- - мy aяcнιvεs

[- - la nuit blanche]

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx q u 'avec le c œ u r.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxl'essentiel est invisible
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx pour les yeux « «

vianne cécile auclairxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx×××

{ i l xxx f a u t xxx c h e r c h e r xxx a v e c xxx l e xxx c œ u r }

• • • • • • • •

Vianne felt ever so close to fainting as the creature spoke once more, reaffirming again and again that this was no dream. Her heart rattled in her chest and her breath came in short spurts. She felt light-headed and somehow she knew it had nothing to do with her fall. Through her red-rimmed eyes, she peered up at the man who held her and, though she did not answer his first words, one fragile arm reached to drape around his shoulder, securing herself more snugly in his grasp. Beneath her trembling hand she could feel his flesh, rough and thick, but unmistakably real.

As he bowed them back towards the roof of the apartment building, the young woman breathed a shaky sigh of relief. She wanted to ask this creature a million questions as they began their descent, but she still couldn’t quite bring herself to speak. She perched dumbly in his arms until he gingerly set her to the solid surface of the roof, at which point she nearly fell to her knees without his support. Her legs wobbled as she stumbled her way to a discarded and upturned wooden box, upon which she allowed herself to collapse to a sit. She wrapped her arms about herself and noticed that she was shivering all over. Of course she was drenched by now, hair sticking to her cheeks and rainwater dripping down her face, but it wasn’t the cold that made her tremble.

Since the creature had let her out of its arms, Vianne hadn’t taken her eyes off of him. She stared, but she no longer looked at him with fear in those expressive sea blue eyes. She gazed with a hesitant curiosity and awe. Then at length she looked towards the now vacant perch of the stone gargoyle she’d been standing beside before tipping off the edge of the roof. It had been him. He’d been that rocky beast, crouching and scowling over the city as she poured out her life’s troubles so many nights. She’d always thought that only the sky could’ve heard her. Now she wondered if someone else had always been listening.

The young woman tried to swallow but found her mouth dry. Her eyes peeked back to the winged man and a light tinge of red came to her cheeks when he suggested, almost chidingly she thought, that she take the second chance he’d given her at her life. Though, despite her blush – which was both embarrassed and even a little ashamed – a spark of defiance lighted in the girl. “I didn’t ask for a second chance…” she argued, though her voice was soft and quivered a little. “And I certainly didn’t expect…” Well, that was obvious. She didn’t bother finishing the sentence. She doubted anyone would ever expect a gargoyle to come alive, flap down from their rooftop, and pluck a girl out of thin air.

And then, briefly moving the appearance of this beast to the back of her mind, she realized the true gravity of what she’d done. She’d attempted to commit suicide. Not drown her sorrows in liquor or mope in her dark room for a few days, pitying herself all the while as she usually did. She’d tried to kill herself. Intended, absolutely, to end her own life. And surely, were it not for this creature, she’d have succeeded. This very moment she’d be broken to pieces on the sidewalk eight stories below. Again she felt reeling, dizzy, and her arms clutched around herself more tightly.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured hoarsely, though she wasn’t entirely certain what she’d apologized for. “I suppose I should thank you.” She tasted rain upon her pale red lips as she deftly wet them, and her eyes somewhat sheepishly glanced aside. “I imagine this isn’t the first time you’ve ever seen me…” A feeble, embarrassed half smile came to her mouth and though she tried to add a small, ironic laugh, it came out choked, like a half sob. Her eyes were brimming with tears again as she thought of the sad rants she’d spoke on that rooftop and again felt the shame of what she’d tried to accomplish tonight. But with another rough swallow, she glanced up again. “I’m Vianne… Do you have a name..?”

o n xxx n e xxx s a i t xxx j a m a i s

xx xx

[- - la nuit blanche]

As it always seemed when Evey was reunited with her love, even after so brief a separation, she was more than happy to rush into his arms. She hugged him tight, trying to feel carefree and light while she could, and yet she noticed a sort of desperation, a somber need in the way her Edward embraced her, and she almost knew the troubles he would speak of before he offered them. She hugged him even tighter. Turning her face to nuzzle the side of his neck, she breathed a quiet sigh. At first she didn’t understand quite what he meant. Her beau had been the perfect hero ever since he’d caught her back from Jason and Moreau. And then she remembered the way he drew back from her last kiss, just as it grew most passionate. He’d felt his control slipping, and Evey could only think of one reason, one sly little inconvenience that could wrench his desires to such a dangerous threshold. Somehow she just knew. Ami.

If Edward were a normal human boy, Evey may well have been strangling him by now. She no longer hugged or embraced him, but gripped him forcefully, possessively. If that b***h was around, Evey hoped she could feel it. Edward belonged to her, and she would keep him here with her forever. She’d never let him slip away to that maniacal harpy. “Shhh, shhh…” Evey hushed her mate even as he assured her that he knew she’d only try to comfort him out of his self-loathing, do her absolute best to disprove any demonic theories he had about himself. “She’ll never win… None of them will. I know you could never be what they are… I have so much more to learn about you, but I know at least that you love me, and that I can always trust you. You’ll never give into them.” Pressing a warm, lingering kiss to the corner of his perfect mouth, Evey unhooked her nails from the fabric of his shirt and allowed her arms to loosen around him, and finally lower as he led her to the sofa.

She sat down where he’d placed her and smiled as his head fell comfortably into her lap. Instantly she placed one hand to rest atop his chest while her other set of digits gingerly stroked through his hair, smoothing out any last knots that stubbornly remained tied and mussed since their time in her bedroom. Her smile widened as she looked down into his face, so blissfully happy to feel him relax into her. She knew at that moment he was content, content to lie with her, to simply hear her fantasies about their upcoming life together. She suspected that he was just so supremely happy as she at that time, and that made her all the more ecstatic. She knew that it would never change, this unspeakable delight and pleasure in seeing her husband, her love, nothing more or less than simply happy, in her arms.

“What I want…” she mused quietly, her smile turning a little mischievous. Her thoughts instantly, impishly, wondered what more she could ever want when she’d have night after night of incredible sex with the man she loved, who also happened to be the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen. She gave a small giggle at herself then settled back against the couch cushions, lifting her legs to rest lazily on the coffee table before the sofa. Her fingers no longer sought to tame his hair, but simply wandered pensively through those soft, honey locks as she thought. It was perhaps at that moment that she realized she could feasibly have anything she liked. Money seemed such a trivial object now that all of eternity lay before her, and given that Edward had lived over a century, she could only expect that he had some small fortune in his bank account. Certainly she knew she’d always be well taken care of, if not absolutely spoiled. And despite this… “Nothing extravagant,” she answered at last.

“Aside from our honeymoon,” she added with a small grin. She expected that well-earned vacation would just have to be the most lovely, luxurious, exclusive affair of their lifetime. Even an immortal only got one of those, after all. But, excluding that, so long as she’d have Edward by her side, she’d be happy in a cardboard box in Hyde Park. Although that probably wasn’t the colorful answer her lover might’ve hoped for.

“I’ve always enjoyed the country… The city is so stifling. Maybe we can have a little cabin somewhere. Someplace in the mountains, where the air is fresh and the sky goes on forever. Near a little town, perhaps. I’ll want to work, you know,” Evey looked down at him with a playful glance that hinted he’d never be able to make a complete homemaker out of her. She didn’t care how old-fashioned he thought he could be given his birth date. “Even after… after I’m like you. I’d like to help people, I think. Become a teacher or something…” Her thoughts drifted on. She suggested if he’d prefer a warmer climate, she’d always be open to the tropics, but of course she’d love to see all the sights of the world. Once she was certain she’d seen plenty of Edward nude in their bed. She went on to explain that she'd like to always see plenty of Carlisle and the rest of Edward's adopted family, that she wanted her father to walk her down the aisle to Edward at some little wedding if ever it could be possible, and that she'd like to get about a thousand degrees, become a classical pianist, ballerina, and painter.

“Names for the baby…” she murmured. She paused, then looked down at Edward with a thoughtful smile. Picking a name for a baby had always seemed well, not trivial, but an endeavor that was maybe more fun than deeply important. She’d figured she would always just decide on something that sounded nice to her, but now she thought of how it could be a little more meaningful than that. “I’d like to give our child a name that means something important to you,” she suggested softly. “A name from the time you were born in, or we could name it after one of your parents…” She leaned down and kissed his forehead gently. “I want you always to know that this baby is yours. I want you to name it, to be the first to hold it…” Evey smiled faintly and nudged her nose to his. “More than a cabin in the mountains or a perfect honeymoon, I want you to know how much your family loves you, and how much you do and always will deserve it.”

