9-29-10 - Magic
She leaned against the wall of the elevator, closing her eyes while her mind spun around what had happened. The look in his eyes when he invited her into his room had spoken of mischief, but she had though it to be only the normal seduction games. She was not prepared for the offer to show her a 'trick', a secret he wished to share.
It was not the innuendo she had feared when he reached out to her with a bloody hand. His hands were strong as he took the hand she gave him to used that to pull her back against him. He spun her around to face the door, the bleeding hand sliding down her arm to cup her right hand in his even as an arm went around her waist. Each movement he made was precise, guiding her hand in his as he marked the door in blood.
It was a simple sigil, a circle divided into four parts, a symbol in each part of the device. His breath was hot against her cheek as he muttered something into her ear; The cadence in the tongue she did not know had reminded her of a prayer to some forgotten power and the worship she dimly remember from the temple. It had the feel of a ritual, though not the powers of the dead she was used to controlling.
The rush of power as he finished had felt like satin against her skin with the taste of blood and darkness in her throat. He had kept her pulled close, muttering about her pounding heart even as he explained the magic. Twice more he repeated the ritual for her, letting her watch the tricks of the blood with rapt fascination. The knowledge it implied was astounding, a gift she barely understood and wished to know more about.
She laughed to herself in the darkened elevator, remember the look in his eyes when he offered her his blood. It was the oldest trick, a way to subvert another's control, and he had acted as if she would fall for it. It was either an example of stunning youth, or a contrivance to make her think he was so.
It was clear that he was trying to tempt her physically, with the hands, the way he ran his hands through her hair, the look in his eyes when he made her blush. Desire was a sword that could cut the one that sought to use it, though, and she wondered in the dark part of her mind how far she could push the line the next night. A club, an outfit to make men desire: she would see what steps he would take in this dance.
Until then, the sedan waited to take her home. There was Antonio tonight, explaining to him her reasons for asking the Setite to escort her, his jealousy to contend with. There would be the words, then his hands upon her as he reminded her that she belonged to him and him alone. Then there would be the next night, where she could see just how far she could play with the fire without getting burned.
It was not the innuendo she had feared when he reached out to her with a bloody hand. His hands were strong as he took the hand she gave him to used that to pull her back against him. He spun her around to face the door, the bleeding hand sliding down her arm to cup her right hand in his even as an arm went around her waist. Each movement he made was precise, guiding her hand in his as he marked the door in blood.
It was a simple sigil, a circle divided into four parts, a symbol in each part of the device. His breath was hot against her cheek as he muttered something into her ear; The cadence in the tongue she did not know had reminded her of a prayer to some forgotten power and the worship she dimly remember from the temple. It had the feel of a ritual, though not the powers of the dead she was used to controlling.
The rush of power as he finished had felt like satin against her skin with the taste of blood and darkness in her throat. He had kept her pulled close, muttering about her pounding heart even as he explained the magic. Twice more he repeated the ritual for her, letting her watch the tricks of the blood with rapt fascination. The knowledge it implied was astounding, a gift she barely understood and wished to know more about.
She laughed to herself in the darkened elevator, remember the look in his eyes when he offered her his blood. It was the oldest trick, a way to subvert another's control, and he had acted as if she would fall for it. It was either an example of stunning youth, or a contrivance to make her think he was so.
It was clear that he was trying to tempt her physically, with the hands, the way he ran his hands through her hair, the look in his eyes when he made her blush. Desire was a sword that could cut the one that sought to use it, though, and she wondered in the dark part of her mind how far she could push the line the next night. A club, an outfit to make men desire: she would see what steps he would take in this dance.
Until then, the sedan waited to take her home. There was Antonio tonight, explaining to him her reasons for asking the Setite to escort her, his jealousy to contend with. There would be the words, then his hands upon her as he reminded her that she belonged to him and him alone. Then there would be the next night, where she could see just how far she could play with the fire without getting burned.