Black Roses

     He crouches at her window as some great gargoyle of lore. His breath frosts the windowpanes, hinting at his needs. Hair of silk ribbons spun of hematite and liquid silver fall across a face that death has surly kissed, pallid and cool as the moonlight. Spider Fingers brush the class, his crystalline nails click, drops of ice.

     She holds her breath, caught like the bird in a serpent's gaze. His eyes are the green of all the dead kings' emeralds, grown acidic from the shadows. Tentatively, she reaches for the latch and pulls. The wind flutters blue silk. He merges from the shadows and she whispers her invitation. He moves forward as a tiger would when stalking the lamb. He smiles, and she feels talons of fire tracing up the thin line of her spine.

     He joins her on the bed, his cool arms pulling her to his chest. She rests her head slightly and shudders at the lack of a heartbeat. They kiss, wine red lips and cobalt meet, and heaven and hell shatter in their altars. Her cross presses the hollow of his throat and he hisses.

     They break away, and he smiles, a dragon before the killing of the maiden fair. He kisses her neck, once, twice, thrice. She shivers; he tears the silver off her neck with wicked fangs. They push and slide across her neck as needles. Warm flesh breaks with their points and crimson blood flows fresh, hot, full of fire and forbidden spice. Her blue eyes widen and she is a hind caught in a hunter's path. Her red hair falls across her cheeks and he savors the scent of is as much as he does her blood. The night calls its end as the moon sinks into distant mountains.

     He lets go his grip; his meals last remnants falling across the sheets. He stands, his form stepping into the moonlight, to be swallowed from the shadows from whence it came. The only remnants of his presence the black rose petals floating in with the predawn chill.

Gin_Oni 2001