Disclaimer: I don't own Daughters of the Moon. Vanessa and Serena had not escaped, is the deal. Expect lemons, smut, whatever else you'd like to call everything about to happen. And: Serena x Stanton, Catty x Kyle (you'll see), Catty x Vanessa (love it!), Adamantis x Vanessa (onesided, people, ONESIDED!). Lemons! Perhaps more pairings, too. Not sure.

Send a heartbeat to
The void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
For now we stand alone
The world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate
With no more to hate.

—The End Is The Beginning Is The End, Smashing Pumpkin


Chapter One - I'm Your Servant, Do As You Please

Vanessa, curtains of blonde tresses framing her face, gazed into the blazing fire of the hearth, uncomprehending yet thankful for the warmth. Across the room, Serena paced, pinching her chin. Contemplative. Both girls appeared sickly, with gaunt cheeks, pale complexions and flesh, and slender, frail bones that would surely snap easily under pressure.

"I don't understand," Serena mumbled, voice withered and feeble. The blonde merely craned her neck as to stare out the sinlge window. Into the crimson skies of the ominous Nefandus. Shadows twirled and swirled. Stars burned savagely in the crimson pool. No moon shimmered. No guidance or energy for the two Daughters to embrace. It smelt of blooming flowers and scented candles in the rather stylish bedroom.

They had been brought, while blindfolded, into this room for an unknown reason. Candles in holders against the wallpapered walls flicked yellow and orange brightness across the area. A fur rug, shaped into the body of a white tiger, resided in the center. Teeth still barred. Yellow orbs glaring dangerously into nothing, displaying its beastly character. A silver tray with fish bones and a half-drinken glass of scarlet wine rested on an end table beside a plump, velvety armchair. One queen-sized bed—satin red sheets neatly made, with curtains hooked up on the wooden pillars of it—mocked Vanessa. She desperately wanted to fall into a deep slumber. Blurred darkness. A refreshing restart for the next day.

Would another day dawn for them?

Serena groaned before flooping down beside a vanity desk. Glaring into the mirror. "This is a girl's room," she whispered, toying with a small, emerald-encrusted chest. Jewels probably piled inside. However, as Vanessa observed, it opened, and Serena, glancing inside, suddely paled. Her lips curled down and her fingers smoothed across something inside the chest. Expression stunned.

The blonde, leaping up from her position beside the hearth, strode forward. "Serena, wha—?"

The wooden door slammed open, two Regulators storming inside, mossy green skin reeking of the stench of a revolting swamp. Serena eased out of the seat in front of the vanity, an unknown item clutched in her hand as she hid it behind her back. Vanessa, examining the Regulators, situated herself beside Serena, both girls standing tall. Standing without fear. It showed evidently, though, through the tough mask.

"Calm down," a nasally voice commaned. The bristling Regulators eased out of the way, shoulders slouching. Adamantis strolled through, cloak draping to the floor. Behind, Stanton and several other Followers trailed behind, the hem of their ebony robes flapping behind; Stanton's a more silken quality, with the symbol of evil etched into the back, mirroring his status as Prince of the Night. Two hands holding the eternal flame of evil. Evil. Serena would never admit to it.

But Serena eyed with him venem seething through her. However, a new emotion—hard in her emerald eyes—was present. Curiosity? Hope? Her grasp on the item seemingly tightened. Before Vanessa could question her, Adamantis spoke up.

"I suppose you are wondering why you are here, Goddesses?"

Vanessa nodded, dumbfounded, and Serena stared at the floor with petulant yet confounded eyes. Stanton, noticing her hands behind her back, arched an eyebrow, perplexed. Adamantis, oblivious, laughed whole-heartedly at them. Whole-heartedly? He didn't have a heart, nor a soul.

"We will not destroy you."

Serena didn't even register him speaking, too focused on the floor. Avoidining something. Stanton's gaze, perhaps? But Vanessa, despite the coldness of the air and the shivering of her body, felt her heart beat rapidly at the notion. They'd live. But at what cost? Sensing this curious state of fear raging in her mind, Adamantis sniggered, expression menacing.

"We've decided to make you slaves..."

