A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 06byEdenVanEver©
After a family loss, I'm back. Many apologies for my absence at such a cliffhanger, I was so busy dealing with grief and moving on that my drive for this story fell by the wayside. I had planned on working the painting of Stella's Mom into this chapter, but it just didn't work out. I hope you enjoy it and I promise, no more girl-on-girl unless it's tagged as such. I wasn't aware that chapters could fall into different categories! Feedback is always welcome!
It wasn't her fault. She doesn't know her legacy, her past, her responsibility... yet. She didn't know the forces in the world beyond what her human life had shown her. To her, her mother was a simple victim of a genetic anomaly, an albino. Her father, a mystery. Her skin was merely fragile and allergic. She doesn't know the power she just gave to that blond wretch. She's not aware the predator in her shadows, lurking, hunting, waiting to snatch her. All she knows is what she's seen.
"I've failed her!" he shouted in his head, feet crunching the snow on the sidewalk.
He couldn't believe after so many thousands of years, he could screw up in such a profound fashion. How could he not have picked up that vermin's scent? How did he let her be taken in and seduced? He pulled the collar on his coat up, jammed his fists down in his pockets and got lost in his rage. He just didn't know everything was already coming to a head.
Planting the coffee down in front of the strange woman, he sat across from her and nursed his own cup. Steam was rising off smelling of vanilla and caramel. She didn't move to touch it, in fact, she hardly moved at all. She just sat there, smug and still. He had no idea where to start. She wanted something. He could feel it.
"She tastes almost like she smells," the small woman said and watched the emotions dance across his face.
"She's pure, you have know way of knowing that," he fought back his anger.
"I know it the same way you do," she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, "Except she knew I was there and begged me not to stop. She tasted like vanilla, spicy vanilla and woman. When I lick my lips she's still there. Would you like to taste? You're welcome to if you don't believe me."
Suddenly his cup was out of his hands and this tiny blonde was straddling him, her nose almost touching his. Her eyes glowed with a primal light, he knew she was more than human then. She ran her hand up his abs, up his chest and touched his lips. He could smell the familiar musk on her fingers and his blood began pounding in his ears. He leaned away from her and gave her a hard glare. She pulled her fingers up to her own mouth and began to lick them. Suddenly he slapped her hand from her mouth and tried to shove at her hips, but it felt as though she were made of steel. She clenched her thighs and he felt like his pelvis was going to shatter.
"What exactly is it you want from me?" he seethed through his teeth, through his pain and anger.
"Access," she whispered nipping at his neck, seeming to feed off his pain, "I'm going to help you take her and I need unrestricted access to her."
"Why on Earth would I agree to that? What could you possibly want from us?"
"Us!" she giggled and threw her head back, grinding herself against him, "You're an 'Us' already? How absolutely... boring. Do you expect to chain her up until she loves you, force her to have your disgusting little children and then what? Live happily ever after? Ha! I suppose you'll be her world, but what about when you're away? At work? Do you think you can be to her what you're going to force her to be to you? I can feel you getting hard. I can feel you liking what I'm doing to you. You aren't even capable of a modicum of self control. You want to fuck me, you want me to make you fuck me. What I want with her is more ancient and amazing than your tiny little mind can handle. You'll just be the perfect babysitter. Keeps me from having to get my hands dirty," she lifted herself off him, "You need a history lesson, my boy. You have a lot to learn, especially about yourself."
"Maybe it's you who has the learning to do," he hissed.
"You'll do well to mind me, unless you want to lose your little play-thing before you even get a chance to unwrap her."
Suddenly she was gone, and a letter in black ink on silvery paper said simply, "I'll be in touch." He rubbed at his thighs and hips where she had crushed him with her legs. She had promised to make delivery of his prize. He straightened up his office and made his way out front to see if there were any customers.
Stella glared at the parcel. The box sat on her coffee table. It needed to be opened and she walked a circle around it and then went into the kitchen. She ground up some coffee beans and put the kettle on. She munched on some grapes from the basket on her counter and mused about what could be lurking inside the package. The water began to bubble so she poured it into the glass carafe and set the timer, absently popping a few more grapes in her mouth. She hadn't heard anything about her mother since her funeral. She barely remembered it all, it was if some kind of protective haze clouded the parts that should be painful.