[- - la nuit blanche]

It was a difficult thing, trying to look surprised when the man called Wolverine was quite suddenly brought into the X-Mansion, bloodied and perfectly out cold. Sophia leapt up with all the rest, helping the other professors and school staff usher students off to their rooms and out of view of the man, but unlike her colleagues, she knew exactly who the wounded man was, and precisely what had happened to bring him there.

The attack had been planned, rather a long time ago in fact. Sophia’s business in it all, too, went back at least a year. Before she’d even begun to work at Xavier’s school, she was self-employed as a psychiatrist and therapist in the city. Due to her unique powers, this turned out to be a most successful profession, and deeply rewarding. Sophia always felt as though she were truly making use of her mutation, though she very surreptitiously kept it a guarded secret. In times like these, she doubted anyone would allow a mutant doctor to diagnose a human patient. But somehow, HE knew what she was.

Major William Stryker had come to her office just as any other patient one afternoon, and Sophia tried to go on with the session as usual, but something was wrong. The man wore a device that somehow blocked her powers. It could, in fact, turn her own mutation against her. She felt a searing pain in her head and images of her most solemn and hated memories flashed before her eyes. This was a sort of defensive side to her talents. She could bring again to one’s eyes the worst events of their life and thereby inflict not only emotional woe and turmoil, but an excruciating, migraine-like pain. Moreso, she could block the powers of other telepaths upon herself and inflict her own thoughts, memories, and emotions on another’s mind, allowing them to think, see, and feel, exactly what she did at will. But the device Stryker had used, she’d never known of such a thing. And more bothersome than that was the realization that this man knew she was a mutant. And as a military man, he could get her into a considerable amount of trouble for hiding her powers from her patients, delving into their private memories without their consent, even though she meant only to help them. But he struck a deal with her. He’d not have her locked up, if she helped him on an assignment, once the opportunity presented itself. There was a man called Logan, also known as the Wolverine, who had been turned into a weapon by some enemy organization. He was a monster, had been turned against his own people and murdered multiple civilians including his own wife, and would soon, Stryker expected, be coming after him as well.

But Logan remembered nothing of himself now, and was momentarily tamed while he tried to search for his memories. This fact made Sophia’s powers all the more attractive to Stryker. All Sophia had to do was station herself at Xavier’s school, for Stryker seemed to know that Wolverine would end up there sooner or later on his quest to remember himself. And when he arrived, she would simply have to fabricate his memories, pretend to see what she didn’t, in order to lead him where Stryker wanted. She’d bring him to some soon-to-be disclosed location where the major would engage a new weapon to destroy the dangerous, out-of-control mutant.

Sophia had been working at the school only a couple months when the Wolverine was finally brought in, and she’d known he’d be coming. Stryker had that other mutant attack him, aiming seemingly to kill, but well within the sights of a few of Xavier’s X-Men. He’d hoped that Logan would be wounded badly enough in the fight for the X-Men to bring him to the school for medical attention, and that was just how it had happened.

Once the children were shooed off to their rooms, Sophia hurried down to the medical labs where the injured man would be kept. A kind, genuine sort of woman, no one objected when she volunteered to see to him herself. The others had business to tend to and she knew something of medicine herself. She was certain she could easily see to the man’s wounds and revive him in no time. So, with their thanks, Charles and his team left her alone to go discuss the identity of the mutant that had attacked the strange man and the young girl who had been traveling with him.

He was laid out upon an examination table, his shirt removed as he’d taken the majority of his injuries to his torso. Once the others were gone, Sophia cautiously approached. He still appeared out cold, and the woman was quietly grateful for that. Stryker had warned her a number of times about the dangers of this mutant. She’d been told that knife-liked blades could emerge out of his knuckles at will, that he’d been made virtually indestructible by the enemy. Although, laid out as he was, bloodied and unconscious, he scarcely looked like such a threat. Sophia pulled on a white coat over her blouse and jeans and stepped up to the table. She placed sticky sensors onto his chest and abdomen to hook him up to a heart monitor and watched the line of his heart rate bounce across the screen. His pulse was still strong, his breathing normal. Frowning a little, the woman looked over his wounds. He was certainly bloody enough, some injuries had already been rapidly bandaged on his way to the school and the dressings were soaked through with his blood. But when Sophia unwound the gauze and lifted up the cotton bandages, she could find nothing but smeared red on his skin. No cuts, no gashes, not even a splinter beneath the patches of blood. Her eyes lifted back up towards his face and she watched him quietly. What was she supposed to do with a man who appeared to be in perfect health?

A little timidly, while still warily watching his face, she reached to one of his hands and clasped it gingerly up in her own. She curiously examined his fingers and searched inquisitively for the very tiny, scar-like marks between each of his knuckles.

[- - la nuit blanche]

Sophia inquisitively eyed the man’s hand as she raised it with her own. His wrist was still relaxed, in fact entirely limp, but she was surprised at how heavy even just his forearm was for her to move. Every one of the man’s limbs was roped in thick muscle, but somehow the woman doubted that was the only reason for the weight of him. With a body steel hard and just as resilient, and a healing factor on steroids, Sophia now understood what Stryker had meant when he said “nearly invincible.” Chewing pensively at the inside of her cheek, her sharp blue eyes lifted to the man’s face and she really bothered to look at him for the first time. He was, well, handsome, if you liked that rugged, brutish, ******** sort of look. But was he really a monstrous weapon? Some beast who couldn’t be reasoned with, one who had killed innocent people and intended to kill more?

The slim brunette was debating this quietly in her mind, her gaze lowering back to the strong paw she’d been examining, when suddenly the man came alive. He was up before Sophia could whip her eyes back to his face, and she was lucky he hadn’t yet withdrawn his claws or she might have found herself with one less hand. He wasted no time as soon as he was up and before bothering to ask any questions, he’d grabbed her neck and thrown her down upon the table like a flimsy little doll. Her head hit the examination table hard enough to leave her a little dizzy, but not hard enough to disorient her from the three glimmering knives now extending towards her face. Then the questions came.

Both the woman’s hands rose to grab the man’s arm. Her slender fingers reached around his wrist and she squeezed hard enough to dig her nails into him as she struggled. She’d have been more than happy to test that instantly healing flesh with more than a few little nail scratches, but she guessed the brute deserved an answer. Her watering eyes glared indignantly up at him and she coughed a little. “New York,” she rasped. “Charles Xavier’s facility and school for mutants.” His fingers seemed to tighten and she could only afford to gasp a few words more: “He wants to help.” Then, being that she could scarcely breathe let alone carry on a civilized conversation – if that’s what this oaf would’ve called it – Sophia let her mind drift back to the moment Storm and Cyclops had brought him into the mansion, and used her abilities to let the man above her see it too. The pair of mutants had him on a stretcher, bloody and helplessly unconscious. The girl called Rogue came in with him. Charles came swiftly to meet them and once his kind eyes had given Logan a steady once-over, he requested that he be taken to the building’s medical facility. Rogue was shown to a room where she could rest and have something to eat while mutant children poked inquisitively out of their dorms and classrooms to watch the knocked out stranger be wheeled away. Then he was downstairs upon that examination table, and Sophia offered to her colleagues to see to his injuries.

“I have the power to show you my own memories,” she struggled to explain as these images were passed through his mind. She hoped that was enough evidence to show that he was in good hands. Now, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand being pinned down. “Mind letting me go now?” she coughed feebly, but she didn’t wait for him to consent. A stylish leather boot was kicked sturdily into the man’s abdomen and she struggled to sit herself up. Patient or not, she had no intention of being strangled and he'd find that as civil as she could be at most times, it wasn't all that hard to provoke her less than congenial side.

[- - la nuit blanche]

Sophia gasped in a great gulp of air when the man finally released her throat and she glared at him indignantly with watery eyes. She coughed a little, the flushed red on her cheeks finally beginning to fade, and watched the man hurriedly pull his clothes back on. She was sort of sorry to see him do so. He didn’t look half bad shirtless. But that was hardly the dominant thought on her mind.

“You and the girl might’ve been killed were it not for the others,” she answered a little resentfully. “Although, if they’d gotten a taste of your charming personality, maybe they’d have just left you…” the young woman grumbled, lifting a hand to gently massage her throat. She eyed the man warily and wondered, if he were just some ruthless beast, why he hadn’t merely killed her and broken himself out of the lab then and there. She parted her lips to oppose his demand that she take her key and open the doors for him, but he’d already snatched her ID card and was off. Shoving herself off the examination table, she hurried after him but he was already a number of strides ahead of her, turning down hallways as aimlessly, she thought, as a rat in a maze.

But, punctual as ever, Charles was there to step into his path. Backed by the two X-Men who had found Wolverine, Xavier looked at Logan with a warm, tranquil smile. “Leaving so soon?”