One of the Cincti members stumbled forward instantly, excitement blazing in his voice. "I want that one!" He pointed to Serena, who refused to gaze upward. Vanessa watched as Stanton's eyes narrowed noticably and his fingers curled into fists. Adamantis shoved the man back, annoyance in his tone as he responded, "Only myself and Stanton may have one."

Adamantis and Stanton locked eyes. A telepathic exchange occured, judging by the glassines of their eyes. Vanessa frowned upon seeing Stanton's face crumple slightly, his body stiffen. Adamantis had chosen Serena, Vanessa thought, and the thought... relieved her. The selfishness of it slammed into her. Nefandus was changing her. Pandora's daughter. A treacherous beauty. She didn't want to be with Adamantis, yes, but that didn't mean she had to be glad that he'd chosen Serena—!

"I'll have the blonde then," Adamantis remarked jovially.

Her heart momentarily stopped. Serena, too, took a sharp intake of breath. The idea of being with Stanton didn't please her, nor Stanton, judging by his stony expression and deep-set grimace. Adamantis laughed boisterously at the pain on Vanessa's face, and after gesturing behind, one the Regulators staggered forward. Grasping her arm. Serena, finally snapping up, reached for Vanessa. Whimpering slightly. A hand clasped around her wrist, and she glared as Stanton pulled her back. Possessive in the worst way. Face stony, emotionless.

"Serena!" Vanessa cried as the Regulator trudged off. She, trapped in his unmoving grip. The door slammed shut, sealing Stanton and Serena inside; not before Adamantis tossed him an article of clothing, silk and deep violet. The Cincti members, visibly envious and agitated, lumbered off. The hallways she was dragged through were darkly-lit. Cold. That cold of sins and autrocious evils.

Hell.

No.

Nefandus.

Adamntis strode easily beside her and the Regulator. Smiling serenely. Owning her. Thinking he could command her around. But he could. The very thought caused violent tremors down Vanessa's spine. Commanded by Adamantis, the worst of all?

She gritted her teeth. "You bastard!"

"We have made specific outfits for the both of you," Adamantis explained nonchalantly, ignoring her remark. "Silk gowns, in fact—very beautiful. My daughter possesses one, also. Hers is a dark jade, breezy and flexible. She values it. Yours will be a bright blue to match your eyes." He stroked under her eyelids. Such a disturbing touch. But something else stabbed her heart.

"Y-You daughter...?"

His eyebrows rose. "Catty lives with me. I'm sure she'll enjoy your company."

Vanessa, grieving, halted in her resistance to the Regulator's grasp. Her head sunk down. Every emotion seeped from her chest, leaving it hollow. Defeat struck her down in a single blow. Adamantis merely smirked.

-

Serena rubbed her bare arms soothingly. The violet-colored gown was cold. Smooth against her body. It was backless with stringy straps and a front that draped down, revealing too much cleavage. The hem swept to the floor. A pool of dark purple under her feet whenever she strode. She was barefoot, and the cold wooden floor slithered through her. A single chain dangled around her right ankle. It, too, was cold.

The bedroom, as she now understood, belonged to Stanton. He was currently off somewhere; having simply tossed her the gown before swiftly exiting the room, not registering her presence. Ignoring her. After bathing in a massive tub in the bathroom connected to the room, and slipping into the gown, she finally observed what she had discovered in the chest. It was a necklace, one that had Stanton had given her months and months back. When she had awoken in Nefandus, alone with Vanessa, it had been gone from her neck. The gold chain swung before her eyes. A gemstone. A rock. Colored into a glittering azure-emerald mix. Their eyes. Together.

Her eyes burned. He must still care for her, right...? Yet... The way he stared at her. Revulsion. As if she was inferior. Nothing but a waste of space. A Goddess, his true enemy, someone he loathed since the beginning of his new life as a Follower. Nothing to him.

"Why else would I have wanted you...?"

His previous words flicked across her mind. He had used her, strung her along with a seductive smile and charming words. Of course, once freely stepping into the Cold Fire and allowing the Prince of the Night's robe to drape on his shoulders, he'd be purely evil. A creature of wickedness. She had foolishly given in, listening to her naive heart and not her wise mind.

"Stupid," she grumbled, smacking her hand to her forehead before slumping on the bed. She traced a finger along the satin fabric, and her eyes burned again. But with dull sleepiness. "Damn..." Her eyes fluttered briefly, and just as she fell to her side, darkness clouded her vision. Hours seemed to fly by, and before she could understand, she jerked up, aware of the darkness of the room. The candles were no longer lit.

