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The Taste Of Roses (Father/Story)

Fane gave a small smile as her slender digits caressed along that massive chest. He had no need for hubris, he knew exactly what he was as a being, and her touch was erotic and there was little doubt that her scent was intoxicating. She used it like a weapon, cloying and heady, meant to enrapture her prey. For a brief moment he considered the fact that she had targeted him instead, with how easily she had gotten free of her captor in the bathroom, and had done all of this to put him into this state of ardor. It was a hateful thought, something that found its way into his mind and he could not shake it as he looked down at her and considered the woman that was there.

His hand gripped her hair viciously in the moment, a snarl coming to his features as he searched her face. There was no denying the man’s power, no denying the willing capability to absolutely harm another individual. Where a human would have been a scant inconvenience to an immortal being such as her, his grip was unrelenting. His other hand came up to capture the throat he had kissed so lovingly before. Digging his fingers in to take her breath from her. The act practically lifted her up on her toes so that he could stare into her eyes and he whispered softly.

“Are you trying to trap me?”

The words were speculative, perhaps even pleased at the idea of experiencing danger. His head turned as he spoke, looking round the apartment once more with his supernatural senses on alert. The rush of her blood felt beneath his hand, the taste of her still upon his tongue, and the soft body dangling with her fate uncertain. His words continued, mild and musing as he spoke further. “How interesting, a beautiful flower left out in the wild to draw me in. Perhaps so that other predators can take me down, hmm? Tell me, should I pluck you and be done with it or do you have something else to offer to convince me of your veracity?”
 
She had forgotten. For one heartstopping moment, she had forgotten what she had let into her home. And wasn’t he quick to remind her of just the thing she had thought to sidle up to, sweet as can be? Like a lamb attracted right into the wolf’s jaws, she was, as the sharp gasp left her throat and the hand was dropped like a dead weight as he wrenched her head hard enough that she was blinking back tears of shock and hate.

There it was, though. A little bit of fight had found its way on her pretty face. Plump lips pulled back away from perfect white teeth as she grimaced and showed her rebellion at being snatched like this -- here, in her fucking apartment.

The hand she had dropped came right back up, long nails digging into the hand that compressed her throat, choking off her air enough that she struggled like a fawn for purchase. Her eyes shone, glowing with a verdant wild. Her skin seemed to heat under his grip, which in turn seemed to shimmer like one of those sparkle vamps out of that Twilight book. Only she wasn’t like him -- she didn’t suck blood.

She was the summer heat. But she was also life. And the little trickle that emanated and soaked into him was enough to knock a normal man off his feet in a drunk stupor. Peaches wasn’t sure if her little tricks would work on this, but she pushed that pulse of heat at him like it was an intoxicating weapon drenched in poison, if that poison was only meant to enrapture instead of kill.

“Do you feel like a big man?” She rasped, voice gone, choked by his grip. “I was saying thank you, asshole,” she gasped again, nails scrabbling as she glared at him. “But I guess you’re just like the other assholes, aren’t you, wanting to feel strong?”

She felt her insides burst. Or at least that was how she imagined it happening, when it was really more like a release. It made her dizzy, feeling that much energy released, wrapping around them both, before she spoke again, her voice like a hypnotist’s if a hypnotist was also feeding their patient some of the good drugs, “Let me go.”
 
The vampire gave a deep laugh, intoned with darkness that mulched up the kindness of the world and spit it back out with a tinkling of sarcastic humor. The way her body fought him was practically laughable, the flailing of her small form, and her words fell upon his ears and did nothing to change his demeanor. His was a brutal world, his was a vicious reality, and he was more than willing to toss aside her physical form and send her onwards into the oblivion that waited on the other side of existence. For a moment he contemplated doing so and no amount of womanly wiles would save her should he make such a choice, but then he felt the strange power of her faerie blood and shook his head every so slightly to attempt to shake it.

If she had not thrown every amount of her self into the act then he would have merely shrugged it off, if she had not fought for her survival with every ounce of strength then he would have smiled with that predatory grin and bit deep into her throat once more. Instead though she flailed at him not with her appendages, but with her soul, and his brow furrowed as he struggled to cast off her supernatural gifts. Her words assailed him at the end, demanding he let her go, and with a small frown he slowly sat her down and pushed her away. He could attempt to pretend he had done so of his own volition, but he knew that she had influenced him.

