This comes from the 64 Damn Prompts on LiveJournal (by rashaka). I will, most likely, be working through all 64, because I can't bear to leave such a lovely thing unfinished. I will also include the song that helped me write it/find inspiration/that I thought fit the mood.
P.S~ NO IDEA where this one came from, or what it has to do with the "passions run." But I read the prompt and this immediately came to mind. And, as much as it is an overused plot device, I werewolves. To pair that with its opposite—vampires—is natural. But don't worry: my vampires don't sparkle. Not hardly.
Prompt 8: Passions Run
Music: Heaven, by O.A.R.
The night was beautiful, deadly, and silent.
Just like her.
Heaven pressed himself closer to the wall of the building, ankle-deep in the filth of the alley, and held her breath. There was no use in hoping to escape unnoticed, really, but she had never been one to give in without a fight. And if that meant she had to cower in back alleys and flee over rooftops like a startled cat, so be it.
If retreat were her only way of fighting back, then she would take it, and use it, and fight.
The bare, choked breeze that managed to whisper down the street carried with it the heady scent of black currants, lavender, and white musk, touched with the staggering sharpness of thick pine resin. Heaven took a breath of it and instantly craved another, and another, until she could wrap herself in it and just bask. That scent was power, pure and heady, shocking, fierce, savage, luminous, and hazy, making her head spin and her knees want to give way beneath her.
The streetlamp flickered on the corner, and Heaven froze, brow furrowing into a scowl and hands clenching into fists. She didn't jump at the sudden thud of boots on the cobblestone street, something of which she was inordinately proud.
The steps came closer, though, and her heart began to pound, loud enough that Heaven wondered how the woman failed to hear it. And she hadn't, Heaven knew, or the game would have already been long over.
"Well?" An indolent, husky voice drifted over the wind, seeming to twine itself into the breeze. "Where are you hiding, cielito? Will you not come out and face me? Are you not tired of our little game yet, mi amor?"
Slowly, carefully, Heaven reached down and slid a small knife—one of the many she carried—out of her boot. The footsteps were growing closer, nearly in time with the flickering of the gas lamp in the distance, and she knew there was no time to lose.
"Mi vida, mi alma," the man called softly, languidly. "Mi corazón, I thought we had come to an understanding. Why must you run?"
In a sudden rush, Heaven spun upright and hurled the dagger out the mouth of the alley, where it slammed into the wooden wall of a boarding house with a sharp crack. The woman in the street spun automatically to look for the noise, and Heaven sprang upward, moving with inhuman speed as she kicked off the alley wall and grabbed the edge of the roof, then pulled himself up and vaulted the gap to the next roof. The moment she found her footing, she was off and running, sliding over loose shingles, ducking around chimneys, and leaping between rooftops, heading deeper into the urban maze. The city spread out below her feet, all the filthy, writhing, human wonder of it.
No matter how long she lived, or how many lifetimes she passed, she knew she would never get used to such wretched, beautiful, terrible, exquisite humanity, packed so close and tight, killing themselves even as they tried to progress. None of them understood the freedom of an empty night, or the perfection of speed, or the thrill of a hunt—hunter or hunted, it was the same ecstasy in the end.
Up here, high above the crowded, dirty streets of Victorian London, the darkness was fresher, freer, and moved more easily. It whispered around her as she ran, bearing a lazy, laughing voice, words thick with the smoky sage, red wine, and cinnamon taste of Spanish. "Mi ángel de la noche. You know I will find you. Give up this foolish chase and return."
"Catch me," she taunted back, scaling the side of an old church with ease, and gliding over its roof with only the irony of her presence there to mark her path. "The moon is up tonight. Can't you do it? Can't you prove your claim?"