Propping up on her elbows, only crimson light spewed into the bedroom through transparent curtains. Just as she opted to go back to sleep, a shadowed figure caught her attention. She gasped.

Stanton, illuminated by the red light, was hunched over on a Victorian-fashioned sofa, eyes closed... Sleeping. Swallowing the nervousness, she observed him. His handsome, angular face. The blonde tresses that framed his face. He no longer wore the traditional robe. No, instead, he sported a silky, button-up shirt, black fabric, and black pants. He hadn't woken her to take back his bed. So sweet. So kind.

Her heart hammered against the inside of her chest. Perhaps... he had... watched her for a few minutes...? She sat up more, and with shock, she watched as the sheets draped down. She hadn't tucked under them. He must have—

"Stop it," Stanton murmured. Her eyes widened and she scurried back, startled. His eyes fluttered open. Luminous blue that glowed beautifully. He eased out of the sofa, stretching once before saying in a deep voice, "You're lovestruck teenage girl. I didn't want you to become sick from the cold. If you belong to me as a... servant... than I need you healthy." Glaring at her, he added, "I don't love you. I can't."

She frowned, displeased and dishearted. "I hate you."

A smirk tugged at his lips. "You love me. It's amusing."

"Shut up!" She slid out of the bed, fingers flexing. Smoothing her hands down the dress, she felt more cold upon realizing that long, V-slant had been cut into the sides, also. Something she hadn't realized before due to the dazed state of mind. Sleazy men, she thought sourly before glaring up at Stanton. However, her eyebrows pinched together. He seemed rigid... gazing at the slant... the slice of flesh. Bronze and flawless.

And she laughed.

"You love my body, though, don't you?" she taunted. Not comprehending the newfound ache of outrage in her body. It commanded her words. Stanton crossed his arms, and she continued mockingly, "You may be pure fucking evil, but you're still the common human guy in everyday life."

He seethed. "Common guy?"

Serena, controlled by rage and vengeance, strode over to him. His hand shot out at the last second, gripping her wrist painfully. She hissed. His fingers only tightened. "Don't taunt me, Goddess," he warned, voice low and husky and rather vicious. "I'm much more powerful than you."

"You wouldn't harm me," she challenged, fully confident.

In response, his grip tightened. Blood stopped circulating to her hand. After several prolonged moments of them glaring, he released her and took a single step backward. Smug. Always smug. Rubbing her wrist, she turned around and managed several steps before halting. Her body ached. Something burned. It was foreign and blazed inside her. Bold. She felt... bold. She felt different... alive. It almost hurt.

"Go to bed," she heard Stanton order. "You're very crabby and not like yourself. More so a hormonal bitch."

She breathed evenly. "Not... like... myself?"

"Sleep."

Serena, breathing now shallow, whipped around. Stanton, who was about to slump back down, paused, eyebrow cocked. "What are you doing?" he questioned, somewhat exhausted. Exasperated. As if everything was facade to him. How lovely.

"If you can't stand me," she replied deeply, "then why did you choose me and not Vanessa?"

His eyes were slits. "Adamantis wanted her."

"Yet you're more powerful. Was it fear? Does he intimidate you? I can't blame you. He's way more frightening."

Stanton stormed forward, angered, yet halted only inches away, calming himself down before saying, "You're not Serena. I don't understand why you've turned into a clone of Cassandra"—she gritted her teeth—"but I suggest you quiet down before I'm forced to hurt you even more."

"Then why didn't you choose Vanessa!" she cried, furious. "I don't want to me near you."

He glared out the window. Lips pressed into a firm line. "I can't say." He then smiled coyly down at her. "And you do want to be near me." Adding to it, he swept his fingers down her arm. The odd flame ignited. Bold. Different. Alive. It hurt.

Serena couldn't stand how he mocked her.

"You want to be near me," she retorted. "You may not love me, but like I said, you're a guy controlled by emotions. No, wait... If some other girl offered herself, you wouldn't take it. No, you're too virtuous. But I'm not some other girl. I'm the single girl at the moment that you can't resist. I'm... temptation."

"Temptation?" He scoffed. "You don't know the meaning."

Bold.