Thank him though?

Perhaps she had intended to do so, but just as she expected others to be vicious towards her the vampire was most assuredly used to the machinations of those who would flank him. Enemies hiding in the shadows. He took a step away, considering what to do, and his eyes almost grew mildly sympathetic. Both at a cross purpose, both hurt, and perhaps whatever power she had wielded had touched some part of this being’s nature, hidden away after so many long years of eternal night.

“I am…sorry.”
 
She looked angry now. What was once sad, a little desperate, a little spaced out and off now at least looked … a little pissy, if not outright vengeful, like the little miss had a straw that finally snapped and she was tired of playing nice. While her talents tended to be little more than playing with firecrackers, she at least had feeling behind it. So give her that much, huh?

Her hands went to her throat, rubbing the spot that could be bruises come the morning, plush lips thrust out in a pout as she stumbled back in her high heels before throwing out her arm and pointing a sharp finger back towards her door. Blue eyes sparked and then sparkled, the fine lines of her face pulled taut with anger as she drank him in for what he was.

Fuck, she was tired.

“Leave,” was all she said after, her hand flicking to emphasize her point. Don’t mind that little tremble. She’d had enough tastes of the monster that the vampy could be, the final moment when he had almost choked her out as bad as …

Judas.

Fuck you, too.

“Please just go,” she softened her tone, took a few pointed steps across the cheap linoleum and back into the hallway. She even gripped the door handle and opened it wide for him, the fierce look starting to break down into a trembling lower lip and a glimmer of wet in her eyes.
 
Remorse was an alien feeling for the large creature and he shook his head as the thought of anything remotely like it entered his mind. Of course, he could chalk it up to the fact that she was something unique. Something he had never touched before and the addictive quality of her blood was enough to drive him muddled with insanity. He could have moved towards her, taken her, he knew he could have. Sometimes brutality was an answer that nothing could prevent, but the power she had wielded had given him pause. Enough so that it had stalled whatever he had been about to do. Whether it had been cruelty or sensuality, his hand had been stilled, and he would not forget that fact in the coming nights.

Her words broke him from the reverie of considering what to do. There was no real acquiescence to her anger or her irritation, nothing like that touched the absent soul of this beast, and his piercing gaze refocused upon her. He smiled with quiet consideration as he laughed internally, a self-deprecating and mocking thought within his mind. To even think his onslaught could come to so sudden a halt, it was breathtakingly interesting, and he would have to ponder it at a later occasion.

For now he would leave.

He moved towards the doorway, his powerful frame taking up the entirety of it, pausing as he looked down into those eyes. Those tears. He would drink those tears should she shed them, as easily as he had suckled upon her veins, something enduringly pleasing about the agony of a soul. His hand came up, touching her chin, his eyes quiet as he spoke with a small smirk.

“Always remember you invited me in.” It was almost mocking in a way, the horror of the statement, and the psychological depths to what it meant. Was he referencing the supernatural aspect of a vampire, the old wife’s tales that took away her power with her welcoming him into her home? Was it that he spoke of her psyche and the kind of woman who would do such a thing, knowing what he was? Whatever it might mean, the creature smiled once more with that wide knowing grin and stepped out into the night.
 
She flinched away from his touch now when he reached out to touch the soft skin of her face, blue eyes hardening all the more as she secured her own resolved. Apparently, being choked was a hard pass from whatever other plans he might have had for them that evening, and enough of a boundary that she stood up for herself, despite whatever misconstrued amusement she thought she would have by bringing the monster through her doorway.

As he so reminded her.

It made her flinch again, his words, and twisted her lips again into a frown and a scowl, meshed together into something that should have been ugly but was still lovely on her face. She still looked like she might be glowing, skin mellow, golden, kissed by some other power than the sun’s rays. Her hair looked like it might be floating, too, and lights popped around her like little sparklers -- or the afterglow of a firework going off behind closed eyes.