The timer went off and there was a knocking on the door at the same time. She sighed at the French press and went to see who it was. She straightened herself out as best she could before opening it. It was morning for her, after all. Smoothing a few strands and tucking them behind her ears, she crossed her arms across her chest to hide that she wasn't wearing a bra yet. She reached forward and turned the knob, positioning herself behind the door. She was stunned when she peered out and two green eyes met hers.
"You! What are you doing here!" she said, shocked.
"I'm here to explain some things," he replied softly.
"I think you've done enough damage," she retorted, thinking about her foot.
"I didn't do any damage! Speaking of which, I trust it's healed now?" he raised a brow at her.
"I..." she stopped realizing that her foot was indeed feeling back to new, suddenly, "yes, how would you know anything about that?"
"Like I said, I'm here to explain some things," he shrugged.
She pulled the door open and swept her arm grandly towards the inside of her apartment. Making sure to pull her robe around her and cross her arms, modestly, she returned to the coffee, setting the lid on the carafe and plunging it down, waiting on her visitor to begin. He didn't, he just shifted uncomfortably.
"Coffee?" she asked, as brightly as she could, hoping to get him saying anything.
"Umm... yes. Yes please."
"You're from around here?"
"You came to explain something?" she followed his gaze to the box.
"Yes," he glanced back at her briefly and returned to studying the mystery on he table, "You haven't opened this yet?"
"Ahhh, no," she handed him a mug, "I was just getting ready to."
He sipped intently for a moment and then suddenly appeared by the box, resting his fingertips on it, lightly. Stella, visibly shocked at his movements, made her way cautiously over to it. He squatted down eye-level with it and seemed to smile a little. As if the box was whispering fond shared memories to him. She suddenly realized that he was a beautiful man. He wore jeans, a thin argyle sweater layered over an oxford shirt and under a gray wool Navy coat. The Burgundy in the sweater seemed to make the jade in his eyes glow, or perhaps they meerly were glowing. Either way, he was a sight to behold.
He looked up at her, as if he were suddenly reminded of her presence. He smiled a little more and appeared beside her. He sipped from his mug and gave an appreciative "Mmmm." She felt comfortable, like she imagined she would feel with family. They enjoyed the silence of each other's company for a few moments and then they moved in unison to sit on the sofa. He pulled her mug from her hand and set it with his on the end table. Carefully he reached forward and popped the tape off the brown packing paper. Stella was grateful for his initiative. She had a sense that whatever was in this box was going to change everything in her world. He pulled the paper off and folded it up neatly. Staring at them now was a storage box with a lift off lid. He pried the tape off for her and stopped. She caught herself in a daze watching his fingers work the tape off carefully, she realized that now she had to take over. The simple act of lifting a lid seemed as thought it might as well be an Olympic Triathalon.
"It's ok," he reassured her.
She looked into the backlit emerald and jade of his eyes and took a deep breath. She leaned forward and slowly lifted the lid. The first thing she noticed was a musty, storage smell. Then it hit her. She remembered the smell of her Mother, underneith the smell of years sitting hidden away was the soft, floral scent of the woman who gave her life. She wiped the tears away from her cheeks and looked back at him. He opened his eyes, was he smelling it too? He smiled at her and nodded to encourage her.
"I remember her," she sighed, "I remember her smell now."
"Yes," he nodded, "Your mother was a remarkable woman."
"You knew her? You're no older than me!" Stella gasped.
"Little Starlight, I am many, many times older than you, what you're going to learn today is exactly how much looks can decieve you," he placed his hand over hers.
He watched the door to the coffee shop. The longer he waited, the more anxious he became. This was strange, she was usually having her normal cup of coffee by now. He closed his eyes and thought about how absolutely furious he was at the idea of someone else between her ivory thighs. The skin on his back was hot, and angry and added to the hostility he felt. As minutes ticked by, the door that his eyes were glued on became nothing and his thoughts drifted to the image of his delicate, auburn haired princess. Her head fallen back in ecstasy, her snowy fingers clasped in tight blond ringlets between her legs. The heat of his anger flickered into a pool of boiling lust as he pictured them, the mysterious golden haired woman lapping and nipping at the soft petals of his love's womanhood. He drew himself farther back into the shadows and felt himself rise to the fantasies. Throbbing, warm and hard, the back of his neck prickled.
