, his mouth near his ear, to whisper to him. "Do not worry my son. You can have as many mistresses as you like..." It was a familiar conversation, that Zlatan had heard before. Had it been for the first time, the table in the room would have been flipped over, and there would have been blood. Thankfully, when his father first broke the news to him, they were in private.

His father continued. "You must impregnate her. Fill her up with your seed. Turn her into your bitch." They were purposeful words, another conversation they had before. Sexual conquests were open secrets amongst lycans, women were always viewed as lesser individuals. Perhaps he had decided to tell Zlatan this again, to soothe him, to not let this woman he was going to marry taunt him. "Save your anger. Save it for when you have the chance to defile her."

Zlatan wasn't even sure if he was up for the task. She seemed beautiful, there was no doubt about that, but all of it was over ridden by the fact that she was a blood sucking leech. There was no way he'd be up for the task to sleep with her immediately, he did not even want to share the same bed. The wedding was mostly for show, and the hybrid lycan vampire child that had been rumored to be the one thing that could save both their faces. Once he had given her a child, he would never have to touch her again.

But he realized he may not be able to hold his urges off as long as he might want to- his parents had shut him in, no longer letting him see his lady friends to release his sexual urges. His pent up aggression was higher than he had ever known it to be. If a couple months passed without her pregnancy being achieved, he knew that there would be a ceremony, of people watching them to make sure that they were doing their 'duty.' Zlatan found himself realizing that he probably would have thrown her down on the dining table and fucked her in front of everyone, if that's what it came down to. That's how long he felt he hadn't had sex for, just to sleep with something so vile just to find his release he needed so desperately was a disgusting thought.

Still, he looked at his wife to be with aggression and anger, whatever lust that he felt for her in his conflicting body and mind was hidden. Perhaps the sheer way he looked at her with such a look could be mistaken for lust. Lycans often associated sex and violence. "I will, father," he said, softly, releasing his hands, grabbing at his wine glass to drink from it.

Did they think she a fool? Venessa watched carefully as the man beside Zlatan leaned over, the one who was deemed to be his father. Naturally, her senses grew attuned to the murmurings that were taking place and she listened to the elder's words. What she learned about his plans, made her feel.. well, she wasn't quite sure. Firstly, she was saddened by the fact that her first and only marriage, was going to be to one whom she did not love. It simply wasn't fair, to either of them. Among the tension that would be unyielding betwixt both parties, she would be a woman who was whispered about behind her own back. An utter fool, as her husband slept about with others and ultimately treated her like nothing more than a common whore. Her life as her father's daughter, thus far, felt as if it had all gone to waste. It was.. useless.

This.. thing would not appreciate her for who she was. Would not cherish her, and treat her like she should be treated. It was all a fluke, a mere shamble that would hopefully keep their families from ripping each other's heads off. All she was to do, was give him a child.. one that she would be forced to bring into this horrible world, in hopes that somehow.. it would seal the severance between their kinds.

When it came down to it, none of those who sat around them, cared at all for how they felt. It was futile, to even imagine that her parents would attempt to hear her out. Venessa was a pawn in this large game that would overthrow the humans, and if it was successful, at least she would be prideful of aiding their triumph. It was going to take quite a while to reach that point, however.. with all the murmurings of the other Houses beginning to wash ashore, she knew that many were as unhappy with this decision, as she was. They were going against their natural instincts, and it was so horridly impossible, to sit here with those whom she had been taught to kill, without question. Death, seemed to be the better option.. yet, she was not that selfish. She would not let those she cared about, suffer because of her own misery.

Give him a child, and be done with it. That would be the end of this toxic relationship. He could go off with his mistresses, and she, would merely want to be left alone. It was exhausting to know that within two weeks time, her hand would be offered to him and he'd take it. Why couldn't she have had a sister..? Someone else who could take the fall for the ignorance of both of these families. Unamused and disgusted, she finally tore her eyes away from Zlatan, and gazed down towards the ornate bowl in front of her. Her glass was settled beside it, and she made no move to take the spoon nearby, her appetite completely dismissed.

Her mother caressed the underside of her wrist again, a touch that was soothing, but did very little to sate the flame of hatred which boiled in her gut. She wanted nothing to do with any of them, frankly. They had betrayed her in means of casting her off to a lycan who was as treacherous as they came. To think, they were going to be in the same room with one another.. alone? If they didn't end up killing each other within the first month of being married, she would be admittedly impressed. Her patience was already worn thin, and she highly doubted this one would keep at a safe distance. Everyone would be attempting to make this work, even if it was in the form of lies and betrayal. Was it so uncommon, that she had actually wanted to be with someone who wanted to be with her, too? It wasn't, but alas.. it was not her fate.

"I want to be excused," Venessa said towards the woman at her left, her mother merely giving a sigh. It was best to let her be for a while, it seemed, before she was unable to keep to her poise and grace. "Be quick," the woman urged, and the girl immediately stood. Without a bit of acknowledgment towards those surrounding the table, she made her way to the nearest exit. Her gown, which reached past her ankles and flowed behind her in a short trail, was dragged against the stone floor as she went. Slipping between the creaking doors, which were opened by those standing guard, she made her way down the dank hallway, determined to get some fresh air. Her head felt woozy and light, a horrible headache beginning to pulse through her temples and plague her behind the eyes. She didn't know how long she'd be able to last like this.

As soon as she had looked down, Zlatan felt a moment of triumph sear from within his body. She had looked so confident before, and now she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. Zlatan drained his cup immediately, not even giving a moment to ponder why she had suddenly looked down, only giving credit to himself and not the fact that vampires had acute hearing, or her own inner struggle that had caused her sadness.

So full was he with his success, that he did not notice her leaving, until her back was turned, her gown trailing after her. Zlatan's mother, however, had. She reached across the table, placing a hand on his wrist. "Go speak with her."

Zlatan's hand reeled back with the audacity of the suggestion. His eyes stared at his mother in disbelief. "What shall I say to her mother?" he asked, heatedly. Conversation had began at the table, everyone now seemed to be discussing privately with each other, mostly each faction to each other. His voice for the most part, went in with the low murmur, going unnoticed except to those at the head of the table near Zlatan and his father. "'Hello miss, I used to kill your own kind but now I'm really glad we're getting married.'" Zlatan laughed openly at the suggestion, anyone just looking on might think that he was actually having a good time.