“And remember that you overstayed your welcome,” she retorted right back, voice dripping honey despite the contrite way she said it. “Did no one ever tell you that you shouldn’t slight one of my kind when they offer hospitality? It negates anything else; any deals made, anything promised.” If she knew how, she might even punish him, as she had seen the Winter Queen do time and again.

“And it’s rude, what you did,” she added, right before slammed the door after him and sunk down to the ground with a shudder, hand raising, shaking so, to touch the bite mark on the side of her throat.

It took her some time to gather herself up, make sure everything was locked up tight, before she slipped off to bed to forget to sleep. That darker part of her consciousness that lay awake, staring up at her dark ceiling, wondered if she would see him again, while the more rational part hoped she wouldn’t. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep, with the unrelenting gaze of a vampire stuck in the forefront of her mind.
 
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Time passed.

For creatures such as they was there even a necessary requirement to pay attention to such a thing as time? It was easy to merely allow the days and nights to slide away into a surreal dream from which there was no reprieve. Some of the more fantastical creatures accepted their fates, others bemoaned it, and this particular vampire gave extraordinarily little thought to the idea of such a cursed life. Long ago he had given up the sun, had given up the bright light of the day, and he considered it a fair trade for the power and immortality that it granted. Any measure of jealousy he might have felt towards something like the faerie who gained the best of both worlds was quickly squashed and tossed aside as unbecoming. Perhaps he would meet the beautiful woman once more, perhaps he would find her in a century or so as they walked the same lonely streets.

Yet the taste of her upon his tongue had been exquisite, the feel of her slim frame pressing near, and the sense and hint of desperation that clung to her. Oh yes, he had responded to her as both a man and a vampire and he had wanted more. Yet, the monstrous nature of him had come out and threatened her and that too had been intoxicatingly arousing. The feeling of his massive hand around her throat, choking the life out of her. Could he have killed her? He was uncertain, the lore of such ancient creatures was not something known to him. Yet, he could have made her suffer, and perhaps that would have been enough to satiate both of their terrible desires.

He would not forget her.

Nor apparently would he allow her to forget him. A year passed between their meeting, a year like the setting of the sun, gone in an instant. A postcard game for her, the paper and type exquisite and handcrafted from one of the finest New York stores for stationary. The front held a stylized initial of his name and an address, a downtown and upscale apartment complex. There was an aura of menace left from his handling of it, his words simply written with pen…

I think of you.

- Fane
 
She had almost forgotten. Or perhaps she was so used to being left alone, strung along and left behind, that she had been discarded like a bad memory once she had put her foot down. Just like she had asked, without so many words. And unlike her nature, her blood, Peaches still lived as a mortal, like a mortal, and embraced the passage of time like any other twenty something -- if a twenty something remained a twenty something for onward of ten years and counting without aging.

Because she had been twenty five since 2005. Or at least she clung to the visage of a woman who was twenty five, no lines to mar her face, no creases to mark the years. So, maybe she bubbled herself away in a delusion that she was young and would live forever. And maybe it was true after all.

And just like her, nothing else had changed.

There was a man still in her bed even while she settled down, cross legged and wearing nothing but a robe, sifting through mail that consisted of mostly credit card offers and a coupon to Bed, Bath & Beyond. Her hand stilled on the postcard in the stack, lifting it up with shaking fingers as her heart seemed to stop beating in her chest. Panic followed, a deep twisting sensation, followed by a flutter of excitement that pulled a strange smile across her face that he thought was all for him.

...He touched her, his hands that had pawed at her all through last night now feeling greasy, clumsy, unwelcome.

Peaches pulled her thigh away and stood instead, pacing away from the confused face that peered up at her from her sheets and pillows. Dismissively, bored even, she glanced over at him from around the curtain of gold that was her hair and her lip curled.

“Why are you still here?” He even thought about telling her, briefly, but perhaps his twenty something face could read the room after all. Or perhaps it was the casual cadence of her voice, a sing-song lilt that caught in his ear and dismissed him as surely as she had dismissed the man in the restroom.

A year ago.