Different.

Alive.

No more pain.

She let a single finger move under the strap of her dress, and unfaltering, she slid it off. It eased down, flesh being revealed even more. The next strap. More skin. Naked chest. Exposed. Stanton visibly became a stiff statue, head cocked slightly. Observing the newly exposed skin. Gawking, not observing. Tantalized. Intoxicated. Enchanted. Her full, plump breasts. "A common guy," she mumbled, to which he clenched her eyes shut.

"A common whore," he snapped. Refusing to gape even more.

"You're trying to resist," she mocked cruelly. Bold. "But you can't. I know what's in your mind. How much you wanted my body when we were together, but too much of a gentleman to ever give in. I respected that. But being in this horrible place for so long... I'm not me." Her palm smoothed up his chest, toying with the buttons, and she marveled at how taut he became. All by her doing. Her touch. "And I'm not a common whore. I suppose I'm just your whore. I am your servant, right? Shouldn't I do what you want?

"... And if you don't want this..."

Her voice trailed off as she began slipping the straps back up. Stanton's eyes opened, and the moment she blinked, his fingers were wrapped around her neck. Forcing her forward. Their lips clashed together. Teeth smacking against one another as their mouths opened. His tongue battled against hers, and in response, she bit his bottom lip. Blood seeped into her mouth and his. It tasted good. The fiery passion.

Moving his hand away from her neck, he shoved her away. Stunned, she fell onto her back onto the bed. Blinking at the ceiling for a moment, she glared, but found him discarding his shirt and easing around the bed. Moving to hover above her. Warm lips pressed against the hollow of her neck. She tangled her fingers through his blonde tendrils. A hand ruffled her dress up, revealing lacy underwear. Wasting no time.

Being exposed, as she expected, did not mortify her. Because in this world, in this unfortunate world where everything was heightened—emotions, abilities—, she couldn't feel like a normal human being. She was something new. Something different. More fitting for this dimension. Stanton once commented how Followers experienced much greater emotions, as shocking as it sounded, than most, especially with such increased senses. Stronger senses. Stronger emotions. Stronger pleasure and lust.

In one easy move, he slipped the gown off her. It pooled to the floor along side his shirt. She threw her head back against the pillow. His tongue traced across both breasts. Nipping and sucking. Her breathing was low. And he wasn't slow or tender. Because he couldn't be. Too much emotion, raw and passionate, raged against him. She didn't mind. She was the same way, lost and commaned by something new.

But mostly lost. Lost in something.

Before she could understand, his tongue was inside her, underwear torn off. Hands dug into her waist as she instinctively arched upward, gasping. She tossed her head to the side, unable to stand the warm flow glowing in her lower regions. Tumbles of burgundy-colored curls, silky and soft, piled under her head. The flame struck her. He moved his head from side to side, adjusting the position of his tongue inside of her. Moving in deeper. It continued for several minutes.

"Oh, God," she gasped, chest moving up and down. He continued flicking his tongue, darting around. Tasting as much of her as possible. His fingers pressed against the tender flesh of hips. Forcing her still as she writhed. One hand soothed her thigh, quivering from the pleasure.

She gasped once more, "Fuck!"

The warm flow slithered off, being replacing by a beautiful heat that felt incredibly satisfying. Stanton reappeared on top of her, while she continued panting. They briefly locked eyes before he roughly shoved his lips against hers. She drowned in it, but the fumbling of his fingers, glazing across her stomach, alerted her, and she knew he was removing his pants. Metal clattered on the floor. A belt. Nothing but skin on skin.

She was a virgin. He knew. But it wasn't soft and gentle. He wasted no time. Because she couldn't feel the pain. Being lost for months in such a treacherous, cold place, she couldn't feel that much anymore. But other emotions were reawekened. They distracted pain of any sort. And because Stanton knew this, he didn't just enter smoothly and softly while asking, "Are you okay?"

Because he couldn't.

A shutter of breath rolled off her tongue as he shoved into her, positioned between her legs. Her ankles, in response, locked around his waist, unmoving, and her fingers dug into his back. Slicing through skin. Blood slid down. He merely hissed, pressed his face into the curve of her neck, and thrust once more. The wounds healed, but she dug deeper into his back, wishing for every inch of him as deep inside her as possible.