Zlatan's mother gave up as she looked away, ignoring him. His father, however, had not. "Go speak with her," he said sternly. Zlatan's eyes widened further with more disbelief. So they truly were against him. It had been his father, after all, who said he would slay him with his own hand and have his younger brother do the task if he could not 'man up and do it himself'. He was on his own now, truly. Never being one to openly disobey his father, Zlatan scooted his chair back, and stood up, following the shadow of his wife to be, as it cast against the wall of the hallway, poorly lit by candles. There, he followed her, uncertain of what to say. Perhaps he should just pretend to talk to her, but secretly venture out elsewhere, perhaps find some servant of the castle who would happily give in to the temptation of the flesh he sought so desperately.

He noticed she took a turn towards the moonlight, a balcony that was exposed to the night air. He stepped closer, standing at the door frame. His arms folded, realizing this had been a folly to speak to her. He did not want to talk to her, and she did not want to talk to him. "They wanted me to speak to you," he said, finally. "I'm not sure why. They should know better than to give me a chance to be alone with you. If there were no consequences for me regarding your personal safety," he said, stepping a few paces behind her. "I would happily push you right over these castle walls to your death."

Relief washed over her the moment she had stepped out onto the balcony, deeply breathing in the cool, midnight air. It was just what she needed, Venessa's nerves seeming to settle down considerably. The entire mood of that room had been suffocating, and while she could withstand it if she had to, she chose against it. It was better to dismiss herself, rather than sit there and reach the end of her perseverance, to cause her to do something that would ultimately put her kind at stake. There was only so much she could endure in one evening, and while it had just begun.. she would cherish these two weeks for all that they were worth.

They were going to be her last days of being free, after all.

Settling dainty hands against the carved railing before her, the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand up.. feeling his overbearing presence before he even spoke up. His words only forced her pale eyes to roll in mocked amusement, knowing all too well that it was because of his parents, that he was even out here to begin with. Really, what did they care.. this was all a travesty waiting to happen. Foolish they were, to let him accompany her, alone. That was something he said, that she could actually agree with... however. "Adorable," Venessa cooed, her voice rich. "You actually think it would be that easy to kill me...?" She turned her head then, casting her sharp gaze towards him from over her shoulder, "Don't be so ignorant, it isn't very becoming of you." In a fluid motion, she turned on the heels of her shoes, facing him now.

"Is it true you will have many mistresses," she asked softly, looking genuinely interested. Though she didn't want to marry him, the last thing Venessa wanted to deal with, was an abundance of women having their way with her husband, right beneath her nose. It was only adding salt to the wound.. and while she knew he did not desire to touch her, she would much prefer if he tried to keep himself and his conquests.. far away. Naturally, she was a very possessive woman, one who did not take light to others touching what belonged to her. As she, would be his possession, he would be hers too. It was best if he knew how she felt, before it began.

"I think it would be incredibly easy to kill you," he said flatly, unamused. "I have slain numerous amounts of your own kind, the best warriors you had to offer. Do you even know who I am?" Maybe he was exaggerating, but his prowess on the battle field was renowned. "I am the sun that haunts the night," he murmured, stepping closer. He was a hulking figure, his exact height was not known, but he appeared nearly half a foot over six feet. His shoulders, seemed even broader than before, now that he towered over her. She seemed so dainty and small compared to him, it seemed like another half of her was needed to match his width. "What makes you think that you would even stand a chance?" A hand waved in the air dismissively at her, like she was some sort of insect.

"It is just a pity, that your house, finally realizes there is no way to best me. You can send all the warriors you will like, and I will send back their heads. You have finally opted to send a female to tame me," he spat, heavy emphasis on the word female, a look of distaste forming on his lips at the word, as if being of that particular sex was even worse than being human. "Let me tell you right now. You will not tame me. You will never tame me. It will not work." He was directly in front of her now, his arms crossing over his chest, and staring down at her.

So she had heard him, or perhaps she merely knew his reputation. "I haven't decided." He never even had a chance, being locked up in his home all day. He felt like a bird trapped in a cage, and even if he had could escape, his wings would not be able to function. A great weight was set on him. "What does it even matter to you? You'll be lucky if I even touch you once." The only touching he was tempted to do right now, was to slam his hand across her face in a slap to put her in her place.

"You are just lucky I have a younger brother." Zlatan had thought about running, escaping, living his life as he pleased. He could if he really wanted to. "There are others who are just as displeased about this as we are. I could seek refugee with them, after I tear your throat out. I could run, and never look back. If only I did not have a younger brother." He pulled away from her, leaning against the railing to look out in the forest. "I would rather die than see that scum take my place."

With each step he took, Venessa looked even less than threatened than before. She was obviously not taken by his size, as she had been around others far greater in mass, than she. Of course he managed to outweigh them all, but what she was most frightened of.. was intellect. Not how hard one could hit, or how long the edge of their sword was.. even the ability to crush skulls with one's very hands, did not sway her. This woman, she took a liking to the most fragile organ in the body. The brain. The center nervous system in all vertebrae and invertebrate species. If she could control that, then there was no need for impeccable muscles.

His question made her lips purse tightly, the answer obviously one she was not too proud of, "I am to be the mother of your child, Zlatan. As I do not have a sibling to take my place, I'm the only one befitting of this role.. they claim. I believe that has a lot to do with why I am still standing before you, breathing." It was treacherous, to know that their first child would be created from hate. She had always wanted to be a mother, and while it seemed impossible for her kind to mate, it was not. Technology had come a long way.. and she'd be able to carry a child for about four months in total. He or she would grow strong, very quickly, and while Venessa was admittedly excited about seeing what her baby would look like.. the act that would lead them to that point, was something that made her want to rot. She did not love him, and never would.

A roll of her eyes and she sighed, the sound dramatic. "Oh goddess," she began, "You sound so full of yourself. This has nothing to do with besting you. It will never be about that, please.. understand this, fool. We're only becoming allies because the humans have successfully dwindled down both of our numbers. They're now the enemies we have to put our efforts into defeating, not each other. I know it goes against everything we have been taught thus far, and I'm not sure if it'll even work but.. for the sake of our families, we have to hope." At least they had one thing in common; their hatred for those flesh bags.