She didn’t wait until he had gone to step into the shower, bathe last night’s scent off her skin, scrubbed it off like what she had done was wrong. Somewhere between reading that simple sentence and then, she had gotten it into her head she had cheated him, somehow. Like fucking someone else wasn’t something that she should do.

Which was fucking stupid.

She knew it even hours later, felt it even more in the anxious pit of her stomach, as she wrung her hands in front of her and stood in front of the door to the apartment that she had no doubts took up at least most of the floor she stood on -- wasn’t that how these high end things were set up to be? Condo style?

She hadn’t known what to wear, so she had put on something floaty but still flirty. Not quite cocktail, but the hem of the dress flirted against her leg above the knee, sheer and yet not. It clung to her figure but not tight enough that it was suffocating her, or pushing her into shapes that wasn’t her natural own. The boots on her feet were flat to the ground, ankle high, and she had decided against any jewelry. Had decided against most anything, really, as her hair tumbled in its own natural waves around her shoulders, all burnished gold with a hint of strawberry, and only the bare minimum on her face. Glossed lips to give them a shine, a hint of mascara she didn’t really need.

Then she knocked, lips pursed with nervousness, and her chin held up with stubborn intent in her eyes.
 
The door opened.

Perhaps to her chagrin it was not the man she had immediately hoped to see who greeted her, but an individual altogether different. A serious man in his fifties, impeccably dressed and sporting a small scar cross his face, was who she found staring at her for a mere few seconds. Yet, in that entire small space of time she was certain he had studied her intensely. Acute eyes slid down her body, showing no sign of attraction or care concerning her femininity, and then returned to meet her eyes once more. Who was this man? It was quick to ascertain that he was bodyguard, butler, and secretary all in one fell swoop. A familiar. He was also apparently quite good at his job it seemed, judging her intently before giving a small nod of his head to let her in. His voice quiet and urbane as he casually gestured her into a small well-appointed living.

“Mr. Fane will be with you shortly.”

It left her alone as if she were no danger and perhaps that was just the nature of this particular man. Whatever she might do he would not care about, whatever might come was merely the natural course of their interactions. It also left her alone to study her environment. A rich an appointed office reminiscent of the Victorian era. Deep dark hard woods tables, voluptuous seating, and well-kept rugs. Yet, numerous things were out of place in the environ. Upon the mantle lay a crusader’s sword, surely not Fane’s? Nearby was a locket, the picture of a street urchin within it. Across the room lay a strange marble vase, reminiscent of something Italian. Little baubles that had apparently been collected from a variety of strange places. Each one perhaps with a story?

A slow turn brought her to look at the far wall and there was the true story and perhaps a frightening one once her mind could comprehend what she saw. Urns. At least fifty of them. Each one sculpted by the same hand, each one a pristine work of art. Each one with a small engraved name. Eddie. Master Trinket. Father Smithe, Queen Anne Bolesley. Each of them filled with ashes. The realization did not take long to understand they were mementos, of those Matthew Fane had killed in his long life as a vampire. Killed or arranged their deaths. Vampires who he had snuffed out of existence to ensure his. What a terrible price to pay for the life of one creature.

His voice was quiet from the entryway as he saw her. “You look quite lovely this evening. Thank you, for accepting my invitation.”
 
Confusion warped her features when this stranger opened the door for her. Not that the vampire was any less of a stranger to her, but at least she had his face burned into her memory. She had her mouth open to ask who he was when he answered for her -- he knew who she was here for.

Her lips closed and Peaches stepped inside, nervous as a girl waiting for a prom date, and looked around the ornate room she found herself in. Richer than her own shithole of an apartment. Definitely had a masculine touch to it.

It had the feel of an old soul. Not that she thought the man had his soul any longer.

That thought alone almost made her turn right back around and walk away, since she had come here as if she had forgotten that he had wrapped his hands around her throat hard enough that it had left bruises the next day. Not that they lasted. It was one of the perks; she healed quickly, so the marks didn’t stay for as long as they no doubt should have.

It meant that it was easier to forget that they had even been there to begin with.

Fear raised the hairs on her arms again for the first time in a year. During the time it took for him to make an entrance, she had sucked the gloss off her lips from biting the tiers anxiously. And by the time she had about worked herself up to leave the situation she was about to put herself in, he arrived.