——

It was quite some time later, after at least an hour or more spent discussing and explaining in Charles’ office, that Sophia found herself walking through the mansion with Logan following behind her. He seemed a great deal more calm now, but she had a syringe in her pocket, loaded with a sedative strong enough to topple a grizzly bear, just in case. She glanced back at him over her shoulder when he apologized and she managed a vaguely forgiving smile. Perhaps she wouldn’t be needing that syringe after all.

“I’ll manage,” she answered simply. She was certain a ring of bruises resembling his fingertips could probably be seen wrapped around her neck, but it was nothing terribly serious. She smiled somewhat again, starting down another hallway and finally pausing at the last door. She pushed it open and motioned Logan into the bedroom. It was rather simply furnished, but spacious and comfortable with a view of the gardens through the window. The man’s possessions – or, at least, what had been salvaged of them after his truck practically exploded – were neatly piled by the foot of his bed.

“I imagine you’ve had a rough day,” she added with a wry smile. “But I think you’ll be comfortable here.” She let him into the room but kept herself at the threshold, leaning against the door frame.

[- - la nuit blanche]

Evey would’ve been perfectly content simply to hold her lover in her arms, combing his hair with her fingertips and nuzzling with him nose to nose. But it was perhaps fortunate that Edward’s attention was momentarily drawn elsewhere, before Evey’s hands could find other places to wander than his hair and chastely across his chest. Namely, beneath the waistband of his trousers. He just couldn’t talk of “proving his appreciation” to her without a bundle of butterflies releasing themselves into Evey’s stomach, and their little wings were vastly effective in fanning the flames of her constant need for him.

She was somewhat startled, as she usually was, when Edward drew away from her. One hand followed him to clasp at his forearm and she peered up into his face, searching for some hint of danger, pleading with her expressive blues that he give her some order, tell her what to do if indeed they needed to make a swift getaway or prepare for a fight. But Edward merely kissed her hands and helped her to her feet. She laced her fingers into his as she followed to the front door. Evidently Vampires didn’t need knock. Evelyn expected it would be Carlisle again, perhaps with other members of the family in tow. But when Edward pulled open the door, it was a stranger she saw. And yet, not too terribly strange at all. He had honey blonde hair, just a little lighter than Edward’s, and the same perfectly fair skin and amber eyes. He looked further akin to Edward in that he also was extraordinarily handsome, and quite fit and lean like his brother as well. Evey realized wryly that it didn’t help her insecurities concerning her place in Edward’s family – as an unexpected hindrance, a charge that needed constant guarding, a human – that each relation she met was just as attractive as the next. She blushed a little shyly when Edward introduced her to his brother, and Evey somewhat timidly extended a hand to him for a shake. “Pleased to meet you,” she answered quietly. Then it was quite strange; all of her nervous jitters seemed all at once to have been calmed. She felt suddenly quite at ease in the presence of this new Vampire, and no longer quite so lowly. Nor was she terribly irked to know that another one of Edward’s kind, someone unknown, had been lurking outside for some time. Though that didn’t stop Evey from glancing up at her beau with a somewhat reproachful stare. Why hadn’t he told her? Even if she might turn into a nervous wreck, she’d much rather be kept informed.

But Evey wasn’t about to begin a quarrel. She clung to Edward’s arm as Jasper explained the trouble of a Vampire war, and indicated the icy white bite marks upon his face and hands. Wetting her lips, Evelyn squeezed onto her mate a little tighter, but her worries were swiftly washed aside as Jasper’s – somewhat speculative – congratulations came. She looked proudly up to Edward and pressed a brief kiss to his shoulder before returning her attention to his brother. Trying to focus herself again to the trials at hand, rather than drift lazily back to the fantasies she’d been describing to Edward earlier (which had somehow been so easily prompted at the mere mention of their child-to-come), Evelyn nodded and glanced to the bottom of the stairs, where she’d left her bag of clothing and necessities. “Yes, I’ve put together a few things. I’m ready to go anytime,” she answered with a somewhat tense smile.

Somehow she felt very relieved that she’d soon be leaving her home. Not only because doing so may benefit her safety, but because, well, she’d like the place still to be standing once all of this was over. Though at the same time, it saddened her a little. Had Jacques not been so determined to trouble her first true romance, this would have been the home where she’d have introduced Edward to her father, where he might’ve snuck in through her bedroom window to be with her each night, where she could’ve shared photo albums and baby pictures with him, and every other little trinket of her quaint teenage life. He could’ve sat with her at that piano in the parlor, and her bed would’ve been absolutely thrashed to breaking by the time they were done with it. But those little fantasies were never to be, and Evey was not in a place to cling to all of the other memories that lingered around her home. She would have to let it go, at least for now.

“If… if there’s anything I can do to make this easier for you and your family,” Evey began, looking earnestly up to Jasper. “please, tell me.”

[- - la nuit blanche]

Evelyn felt an odd sense of calm spread serenely from her core; odd, in that her emotions as of late had generally been anything but tranquil, and also because the two males, her obvious protection, both seemed a little tense. Even Jasper held an air of cool but calculated anticipation. They were both plotting for her safety, and yet Evey remained strangely unruffled as she held onto her mate’s arm. Somehow she was suddenly resolute. She’d accepted her fears, the challenges she may very soon face, and she wished more than anything only to do all she could to give Edward some peace of mind. If that meant leaving her home, she’d go along willingly. She was prepared to do anything he asked of her. Perhaps, perplexingly and even stupidly, now that Evelyn herself was the main and easy target, their enemy’s sole pursuit, she could feel a little more at ease; it was not Edward anyone was after, at least not immediately, not now. And unless they came en masse for him, Jasper’s presence and that of the family that would soon be coming to his aid was sure to be more than enough deterrent to keep her love safe. It was only Evey who still stood out as easy prey. But she wasn’t scared of them. So long as Edward wasn’t being dragged away from her forever, she wasn’t scared of anything.

Whether this surge of confidence was her own, or a well-timed concoction of Jasper’s immortal gifts, she’d probably never really know.

As Edward practically answered in full that chiding “Why didn’t you tell me?” glare she’d thrown at him earlier, Evey took in the details of the stranger with a sober nod. While she was listening quite carefully, she absorbed the news as if he’d merely reported that the sky was full of dark clouds and it looked like it’d be a rainy night. A little somberly, but calmly nonetheless. Suddenly she realized that she’d been informed that she was in danger quite a number of times previously, and was like to hear many similar warnings to come. She was glad she was getting used to it. In fact, rather than dread this oncoming storm, Evelyn stepped up on her tiptoes and moved to embrace her beau, coiling her arms underneath his so she could clasp her fragile hands onto his shoulders from behind, pulling herself near against his chest. She could hear the faint quiver in his voice, knew that he was terribly afraid for her, as she would be for him if their situation were reversed. But if she had to play the damsel in distress, she’d have to do so bravely, and she was more than happy to give her knight in shining armor any reassurance she could. She pressed a tiny kiss to the sweet cleft in his chin as he spoke, then followed it with another at the strong line of his impeccable jaw. She nodded again to confirm her understanding, but as she leaned in for a loving nuzzle to her hero’s neck, she abruptly paused, as one, abominable name reached her ears: Ami.

Her fair, delicate fingers holding onto his shoulders turned as fierce and determined as the teeth of a bear trap as they held onto her Edward a little tighter. Her teeth grit and her jaw set as she perched it near her lover’s collarbone, and she realized briefly that she’d stopped breathing for an instant. So the b***h wasn’t dead. She’d only been able to wonder, to suspect, but now she knew for certain. Of course she didn’t for a moment blame Edward. The girl was sly, slippery. It’d have been almost disappointing had she been so easy to get rid of. But Evey vowed that she wouldn’t interfere with her romance for long.

As Edward held her cheek and kissed her, Evey kissed back, holding onto him as long as he’d possibly let her. When his lips drew finally back from her own, she too was smiling and she gave a final nod. “I’ll do anything you ask,” she promised, allowing the passionate vice of her arms to loosen and finally relax away from him. “I won’t move until you come back for me. But Edward,” she murmured as he began towards the door. Her smile broadened a little. “Don’t take too long.” She felt positively naked without him nearby, clasping her hand, touching her face, holding her against him. But she’d wait patiently and keep away from the windows while he was gone. She knew he’d be away no longer than was necessary.

Evey stepped forward only to close the door behind Edward, then moved to perch herself on the arm of a chair nearby. She was just turning her glance steadily about the parlor, looking for anything that should give any cause for alarm, when she heard a loud, slow creak from upstairs. The sound jolted a chill up Evey’s spine and she stood from the chair and looked up above her. And then she heard her voice, preceded by an ecstatic giggle, seeming to echo off every wall and surface within the townhouse.