A low growl vibrated the air around her, nearly making the tiles under her feet slip, but she just hissed in thinly veiled annoyance and dove forward into a graceful roll, tumbling off the edge of the building to land on her feet in the street below. The people there scattered with cries of alarm, but she ignored them and darted forward, ducking and weaving through the crowd with the scent of her pursuer's anger rising behind her like a cresting wave—violets and bitter orange, twisted with eucalyptus and a touch of biting mint. She mocked it, carefree and bold, slipping out of the lights of the street and easing through a crack in the gate of a small park—really nothing more than a few stands of trees and undergrowth, contained on all sides by a high stone wall so as not to infect the supremely ordered chaos of the surrounding city.
That dark presence, like thunderclouds and whipping rain, followed her through, then down the slight hill to the grove of trees, where Heaven swung up into the branches with ease and pressed herself against a smooth trunk, concealed from sight by shadows and swaying branches. There were a few moments of silence before her pursuer stepped out of her own shadows, the half-light of the grove casting her face into stark relief. Heaven felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight.
The woman was tall and lean, sleekly muscled and beautiful in a way that was half-wild and half-refined, dressed like a gentleman but with long, dark, unkempt brown hair loose around her face. Her blue-grey eyes held a storm behind them, and she carried a thin circle of silver in one hand.
"Mi vida, mi alma, mi corazón," she whispered into the darkness. "I've caught you now, my love. Come down here and let me see your lovely face."
Heaven loosened her grip on the branch and dropped soundlessly to the ground. "Tired of playing tag already?" she asked coolly, raising an eyebrow. Then her eyes fell on the silver band and she shook her head, caught somewhere between disgust and sadness. Her gaze rose, topaz-and-amber meeting sky-and-hurricane, and her lips quirked in what was nearly a smile—dry and bitter, but a smile nonetheless. "You know you can't collar the wind, Amaranth. Why are you trying?"
Amaranth watched her like she was the last promise of shelter in a storm, the last open door when all others had closed. Around them, the air roiled with lavender and wisteria, heart-wrenching pale rose, desolate white sandalwood and thin, tear-streaked white musk—melancholy and despair given form. "I know, cielito, I know," she whispered, eyes closing as she tipped her head back. "You will have to forgive me for this, my love." The lean, sharp lines of her face were bleak, but the movement let Heaven see the absence of what should have been around her neck, see that the thin golden chain that was everything had been taken.
"Ah," she hissed, and it was half realization, half fury. Slowly, she moved closer. "What were your orders?"
Sharp eyes followed her movements, the full mouth quirking slightly, though the melancholy still lingered in the planes of her face. "To find you, catch you, collar you, and bring you to him, my beautiful lover. If I had a choice, I would have already torn his face from his body, but he holds my heart." One elegant hand came to rest over her chest, and what Heaven knew was an empty space. "I cannot disobey him, but…" The hand clenched, and the lazy, half-lidded eyes turned incandescent with rage. "He will want you," Amaranth breathed, circling closer, and every step now was like that of a hungry wolf, waiting to pounce. "He will want to take you, possess you, mi amor, because what creature alive would not? You are beautiful, and free, and everything he could never have, and I will be delivering you right to his grasp, mi ángel del viento. How can I possibly live with myself?"
Heaven watched her circle, turning slowly to always keep her in sight. Then a small smile crossed her face, and she stepped forward. The wind rose, setting the boughs above to dancing, and she swayed with them, eyes becoming half-lidded and full of something dark and heady.
"Trust me, Amaranth?" she offered, holding out a hand.
Amaranth took it, raising it to her lips and brushing the softest kiss over the peach-colored skin. "With everything that I am, mi amor. Mi vida, mi alma, mi corazón," she repeated. "I would not speak the words if they were empty."
Heaven used the grip on her hand to pull the woman closer, then stepped forward, twining her arms around Amaranth's neck and bringing her down to capture her lips. The trees rustled madly, as though caught in a windstorm, and Heaven's head spun with the force of sensations. The closeness between them was lush, creamy vanilla and the honey of the sweetest kiss, smeared with the burning throb of husky clove and swollen red cherries, darkened with the vampiric sensuality of soporific poppy and blood red wine, and a skin-light pulse of feral musk. It was addicting, and maddening, and Heaven craved more even before they had fully separated.
"Amaranth," she hissed across the mere centimeters separating them. "It's been too long."