The blue eyed baby looked wary as her attention slid over to the voice. Her hands gripped the fabric of her dress, wrung it between her fingers as she watched him like a rabbit in a snare. For some reason, she still found it necessary to be polite, even curious.

“Why were you thinking about me?” She blurted out. Like that was the most important question of the day. Or maybe it was.
 
Why indeed?

He considered her as she stood there, the way she glanced at him as if seeking his approval and perhaps that was the nature of their relationship already. A need for something from one another. A feeding of the addictions that permeated their souls. It was something that he had not been able to forget, the reminder that she was something different from the individuals he came across on a regular basis. The thirst for her blood was matched only by his arousal and attraction to her and he allowed all of that to come to his face as he slowly looked her over. A small, raised eyebrow as he gestured around the room that they stood in.

“Everything here is unique, as are you. Handmade, crafted, special. There is not another like it on the planet, not another that will ever take its place. Some are memories, some are reminders, and some are trophies. I suppose the curious question that was plaguing me happened to be which one you would become?”

The large frame approached with calm nonchalance as they stood there, his towering physique something altogether unique as well. He was one of a kind, he knew that, and so was she. As he came near, he could feel that electrifying pulse between them, a small smirk touching his features as he saw her nervousness. He could treat her like a princess if he wished, or he could reach out and destroy everything she ever was. That was what had brought her here was it not? His hands came out to take hold of hers, raising it up to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles softly, the snare coming to trap her in the moment and his voice continued smoothly.

“Should we dispense with pleasantries? The polite trappings of society? We both know why you came, why I wrote, and why we stand here together. I am here now…do you wish to be in my arms or on your knees?”
 
There wasn’t any booze in her system today. No drugs. Hadn’t been for a little bit now -- so maybe a year was something after all. But she was still called Peaches, that hadn’t changed, and neither did her contract. So maybe a year was nothing after all.

Still, there was something to be said for the clarity that slipped into her eyes once that initial shock faded from seeing the undead bastard in front of her again, though the belly full of butterflies still remained to dance around the pit of her stomach. They fluttered up into her throat when he came closer, looming over her, enough that she could feel his presence.

She shivered when his lips brushed the knuckles of her limp hand, made her fingers curl around around his hand.

So she stepped in closer, just like that. Close enough that the fabric of her clothes brushed against his and she had to tilt her chin up to meet his face. Stand up on her toes almost so that her plush mouth could kiss the shell of his ear. The waft of her scent, warm and like cinnamon with a bare hint of citrus, of peach too, drifted in to snag at him.

“How much are you willing to pay for me?” He would be able to feel the way her lips curled into a smile against his ear. It was a test, maybe, to see if he would treat her like that princess or something else. “How much am I worth.. To you?”
 
“Nothing.”

The word fell hard between the two of them as he examined her, considering the woman who had come so close. One hand reached to touch her hip, caressing over the slender flesh beneath her dress, admiring the way she felt against him, and his words continued forward. Relentless, brutal, and yet there was something about them that hinted towards the idea that she might be more than mere property in his eyes. That perhaps she might be considered something actually worthwhile. “I could pay for any whore off the street and have them here. I could toss riches at any courtesan and know they would be upon my arm. How much are you worth, Peaches? You are worth everything, but I am not willing to pay a single dime to the one who owns you.”

His features were stark, brutally hard as he leaned back so he could gaze down into her features, his hand coming up to touch her face, tilting it back and forth just the tiniest of bits as he whispered. “So many have used you, so many have cast you down, and so many have broken you. Wouldn’t it be amazing to be in the presence of someone who merely wanted to keep you pristine?” His eyes narrowed the tiniest of bits as he gazed, as if he could see the fractured parts of her soul. “You have an opportunity now, a chance to reach out and feel like you have chosen to be with someone, not been made. Imagine how you will feel come morning, consenting to everything I give.”

He gave her hip one last squeeze, stepping away from her, that large frame moving so he could ease down into one of the mammoth seats within the room. His body languishing as he considered her. “So, I have answered your question. The question still stands between us. Arms or knees? Where would you be more comfortable this evening?”
 
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