Her eyes were firm in their hold upon his own, chin tipped and head bowed back to be able to meet his gaze, "I do not want my child to see his father laying with other women. I know you do not want to touch me, and take comfort in knowing the feeling is mutual.. but, when our baby is born.. please, try to keep your personal endeavors behind closed doors. It's for the sake of giving our offspring the ability of actually being in a happy marriage, alright?" The last thing she wanted to see was her own son or daughter tromping about carelessly, and enraging their beloved. It was sick. Marriage was sacred, and it was meant for two beings to be with one another, and only one another. Venessa was not given the luxury of having that, and she already knew she would have to deal with the fact that her husband would be quick to find release and comfort in those who were not her. If she had any authority in this matter, it was to be directed towards the safety of their child, and to keeping Zlatan's soiled morals far away from the babe's line of sight, and hearing.

"Do not speak of luck so casually," she muttered, watching as he turned to lean against the railing behind her. "We both are not lucky in any sense of the word, you should know that by now. We're forced to go through with this because we're our parents' children.. and it's so fucking annoying," Venessa grumbled, the single word of profanity slipping out, and catching up on her usual demeanor of being a proper lady. Rubbing at her neck, she groaned, seeming so utterly exhausted. "Why do you hate your brother," she asked softly, turning to lean as he was, her attention drifting up towards the sky, particularly the moon. "I can only assume the pressures of being the eldest are the same as being an only child.. but, for me, I do not have the ability of passing on my responsibilities. I cannot fail, it's an option they made impossible for me to have."

Zlatan listened to her lecture, more or less, but when she called him a fool, he did not respond to it well. One eye flashed at her in anger, part of his face exposed to her, and it snarled opening it at her, his nose scrunching up as his teeth bared at her. "The only reason there is an alliance at all between our two houses, is because you cannot defeat my might. You have given up." His head turned, and spat down the balcony. Zlatan knew full well the reason of the alliance. He did not want to believe it, he could not. It was against everything he had lived for, and what his comrades had died for. Accepting this would be pissing on their graves, as well as his ancestors. It was better to lie to himself, and appear smug about it all. "Fool," he added, childishly, trying to get the upper hand.

Her concern over their child was laughable. It showed her weakness as a woman. It was better to leave a child to fend for themselves, they would grow stronger that way. And if they failed, they were weak, and it was never meant to be. He laughed openly in her face. "Oh, believe me, woman," he said, leaning against the railing with his side touching against his, his arms folding. "I won't want anything to do with your silly child. My perfect genes ruined by a blood sucking leech.. do you really think I am going to stick around to watch over him? To see what a perfect could have been like, only to be tainted with the blackness of your soul. I will do my duty for my people. You do yours, and do not trouble me with your concern over a child. If he is anything like his father, such trivial things will make little to no difference to him. If he is anything like you... well... I don't blame him for wanting to clutch his mother's skirts."

It propped the question of whether the child would even be a boy. Zlatan, in his pride and arrogance, only assumed that his first born would be a male. A female would not come from his loins until a son had been produced, and he would not touch this woman after he had done his duty.

The subject of his brother prompted a sigh. He looked away again, off at the far distance, his elbows and forearms supporting his weight as he leaned forward, his body hulking over the edge of the wall. "He is everything I am not," he said, speaking more to himself, than to her. "A fool, a coward, weak. He only relies on his cunning to get what he wants. There is not an ounce of man within his soul. He should have been born a woman." Zlatan's loyalty to his house was great. It would be a great disservice to his whole lineage and family if someone like his brother was the heir, and not himself. If Zlatan did not do what his father required of him, he would be disowned, and possibly killed, even if his brother was incompetent. Of course he could always try to wrestle ownership of the family from his father, but that would mean leaving in exile, and ripping his family to pieces. He did not have the stomach for even that. "The pressure is worse, to know that you have some stupid fuck up to follow your act if you fail. At least you have nothing."

He knew of her reputation, she was her people's prized gem. She was regarded very highly like a princess. It was much like himself, his own people had affectionately nick named him the golden prince, while his enemies called him the golden dog, which he did not like nearly as much. Those who truly feared, and respected him, associated him with the Sun rising in the night. It went along with his house's words of, "The Night is Ours." It was a direct slap in the face to the vampire race, and their long ancient history of each other stemmed from controlling the night.

So he thought her to be weak.. that was not surprising. Venessa knew very well she was strong in many means of the word, and though her fiance did not see it, or would never attempt to.. his praise was not needed. The young woman had fought tooth and nail to get where she was now, and while the reaping of her rewards was everything she did not desire, it truly showed how much she had accomplished. Ever since birth, she was forced to endure the heady weight of training. Be it through political inquiries, or the rib cracking practice of having her corset tightened. She had done it all with the natural fluidity and elegance of her kind.

Her sadness stemmed greatly from the fact that while she looked towards the future, she was given the image of a very bleak, miserable existence. She had dreamt of a marrying someone whom she simply could not live without, and while her parents hadn't given her the chance to find another.. she certainly didn't think they'd force her hand to a lycan. Someone, who wanted her dead on instinct. The only joy that could come of this was their child, and knowing that he or she would ultimately be without a father.. it killed her. To know that it would be her own fault, in being what she was, that this newborn babe would be the receiver of Zlatan's fury.

Her grip upon the railing in front of her tightened as she listened to his words, throat growing dry as her slender brows furrowed in frustration. There was so much she wanted to tell him, but his skull was so thick, he was so numbed by his own ego, that none of it would penetrate and actually make sense to him. It was useless.. and Venessa could feel herself growing weak, just thinking about the coming days of being married. It was a pity, too, that her brother was not the one she was to marry. If Zlatan hated him, then she figured they would get along just smashingly. One who used his cunning as a weapon? They already had more in common than she did with her own future husband. A very sad, pitiful realization.. and one that was quick to shove salt into the opened wound. She was doomed to be repressed for the rest of her life, it seemed.

Turning her eyes towards the side, she took in the other's profile, realizing then that.. goodness, what did she expect? For this dog to actually use his common sense? He was all brawn.. and he fought with everything but intelligence. They were on two very different ends of the spectrum, separated violently by the lore of their own, and their stubbornness. They were angered.. and who else to appoint it to, but towards each other?

Stepping back from the edge of the balcony then, she turned sharply upon her heels and drew in a breath, a sigh heard moments later. "We shall give them an heir.. and be done with each other," Venessa stated coolly before taking her leave, the sharp click of her shoes resounding against the stone walls of the hallways. If that was all they wanted from this arrangement, then so be it. She would give it to them.