Evelyn knew at once who the voice belonged to, but she scarcely had an instant to yell to Edward and Jasper before, in a flurry of yellow fabric and stark pale skin, the other girl grabbed her from behind, yanking and knotting her dark hair into her fingers. Evey’s heard raced as the slender girl leaned close, deftly tasted her skin, and spoke once more. Again Evelyn’s teeth grit and she struggled to twist herself away, or at least right herself enough to mow down the other girl with her fierce stare. Her lovely cerulean eyes were now churning, frozen seas of icy disdain. She probably could’ve produced icicles by the time Ami suggested a little girl like Evey could not keep the “big boy” satisfied.

At the slightest loosening of Ami’s fingers, Evey tore herself away and rounded on the girl.

It was probably at that point, while she had the chance, that she should’ve called for the boys outside, but Evey couldn’t stop herself. She was fuming. She hadn’t a shred of regard for her own safety, and evidently she wasn’t very afraid of her opponent either. Not now. All she could think of was that lasting image of this damned whore, hanging about her Edward like vines and forcing him to kiss her like he meant it. It was like a blade plunged deep into her heart, shredding mockingly away at every happy memory she had with Edward, every time she thought of it. And now she had the b***h before her, taunting her, laughing at her, daring to threaten her.

“So, do you have to mess with the minds of all the guys you decide you want to screw?” Evey inquired sourly, stepping back to the chair where she’d been waiting earlier, settling herself back upon the armrest. Just behind her, beside the chair was a little table and upon it, Evey knew, sat a little statuette. A shiny bronze figurine of a knight upon a rearing horse, brandishing a long, pointed sword in one hand. She’d knocked it over once while breezing through the front door and knew it to be heavy enough to give the foot it’d landed on a good bruise, and that little sword had been sharp enough to slash a bloody scrape into her ankle. From behind her back, she felt for the statue and grabbed it in her hand, then sneered a bitter smile and peered back across the shadowy parlor at Ami. “Or do some of them actually ******** you willingly?” The words tasted deliciously acidic on her tongue and Evey’s smirk broadened a little. She didn’t care if she was positively goading the woman into pouncing on her, and anyway she still seemed a bit unsteady from that last rush of chilling emotion. With the statuette held loosely in both hands behind her back, the brunette stepped slowly forward until she stood quite near the other girl.

“As for that threesome…” she murmured coldly, eyes peering appraisingly over the elegant young woman before finally returning to her face. She smiled with a false warmth. Behind her back she moved the horse and knight into her right hand and gripped it tightly. Her eyes looked into Ami’s dark, hazy orbs and she laughed lightly. “Sorry. You’re not really my type.”

Squeezing the statuette in her fist, she abruptly swung it, pointy sword first, at Ami’s beautiful, pale face. She didn’t stop to see if her strike had hit before dropping the figurine and racing for the door, grabbing at the handle and yanking it open as adrenaline coursed through her veins and her heartbeat began to pound in her ears.

[- - la nuit blanche]

If looks could kill, Vianne would’ve been a class “A” assassin. Her eyes, those two emotional, cerulean pools, could change from calm, aqua seas, to frothing, churning oceans of icy disdain in less than a second. They spoke volumes, those eyes, even when her plush pink lips, for whatever reason, refused to part for the words on her mind. When Dae asserted that the contract, indeed, would be written up, would specifically outline all of the details, the blues lightened somehow, seeming playful and yet stinging, mocking, at the same time. A contract, a “specific outline,” Vianne thought to herself, allowing a vague smile, leaning towards a smirk, to tug at her mouth. What would it say? she wondered. How specific would it be concerning Vianne’s duties as a mock fiancée? “The party of the first part is due one kiss beside the mouth by the party of the second part each morning before the work day. The latter will be obliged to serve breakfast to the former in bed on weekends, and will not protest if the former declines sleep for physical intimacies three to six nights a week… The party of the second part will smile at all of her client’s friends and relations, wear only flattering, expensive cocktail dresses as a sign of her pretend fiancée’s wealth, and relinquish all human freedoms until she is dismissed by her employer.”

Vianne’s smile turned wry and she at last plucked away that stray thread she’d been toying with, letting it flutter from her fingers down to the carpet, which she’d be vacuuming in less than twelve hours. Then her eyes returned back to Dae, just in time to hear him explain that she would not be leaving his home during the visit of his friend, and that she would instead be moving into his bedroom with him. Still she said nothing, but her gaze grew hard, penetrating, as she stared across to the man. She was not pleased, but nevertheless, she did not argue. She supposed that taking such orders as these was merely another requirement to be met. And so, though she spat at him neither words of objection nor her reluctant acceptance (though the phrase “Fine, you stubborn b*****d” was certainly on her mind), Vianne’s chin dipped in a nod.

She suspected that would be the end of it, that she would have the last word – as she dearly wanted to – but no, the man crossed her path once more. It was not a terrifically wise move, and as Dae questioned her – “Why do you care if I noticed you or not? If your friends notice you, why should it matter if I did or didn’t?” – Vianne’s eyes really went to work on him. Wine glass in one hand, ashtray in the other, she made no move to talk, but merely stared at him, pointedly, harshly, but somberly, as if to say, “You goddamn fool, how can you not know?”.

She didn’t release him from her gaze until he’d turned away from her and went to his room. Then, at last, she continued to the kitchen and both glass and ashtray were thrown out of her hands and into the sink, where each clattered loudly into shards and crystal dust. They were only small casualties of her brazen outburst; the ashtray was a piece she’d brought out from her room, where it was never looked at, and she’d taken the wine glass from an old, mismatched set that Dae never used.

Resting her elbows upon the counter, the young woman let her face dip into her palms and she heaved a sigh. Her heart ached so much, her eyes had been threatening tears on and off since she woke up that morning. And yet Dae seemed to have no sympathy for what the mess she was. He’d buried himself in business, thought he’d come out at the top of a good deal with his problematic maid, and now slept soundly in his bed with its new, pristine sheets and downy pillows that no longer clung to the scent of her. All without the faintest notion that yes, it did matter whether or not he noticed her. That she didn’t go about her day giving him affectionate smiles and flowers on his desk just because she thought it was an obligation of her job. She cared for him and, after last night, presumed that at least a little of that fondness was mutual. It stung her deeply to know that this wasn’t true, and that Dae Hyun hadn’t any idea how and why she was so in pain just to look at him.

Vianne left the broken glass in the sink and simply went back to her room. Two sleeping tablets later, she was dozing, lightly at least, and slept on until sunrise. About half an hour before her employer’s alarm was set to go off, as she knew, her cell phone began to buzz its own morning wake up call and she sat up. She’d been awake on her own ten minutes before, counting the seconds until the alarm finally joined her.

This morning she didn’t bother to dress herself before going out to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She doubted engaged women found it necessary to put on a uniform every morning, and if she really was going to act the part, she ought to get all the perks it entailed as well. She tromped out in her loose, cotton drawstring pants and a clinging tank top and turned on the stove to get some eggs cooking. Her hair was bundled up loosely at the back of her head and she allowed a few strands to fall free to frame her face as she meandered about the kitchen in her bare feet. She sat down with her breakfast – a simple fried egg and piece of toast – then, as usual, worked on her employer’s meal. She was just setting out a fluffy omelet with fresh beel peppers and onions when she heard him call to her. She didn’t bother to answer. Soon enough he’d either hear her moving around, or smell his breakfast being set out upon the table. She cut up some fruit and set it in a bowl beside his eggs, then at last concluded the meal with a cup of hot coffee. She then returned to the sink where she remembered the mess of shattered glass she’d left the night before. She gnawed down on her lower lip and glanced back to the entry of the kitchen to see if Dae had arrived yet. Truthfully she’d meant to eat, get his breakfast set out, and leave before he came down from bed. She didn’t particularly want to see him. But she’d forgotten that she had a mess to clean up. She hurried to scoop the shards of glass out of the sink and drop them into the trash bin, then disappear before Dae came in. However, as she reached hastily for the last formidable flake of sharp wine glass, it slipped in her hands and sliced at one of her palms. With a hiss and scowl of pain, she finally got rid of the shard then ran her hand under cold water. A jagged cut ran across her left hand, along the soft pad just beneath her thumb, and blood began to seep out as the wound prickled sharply.

Keeping her hand beneath the cooling water, she glanced back and saw Dae arrive in the doorway. He was dressed more casually than she was used to seeing him and, well, he didn’t look half bad. She took the time to notice too, glancing languidly up from his legs to his fit torso, and finally to his handsome face and lovely almond eyes. She tried not to let him see that she enjoyed the view and merely turned back to the sink where, she suddenly remembered, her hand was gushing blood into the running water. “Casual day at the office?” she muttered, somewhat mockingly, without bothering to look back at Dae. It’d been hard enough to look away.

