Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to SM. I just twist her characters.

AN: The Tempest was inspired by the homonym play by William Shakespeare. My aim was to distort the central idea of his play (a father fighting to restore his daughter's birth right), mix it with some Christian mythology and some Biblical quotes... And voilá this story was born.

Six pre-written chapters. One per day until Halloween.

Enjoy.


"Hell is empty and all the devils are here." William Shakespeare, The Tempest.

The hateful glare his light caress elicited filled him with a malevolent sense of glee. Whereas most females enjoyed the prolonged pleasure of having their bodies thoroughly explored by a skilled lover, his partner preferred a rough tumble. He was well aware that his touch repulsed her, but her spiteful nature prevented her from seeking another male to appease her voracious sexual appetite. It was a situation that suited him just fine, for he would never have allowed a man inside her body. It was a hypocritical manifestation of what could only be described as jealousy, but coherence and consistency had never been his forte.

Batting his hands away, she crawled to the other side of the bed and sat against the pillows. Little did she know that she had been nothing but a pawn in his chosen game for the night. Hell bent on proving her self-sufficiency, she went about the business of achieving completion. She was brazen in her pursuit, stoking the fire of his libido to an unbearable level. For a moment, he was overwhelmed by need, going as far as forgetting the dubious nature of their feelings for each other. Her evil smirk let him know that he had been outplayed in his own game.

Slightly irritated at her mocking display, he tried to pull away from his kneeling position, where he could almost taste her deliciously wet center, but she wasn't having any of it. Fisting his hair none too gently, she forced him to stay between her thighs. It had been a while since he had pleasured her with his tongue—although he was loath to own up to his maudlin feelings, he thought the act too intimate to be performed as detachedly as he did the rest. Feeling his hesitancy, she growled loudly and shoved him away. Despite everything, a part of him still yearned for her affection, desperate enough for her approval that he found himself willing to do the unthinkable: succumb to her demands.

She was already out of the bed and dressing when he found the courage to speak up. His pleas for her to come back were met with steely resistance, but he expected nothing less of her. Fighting the urge to lash back, he went to her. She was stiff in his arms, but soon the soft words he whispered in her ear melted her cold demeanor, turning her into a writhing ball of need. In that moment, his heart clenched within his chest, for she almost seemed to have reverted back to who she had been in the first days of their relationship: eager, lustful, loving.

The illusion wasn't bound to last. An aggressive glint entered her eyes, making his body shiver in dread. However, it was a night for surprises. Instead of delivering a punishment, she fell to her knees and engulfed his cock in the wicked warmth of her mouth. It was a treat he had been denied for far too long, ever since she had discovered his betrayal. Being a creature of pride, she had left him and only agreed to return after much groveling; and she hadn't knelt for him ever since. The Other never wanted to experiment with that particular form of sex: she was too keen on the task of growing and multiplying.

Absolute bliss was just within his grasp when she viciously bit his throbbing flesh. She licked the blood from her lips, moaning at his taste. She'd always had a penchant for inflicting pain, but never to that degree. Seeing the confusion on his face, she chuckled darkly.

"Your distorted mind actually believed that this was meant as an act of forgiveness, didn't it?"

Yes, he had naively believed that she had forgiven him at last. The Other was dead and buried, destroyed by his own hands. He had spent years bending to his current companion's every demand, indulging her every whim… Would it ever come to an end? Would his apologies ever be enough? Regardless of his damaged body being already on the mend, he was still in pain and startlingly very aroused. He wasn't in the mood for pandering to her need to berate him.

"Superiority will lead to loneliness, my dear. Without me, who will you have? Remember that you need me, but I don't need you."

The spiteful words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He didn't relish the flash of pain that contorted her features, or the sharp intake of breath that betrayed how deeply he had wounded her. Her predicament was the direct product of his thoughtless actions—had he not been governed by sexual impulses, she would still be the docile creature she had been in the beginning … There wouldn't be orders to follow or victims to slay … There wouldn't be gravel in their voices, or sharp words exchanged.

"I'm sorry, my love. I—"

The sentence would forever go incomplete, for she decided that the time for words had come to an end. Not bothering with getting to the bed, she pushed him to his back and mounted him, taking advantage of her lack of underwear and his easily opened pants. Fortunately, he was already fully healed, being able to delight in the unique sensation of being inside her. Setting a relentless rhythm, she made it clear that she was the one fucking him. It was a blatant display of dominance that had his cock twitching despite his brain's rebellion against the statement she was trying to make.

"Tell me I'm better. Tell me she never made you feel like this. Tell me I'm the only one. Make me feel special."

It was phrased as a demand, but he knew better. No amount of time could erase the memory of his infidelity; no acts of contrition could atone for the hurt he had caused her. She needed to be reassured of her precedence, of her value. Cupping her cheeck with one hand, he stilled her movements with the other by placing it on her hip. Looking into her eyes, he spoke of undying love, not as a mere way to appease her, but because it was the truth of his heart. A genuine smile graced her lips, but it was quickly replaced by sinful intent.

"Prove it. Give me what I want."