Zlatan was lost in his own thoughts as she responded. A child. He wondered what it would mean, what it would bring to the world, if anything. There were prophesies of such a child being able to unite the world. Zlatan had always passed them off as the tales of old women. His father had once told him that having a child was the greatest joy that this earth could bring, but Zlatan had his doubts. Wrapping his hands around Venessa's throat and squeezing the life out of her would be far more appealing, as far as he was concerned.

His head tilted as he watched her march off. "We shall," he murmured, watching the woman's slender figure in her dress. She was far unlike a lycan woman, who were broad of hip and shoulder to give birth to large children. She was different, petite, elegant... fragile. Zlatan had no idea how she had made it this far in life without having her body snapped into two. A woman of her size, he thought, would doubtfully be able to handle him, let alone provide him with his heir. She had probably been sheltered her whole life, or so he thought. Her feet clicked loudly down the hall way, until the noise was no longer heard.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Zlatan returned to the dining hall after staying on the balcony by himself. There was some last minute negotiations taking place that Zlatan did not bother to listen to. It was all hog wash to him, and the only negotiations he wanted to make were with blood. He finished his food, not bothering to look up to see if Venessa was at the table- he had decided to ignore her entirely until he absolutely must need to speak to her, which was, as far as he knew, never. You didn't need to speak to a woman to produce a child with them. The table wasn't as full with people, nor as much food as before. No one even seemed to notice his return.

He retired early. One more night in this castle, and he would be gone. Until two weeks, then he had to marry the foul creature in the main hall, or outside, depending on the weather. The two weeks were not much to look forward to either, he would not be able to keep up with his usual antics. His father had a whole group of men with him at all times, keeping him in check if he did not behave himself. It comprised of mostly his uncles, and cousins. The worst part of it was that his brother occasionally tagged along. His brother would taunt him in the way that only he knew how, making it seem like innocent questions to the rest, when Zlatan felt like it was a knife stabbing him in the guy. He found himself half tempted to sneak out, to see what mischief he could come up with as he laid in his bed. Overall, his feeling was one of defeat, and he ended up sleeping far earlier than he should, in hopes he could find solace in his sleep from this nightmare.

A sharp tug and snap, the fashion repeated as she sat in the high-back chair, gazing towards herself in the full-length mirror before her. The woman that was insistently smoothing out her hair, was one of the many servants well-trained in the arts of readying a bride. They had done this countless times before, for centuries. Venessa had always assumed since she was a child, that this day would be a very happy one. Yet, it felt as if she were in mourning, rather than enlightenment. She was signing off her rights at being her people's beloved sovereign. To know.. that her two weeks was finally up, and now here she sat, watching as her long hair was pushed up into a braided bun, curls framing her delicate face and teasing at the sharp lines of her jaw. It was all a waste, she thought, listening to her mother chattering about this and that behind her.

"You look beautiful."

Venessa merely nodded, trying to avoid the elder's gaze, but soon enough her mother leaned over her shoulder as the servant went off to retrieve a few bobby-pins, and grasped her chin. Forcing her child to look at her, she spoke firmly, "You are to give this mutt an heir, do you hear me? It is all up to you, to make this work Venessa. Do not make a mistake, and lose your temper. This is your fate, you are to be his forever.. and with this alliance, we shall finally be able to take down our common foes. We have reached our limits, and only you.. can save us." Her attention was infinite, admiring the way her daughter's eyes shone nothing but sadness, icy hues tearing up.. and threatening to ruin the smoky powder that aligned them sensually. "You will be fine, my darling.. you are a very strong woman, and you will give both of our families a gorgeous, healthy baby.."

The dress was tight, horribly so. She was forced to breathe in a quick, frantic rhythm to keep herself conscious, the thin material of ivory silken lace coating her like a second skin. Much like the gown she had worn weeks prior, the neckline was plunging, exposing the alabaster swells of her breasts. Yet, it did nothing to take away the glory that was the back of this masterpiece. Completely bare, and reaching to a point just above her plump bottom, it revealed the tattooed insignia of her race. Decorated vibrantly in sharp, thick lines of black, swirling and accentuating the arch of her spine, it contrasted strikingly against her pale, fair flesh.

Venessa was certainly a sight to see, lips painted a plush hue of ruby, and a gentle sweeping of pink tickling at the apex of her cheekbones. Her veil was long, trailing back with her dress, which flowed behind her a good few feet or so. She looked everything she should for the part she was about to play, the praised daughter of her father, the head of the most powerful House. It was a pity, though, that her beauty could not reach skin deep and brighten her mood. As she stood at the end of the aisle, the haunting, romantic notes of the piano playing afar, she couldn't take her eyes off of the ground. It was not due to the height of her heels, or the inability to move about freely.. but rather, she avoided looking at him. She did not want to believe that Zlatan was waiting for her, a man that wanted nothing more than the entire extinction of her species.

She knew she would not be met with a smile, but rather, a snarl. A glare of pure and unadulterated hate. She could feel the stares on her, forcing her nerves to prick with annoyance as her father walked her closer and closer to her unavoidable defeat. The smooth, luxurious curves of her hips swayed all the while, delicate fingers lightly clenching as her bosom rose and fell quickly. She felt frightened, wanting nothing more than to turn and run.. flee from this horrible mistake. Yet, she had made it, standing a foot from the other who loomed over her, it was only then that she raised her chin up and met his eyes. Long lashes fluttered and her father let go of her, forcing her to raise her hand, waiting for it to be taken by her fiance. Venessa couldn't stop staring at him, a chilled sense of nausea taking hold of her innards. Why, why did this have to happen to her...

"I don't care if you don't want to do it. I don't care if you hate her! You will do what is needed. You will do what is required for our house, and the good of our people. The sooner you ensure her pregnancy, the sooner you can frolic and dance around with your other sluts," his father spat, lecturing Zlatan in his room, after Zlatan had told him he did not want to go along with this. "Do you want your brother to do what you cannot? If you can't rise to the occasion and fill that woman up with your seed, I will be more than happy to let your brother do it. I'm sure he'll have no problem." It was a one sided conversation, as it always was with his father. It had started out with Zlatan protesting, refusing to do it, an exchange of shouts and snarls, until it became one sided. He ended up staring at his feet, listening, the anger boiling up. "Are you going to do it?"