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

Almost as soon as Evelyn’s hand grasped the doorknob, a split second after she’d tugged hard to pull it open, the door was slammed swiftly back closed. Evey tried to yank it against the weight of Ami’s force holding it shut, but despite the little thing’s tenuous figure, she stood against the door with all the solidity of a brick wall. Evelyn let go of the knob and stepped back. Out of the corner of her eye, through a window in the adjacent sitting room, she saw a stream of light, what looked to be fire, and a mess of noise came to her ears. And though, she had hardly an instant to consider what sort of confrontation Edward and Jasper had met outside before the slight vampire before her was commanding her attention once again.

Evey saw the charred flesh upon the other girl’s shoulder and allowed herself a small, proud smirk. And yet, Ami’s threat did not go unheard. As she grabbed her face, Evey looked into her dark, almond eyes and listened close to what she said. However, she did no more than glare in response, until Ami chided her for being the sole reason for Edward to absolutely throw his life away. Evey faltered. Secretly she scolded herself for precisely the same sin, and now his entire family had been brought into it… Her heart fell within her chest. What would she do, to completely end the threat against her beloved Cullens? Could she accept Ami’s terms?

Evey sputtered lightly as the other female at last released her throat and one hand went to her neck, massaging the sore prints where Ami’s spindly fingers had been. She then looked soberly across at the girl, pausing, contemplating. But it didn’t take long for her decision to come to her: No. She’d not be going along with Ami’s little offer. She could never mean to. To leave Edward and give herself to Jason would be unbearable. And more than that, Brewer would surely be unable to contain himself and change her as soon as he could, and Edward’s only child would be lost forever. The shame perhaps she could bear, if Edward truly were out of danger, but to give up their child, his child… That sacrifice was one she could never even consider. And to even envision Ami, again coiled around Evey’s love, her heart’s only mate, was agony. Evey’s hands drew themselves into fists at even the briefest image of such a pairing. Her nails carved into her palms, and Ami’s delighted tittering did little to quiet Evey’s mounting fury.

“All I want,” she began slowly. “…is for Edward to be safe. Had I known, maybe, how much loving me would cost him, I might have sincerely urged him away at the very beginning.” Evey reached into her purse, hung up on the banister of the stairway, and withdrew her pack of cigarettes… and her lighter, along with a very small sample bottle of her favorite perfume. Casually she returned to the chair beside the door, and lit one cigarette as she sat back down. The tin lighter was clasped in her hand, balled up in her palm with her perfume for the time being. Her eyes returned to Ami. “But now… I could never take it back. He wouldn’t wish me to.” The petite brunette drew a fake drag from the cigarette, simply sucking smoke into her mouth and exhaling before it entered her lungs. It was a habit she’d certainly be dropping, now that another life would be damaged by the dirty routine. But she wanted to keep Ami relaxed, unsuspecting. This was supposed to be girl talk, wasn’t it?

Again Evey’s eyes trailed along the other young woman’s frame. “I can understand, of course, why you want him so bad…” She smiled slyly and stood, sidling gracefully, slowly, back towards Ami. She flicked the cigarette into a nearby ashtray on her way. “He is rather incredible… Jason, you know, is little more than a groping oaf in bed. Harsh, sloppy. Edward is… Well, he has a certain finesse,” the brunette purred smoothly. She saw another flare outside a near window, but she had to ignore it. She was attempting to distract her adversary, tease her into a euphoria that would give Evey the second chance she needed to act. This time, hopefully, more effective than the first. “His hands linger when he touches me, seem to know just where I want them. A perk, I guess, of having a mind-reader for a lover… But that isn’t even half of it. I’ve never known a man to be more… attentive, to a girl’s needs. He aches to please me, and he does it oh so well. Maybe you’ve felt it sometimes, when you’re in his head, but it can’t be anything compared to what I’ve felt…” Evey’s lips neared the other girl’s ear as she continued through a taunting little smile. “I suppose most vampires likely have the stamina to make love until dawn, but what use is that unless they do it well? My Edward, I’m convinced, leaves nothing to be desired. I can tell you, I never knew satisfaction until I felt him inside me…”

Evey slowly circled the other girl, letting one of her fingers twist seductively around a stray strand of her dark hair. At the same time, she twisted the top off the tiny bottle of perfume, and quietly emptied the flammable liquid all along the dragging frills of Ami’s dress. “I almost wish you could feel it too… The pleasure of him, and the gratification that comes knowing you’ve satisfied such a man…” she whispered to the crazed girl’s ear, delicately combing her long hair away from it. “But no matter how you try to get rid of me, I’m not sure you ever will. To tell the truth…” Evey flicked the lighter behind the girl’s back and it sparked into a tiny flame. “I don’t think you’re really his type either.” She dropped the lighter into the doused ruffles of Ami’s already blackened dress, then took a quick step back to watch the flames take.

[- - la nuit blanche]

Evey backed to a wall as the flames licked up from the hem of Ami’s dress, following the path of the spilled perfume up the back of the gown, then spreading to engulf the garment and its’ wearer entirely. Ami had struggled to pat out the flames as they grew, but it was no use. Evey watched with a mix of terror and pride as she tried to escape out of the house, singeing the doorframe as she went. Black smoke billowed and swirled behind her as she left the townhouse and Evey in her wake.

But Ami’s screams were not the only ones coming from outside. Evey wrapped her arms around herself as she expected the worst, picking out Edward’s voice in the chorus of agonized cries and moans. When seconds ago she’d begun to feel a little surge of pride, feeling that finally Ami would be leaving them alone at last, she was now filled with a terrible dread. Until that exquisite moment when the screams stopped all at once, and Edward appeared in the doorway and drew her into his arms to press his cool, perfect lips to her brow. Evey relaxed, half limp in his embrace, save for her own arms which held onto her mate tighter than ever. Soon enough, she would feel quite as though she’d redeemed herself for her frail human flaws – in fact she may be feeling rather smug indeed for having done away with Ami all on her own – but at that moment when Edward held her, she found herself trembling. She nestled her cheek into his shoulder and had her eyes closed tight. Calm as she’d remained during that encounter, she was appropriately shaken now.

All she wanted was to feel her beau kiss her, wrap her up in his arms and hide her somewhere neither of them would have to fight off any threatening enemies or ever be found. Her thoughts wandered briefly back to where they’d been whilst she was attempting to distract Ami, and considering Edward’s next words, he must’ve been listening in. Evelyn returned with a soft laugh, which sounded a little feeble, then managed a genuine grin as she looked up at the handsome young man, who looked impeccable as always, if not a bit shaken himself.

Regaining the feeling in her weakened knees, Evey raced along with Edward to the car. She faltered briefly, however, when she caught sight first of Jasper – who had gained himself a new battle scar – and the queer creature trapped beneath his foot. So that must have been the reason for the boys’ preoccupation earlier. Evelyn peered at the gangly man briefly; the look of him made chills crawl up her spine, and his threat did not go unnoticed. Evey practically leapt into the driver’s seat of the car at Edward’s request. She was more than happy to leave this place behind, before either the police or any more of Ami’s potential pets decided to show up.

With a last kiss from her mate, Evey threw the car into gear and shoved her foot down on the pedal. Even at its top speed, the vehicle labored to keep up with Edward as he ran ahead of her. Nevertheless, she didn’t bother to slow for a minute, nor did she give herself time to pay much attention to where they were headed or the scenery around her. She only peeked occasionally into her rear view mirror to be sure that Jasper was still following behind her.

She couldn’t be sure how long she’d been driving, but she did notice, at least vaguely, that the houses were beginning to grow larger and larger, until they were entering neighborhoods of estates. Evey could only figure that they were somewhere on the outskirts of town by now, and she had no qualms there. Somehow it felt better to be a little isolated. And the Cullens’ home did indeed have all the look of a perfect safe haven. As Evey emerged through the driveway and shut down the car at Edward’s cue, she looked rather contently upon the great, white house with its grand columns and marble steps. She was still gawking at it a little when Edward appeared by her side, holding out his hand to help her down from the driver’s seat. She took it, and slid to her feet, smiling to Jasper as he welcomed her to the place and went around the truck to get her bag.

She continued to hold tight to Edward’s hand and grinned, momentarily tugged out of her astonishment at the beautiful home, as he spoke to her again about the places her mind had been wandering earlier. Apparently now was a more suitable time for such thoughts. Evey squeezed his hand and stepped up on her tiptoes to affectionately press a kiss into his neck, just where his pulse would have beat – if he’d had one – and peeked up at him with a coy, knowing sort of smile. She felt now that her nerves had steadied and, with one hand still clasping Edward’s, she walked with him towards the lovely house, hooking her arm through Jasper’s on the way. She looked up between the two brothers and smiled rather delightedly.