"I thought you said she would be here?" she said, jerking him out of his daze.
"She usually is," he looked around, suspiciously.
"Well, it seems you don't know her as well as you thought. You didn't even know she likes the feeling of another woman cumming in her mouth," she grinned and cast him a sideways glance through her flaxen curls. Her eyes alit with mischief, "I didnt think she was ever going to stop sucking on my clit. For a virgin, she's quite full of surprises."
He flexed his hands into fists several times, feeling the leather of his gloves tighten around his knuckles. He glared at her as she batted her eyes under raised brows, sipping at a throwaway cup of coffee. For someone who looked so much like a very fuckable porcelain doll, she was a filthy bitch under it all. She flicked the collar of her coat up around her neck and face and looped an arm through his.
"It's off for tonight," she sighed, "I went past her apartment and her lights are on. I looked through the spyhole."
He grunted and looked down at his feet, disappointed and frustrated.
"All's not lost though," she said in an upbeat tone, "You may not know what my face looks like buried in her crotch, but you can learn first hand what it looks like in yours."
He felt his face flush red and then blanch white. She was obviously enjoying the show of colors because she was smirking quite openly. His eyes were wide with the realization that she must have some sort of mind reading ability. She saw what he'd been lusting about.
"You're a filthy little whore," he said finally.
"Ahhh, whore. After all this time, that's the best men can come up with. You don't burn women at the stake anymore, but fuck me, it seems 'whore' will always be your go-to for anything you don't understand. I'm much more than a whore, I am much more than the women you have known in your life. I am lust, I am vengeance, I am sex and I am darkness. I can be the best thing you will ever know, or the things your tiny mind can't even have nightmares about," her tone still even and matter-of-fact, "Now, show me where you'll be keeping her."
He grumbled and began walking. Her arm still looped in his. She felt tiny against him, but there was power in her. He'd felt it in his office as she was crushing him. From the outside, they must have looked like any other couple, but the disdain and lust burning off of him and her cool, calculating stride was there, under the surface. They strode up to his apartment, he opened the door and followed her in. She took note of how tidy and organized everything was. There were no sharp edges in case their soon-to-be captive got desperate, she even noticed the tracks in the ceiling.
"For her chains, I'm assuming?" she said pointing up.
"Show me how they work, I want to see the chains, the shackles, everything."
"I decided against shackles," he strode towards a closet, "I had leather cuffs made. I felt like shackles would cause unwanted damage to her skin."
"Ahh, I see," she watched him pull the chains back and forth along the track.
"I also have this closet made for light deprivation and there's four restraint points," he said flipping on a switch inside the small space.
"You've light-proofed the rest of the apartment, I trust?" she ran her fingers up his arm.
"Why would I do that? I've made the closet light proof."
"So you're going to leave her hanging in a closet during all daylight hours? You are a twisted fuck," she smirked.
"Why would I do that?" he pulled away from her.
"So she doesn't burn? She's allergic to sunlight. You knew that right?" she glared at him.
"Who the fuck is allergic to sunlight? She just works all day," he snapped.
"You complete and utter moron, she is allergic to sunlight, she burns, instantly. It's part of her lineage, part of why I need access to her. Fuck's sake," she hissed, "How can you stalk a girl for months on end and NOT realize something so absolutely crucial?"
Suddenly, it made sense. She'd been on crutches because of him. He pulled her curtains open so he would have access from across the road, and he'd felt disgust and rage at her when he saw her injured. It was HIS fault. He ran his hands down his face, his mind racing with blackout curtains, maybe painting the windows. Suddenly his hands were above his head in cuffs, attached to the track. She'd strapped him up so fast, he'd not even felt it. His eyes went wide with fury as he looked at his curvy little companion slinking around him.
"No matter," she said, dismissing the lightproofing situation, "Easily fixable."
"Let me go," he said flatly.
"Do you have any idea of the things that are out there? The things that go bump in the night?" she was inches from his face now.
"What are you talking about?" he glared.
