The door flew off its hinges and Natalya Feodorovna, throwing off bolts of power and desire, stalked into the house. Her jeans were tight and low-cut and she knew they did great things for her rear end. As for her top, well, techincally speaking, a couple of strategically placed filmy scarves criscrossing her breasts didn’t constitute a top, but she didn’t care how she looked to anyone but him. If this was what it took to get his attention, then so be it. She’d parade down the street naked if he’d notice her.
The room was filled with immortals, male and female, mated and solitary. She didn’t see him, but it didn’t matter. She could smell him, practically taste him, even over the surge of testosterone that filled the air at her appearance. They all wanted her now, the silent, sacred virgin sacrifice. But all she wanted was him.
Natalya felt his eyes on her, but she never slowed though doubts suddenly assailed her. What if he rejected her? What if he made a fool of her? The society that now merely ignored her would plague her endlessly. She would go from ghost to outcast and it all depended on his word. She shook her head and a tendril of hair fell over her shoulder, tickling the top of a breast already so highly sensitized she nearly gasped.
He stood the moment before she stopped in front of him. Gods, he was tall. Heavily muscled. Scars covered his bare arms, testament to the warrior life he’d led as a mortal. One such mark bisected his cheek, drawing the skin around his left eye into a permanent glare. His hair was cut brutally short, as it had been when he was a soldier.
Time had bypassed this man. Centuries came and went, yet he remained the same. Since the moment she’d first seen him, she had known him for what he was. A warrior. A soldier. A killer. They both existed on the outskirts of the rococo richness of immortal life, yet on opposite ends. She had one opportunity – one moment that would never come again – to grasp him. The one she wanted most. The one furthest from her reach.
She halted in front of him, choked with the fear and desire that clogged her throat. She saw the challenge in his eyes and something else. Something that flared out his nostrils and made him stand even taller.
“It has to be you.” The words were a bare whisper, raw and low in her throat.
She leaned closer, reaching up to him, daring, finally, to touch him. Her palms on his shoulders felt as if they touched live flame as she pulled herself up his body so that he had to hold her or she’d fall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he clamped her to him, his hands around her thighs, under her bottom, holding her close to where she needed to be.
She leaned in close to an ear that lay flat and neat against his close-cropped head. She let her lips trace over the edge of his lobe and whispered the rest of her secret.
“Varek, it’s always been you.”
Wow Sela that was FAB!!! I love it!
You're so verra talented!
Nice. :-) ::thumbs up::
Go! Go! Write!
WOW! I want more..More!!!
I join other commenters, that was WOW!!! Applauds! Sela, but please, please tell me how you chose the heroine's name (honestly, I'm dying from curiosity)!
Not original - but heartfelt - comment: WOW.
By 5:27 PM, at
Aw, shucks, y'all. *blushing* It's only a rough draft, and it'll only ever be a short story (the words No Plot spring to mind), but it just grabbed me by the throat and wouldn't let go.
Olga, I needed a historically repressive society and her brothers felt like Russian Mafia to me, so she became Russian.
He's a Visigoth, one of the late Roman Imperial Guard while he was mortal. I don't really know where his name came from.
Sela, I tried to find your e-mail but couldn't. So I hope it's okay if I say it here. I asked because usually that form of the name (with otchestvo Feodorovna) would be used while addressing an older woman in Russia. Or as a polite form, while communicating in the office, for example. Though Natalya is indeed very popular there. If it's okay, I'd advise you to drop "Feodorovna." If you have any questions, please e-mail me firstname.lastname@example.org.
Yay Olga! My 12 year old semester of Russian has some big ol' holes in it. I guess I know who to run parts of the story by now! Thanks for your help, babe.
Love the Russian angle. :)
Any time, Sela! If you have any questions, just drop me an e-mail!