“It’s a good thing I can take care of myself when I need to, huh, boys?” she teased, nudging playfully into Edward. “Some knights in shining armor you two are.” Evey laughed lightly and looked once more up to Edward’s handsome amber eyes, tugging his arm so it sat around her shoulders. She hoped he knew that she only meant to poke fun, leaven the mood a little. She sincerely doubted that Ami would have been able to hurt her without Edward noticing. Had she bothered to call his name, no matter how distracted he’d been with Zeke outside, Evey suspected he’d have come racing to her aid in an instant, always the proper hero. Her smile broadened and she circled an arm around Edward’s back, tucking her thumb into one of his jeans’ belt loops. “I don’t think Ami will be intruding any longer,” she murmured softly, letting her head lean into Edward’s shoulder as the trio approached the door.

[- - la nuit blanche]

If Evey had been impressed by the outside of the handsome one-story home, she was absolutely floored by the time they entered inside. Her eyes glanced about the place, drawing it all in with an eager fervor not only because it looked to be the palace of her dreams – complete with that gorgeous Steinway – but because it belonged to Edward and his family. She tried to gather a little more about each of them in the study of every furnishing, grasped desperately at every tiny detail in an attempt to piece together the family she already felt a part of. Though, she was not so distracted by it all that she couldn’t pay proper attention to her mate as he led her gentlemanly through his family’s home and towards his own quarters.

Fortunately, posters of boy bands were not in her decorating plans, but Evey laughed nonetheless, feeling lighter than she had been in quite a long while. She felt truly content here, comfortable and safe with both her Edward and Jasper – whom she was coming to warm to already; being near him always offered a queer sort of ease… -- as well to keep her company. Evey would’ve found some solace in unpacking her things, perhaps, sorting them all out into that fantastically huge walk-in closet, if only as a means to really, as Jasper had said, make herself at home. But as Edward returned to her side, lulled her into his embrace, and adeptly seduced her into a warm, lingering kiss, she decided that unpacking could wait. Until morning, at least.

Evey had somehow almost forgot just how intoxicating it was to feel her mate hold her, kiss her. Now that she could focus on him solely, she fell all too easily back into her usual, innocent infatuation with him. Her knees weakened – this time not at all because she’d earlier extinguished a fierce vampire all on her own, and lived to tell the tale – and with each passing instant, it grew more and more difficult to keep her desires well, cool. By the time Edward’s lips had moved to her ear, she was exhaling a tiny whine of encouragement, just about ready to pull the shirt off his back if he didn’t drag her to that beautifully made queen-sized bed and begin undressing her first. His question, though, deserved an answer, and Evey knew it. As the needful haze of longing cleared from her head, Evey looked up into Edward’s eyes and smiled a little. He was peering down at her in a way that told her that either she’d answer him, or he’d find some other way to persuade it out of her. Which, honestly, she wasn’t opposed to. But she may as well make it easy on him, and give them both more time for other activities once her inquisitive love was satisfied.

As Evey wondered what precisely she ought to say first, her delicate hands trailed down the vampire’s chest and one slipped into his grasp. Entwining their fingers, she tugged him to the bed with her, crawled on and comfortably laid herself down on her back. Her feet, as they dangled languidly down off the bottom of the mattress, nudged off her shoes and one arm folded itself back beneath her head as she chewed her lip contemplatively. Finally she breathed a long sigh and turned her eyes towards her beau. “I’m almost ashamed,” she began softly, “for how much I wanted to kill her.” It made it a little easier on her, knowing that Ami would’ve had no qualms killing her, but still. It left her a little shaken to know just how vicious she could be when necessary. She wondered if Edward would think of her differently, knowing that she’d, well, maybe not enjoyed killing the other woman, but certainly felt a deep need to do so.

“I can’t tell you how much it tormented me, to think that at any moment she could come between us. When I saw her kiss you, the night Jason took me away… It was more than jealousy that I felt. I knew she could try to manipulate you anytime she liked, and it killed me.” Evey reached for her love and gingerly traced her deft fingers down his sleeve. “Tonight, she wanted to force me to give you up, go back to Jason so that she could have you. And for a moment, I considered it. I wanted you to be safe, but then I knew I could never leave you, not until you ask me to go. I thought I’d do anything to keep you out of harm’s way, but it turns out I’m too selfish… I couldn’t bring myself to let you go. I’d have fought Ami, Jason, and all the Order together to keep you to myself at that moment.” Evey dampened her lips with a brief swipe of her tongue, then exhaled another heavy sigh.

“Getting the best of Ami wasn’t all that difficult…” she continued, turning onto her side to look up at her Edward. A faint smile teased at one corner of her lips. “All I had to do was remind her of what it feels like to be with you… Turns out I’m not the only one who you can distract so easily. Go figure.” The brunette’s smile turned into a grin. She knew just about every female on the planet would be fitfully sidetracked by Edward, whether he was making love to them or standing idly within view on a street corner. “It wasn’t very difficult to get her all hot and bothered. Believe me, you’ve given me plenty of material to tempt her with. I’d lit a cigarette earlier and managed to hold onto the lighter. All I had to do was light it again without her noticing. Luckily she was plenty distracted by then.”

Evey smiled a little sheepishly and let her hand once again find his, tugging him a little nearer to her. “I’d have done anything to free you from her."

[- - la nuit blanche]

Though the sun was beginning to fall low over the treetops and the forest called itself Black, little sense of foreboding reached the caravan of Roma gypsies camping in the shelter of the great wood. A formidable fire crackled and blazed in vibrant licks of orange and ruby, and the silvery chinking of a tambourine accompanied the lively melody of a jubilant flute and skillfully drawn fiddle. Swarthy musicians they were, playing around the campfire while their fellows perched on tree stumps and overturned logs, enjoying the entertainment and joining it with claps and spirited whoops. A few little children played naked in the nearby river, splashing and screeching excitedly, fighting off the mothers who dared try and remove them from their swimming hole or, the gods forbid, clean them.

A young woman – who would have been perhaps twenty-three, if any of these people bothered to keep track of age or birth dates – sat upon the grass, enjoying the music thoroughly although her eyes were not upon the trio of self-taught musicians. Plainly, because a young man sat by her side, who, with the musicians’ harmony, vied for the female’s attention. He was a handsome youth, fit, with raven black hair that flopped mischievously into his jade green eyes. One of his tanned, sinewy arms sat lazily around the girl’s shoulders and as they looked into each other’s faces, their foreheads affectionately pressed. As the song dwindled to an end, one of the lad’s hands coiled into his girl’s dark hair and he attempted to lure her lips to his for a kiss. But alas, at the last second, she turned her head so his mouth could only reach for her cheek. The coy girl’s lips pulled into a tiny, satisfied smile and as soon as her would-be sweetheart drew back, she pulled his embracing arm off her shoulders.

The lovely female was dressed with all the garish style expected of her kind. Orange skirts, frayed at the hem, clothed her legs with a deep violet sash, finished with small silver medallions, fastened about her waist. A bare strip of olive midriff came next, to where a billowing, cotton tunic hung around her torso, the neckline dipping far lower than most society would have deemed modest. And there hung an assortment of necklaces, some of turquoise stones, others of blood red beads. In her ears dangled golden hoops and her eyes were lined thickly in dark kohl. Pretty features marked her face: expressive hazel eyes, high, aristocratic cheekbones, and a full, plush set of stubborn lips. Her black hair fell in unruly waves near to her waist, tamed only slightly by a scarlet scarf that fastened like a band on top of her head and tied at the base of her neck.

“Syeira!” the fiddler called above the applause his last song had prompted. The attractive, dark-haired young woman looked up. The man appeared as appreciably worn and weathered as his instrument. His face crinkled into age lines as he smiled, and yet his bright eyes twinkled as brilliantly as the stars. “Come, girl, give us a dance! Show us that Turkish blood of yours.”

The young woman grinned knowingly and rose to her bare feet. It had long been rumored that her Turk mother had once been a prized dancer in some Ottoman sultan’s palace. Syeira would never know for sure; her mother had passed long ago, shortly after she was born. Syeira had been the b*****d daughter of some Spaniard, with whom she’d lived after her mother’s death. He’d tried to tame her, civilize her in any way he could. She was taught to speak a considerable amount of Spanish, French, and Italian by the time she was twelve years old. But at that point, she’d had enough. She could not escape her gypsy roots; that restlessness was in her mother’s blood, and so in her own as well. She ran away, traveled with any band of nomads she could find until she at last made it back to her mother’s people, those who traveled with the wind and entertained the trees with passionate songs until dawn.