"Fuck," she cried, panting. "Harder!"

He continued thrusting as deeply as possible. The fire broke loss, increasing then declining, before increasing once more in intensity. It burned and scorched. So wonderful. She could feel it building, and she wanted desperately to hold onto it for as long as possible, but also to release as much as possible—to have the fire burst free. It was a painful contradiction.

His breathing was rough in her ear. He bit her neck, tongue soothing the redness away as he continued slamming into her. Her head was titled back as she released her hands from his back. Her fingers carved into the silk sheets, pulling it up slightly. His hands rested on either side of her as he moved up slightly, speed increasing immensely fast.

Fast. Quick. Panting. Thrusting.

She moaned loudly, whimpering. Crying out sometimes. Her eyes shut. Too much. Not enough. Too much! Not enough! The confusion hurt. It was becoming too much. The flames inside her were about to explode. Stanton continued moving faster and faster, moving in and out as he continued pounding into her. Fucking her, seemed fit. Not love-making. Hell, not even sex!

Fucking.

And the word pleased her as she smiled, eyes fluttering open. Stanton lowered his head, eyes clenched shut. Fingers tearing at the silky sheets as both of them released something burning and intense. She couldn't bite down on her lip. No, she screamed, head thrown back against the pillow in ecstacy as she let everything flow free. The heat blazed, a numbing feel that was the best thing ever. Stanton, still inside her, shoved in as deep as ever for a few moments of bliss, prolonging the massive climax. The liquids spewing forth.

The numbing beauty of the fire dispersed. Her breathing slowly subsided and Stanton collapsed beside her, chest heaving. Both gazed at the ceiling, working to gain some oxygen. She, however, snickered at the sight of the sheets. Torn and strewn, with fabric poking out. A breeze whistled through the adjacent window. Comforting and cool against skin that protruded sweat. Sticky, damp sweat.

It was, however, not silent.

"Wrong," Stanton murmured. Pinching the bridge of his nose. "This was wrong. He warned me. Stupid, stupid..." His fist slammed down. Smashing a pillow. Serena tugged the sheet over her nude form, uncomprehending. He was talking to himself. Conflicted. "He warned you," Stanton continued, frowning. "You couldn't control yourself. But he doesn't have to know."

Serena's fingers clasped his upper arm. Hard muscle. The notion excited her, but she disregarded it. "Adamantis warned you not to try anything with me? What do you have to fear of him?" Her eyebrows knotted together. Distress. It plagued the room.

"He shouldn't know," Stanton whispered huskily. "He'll use it against me. He's planning something." A sigh tore from his throat. "Then again, everyone's planning something nowadays. The Atrox is more vulnerable than usual. Everyone wants to destroy it, even the Cincti. Everyone wants to become the next ruler, the next Atrox."

"But you're next in line!" she argued gruffly.

He scoffed. "Then they'll destroy me, too."

"You're stronger," she protested. Unnerved, however, by the vague sense of fear in his tone. Why fear? She'd never seen such an emotion on him. "If the Atrox is destroyed, then the power will flow to you, and you'll rule."

"Not if I'm destroyed first." He rolled to the side. Staring into her eyes. The fear, again, broke through. It terrified her. "He doesn't know I care for you, but I think he can guess. Catty's been good about keeping memories of us locked away. But he can see it in me." His thumb caressed her cheek. Feathery. "As of now, you're the only weakness I have. I can't allow him to know. We can't do anything like this again." He smiled pleasantly. A row of perfect teeth. "Please, Serena, for my sake and yours, never seduce me again. Or make me so furious. Keep your dress on, please?"

She simpered. "You enjoyed it."

"Every last bit."

"I am your servant," she continued. A devious temptress. "Your slave."

Stanton scowled. "You don't belong to me. You belong to yourself, Serena." Seeing the brief hurt in her eyes, he added, "But that doesn't mean that I don't have a part of you. I do have a part of you. I've officially claimed you. I've... taken a part of you. Something precious. Something I'd like to enjoy one last time before we put up our masquerade of not loving each other."

He rolled on top of her, propped on his elbows. Careful not to crush her. She giggled against his tender kisses, peppering every inch of her. Two fingers slid inside of her. She gasped in excitement and pleasure, and the cycle repeated. Although less angry and more tender. Loving. Soft. She delighted herself in the rushing warmth. It pulsed through her boiling blood. Boiling to high temperatures in such a cold place.