Zlatan mumbled that he would, and the rest was a blur. He did not even remember being in control of his body. He just went through the motions, and found himself standing with two priests, one for each race, at the top of a stair case in the main hall of the castle.

This was a more publicized event than the private dinner. The castle hall was filled with guests, of both races, of various house holds, all able to look up at the top of the staircase, even if they were in the far back of the room. "Don't you dare fucking make a scene out there. I will cut your fucking balls off," Zlatan's father had said to him as he yanked his arm down the hall way. The words echoed in his head. The least thing he could do was to hold his head up high, which he did.

Zlatan, despite his sour mood, was living up to his name of being the golden prince of his people. He stood like a giant next to the two priests. His outfit was similar to what he had worn at the dinner, except it was white. The buttons running down the front of it had the sigil of his house upon it, black shapes of a wolf howling with a crescent moon surrounding it. The same logo was imprinted on his right breast, once again in black. His robe fell to his ankles, where his feet could be seen in heavy black polished boots, black pants seen just above them. His chest pressed out with pride, his large hands staying motionless at his sides, refusing to show any sign of weakness as his hard eyes surveyed the crowd. His back was rigid. It almost looked like this was some military ceremony, rather than a wedding, if one were to look at him exclusively.

Then she came. He watched her. The crowd grew deathly silent. He did not snarl, nor smile. His eyes merely followed every motion of her body with a hard stare that most men would not be able to meet. His face was cold, emotionless, without expression, his lips tightly sealed. All he had to do was fuck her once, and that would be enough. He was more than sexually capable of giving her a child. The sooner it was over, the better. At least he took satisfaction in seeing Venessa unable to meet his eyes or even look around, until she found herself across from him.

It was only because of his father's threats that Zlatan took her small hands in his own. His were warm and large, calloused from use and age, textured compared to her own soft ones. Hers felt very cold... was that because of her vampire blood or because of how much she detested him? His eyes met hers without faltering. The hate that was expressed in them was undeniable, and he squeezed her hands suddenly, a painful grip that no one would notice as she felt the pressure crack down into her bones and joints. It was not enough to break her hands, but enough to get his point across of how much he hated her, if his eyes could not do the task alone. Next to them, the priests began to take turns, reciting lines from the ancient marriage ceremony. Zlatan did not hear them, only focused on her, trying to listen to her breathing as the priests monotone voices was like background music.

The sudden grip upon her hands startled her, the pain that shot through her bones immediately making a small whimper bubble up in her throat. She quickly swallowed it down, however, not giving him the pleasure of hearing such a vulnerable sound. All she did was simply stand there.. her eyes having fallen to the side, where she gazed towards the polished marble flooring before them. Her own fingers were wrapped tightly about his, a noticeable quiver beginning, which flowed through her entire frame. Even her bottom lip was trembling now, each word the priests recited, digging deep into her hallowed chest. It was ghastly, to have all of those eyes upon her.. the attention overwhelming and making her weak in the knees with shame. The silence around them, say for the ancient words of ceremony was deafening, Venessa lost in her own thoughts of peril.

She only needed to have a son.. that was all.. it was simple.

After a moment, she felt something brush her arm, the priest of her people, giving her a tender smile. "Venessa," he began, raising up a silver goblet. "Within this chalice, is the liquid that shall grant you the ability to bear and birth a child. Drink greedily.. for this honor is not given to many.." The elder held out the ornate cup and she gingerly took it when Zlatan released her, gazing down towards the thick, potent drink. This would make her body become alive, have her ovulating and womb becoming warm.. safe, and secure for a fetus to grow in. Not only that, but it would make her helplessly aroused, the instinct to mate and have her insides flooded with seed would be intense. Something akin to an animal in heat, her scent and flavor would be sweetened beyond anything her husband to be would ever know. Her flesh would become heated, flushed and sensitive to any touch, liable to cause the most instant of reactions. They would both be drowning in the gift that was this intricate and special toxin, the key to what their families wanted. Thus... she drank, gulping it down in succession.

Taking in a sharp breath after she had tasted the last drop, her attention was casted up towards the one standing before her whilst she panted, feeling her mind grow a bit fuzzy at the edges. "You will be ready by this eve," the priest claimed.. and Venessa knew there was absolutely no turning back now. It had been done. The first step towards their lives together, with rings being exchanged and precious words recited, despite their seething.. their destinies were intertwined, and she was now his wife. All she could do was just.. look at him, as if he were merely an illusion and this, was all just a nightmare. Had she truly just married a.. lycan?

Gradually Zlatan's hands lessened their pressure on her. There was no point, he could not truly harm her. He would give her this child, and that would be that. It would forever be etched in his memory as a bad one, and whatever struggles they had against the humans now, they could do it without him. They had lost his trust. The hard gaze upon her was permanent, however, almost taunting her to do something, to slap him, give him any reason to put her in her place, in front of all of those in attendance.

The ceremony did not require a kiss, only the drinking of liquids from a decorative chalice. Zlatan was thankful for that much at least. He had a few married friends, who had told him that the liquid made you ridiculously horny, but Zlatan refused to believe it. Nothing in the world would make him aroused near this woman, this bat thing. Most newly weds, he figured, were already aroused enough. The liquid just made you think you were. Once Venessa had taken her share, one of the priests extended another goblet towards Zlatan. Zlatan held it with both hands, lifted it up to his mouth, and drank. He had planned not to drink much of it, to show some sense of defiance... but it tasted so damn good to him. He drank greedily, gulp after gulp, raising it higher and higher to get every last drop. Some of it spilled onto his lip, and when he had finished and handed it back, his tongue flicked out, and licked the remainder of it from his lip.

And that was that. Soon they would be ushered out, to a car, to be driven off somewhere to have their honeymoon to make sure they completely their duty. Zlatan waited, listening to the priests, they were blabbering on about some non-sense of how special and sacred it was. Zlatan slipped a ring onto her finger when prompted. It was one made of silver, with a small diamond on the top that glittered like a star. It would be over any moment now. Zlatan blinked. Had he just heard right? One of the priests just mentioned with a kiss, they would be husband and wife.