“Only to delight an old man,” Syeira replied, prompting a few delighted chuckles from the fiddler’s comrades, as she crossed the clearing. She bent and kissed the violinist’s cheek, then snatched the tambourine from its owner and waited for the beat to begin.

It was a slow, mournful and beautiful tune, to which the girl danced with all the grace her kin had come to expect of her. Anklets of bells jingled with each step of her deft toes and the silver and bronze bangles that circled her forearms clinked in time with each shake of the tambourine. Throughout the dance, the nimble performer’s eyes were closed in surrender to the music, her brow slightly creased in fervent concentration. Her back arched, her arms reached, and her slender legs stepped as lightly and adeptly as a feline’s. She was flushed as the song neared its end, but no one would ever hear the last notes.

“Quiet!” an old woman bellowed, suddenly stumbling from her covered wooden wagon. “Hush, you fools!” The music faltered and Syeira opened her eyes. “The spirits have whispered to me tonight. We must move from this place! We cannot stay! They come… Strangers with cruel deeds heavy upon their minds, with merciless mission to carry out upon us!” The old woman’s glassy eyes looked pointedly at Syeira for a moment, then fluttered closed as she groaned and began to collapse. Two men caught her, quietly hushed her continued threats and demands – “Fools! We must go…! Must…” – and helped her back to her cart.

There was no more music after that.

Though the woman who had spoken was ancient as the earth itself, she had once been a great mystic, blessed with visions and connections to the world beyond. As of late, her predictions had grown a little… flawed. She was known to be little more than a harmless madwoman now who often wandered and spoke quietly to herself in muddled languages. And yet, the gypsies were superstitious as none alive, and the woman’s outburst, though likely erroneous, proved more than a little unsettling. The children were swiftly gathered from the river and put to bed, and as soon as the camp was cleared of the debris of the evening meal, each of the Roma retired, more quietly than usual, to bed. A disquieting tension hung heavy over the campsite now, and despite the old woman’s madness, the elder men had decided that it would be best, anyway, to move on in the morning.

Syeira went to her mother’s old wagon, where she kept her home, and closed herself in to go to bed. Though as she sat before a tarnished mirror, a tentative knock came, along with the whispered voice of her earlier male admirer. “Syeira,” the voice crooned, “Come, love, let me in?”

The young woman pouted a little and rolled her eyes at her own reflection. “No,” she said simply. “Go to bed, Nicolae.” As she dragged a brush through her dark hair, Syeira waited for the male’s protest, but she heard only a faint grumble and the path of his retreating steps, leaving her alone in the old wagon.

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

It seemed less than thirty seconds after Syeira had bade her gentleman caller to, essentially, piss off, that the entire clearing burst into bedlam. The young woman within the wagon managed to pull the prickly brush through her dark waves just half a stroke more before she was startled at her makeshift vanity by a woman’s shriek outside, and a male’s husky call of “Fire! Unhitch the ponies, get water from the river!” Syeira stood and made for the door to her cluttered, colorful wagon, only to be surprised that it was being bashed in towards her, broken through by a young man, a stranger with tawny hair and dark eyes. He stumbled through and stood before her, and then for a strange moment, he simply looked at her, and Syeira, silently, intensely, looked back.

Her hazel eyes roved his face with, admittedly, some admiration; there were handsome features beneath that grizzled stubble. And his gaze, it fell rather heavily upon her too. Under other circumstances, she may have been a little flattered at his stare, would have offered him a furtive smile, murmured to his ear in her native, passionate Rom tongue. But a peak in the noise outside – a chorus now of womens’ cries, terrified yelps of children, and considerable groans and guttural howls of pain from the men – reminded Syeira that this was not playtime, and this rugged lad before her was not some sweet simpleton from the village, happy to be seduced. He was unwelcome, a stranger, an enemy. And suddenly he had her tight by the arm, forcing her out of the wagon for all her struggling and yanking against him. It struck the girl that perhaps he wasn’t quite so handsome after all.

Outside, as the sounds had indicated, the underworld seemed to have been wrenched open. Fires were budding everywhere, arrows fell from the sky like shards of rain, and bodies – some unconscious, some bloodied corpses – lay hunched upon the mossy forest ground. Amongst those who had been taken to the spirits, Syeira saw, was her dear old fiddler, the cheerful fellow whose cheek she’d kissed not one half of an hour ago as he bade her dance. Her stomach lurched and her eyes filled with tears. Half-dressed children ran aimlessly in search of their mothers and fathers, weeping and howling for their family. And the majority of the women, all gathered near the center of the clearing, huddled to one another, some of them dressed in only their nightclothes.

Syeira gave another mighty pull against her captor, digging her bare heels into the soft ground and baring her teeth. Her dark eyes grew wild and she cursed at him in a mix of snarls and barks – words he would have been happy not to understand, surely. But as she tried to wrench away, her gaze passed the flames scorching the top of a nearby wagon, billowing in vibrant scarlet and gold like her woven scarves caught in the breeze. And suddenly a strange pressure came over her. It started with a subtle tingle at her fingertips, then mounted and grew until the sensation was a choking heaviness that made all the world feel weighted and strangled. The sights around her, the fires, the trees, the milky light of the moon, were swirling into blurred colors and hazy memories. The din of the scene became what sounded like a thousand whispering voices in her ear, muddling her very thoughts and growing so deafening she wanted to scream. Then it felt as though she were falling, forcefully tumbling towards a black oblivion while heat tore through her skin, searing every nerve. Her body drooped somewhat, and as her mind fell into a haze, she stopped pulling and stumbled limply along with her forceful escort.

And then she was thrown back into perfect clarity, though the vision before her was as the most vivid dream; reality was elsewhere now. She no longer saw the fires or the trees, or her comrades trying to fight off the invaders, nor the women gathered in a row, weeping and clutching to one another. Her surroundings were fuzzy, dark. Was she back in her wagon at nighttime? Or some makeshift tent in the forest? Though her surroundings were not necessarily the primary focus of this dream. She was in a man’s arms, that was clear. His strong, deft hands combed through her hair, which was now naked of that colorful scarf. In fact, a good deal of her was now nude, clothed only in her lover’s embrace. Their lips pressed, his hands cupped and caressed with the softest care, and Syera felt every portion of her body lean into him, ache for him. Only some unseen candle lit this secret tryst, and her paramour’s features were difficult to make out. He crooned to her softly in some foreign tongue; was it Portuguese? No, no, it sounded far more like Italian, she thought. All else she could hear were her own breaths, quivering, hushed, as if somehow she were struggling to keep herself quiet. And then the man found her lips once more, engulfed them warmly with his own, and a sweet tightness came into her heart. She wanted to weep for love of this man. And then, as he drew away, she peered up into his eyes. They were warm and dark, familiar, but only barely. For she’d only ever looked into them once before, just moments ago…

That rush of pressure began to return. Syeira begged to be left in this dream, this vision, where her Italian lover held and kissed her, touched her face with gentle, calloused hands and clutched her to his bared chest. But sounds of bitter crying, terrified yells, began to ring in her ears once more. She was back in the caravan’s clearing, gasping suddenly for breath, trembling slightly. The brute who gripped her arm demanded that she go stand with the other women – Syeira’s speaking skills in Italian were faintly broken, but she retained near perfect comprehension – and he threw her forward. Yet she stumbled not to the center of the clearing, for she was speedily grabbed up by another man. A larger bully than his companion who clutched her tightly to him. For now, the young woman’s confusion vision was ignored and she invested herself in struggling, fighting to wriggle out of the grinning oaf’s brawny arms. “Let go!” she growled in his language, speaking it well enough though it was thick with that sharp, rugged gypsy accent. Hers was vaguely different from typical Roma. It had the calculated spice of a Spanish senora, and yet the exotic slur of a Turkish courtesan.

“Leave us, filthy, Italiano swine,” she snarled brashly. And as the big brute chuckled at her, she spat in his face and thrust a knee into his groin. It was a rather precise hit and she took her advantage to wrench out of the man’s arms. Then, like a veritable hellion, she raced towards the lad who had taken her from her wagon and lunged for his throat. Tears mingled with her eye liner and streamed watery black rivers down her olive cheeks. “Murderers!” she sobbed, recalling the poor violinist. “There no weapons here. We’ve done no wrong! Will you slaughter us all, you pigs?” Losing herself in her own rage and despair, she clawed at the young man, pummeled him with angry fists until she could scarce breathe and furious tears ran hot and free down her face.