So tender.

Brisk.

Light.

Human.

-

Vanessa lounged on the wooden floor. Animal heads, doe-eyed and frozen in permanent fear, were pinned to each wall. A massive hearth emenated a consoling warmth. The fire crackled, snapping at her. The gown was silky and smooth against her skin. Indeed, the baby blue fabric, shimmering against the flames, matched her eyes completely. Shimmering and glassy.

She may have been less anxious, but everything about the situation haunted her. It wounded her heart. Caved in her chest. She and Serena were slaves, forced to do the bidding of their "owners". Their masters. And they way Adamantis gazed at her. His coal black eyes, flashing yellow sometimes, wandered along every trail of naked flesh. How could Zoe Reese have...? The idea disgusted her.

"Don't be disgusted by my mother," a frosty voice sneered. Catty strolled forth, velvety black cloak swooshing behind her lace-up boots. Her features were hard, sculpted, a statue that not even Aphrodite nor Helen of Troy could compete with. Her fragrance was fresh roses. Flat, dark-brown tresses were curled at the tips, several swirls that remained intact. Beautiful. Everything about Catty was beautiful.

Everything except her eyes. They were dark, stony. No emotion at all. It melted away Vanessa's confidence that her friend could be saved. Her best friend. How could Catty have so easily discarded their history, their sisterly love?

"Because I was destined for this." Catty answered her thoughts.

Vanessa frowned. "Well good for you, Dark Princess."

"Are you mocking me?" She cocked her head. The blonde huffed. Crossed her arms. Unable to stare into those dark pools of wickedness. "Vanessa, you should feel no fear of me," Catty continued. This time she was mocking. "None at all."

The blonde eased to her feet. Energy crackled. "I'm far more powerful. I'm a Daughter of Pandora. A Daughter of Destruction. You're nothing but a... a... a half-breed!" The cutting remark did its deed. Shimmering crimson lights began forming before Catty. Her eyes were narrowed. Both girls faced each other. The tremendous force of their indivisual auras clashed. Before either could strike, another presence formed.

"Aw, bravo, Vanessa! I'm quite proud of you, giving into your evil nature!" Adamantis applauded before sharply turning to Catty, the smile vanishing. His daughter, shoulders slumping, lowered her head. Ashamed? Frightened? Before Vanessa could observe, she stormed out of the room, the hem of her cloak swaying behind. "I'm sorry for my daughter. She's become wildly uncontrolled," Adamantis apologized.

"Fuck you," Vanessa spat. "Stop acting like I'm your welcomed guest. You made me and my friend a slave!"

"Oh, but I saved you," Adamantis countered. Shaking his head at her, as though she was a child. "The Atrox would have killed you sooner or later. But I proposed we make you and the other Goddesss temporary servants. Perhaps until you become to weary. I even wished to give the both of you immortality, somehow, and although you'd be members of the Cincti... you'd remain slaves. Eternally."

She clenched her teeth. Fists shaking at her sides.

"But the Atrox feared how much power you'd have as Immortals." He shook his head, annoyed. "As if you and the other could ever match the strength of the Cincti combined!"

"But we could!" she snapped. "As Goddesses, right now, we could!"

He smiled knowingly. "Then why have you not?"

She opened her mouth. Nothing came up. Agitated, she locked her arms around her knees and glared into the fire. Adamantis, examining her, slowly sauntered in front of her. "Why did you have to choose me?" she whispered. "Why did you have to make such a stupid plan? Enslaving us! Why don't you just kill us!"

"I wouldn't mind killing the other Goddess, Serena." His face scrunched in disgust. "But the Prince of the Night wouldn't seem to like his prize being destroyed. After all, he'd worked so hard for her."

Vanessa scowled. "She hates him. He used her."

"Did he...?" It was a question that hung in the air. Adamantis seemed contemplative. "If I had her killed, he'd surely have me destroyed in the process. Retaliation. How childish. I'd seen him evolve, seen him from the beginning. I've never seen him so taken by someone. She is the key, though," he mused, stroking his chin. "I suppose having her would be useful to him. If he was planning something... Something dangerous."

She rubbed her arms. The heat was becoming too much. "He's not like the rest of you," she retorted. "He's not planning anything."

