Delight
With her husband away on official business, Angela's food reserve was running dangerously low. This means she was going hunting. She couldn't visit her old haunts, that would be too suspicious.
Not to mention it would provide fodder for the rumor mill.
She had gone up to her son's room where she found him reading a book about birds his father had given him. Standing in the doorway, she waits for him to notice her. When he does, he sat upright and buried his hands under the pages.
"Yes, mom?" he asks with a smile in an attempt to mask the anxiety her presence had caused him.
Angela manages to detect his discomfort, if only through the fluctuation in his energy signature, but she pretends not to notice. She'll teach him how to regulate his energy once his ability manifests. If at all. "Michael, are you craving anything in particular for dinner?"
Her son tilts his head in thought, weighing his answer carefully, "Chicken carbonara?"
"Are you certain about that?" she folds her arms across her chest.
The child nods, showing more confidence.
As he should, Angela thinks, no one finds weak-willed individuals attractive.
"Alright, I'll have the servants pack your things. We'll leave for Italy as soon as I can arrange a flight."
-----------------
"Michael, don't lag behind." Angela instructed her son from the corner of her mouth.
"Yes, mom." The young boy obediently chirped as mother and son strolled down the cobblestone streets of Rome.
They had just left a small, quaint little restaurant where the pair had dined on the dish the young boy requested. There was a faint shimmer around Angela, a simple ploy to draw the eyes of potential prey. She brought Michael along to pique the interest of both genders, male or female Angela wasn't particular.
She wasn't planning on causing any feelings of infatuation.
"Mom, I'm still hungry." Came the soft whine from the little boy dragging his feet and scuffing the soles of his designer sneakers.
Angela quirked a blonde brow in curiosity, "You finished an adult-sized plate of pasta not ten minutes ago. Come to think of it, the cook has informed me you've been eating twice as much lately."
She studied her son carefully and almost missed the brief flash of guilt in his eyes.
Mike jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants, chest puffed out in a display of bravado as if declaring she was wrong in her assumptions. Angela beamed in pride at how her son was taking after her. In fact, she was about to learn how much he took after her.
"Give me your hand." Not quite harsh but a definite order.
When he refused, Angela's lips pressed into a thin line, "Michael, don't make me repeat myself."
This time her voice carried a sharper edge.
Reluctantly, the boy extends the requested appendage.
She takes his hand into her own and almost lets out a squeal of delight.
Teeth!
She felt teeth!
Without warning, she is on her knees and embracing him in a rare display of affection (and they are indeed rare, as her son can count the times she has shown approval in such a physical manner).
It ends in the blink of an eye.
Already she is brushing off dust from her clothes and smoothening out wrinkles in the fabric. "Since you're still hungry, let's go get some dessert."
"Gellato?" Mike brightens, his hands once again hidden in his pockets.
Angela blinks before chuckling, "We'll have gellato after we have dessert."
Her son stares at her in confusion.
She decides it would be better to show him what she means. She turns on her heels and starts to walk, "Come along, we wouldn't want to run out of dessert."
The wicked gleam in her blue eyes does not escape her son's attention, nor the brief moment her smile looked predatory. Michael is frightened but at the same time curious to learn what his mother meant. He goes after her and is soon astride her.
She resists the urge to demand he gives her his hand again. Rather, she dangles her arm towards him, fingers wiggling through the air in search of their smaller counterparts.
Not to mention it would provide fodder for the rumor mill.
She had gone up to her son's room where she found him reading a book about birds his father had given him. Standing in the doorway, she waits for him to notice her. When he does, he sat upright and buried his hands under the pages.
"Yes, mom?" he asks with a smile in an attempt to mask the anxiety her presence had caused him.
Angela manages to detect his discomfort, if only through the fluctuation in his energy signature, but she pretends not to notice. She'll teach him how to regulate his energy once his ability manifests. If at all. "Michael, are you craving anything in particular for dinner?"
Her son tilts his head in thought, weighing his answer carefully, "Chicken carbonara?"
"Are you certain about that?" she folds her arms across her chest.
The child nods, showing more confidence.
As he should, Angela thinks, no one finds weak-willed individuals attractive.
"Alright, I'll have the servants pack your things. We'll leave for Italy as soon as I can arrange a flight."
-----------------
"Michael, don't lag behind." Angela instructed her son from the corner of her mouth.
"Yes, mom." The young boy obediently chirped as mother and son strolled down the cobblestone streets of Rome.
They had just left a small, quaint little restaurant where the pair had dined on the dish the young boy requested. There was a faint shimmer around Angela, a simple ploy to draw the eyes of potential prey. She brought Michael along to pique the interest of both genders, male or female Angela wasn't particular.
She wasn't planning on causing any feelings of infatuation.
"Mom, I'm still hungry." Came the soft whine from the little boy dragging his feet and scuffing the soles of his designer sneakers.
Angela quirked a blonde brow in curiosity, "You finished an adult-sized plate of pasta not ten minutes ago. Come to think of it, the cook has informed me you've been eating twice as much lately."
She studied her son carefully and almost missed the brief flash of guilt in his eyes.
Mike jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants, chest puffed out in a display of bravado as if declaring she was wrong in her assumptions. Angela beamed in pride at how her son was taking after her. In fact, she was about to learn how much he took after her.
"Give me your hand." Not quite harsh but a definite order.
When he refused, Angela's lips pressed into a thin line, "Michael, don't make me repeat myself."
This time her voice carried a sharper edge.
Reluctantly, the boy extends the requested appendage.
She takes his hand into her own and almost lets out a squeal of delight.
Teeth!
She felt teeth!
Without warning, she is on her knees and embracing him in a rare display of affection (and they are indeed rare, as her son can count the times she has shown approval in such a physical manner).
It ends in the blink of an eye.
Already she is brushing off dust from her clothes and smoothening out wrinkles in the fabric. "Since you're still hungry, let's go get some dessert."
"Gellato?" Mike brightens, his hands once again hidden in his pockets.
Angela blinks before chuckling, "We'll have gellato after we have dessert."
Her son stares at her in confusion.
She decides it would be better to show him what she means. She turns on her heels and starts to walk, "Come along, we wouldn't want to run out of dessert."
The wicked gleam in her blue eyes does not escape her son's attention, nor the brief moment her smile looked predatory. Michael is frightened but at the same time curious to learn what his mother meant. He goes after her and is soon astride her.
She resists the urge to demand he gives her his hand again. Rather, she dangles her arm towards him, fingers wiggling through the air in search of their smaller counterparts.