I don't own Daughters of the Moon.

Abashed the Devil stood,
And felt how awful goodness is, and saw
Virtue in her shape how lovely—saw, and pined His loss.

—Paradise Lost, John Milton

Of course, he, Stanton, never meant to be snared in such a dangerous web. For centuries, women have flounced by, some whom captured his fixation; but this meager infatuation always dimmed down, a fluttering of a candle flame. For his cold heart, nothing was ever too tempting—and he, the serpent, was the embodiement of raw and vile temptation—enough to defy his existence. But then again, for a life that would stretch on for an eternity, he never expected not to be surprised, despite how evil a creature he was; not be bemused by his own string of dull emotions.

Serena, she captured his attention, just another simple infatuation—a pure mind, bright and clever, coupled with a copper-fleshed, crimson-haired beauty. It was only a matter of time, and this insufferable longing would surpass. "In do time," he always commented while gliding through the shadows, on her trail, gazing at how lovely her face was. She represented, just the same as Vanessa, what goodness and virtue and purity really were and the reason behind their existence.

She was and is a Daughter of Selene.

"And I must have her," he recalled his decleration, months back, and realized that this lust was not declining, but, in fact, burning into his heart, a permanent wound. His once dark mind during slumber was soon clouded by her, a Goddess. The second battle between them, several weeks upon their first confrontation, was a struggle within him: harm her, strip of her soul, or submit to this revolting desire and allow her freedom to continue possessing that pure and beautiful soul of hers.

Indeed, the struggle was fierce. As his Followers, the three idiots, battled these four Daughters, he observed—he witnessed her every step; the way her hips sensually swayed in stride, or how the curls delicately resting on her naked collarbone remained intact. He desired to taste the curve of her neck, frail flesh that would surely be warm. Her scent, a rosy fragrance, peppered the air. She was lovely, a fine creature that needed to be treated with speciality, but then again… the other three were, also.

But, that darkness—which a part of him enjoyed very much—, so different from her comrades, glittered in her emerald orbs, and he wished to have that side of her, too. He needed to devour every aspect of her and her soul… her body. He was battling between the lust for her mind—to flush out her every secret and have her thoughts only pining after him—and her body, so beautiful, flawless, and perfect.

And his thoughts, so focused on her, slipped, and she, the Goddess, was gazing, wide-eyed, at him, losing her own focus. For a brief moment and a pregnant pause, both stared at each other, a cloak of utter fixation draping upon both of them in those few seconds. An attractive flush of pink adorned her finely-sculpted cheeks, and she tore her eyes away, no longer under the tempting spell.

You saw everything, he projected into her mind, somehwat alert, but also… relieved; relieved of the thoughts that conquered his mind, day and night. And she merely continued standing beside her sisters till the battle was won, and they were sauntering away. While his three Followers, rather exhausted and fatigued, awaited punishment, he could only watch as she strode away.

And for a moment, she glimpsed behind her shoulders, eyes fluttering and sparkling beneath thick eyelashes; teeth pressed against her bottom lip in nervousness as they locked eyes.

I desire every inch of you, he, again, sent, to which she snapped the other way, that same pink staining her cheeks, and turned the corner with her sisters. He was a fool in love—a fool lusting after his enemy, the one he was meant to destroy. But the idea of witnessing her green orbs grow listless and blanketed by death was near unbearable; to see, while suffering, as that once pure heart halted in rhythm, and her mind slowly close as all thought escaped her mind.

He dreamt of her, that passionate flame of desire still flickering in his heart.

She was lounging in a field of golden, she, too, draped in this shimmering color; a satin, backless gown that swept to the ground, and with two sapphires holding the straps to her top. The widow's peak of her burgundy curls were pinned back, a golden diadem glowing on her forehead. She toyed with a single hyacinth-blue flower, rosy lips briefly touching a petal. The moon illuminated every naked part of her body—her slender arms, her thigh peeking through the V-slant of the gown, and of course, her chest, her shoulders, her neck… her face.

And she, the temptress in this situation, batted her eyelashes and beckoned him forward. Without hesitation—only the steady thud-thud of his heart and the scorching sensations slithering through his entire body—he strode over to her; eased down beside her and flicked back loose curls. His thumb stroked the golden jewel on her forehead—a single blue ruby in the center of the diadem, just the color of his eyes.

She leaned forward, lips glazing his cheeks as she purred into his ear, I desire every inch of you.

And he cupped her face in his hands and gingerly pressed his lips to hers. His lust flared, and she, too, could feel it as it stroked her with phantom arms; a dark aura that engufled both of them. She fell on her back, him following after, and he moved his lips to that delicious curve—her neck, tasting of sweets and purity. His tongue slid up her throat, to which she arched her back and grasped his honey-gold tresses with warm fingers. Her head was thrown back, and he once again kissed her lips.

Their tongues—her fresh, cool breath entering his mouth—weaved together, a battle. In this ferocious struggle, their teeth grinded against one another, and the weight of him pressed down on her. The need to dominate blazed in his mind, and clasping her wrists with one hand, he pinned them above her head. A beautiful sound rolled off her tongue, and he found his mouth wandering to her chest.

This dream abruptly ended at the dawning of sunlight in the early morning. His breathing, back in reality, was rough and shallow. He clenched the sheets of his bed, unable to stand the vicious beat of his heart, the tingling ache of his body. Sweat protruded from his skin, and his muscles contracted.

Upon driving up the winding streets of Palos Verdes, he discovered her, knowing precisely where she often lounged. And indeed, she plucked rocks from the ground of the rocky beach, several fisherman perhced high atop one of the cliffside boulders. Even easing down beside her on the thick quilt she rested on, he found her to be completely transfixed, gazing out into the horizon.

"I had a dream," she commented in a melodic voice that flooded his ears. He weaved into her mind, to which she allowed without any struggle, and his heart, once again, hit a solid note that rattled his bones. The same dream, so hauntingly beautiful as his, played before his eyes. And she, too, had awoken in a warm sweat that sheathed her smooth flesh.

He caressed her cheek, the lust flaming. "We shared the same dream—our minds unknowingly touched last night."

"Keep dreaming," she murmured smoothly, the slightest of a quiver present in her words. The irony of the statement brought upon a brief note of laughter, to which she ignored, although fighting the smile aching to beam on her beautiful face. A breeze whistled and caught her hair; wisps of curls billowed about her face in a motion that hypnotized him.

"You're so lovely and pure."

Her eyes flicked down to where he stroked; her fingers, chilled by the misty wind. Ocean spray blanketed them now and again. His arm hooked around her shoulders, warm fingering attempting to heat up her cold body. She, with somewhat hesitation, leaned against him, the same perfume of her natural scent emitting from her—and he savored it.