Perverse woman that she was, she had efficiently cornered him. Had the entire interlude been orchestrated in order for her to get her way? It didn't matter, for he couldn't deny her without eliciting another argument. Without another thought, he had her on her hands and knees pounding into her with wild abandon. It wasn't his preferred style, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. In no time, they were both surrendering to oblivion, too lost in their own feelings to care about anything else.

The aftermath of their encounters was never tender, varying from open hostility to a sort of stilted camaraderie. Sometimes, he was gripped by an urge to flee, to break free from the spell she wove around him. He wanted to feel loved, cherished and adored—the urge to be coddled was a byproduct of having lived with The Other for a couple of years. It was aggravating, for he had to constantly be on his guard—if she ever sensed his need, she would peg it as a weakness and use it against him.

If he had the ability to be completely honest about his feelings, he would be able to confess that their love-hate relationship satisfied his inner craving for conflict. But he wasn't an honest man—he preferred lies and subterfuge. So, he clung to the self-righteous statement that he longed for the lovey-dovey stuff generally associated with relationships. More times than not, he questioned their capacity for feeling something as provincial as love: they were much more complex than the ones surrounding them, their brains freed from limiting factors such as morals and religion.

He was brought out of his musings by the soft sound of a closing door below stairs. Seeking his companion, he found her fully dressed, standing by the window. Usually, she was quite excited by these occasions, but something about the way she held herself back from running out the door had him worried. Placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, he tried to will her into confessing what was troubling her. She didn't turn around, but he felt the sadness emanating from her, and when she spoke, she sounded so small that he had the foreign urge to comfort her.

"It's a mother and child."

Sensing that he had to tread carefully, he made a non-committal sound and let her work through her thoughts for a few moments. She never commented on the issue of motherhood, but he was aware that it wasn't for lack of interest, but rather because it was a sore spot.

"You know, sometimes I wonder why he created her instead of fixing whatever went wrong with me. Other times, I don't care—it's not like I want to burden my body with your spawns."

It was a blatant lie, but he cleverly decided not to call her on it since he was too stunned to successfully defeat her in a verbal spar. Besides, the sooner the subject was dropped, the safer he'd feel—there were too many ways in which she could corner him into revealing far more than was wise. However, her posture betrayed her unwillingness to let the past rest, for her whole body was tense in anticipation as she was preparing to ask the question he dreaded the most for the first time.

"Had I been able to bear children, would you still have gone to her?"

The question was long coming, but that didn't mean he had a good answer to offer. The lure of being able to create life had been strong, but it hadn't been all of it. The Other had been so different, so innocent … her big blue eyes constantly following him, trying to guess his every want, provide for his every need. She had been the personification of temptation, for one always wished for the opposite of what one had.

Instead of answering her, he simply brought her back against his chest and kissed her neck. It was a coward's way to avoid her question, but he wasn't above using manipulation in order to avoid conflict. A salty taste assaulted his tongue and he realized that she was quietly crying. He was old enough to have learned that some wounds could never be mended—she would always mourn for the one advantage The Other had on her.

Even he had railed against her fate: it wasn't fair that she had been imperfectly made. By trying to replace her with a new and improved model, The Voice had been incredibly unkind. Although, in all fairness, The Voice spared no efforts in torturing The Other—monthly pains and bleedings, the pain of childbirth, the finality of mortality… At least his companion didn't have to deal with all these complications—a fact for which he was eternally grateful, for he couldn't imagine the hell of seeing her in pain or the prospect of having to keep on existing without her by his side.

"Never mind. I've always known you wouldn't answer—that's why I never asked, until now."

All the belligerence had drained from her, leaving her tiny frame looking frail and vulnerable. He hated seeing her so defeated, especially because he knew how much she hated appearing helpless before him. Careless of the consequences, he scooped her up and sat her on his lap. He expected her to fight his attempt at tenderness, but she simply laid her head down on his shoulder. It was oddly satisfying being the one to soothe her pain rather than being the one inflicting it. He enjoyed their quiet interlude, knowing full well that it wasn't meant to last or even being repeated any time soon.

Eventually, she got up, leaving him feeling empty and hopeless. However, he couldn't afford the time to dwell on the state of their relationship, for he had a mission to accomplish. Sighing, he procured his clothes and dressed without delay. Looking at himself in the mirror, he wondered at strangeness of his features—he couldn't identify what differentiated him from his prey. Maybe one of these days, he would take the time to play with his quarry, defying them to identify what set him apart in exchange for a little more time to live, but not today. Today was a especial event: the annihilation of a whole branch of rotten genetics; an assortment of people who truly defined the expression "beyond the pale".

"Can you handle them on your own?"

It was a silly question meant to hide the fact that she was unwilling to take part in the carnage that was about to ensue. He refrained from saying that he had always felt uncomfortable with her participation in the punishments he delivered. He did it out of a sense of responsibility; while she did it out of spite, just for the pleasure of destroying the children of The Other. He couldn't bring himself to ask her to stay out of it, not when she had faithfully followed him in every mission The Voice had thrust upon him.

Kissing her forehead, he left without delay, chuckling at the clichéd tempest roaring outside.

The eldest of the elder shall purge the evil from amongst mankind.