No no no.. he was not going to do this. Zlatan almost laughed, before he looked up. A few paces behind Venessa, was his father. A glare pierced his soul, and Zlatan knew what he must do. He stepped forward, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek. His eyes closed as he leaned in, his lips pressing against her own. It was surprisingly soft at first, mainly because Zlatan wanted minimal contact with her. His hand had been clasped at her cheek that faced the audience, so they could not examine the kiss more thoroughly. Another moment passed and Zlatan's lips parted, kissing at her lower lip a few times, before he reeled back, in horror, blinking at her. Why had he done that?

He did not remember much after that. There was cheering. Hands guided them down the stairs, out of the castle, towards a limo. Venessa got inside, and Zlatan followed. All he could think about was why he had even kissed her like that. He had intended to bite her lip, to make it bleed, to let her know she was not going to have a good time tonight, but at the contact of her skin, he had realized how soft she was, and how she tasted so well. Perhaps the drink he had stuffed down his throat actually had some effect on his body, because he found himself wanting to kiss her more. He hated himself for it, but it was undeniable. His body was growing warm as he sat next to her, staring at her, trying to maintain his distance.

What in the world.. had happened?

All she could remember was the gentle press of his mouth to her own, something she had never anticipated. She had believed he would simply bite off her tongue, if she dared kiss him, but alas.. he had initiated quite the affectionate gesture. It had Venessa completely speechless throughout the ceremony, as shocked as he. Zlatan was.. was he actually effected by what he had drank? Somehow the woman had believed he would be fine, as if immune to the poignant dosage. However, they were both helplessly caught under the heady reaction to it, proof written all across her person as she sat there, pressed firmly into the leather upholstery of the car.

Venessa's chest was heaving, lips parted and a distinct pant flowing out from between plush petals. Her complexion flush, and her temperature was rising dangerously, a light sheen of sweat having began to prickle across her exposed skin. Droplets of saltiness trickled down from the curvature of her neck, and traced themselves into the plump cleavage which was shamelessly exposed in her gown. Her veil had been tugged off of her head, and lay at her side now, right hand clenching painfully into the delicate material. That damned priest had done something to her.. unaware that the sacred drink would be even more potent, considering she was a virgin.

Pure, and unscathed.. she was feeling things that were only natural, and yet heightened to insurmountable amounts.

"Zlatan," she called out, voice weak and husked with blatant arousal. Her head turned then, the motion lazy.. as if there was a weight settling down upon her. Her lashes were drooping and her eyes were heavily lidded, the pink upon her cheeks growing bright, "Have they poisoned us..?" The question was adorable, considering it was the last thing that would have been done, but Venessa was truly concerned. It was as if she were burning up, a violent thrum beginning to pulse through her and make its way down between her thighs, where she throbbed to the point of discomfort. Gasping out as a particular tingle extracted itself through her lower body in full, she let go of her veil and grasped at his hand, desperate. "Please," she began in a whisper, "What in the world is wrong with me...? I feel.. I feel like I'm going to melt or something.. I can't explain it."

The limo began to drive. Zlatan had no idea where they were going, not that it mattered. Some isolated place to ensure privacy. All he could think about was the kiss. Why had that even been apart of the ceremony? His mother had ensured him there would not be one, and amongst his own people, a kiss was seldom seen in a wedding. So why had it been there... and why had he liked it more than he ever should have?

He was brought back to reality at the call of his wife, who soon clutched at his hand. He looked at her blankly, trying to ignore the affects that the liquid had on himself. His body felt warm, particularly between his thighs, where he could feel his manhood starting to stiffen, pressing against the constraints of his underwear. Soon it would be at its full peak, if this continued. "I feel fine," he said, gruffly, lying, snatching his hand away from her. "You feel it because you are weak. It has no effect on me." Zlatan left it at that. If he lied to her, he could lie to his body. It wasn't working.

It didn't stop his body from wanting to grab the nearest female, and mate with her. The limo was fancy, there was a large amount of floor space, with another set of unoccupied seats across from them. The window that looked into the front seat, was totally black, unable to see through it.

Zlatan regretted drinking so much of it. His cock was stiffening and rising at an alarming pace. She would see the bulge soon. He lifted his thigh up to conceal it, stuffing a hand in his pocket to grab himself, to hold it down, to suppress it. He remained quiet, silent, brooding. She wouldn't be able to see through his guise, or so he thought.

Quietly, he unbuckled himself, just to get more comfortable. Suddenly, his body lurched out, going close to her, a hand gripping her wrist. He pulled and yanked on it, soon tossing her to the floor of the limo. Thankfully, she hadn't put on her seat belt, making it all that easier. Before she could even react, his form was on top of her own. She laid sideways on the floor from the toss, and she soon found Zlatan's crotch, recklessly thumping into her rear, her knees and legs raised up to give him the chance to plow at the soft cushion of her ass and the back of her thighs to relieve himself. His hand found her cheek, holding it on the floor to not allow her to gaze at him. However much he bucked at her, he could not find relief, his large cock straining against his robe to get at her.

He paused, reeling up, a hand still on her face to keep her down, using his other hand to rip open his robe.

The woman looked frustrated, obviously not pleased with his answer.. but truly, what did she expect? He probably found pleasure in knowing she was like this, uncomfortable and unsure of what was happening to her body. Venessa pulled her hand back to her after he had snatched his own away, fingers nimbly curling into her gown as her head tipped off to the side, eyes gazing out the window. Perhaps it would go away.. she just.. she needed to relax. To not let it consume her so much.. this was all just simply in her head, she was allowing it to get the best of her. She was going to be fine, they wouldn't have given her that drink otherwise.

Unaware of the tribulations her husband was going through at the moment, it was only until she felt him snatch at her wrist, did she look back to him. What happened next was sudden, a choked yelp escaping the woman as she was flung to the floor. Breathing heavily, she gazed over towards the other before she found her cheek pressed to the carpet below, enabling her to look nowhere but forward. "What are you doing," she exclaimed, crying out in a mixture of pleasure and alarm, whilst he shamelessly began to rut against her bottom. Their clothes successfully kept them both from becoming relieved, but something told her.. no matter how many times they fucked each other, it just wouldn't be enough. Her hunger for him was insatiable, practically thirsting to the point of madness. Venessa could no longer deny this, she wanted him.. so, so fucking badly.