She stepped backwards from him and he noticed her eyes glowed with a fire that seemed to suck his very soul into them. She unbuttoned his shirt, and then ripped it off his arms, the rough assault searing the flayed skin on his back. She spared him no sympathy, though as she furiously undid his belt and ripped his pants from him. She even took the time to tear his socks away and his boxers were sent in shreds to the other side of the room. His head clearing from the pain, he, for a moment mentally chastised her messy ways. For some reason, he wasn't afraid. He glared at her with as much hardness as he could muster. She slapped his face, hard.
"You can't even hang there like a good boy," she sighed, "You could have played along earlier and this could have been easier for you."
"I wouldn't dream of playing nice with you," he whispered harshly.
"Fine," she said and stared at him for a moment, seeming to mentally critique his form.
She walked around him, stopping to run her fingers along his lash marks. She was less than delicate and when she came back around to face him, her fingers were saturated in his blood. She licked it off, seeming to savor it. Her eyes met his again and she stepped back a few steps. She began to undo her coat, giving him glances of hot expectation. He didn't look away from her eyes. The jacket slowly slid from her arms onto the floor, revealing a pinstripe corset over a black shirt, slightly worn jeans tucked into black stiletto boots, which she unlaced, making sure to stay at just the right angle to give him the most optimal view of her assets. She stepped free of her pants and reached back to begin unlacing the bunny-eared bow of her corset. He finally let his eyes wander as she finished unfastening the busk and dropped it to the side of her. She watched him with a wanton expression as she undid the buttons of her top, one by one.
His arms were aching, but so was his pride. Still, he found himself responding to her little strip tease. She was now in black panties and a matching bra. She had that self-assured smirk that seemed to have a near full-time place on her delicate features. She walked over to the bed and crawled on it, looking back at him and beckoning him forward on the tracks. He refused. He stood in his spot, refusing to give in to her harlotry. Suddenly he felt as though there were a force behind him pushing him forward, like a wall of air. He slid across the wood floors, wide eyed with anger at the loss of his ability to deny her anything. His shins cracked into the bed frame painfully and he winced, slightly. Trying to hide his discomfort from her, since it obviously brought her pleasure. She divested herself of her panties and bra, staying on her knees, exposed to him, only inches from his shaft. She lowered her top half onto the bed and reached between her knees. She used her tiny fingers to spread her nether-lips open. He looked down at the bloom of soft pink, her tight holes and noticed the scars on her back. A slash across each shoulder bone. He dragged his gaze back down to her flower, spread open in front of him. She looked too tight, he wanted to plow himself into her and make her scream in pain. While her ring and pointer fingers splayed her lips out, her middle finger traced around her bud. Her other hand busied itself twisting and rubbing her pale nipples. Dew began to trickle towards her nub, and the smell of blood oranges and fresh berries hung in the air, suddenly. He felt himself turn more primal than he had ever felt before. Against any self control, he was desperate to be inside her. To fill her up and make her beg him to stop. He pulled against the chains, thrust his hips forward and she looked back over her shoulder and simply rubbed her clit harder. He thrust again, hard and he felt his tip just touch her opening. He wanted to feel his fingers wrapped in her curls, smashing her face into the bed as he made her submit to him.
She watched as he thrashed in his bonds, she knew he was spraining his wrists. She also knew her inhuman pheromones were driving him over the line of madness. Her power wasn't what it once was, but it was still quite effective. She felt the few semi-successful lunges of his rod against her hole. She rolled over onto her back and spread her legs to him, changing the energy she released into the room. His thrusting stopped and his eyes grew wide with hunger. She arched her back into the sensation of self gratification and complete dominance over him.
When she rolled onto her back, he wanted to plant his face into her center, to take everything she had down there into himself. It was sheer cruelty when she popped her fingers into her mouth and "Mmmmmm'ed," with pleasure. It was like he was suddenly the thirstiest creature on the planet and only her essence would satisfy him. He felt such longing that he thought he would die if he couldn't taste her. His damned hands tied up, she was so close if only he weren't tethered to the ceiling. She quit playing with her breasts and waved her hand strangely. In a flash of heat, the leather cuffs turned to ash and he was free. He paid no mind to the ache in his shoulders and arms, he merely set his eyes on his prize. He scooped his hands under her thighs and pulled her to him. She caught his forehead with her palm. He looked up into her eyes and she was very stern. He felt he was going to drop dead if he had to wait any longer.