My apologies to the reviewers! It's been AGES since I've updated ANY STORY! But as the Chinese New Year holidays are about to start, there's a chance I may actually be able to update more often! Shall we?
Oh, before I forget, here's a second tribute to one of the uber –Underworld fics I've ever read-"Human Frailty".
Shirra was a passive lover. Always. It did not come as a surprise to Vladislaus. She had, after all, died a virgin. An innocent.
Vladislaus would give. She would take. But she would sometimes return it-only with less fervor than his. It didn't matter. She was new. She would learn. They had eternity.
She moved gently and innocently, so very unlike the dominant, calculated ministrations of his late brides.
Vladisalus had almost laughed once when she wanted to stop –her shyness at them both unclothed and the fact that it was her first time were the reasons.
"I can't go on…."
He finished it for her.
He could take any woman. ANY woman. Yet, it was SHE he had returned to. He. Returned. To. Her. With others, it was the other way round. They would yearn, lust, hanker, and BURN for him.
At times, Dracula felt an irrational pang of anger undeservedly directed at Shirra: for she made him want…CRAVE.
Damnit woman, you made me want….
It was an alien feeling, Want. Almost….almost human.
He felt it whenever he awoke alone in his casket or bed alone, when she was away or not in his (un)loving arms.
It was also a feeling he felt after their 'exertions'. When he held her form to his, when her nude back was pressed to his cold chest, appearing, as one flesh-melded into one fallen, bittersweet symphony-he wanted MORE. From her. Not Aleera. Not Marishka. Not Verona. Not even…Cordelia. After all, he had fallen in love with Shirra-who looked like her, acted like her and even laughed like her-but was her own person.
He snaps out of his reverie and turns around. She is dressed in a devilishly seductive number-a silk raven cape flowing behind a scarlet gown, cut in a way that makes her look bizarrely innocent and sexy all in one. It resembles blood against a midnight sky. She is gingerly fingering her neck. Newborns after all, do not heal as fast as their sires.
Dracula instinctively feels for his. It has already healed of course. But she certainly is returning him with more fervor than usual. Which explains the already fading scar on his collarbone.
"Ah, the little not -so-innocent ingénue has arrived."
He laughs at her expression. She resembles a child caught doing something naughty.
"What do you mean?"
"See for yourself,"
He replies, revealing the love-bites.
"Do you know what frightens me?"
"That you don't know your strength-
here her voice became husky. She glided towards him, until their faces nearly touched.
"I want to mark-and be marked …again."
He looks at her, a shadow of what almost seems to be shock and uncertainty upon his darkly handsome features.
With those words, she released the beast from its confines, the dragon from his abyss, the Devil from his Perdition.
Fine raiment are shedded like inhibitions of Old. Tonight, he would mark her again. And then SHE would make another-and vice versa. Why? Because she is HIS. And he is HERS. Both belong to each other. Both YEARN. Both WANT. Each other. It is their DESIRE for each other, that burns like fire in them…and a piece of Humanity that –like frail silver thread-holds them together…