Stationary, Venessa could feel him pull away, and the sound of material ripping met her ears. Goddess, he was going to shred away their wedding garbs, wasn't he? A part of her was frightened by the sudden turn of events, but to feel the power behind his motions.. pure animalistic rage, the desperation to get what he wanted.. it made her so undoubtedly wet. She was practically soaked between her thighs by now, her scent sweet and eager to tickle at his senses, coaxing him to where she needed him the most. It was as if she were made for him, everything about her practically calling forth to him, urging him to claim her for his own.

"Just.." he grunted, his back arching, his hips thudding forward against her, her slender body being pushed and pulled against the carpet of the limo. "Just shut the fuck up," he managed to growl at her, between grunts. When he realized that this dry humping alone would no satisfy him, he stopped, letting go of her face. His robe was open, she could look up at see that he was shirtless beneath it. Large, powerful pectorals that heaved up and down with heavy breathes, so large her small hand would barely be a comparison to them if she touched them there. There was a sparse amount of light colored hair scattering upon his chest. The hair trailed down to his stomach in a single line, leading to the waistband of his black pants. On either side of his happy trail, intimidating muscles pressed out from his stomach, firm, defined lines separating each muscle from the next. On the right side of body, on his rib cage, there was the symbol of his house, tattooed upon his body. It seemed even more scary combined with the man's impressive physique and muscles, the black wolf howling into the night air.

There was the problem of her dress. It was too long. Zlatan expressed his frustration with it as he looked down at her helpless body, one hand undoing the loop on his belt. "If they wanted me to fuck you like a god damn animal, why'd they put you in a dress like you're some princess?" he snarled at her, as if this was her fault. With that, his hands grabbed the silk, ivory dress, a little down past her ass, and tore at it. The screeching of the fabric tearing apart filled the limo. Now her dress was significantly less, the ends of the back of barely covering her rear. It looked scandalous now, considering that her back was exposed to display the tattoo upon her back. "They should have dressed you up like the whore you are!" His hand lifted up the small remaining cloth that covered her, lifting it over her rear.

When he finally pulled his hand off of her face, she turned, looking up towards him in curiosity. The sight she saw was immaculate, greedily dragging her icy hues up and down his frame, admiring what was exposed to her. Venessa had figured he was very well built.. but to see what had been hidden beneath that robe all along, it made her dainty toes curl in anticipation. Nudging off her heels, she kicked them away with little to no thought, eager to be in nothing more than the flesh that covered her. Everything felt too constricting, from her gown.. that was soon ripped in half down the back, to the lingerie which dwelled beneath.

Sheer stockings that met at mid-thigh covered her lithe, beautiful legs.. being held in place by a garter belt. Hemmed with lace, it was firmly secured about her slender, curved waist.. the sight of her panties, which did little to hide the bare, plump cheeks of her ass, was quickly given to him. His claim of her being a whore made her giggle, looking absolutely tickled pink. He had a mouth on him, didn't he? Venessa squirmed about, tugging at the sleeves of her wedding dress, pulling and tearing at them until she was freed. Given the little bit that was still intact, it was more than easy for her to shred apart the remainder with a quick flick of her wrist, showcasing the strength she naturally had. Nothing but a pile of rich, expensive material now, she purred, shifting onto her hands and knees and pushing her rear-end up into the air, tempting him with it.

It felt so good to be this slutty, a vision of sensuous lingerie before him, matching from head to toe with her ivory bra, panties and stockings. A few adjustments, and her long hair was let down too, weaving free from the braid it had been placed in. Shaking free the thick, dark tendrils, she tossed her head back and looked to him from over her shoulder, a devious glint in her blue eyes. "Is this more befitting of me, husband," she crooned, swaying her lower body tauntingly at him. If he wanted her to dress like a whore, then he was given just that. On the floor of the limo, which was taking them to quite the secluded location for their honeymoon.

What the hell was she giggling at? She was infuriating him at this point, like this was some sort of game. His hand reached down to stop her from moving, thinking she was going to pull away. He was too slowly, mainly because he found himself savoring the sight of her ass. It gave her the time to undress, and when he realized what she was doing, he just stopped.. and stared. Seeing her so scantily clad, the way she flicked her hair back before looking at him, all the while tempting him while moving her pert rear from side to side, begging for him to claim her, made him forget that she was a vampire in the first place.

The effect she had on him was obvious, the way he swallowed as he stared at her, the way his eyes followed the motions of her ass, as if being hypnotized by it. It was a good while before he even reacted, it was almost amusing to see the large man so easily at a loss for words.

Unlike her, he was not so witty with words. "Come the fuck over here, bitch," he said, snarling at her. Angry at her for being so ridiculously easy on the eye, and being a vampire. It was her fault for all of this, she probably told her mother to make them drink such a liquid, to worried about her own looks to get him to sleep with her, so she needed something else to assist her seduce him. Looking at her, however, Zlatan did not think she needed anything but to remove her clothes to make him lust for her. His words were a command, but she did not have to move as his hands dragged her back by grabbing her hips. Her panties were peeled down after he had positioned her to his liking, exposing her. Soon after, his zipper was pulled down, and his hand reached down within his pants, pulling out his erection while using his wrist to push down his boxers. She could not see it from her angle, save for the head as he grasped his size, and flicked it against her ass. She could feel the heat radiating from it, and its large, thick size as it touched her bare skin. He was too impatient to properly undress himself, his robe still half way on to cover his arms, his pants slung down past his ass as well as his boxers. "Take off your bra," he whispered, his hand still gripping himself as he angled it downwards, letting the tip brush between the cheeks of her ass, swiping through them briefly, before his cock went lower, starting to tease her entrance by rubbing the head up and down her slit, taking his dear sweet time.

It would be difficult for her to take off her bra, either doing it while supporting herself with one hand, or lowering herself entirely to use both of her hands whilst on the floor.

The instant her panties were rolled down over her supple ass, to settle themselves at her thighs, she moaned. The cool air which naturally filtered through the limo teased at her slit, which was bare and smooth. A trimmed, soft patch of dark curls was settled at the apex of her sex, which by now.. was puffy and flushed with arousal. Venessa did not care if he was angry at her, blamed her.. suspected her of playing foul to make him this way. In due time, he would realize that she'd be the sole source of bringing him profound pleasure. She was determined to get what she wanted, her body burning with the desire to finally be filled up, and used.