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[- - la nuit blanche]

Had the Italian’s arms not been raised, shielding both his head and his neck, the young woman surely would’ve tried to strangle the life out of him. Her eyes blazed with the hot, heady desire for vengeance, and even if she couldn’t get her hands around her throat, the stealthy soldier would probably find himself a few new bruises by morning. Her hands pushed and her nails clawed fiercely, drawing streaks of blood from the one of the man’s lean forearms. Then suddenly, though not unexpectedly, she was being yanked up off of him. But despite the force that pulled her, her fight didn’t end for a second. She lunged and reached back for the man, managed a harsh kick even as she was dragged away. But the man who had come to his comrade’s aid pulled her a good distance away, his grip around her narrow waist binding her arms down to her sides. She squirmed and struggled, but her feet had left the ground and she couldn’t find herself any decent way out. She couldn’t reach the man who held her, nor could she now do anything to harm the one now getting up to his feet and sending her a chilling glare. He moved to strike her, and for the briefest instant Syeira’s eyes showed a mix of shock, even terror. And then his hand slowly lowered, and the smallest, mocking smirk trickled across the girl’s lips. “Domuz!” she spat triumphantly after him. Certainly it was only a mistake that the man in her vision had possessed eyes so similar to that Italian piç.

Syeira continued to wriggle and squirm, as if her only wish was to be free to go attempt to throttle that man again, but she swiftly began to realize that the soldier behind her tightened his grasp the more she struggled, and soon she was growing fatigued. As her fight quieted somewhat, she breathed sharp, shallow breaths through flared nostrils and listened rigidly to what the tall man spoke to her. And yet, understand him though she did, she must not have registered the threat. As his grasp loosened and her feet touched the ground, she gave a last mighty jerk of her body, enough to plunge her elbow sharply at the male’s abdomen. The blow hit with little force, though it had been as much as the girl had mustered, and she heard the man laugh softly in response before nudging her towards the center of the clearing. Though before she was out of his grasp, she felt his hand indulge in a firm squeeze of her behind and she halted abruptly two steps away, and whirled around. She did not attempt to jump on him the way she had his companion, but if looks could kill, he’d have been dead where his feet touched the ground. Her eyes smoldered with prideful indignity and her pretty jaw was set as her teeth gnashed behind her soft red lips. She’d have happily continued her attempt to murder him with that glare, but she heard someone call her name from the gathering of women, and she slowly turned away to join them at last.

“My husband, they’ve killed him! And my oldest boy as well, my firstborn…” one woman sobbed, near hysterics as she buried her face in a tan, blood-spattered shawl. “What can they want with us?” another nervously begged to know. “Who are they? Where have they come from?” Syeira stood beside a young girl who looked about the age of seventeen and took one of her hands. The poor thing kept whimpering her brother’s name, and though she did not cry, she stared blankly ahead, her face white as ash. Syeira drew an arm around her shoulders and searched the row for the girl’s mother. When she caught sight of her, she led the daughter to the older woman. That was when she saw little Ayla throw herself down to one of the soldiers’ feet. It was the same man Syeira had leapt on earlier, and he acted in kind with his fellows, stamping his foot and frightening the young girl away from him without promising any help, any mercy.

Syeira struggled through the group of women and finally came to the small girl’s side. The brutish soldier had began to stride away, but Syeira watched him go with hate festering in her eyes, though soon enough she turned her gaze back to the young girl. She knelt down where Ayla still crouched upon the grass and gingerly helped her back up to her feet, hugging her to her bosom and soothingly combing her long, graceful fingers through the girl’s hair. “What will happen to us..?” Ayla somberly asked, looking up to Syeira with sad, frightened eyes. “What are they going to do? Why wouldn’t that man help..?” The older girl hugged her closer, resting her cheek atop the girl’s head. “Hush, my love,” Syeira murmured softly. “He is a soldier, a killer, like the others. Such men think little of our people. He will not help… But come, wear my turquoise necklace, I know how you’ve always loved it.” Forcing a smile, the dark gypsy drew the string of dangling vibrant blue stones from her throat and set the necklace over the young girl’s head. Ayla returned the other girl’s smile, faintly, and looked down at the turquoise stones. She had so longed for that necklace. “Keep your chin up, kuzucuğum… I will not let them touch you,” Syeira swore, kissing the girl’s forehead gingerly. A pair of the men – the stony-faced one and the large, bald brute – appeared to be making their way down the line of women. Syeira felt both males’ eyes upon her, and when she looked up, she saw the big one murmur something to his fellow then laugh, and turn his lecherous gaze back towards her again.

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[- - la nuit blanche]

Somehow, whenever Evey guessed that perhaps she might have the upper hand, the better hold of restraint, Edward always had the audacity to prove her wrong. This being so, it was a damned good thing that their roles had not been reversed. Poor Edward would have been eaten up before they could’ve had their first kiss. Though, at least for her own pride’s sake, Evey had to remind herself: like flame beckoning to a moth, flickering brightly, dancing seductively, Edward was systematically built to tempt his prey. It wasn’t even fair. He didn’t even have to try. His exquisite looks, that lean, tantalizing body, the fresh, sweet taste of his breath, and that warm, mouth-watering aroma of his skin… All fiendish ploys to draw her in! She could already feel the fiery heat on her delicate, frantically flapping wings. One kiss more, one final whisper to her ear, and those wings would flutter one beat too close and she’d be engulfed in flames. Reduced to ash and smoke, and yet, somehow, still smiling, contentedly, euphorically, with a last ecstatic moan echoing out for only the flame to hear. Damn him. She’d meant to climb on top of him to tempt him, tease him, undress him only at the slowest pace, with her teeth, maybe. And here she was, grinding into his lap, her heart racing, dying to rip off her clothes and have him as fast as he could possibly take her.

No fair at all.

In playful response to his final, suspicious statement, Evey grinned, her eyes never wavering from their view of his lips, and nodded her head slowly in the affirmative. Now, at this moment, yes, perhaps she did only want him for his body, for those physical, corporeal delights it never ceased to offer. She could find no use now for the gallant knight, the possessive protector who guarded her bravely from all evils through every night, nor for the sophisticated gentleman, the intelligent, cultured pianist who could woo her for hours with his song. She needed only the lover, the exquisite Adonis who would drown her in delicious kisses, unite them in passionate ecstasy, forcibly, mercilessly seduce and love her, and hold her tight as stars lighted behind her eyes. Then do it all a hundred times over again.

“You’ll take that as a compliment, won’t you?” she teased breathlessly, before diving back into his kiss. She made a beeline for that plush, lower lip of his, suckling it, bathing it with her tongue, and giving it a desperately firm little bite before letting it get away. One hand still clung to the back of his head, her fingers now twisting themselves up into knots in his hair, leaving it significantly mussed and ruffled. Though, as its mate traced needily along Edward’s perfectly firm chest and abdomen, that hand slid out of the golden locks, to idly finger at one strap of her bra. That flimsy little ivory number, with its silly rose-patterned lace, would just have to go. Both hands now left Edward – briefly, though it felt an absolute eternity – to sneak behind her back and reach for those two, irritating little hooks. This motion just so happened to force her breast forward, nestling in deep against her love’s impeccable pectorals. She fumbled in her haste, but prevailed at last. The hooks came unfastened – she’d realize in the morning that one had even been broken in her clumsiness – and both straps fell forward, slipping from her shoulders to be torn off her arms, until the full garment could be peeled off and tossed aside. Right in time for Edward’s lips to begin their wandering trek down from her neck, making short work of her delicately protruding collarbones, and swiftly journeying on.

Evey began to feel ever so grateful that her Edward’s body temperature was constantly something akin to that of an ice cube. Her flesh somehow had the habit of heating faster than sand beneath the desert sun whenever Edward’s lips were upon it, and the pressure of his skin against it was like a cool cloth to the forehead, not fully removing but certainly soothing that impassioned fever. Flustered and flushed, a shaky breath collapsed Evey’s breast and anxiously exited her parted lips as Edward’s mouth did all she bade it, and even more along the way. So adeptly so that, as often happened whenever Evey decided to use Edward’s mind-reading capability to her own advantage, that she stopped bothering to command him with her thoughts. She ceased to make those tiny, unconscious requests entirely; they proved, as usual, rather unnecessary. With or without her mind to guide him, Edward somehow knew perfectly well what skillful little actions would reward him with precisely the response he may have hoped for. Finesse was certainly the right word.

Evey’s back fell into a slight arch as Edward’s lips reached for the valley between her breasts, her head tilting and her dark hair flooding soft, feathery waves down her back. One hand grasped one of Edward’s forearms, while the other migrated again to the back of his head, resting there idly as his lips worked complete magic. “You know, babe,” she half gasped to him, her mouth pulling into a tiny smile. “I don’t think the description I gave to Ami did you any justice at all.”