"He's next in line for the throne," Adamantis said. Something seemed to occur to him. "That means he's more likely to destroy the Atrox. He'd gain the power instantly. Not if I killed him first... I'd already warned him."

At that statement, Vanessa tensed. "Warned him...? What do you mean?"

"I had promised to have Serena destroyed, maybe even forced into the Cold Fire, if he tried anything with her. We can't have one of our loyalist members being devoted to a Daughter. But I hope he'll give in and convert her into a Follower. Give into his true Follower nature. He doesn't want her to become a Witch Goddess. She'd be pure evil, uncaring of him. Probably go to the arms of someone else." He smirked. "But as a Follower, he could still control her. She'd just have no hope."

Vanessa bristled with infuriation. "I don't understand why you think he loves her." She once considered it; that he may have indeed loved Serena. Considered. Most often she wondered. Worried. He was the Prince of the Night, sworn to evil. He could not love. And his statement when they tried to escape... If Serena was convinced... that meant that he most probably had used her all along.

"Stanton is different around her," Adamantis explained. "Almost protective. Not in the way a Follower guards his victim because he wants the claim. No, this is something different. It's protection in the way a man defends his love. The way he stares at her. So frightened, like if he isn't watching her every moment, she'll die, and that seems to be one of the most terrifying ideas to him. Her death."

"Why do you care so much?" she demanded in a sharp tone of voice. "Why the fuck do you care? Why couldn't you just pay attention to your daughter as much as you pay attention to Stanton?"

Adamantis seemed to drink in her clipping insults. It fed him. Helped milk his depravity. "Because Catty means nothing. She is no threat. Stanton is a threat. He becomes more of a problem when obsessed with a mere woman. A Goddess, nonetheless!"

"So you spend a majority of your time contemplating Stanton and his inner workings?" she taunted. The mokcery did seem to hit him. His eyes flattened. Penetetrating through her tough barrier. She remained in place, kneeling beside the fire.

"You're my slave," he whispered, voice nasally yet dark. "My servant. You do as I please. Dance."

Her jaw dropped to the floor. Shock vibrated through her body. It rattled her bones. She snapped to her feet. "W-What...? No! I'm not doing anything for you!" In response, ribbons of energy wacked at her. She fell against the wall. Plaster scattered to the floor. Dust scurried into the air. Her back ached in pain. Her legs quivered. Pressure rooted her to the floor; pain that weighed down on her. Heaviness throbbed against her skull.

"Every time you disobey me," Adamantis drawled smoothly, "you will be punished in this fashion. And the pain of it, the attack, will become much more brutal each time. You're my servant. You do as I command, Goddess."

In response, she sobbed.

This was not a future she had planned.

-

Catty pressed her back against the wall. Hearing Vanessa sob so despairingly wounded her. She wanted so desperately to storm into the room, cock back her fist, and sending it flying int Adamantis's face. Her father. No. Not even in her thoughts she couldn't think it. She couldn't say it aloud. Not without her throat constricting. She had two parents. Kendra Turner and Zoe Reese. Adamantis was nothing.

And now, her best friend was being brutally used. A slave. Forced to do that vile creature's bidding. Her heart did reach out for Serena. She was safe. Stanton loved her. He'd confessed it to Catty just weeks back. Back when she had stumbled upon him fumbling with a necklace, solemn and devestated. It had belonged to Serena, and in that moment, that sinlge moment, Catty had understood everything. All doubt drained from her mind.

"Fucking Adamantis," she sneered. He was harming Vanessa. For days he would toy with her, mock her, degrade her, force her to do things that the blonde could not handle. And the way he gazed at her. So lustful and sensual. Catty vowed on her own life that she wouldn't allow Adamantis to touch any part of Vanessa's body. Anything but that. Anything but that!

Because Vanessa was her best friend, her sister, her comrade.

And she loved her.


AN: That lemon was definitely inspired by a sex scene in season two of the Tudors, bewteen Henry and Anne in their wavering relationship. That was intense. Smacking and blood and hitting! Or the scene from Mr. and Mrs. Smith! Now that was crazy! I've never written a lemon. I mean, I'm a virgin, so I go by the raunchy romance novels that my mom reads, you know? And other fanfics, of course... and imagination. X.X