He wanted her bra off, and she delivered, reaching back without hesitation. One hand kept herself upright, muscles taut as she expertly flicked the clasp undone, and let the straps of the article fall free. Tossing it off to the side, she reveled in the heavy, hot pressure of his cock against her fully now. It was marvelous, the teasing he put her through, dragging the head down across the silken crack of her bottom.. and further, until it finally came into contact with her aching cunt. Venessa moaned aloud, unable to help herself. Her spine curved, accentuating the lines of her lithe form, and thus pushing herself closer to him, forcing her lower body high into the air. Knowing how exposed she was.. how he could see parts of her that no other man had before, it only enticed her excitement that much more. He was going to be her first.. and somehow, it felt right.

She reached behind her then, licking her lips and grasping at the left cheek of her butt, squeezing tight before she forced it aside, parting herself for him. He felt.. so amazing, stroking the heat that was flared up between her legs, urging it to become all the more enraged. "Zlatan," Venessa cooed, dragging manicured nails painted black across the smooth texture of her backside. In its wake, it left irritated lines of red scrawling across her porcelain complexion, a vivid difference. If he hadn't looked, he would certainly feel it.. trickles of her sweet juices dripping down the inside of her thighs, coating her pussy fully with proof of her need.

Zlatan's hand steadily maneuvered his erection, the head sliding up and down her parted lips. He had no idea how he was even lasting this long without wanting to ram home inside of her, considering the sight before him, and the effects of the liquid that they had both drank. She reached back, and parted herself even more, letting him admire both of his holes. He swallowed in disbelief, that this vampire was opening herself up so easily to him. It must be the liquid.. but the way she said his name, he loved it.

He inhaled heavily through his nose as he briefly met her eyes, and inched his hips forward. His cock had already been aligned with her opening, and he exhaled through his mouth in pleasure, an audible sigh as an inch past his head sunk into her walls. His hand snatched her wrist, the one that was keeping her exposed to him. He yanked at it, her form twisting to face him, while her other arm supported her. At the same motion his hips jutted forward, letting his impressive size fill her up in one sensual, yet firm motion that sent her breasts bouncing to the thrust, they jiggled before settling back on her chest. His cock stayed in her, holding his position, wanting her to revel in his size and how it felt, be it pleasurable or painful, or both. With her arm held back, her breasts faced him, part of her dark hair covering her face but otherwise her eyes could see into his, his hardened gaze.

He held her eyes for a moment, letting her anticipate another thrust. His pelvis pulled back, slowly, letting her wet pussy crave another impact of his cock diving between her legs more with every second that passed. He bared his teeth to her, his hips landing suddenly against her ass, once again feeding her cunt his cock in a short span of time, and holding it there. He growled at her- no longer could he form coherent thoughts. He felt like an animal, and his sole purpose was to fuck her.

When he finally began to push his way into her, she gasped, her face twisting into an expression of disbelief. He was so large.. stretching apart her walls which were unbelievably tight. The process felt so painfully slow, the way his defined hips eased his shaft further into her body, a steady pace that easily broke through her hymen and forced her eyes to roll into the back of her head. Venessa was overwhelmed, feeling a distinct line between pleasure and pain being met. He gave her little time to revel in her virginity just being taken, as her wrist was gathered into his hold, and yanked. Crying out at the unavoidable abuse, she was forced upwards, a sharp squeak eliciting from the woman when his cock filled her up to the brim, reaching her depths completely. She was clamped down about him like a searing vice, refusing to let him go, and only wanting him deeper.

She couldn't look away, panting audibly whilst he stay lodged within her, wet muscles spasming about his every inch spastically. She could smell it.. the saccharine richness of her own blood, which was naturally mixing inside of her, as he had pushed past that wall of protection. She was now his, in every sense of the word.. and hours ago, Venessa would have detested the thought. Now, however? She was in heaven, feeling the most bliss she had ever felt. This man.. this beast behind her, his hulking form looming with untold power, eyes darkened and gazing down towards her.. Zlatan was transfixing, keeping the small woman under his charm.

It was so torturous, feeling him slide out of her at a gradual pace, teasing her quivering insides.. making her anticipate, thirst for more.. until a sharp snap of his lower body gave her what she wanted. The smack of flesh meeting flesh resounded and she cried out in absolute delight, tossing her head and biting down into her bottom lip. Her fangs were bared, arousal having quickly forced her canines to elongate. Twisting her wrist in his grip, his growl only aided in her cunt tightening up around him, a sure signal that she enjoyed his raw and guttural instinct to fuck her. A daring roll of her lower body and she worked her bare ass into his abdomen then, stirring his cock around inside of her, cooing as he surely mixed her fluids together, making such a sticky and wet mess. "Fuck," Venessa breathed, the word rolling off of her tongue with ease, hanging in the air thickly.

She felt incredibly tight. Her walls tightened against him, seeming to suck his length in, greedy for more. His own arousal made it easy for him to ruthlessly stuff himself inside of her. It probably wasn't the first time for her, so he felt no guilt in the crude, vulgar way he took her. He pulled back again, only to see the sight of blood. His eyes widened, staring at the sight, his body forgetting how to move, his cock half out of her, and half inside. She was a virgin... or had been. The surprise in his eyes was obvious as his body froze.

Time seemed to hang still, his eyes glancing up to meet hers. It seemed a long while before he moved again, but in reality it was a few seconds. He flung her wrist aside, as if discarding her entirely. Her body was turned, facing the door of the limo, rather than the opposite seats. It gave her once again the chance to stay on all fours, and she soon learned the effect of him learning that he had just taken her virginity. His hand slapped down on her ass, sharply, and shortly after his hips slammed forward, repeatedly. Her poor ass rippled in affect as his firm crotch pummeled into her flesh, smacking it as his hand had down. His own hands had found her sides, grabbing at her rib cage, his nails digging into her skin. "This is how lycans fuck," he growled at her, starting to pant in his efforts, his cock, coated in their combined pre-cum and her blood, slid frantically in and out of her, violating her depths in a matter of seconds, when she had hung on to it her whole life, only to be defiled by some dog.

"A female is just a piece of ass to a lycan, made to be broken and bent, dominated like a fucking slut!" His body continued to lurch forward, his lower weight throwing itself at her, making her knees slide forward, her hands having to grab desperately at the carpet to not be pushed to far. His upper half hunched forward, a hand shooting to grab her chin, directing him to look at her. "Soon I will mark you.." he whispered, his eyes wide as he forced her to look at her. It was tradition in both of their cultures, for a male to mark his female. It was especially important during the first time they mated.