Amaranth growled, deep in her throat, eyes darkening until Heaven almost feared the storm in them would overwhelm her and leave nothing behind. Then strong hands closed around her shoulders, dragging her back into another fierce kiss.
"How many years apart?" she murmured, as they separated again, just enough to breathe. "How many lifetimes have I served mortal masters, unable to come when you called me, or chase you when you danced inches beyond my prison door?"
"Too long," Heaven whispered back, twining her fingers in thick dark hair and resting their foreheads together. It ached inside her, their separation, and even though she rarely counted passing time any longer, she could name every second since Amaranth had last been so close to her.
They kissed again, and passion built between them like the heat of a fire. Amaranth pressed Heaven up against the trunk of a tree and Heaven gasped, tightening her grim on the woman's shoulders and twining her legs around her waist. They pressed together, kisses hot and hard, robbing both of them of breath. Amaranth was focused solely on Heaven's mouth and neck, devouring her lips and nipping along the column of her throat, but Heaven kissed her face, lips hot and searing and as light as a butterfly's wing. The brunette shuddered in her arms, teeth sinking into Heaven's shoulder hard enough to draw blood as the redhead wrapped long fingers around the back of her neck and pressed them even closer together.
"Heaven," she whispered, laving away the blood with her rough tongue. "Heaven, I love you. Te amo."
"Love you, Amaranth," she murmured in return. It had been too long, and Heaven could already feel herself teetering on the edge of control, the wind inside her about to break free. Desperately, she pulled Amaranth's head down to her, kissing her with lips and teeth and tongue, and Amaranth groaned fiercely.
They slid down to rest against the tree's roots, surrounded by feral darkness and a playful wind that carried the earthy, heady, musky scent of wildness, their kisses gradually growing more languid and easy. In the silence, Heaven's fingers found the thin silver band that now hung around Amaranth's wrist, and gently brought it and her lover's hand up to her throat.
"Do it," she ordered softly, and the sound of the lock clicking shut filled the warm night.
The double doors swung apart in front of them, opened by wide-eyed servants unable to take their eyes off the pair before them. Amaranth took some satisfaction in that, and in how wild they probably looked, half-drunk off the high of the chase and their reunion, both stained liberally with blood from earlier encounters, their clothes tattered and ripped, Heaven half-collapsed in her grip. But then, she allowed, they could have been looking solely at her gatito, who was always worth several looks—even more so now, in the zenith of the night, with the full moon outside and the windows of the manor open to allow the fresh air in. Heaven was a beauty beyond what humans could understand, a creature of wicked thoughts and whimsical desires, strong and swift and graceful, her hair glowing like banked embers and her eyes burning like the sun seen through amber glass.
And Amaranth was going to hand her over to a human.
The human in question, Lord Edward, lounged in an ornate chair at the other end of the room, watching them come close with greedy eyes. That avaricious gaze lingered on Heaven, and the silver band around her throat, for a moment before a small, satisfied smirk crossed his features.
"Amaranth," he greeted courteously, waving an indulgent hand. "This is the creature?" His eyes traced every line of Heaven's body, and Amaranth had to fist her hand in the back of Heaven's bodice to keep from showing Edward just how little she liked that.
"Yes, Lord Edward," she managed to say, just barely, through a jaw that wouldn't unclench. "This is the vampire." It was hardly an all-inclusive title, and left out so much of what her cielito was, but it was the term that the foppish lord had used, so she would use it as well.
"Good." Edward smiled again, deliberately drawing a golden locket out from under his dandyish clothes and toying with it. Amaranth gritted her teeth even harder against the growl that wanted to emerge. "Well, vampire? How does it feel to be betrayed by your werewolf lover? To be captured for my amusement?"
Before Amaranth could react, her beautiful ángel had slipped from her grip like the wind, the metal collar clattering to the ground, and was at Edward's throne. She pressed the shocked man back against the ornate back, knife at his throat, and grinned. Sharp white teeth gleamed in the low light.
"Werewolf?" Heaven purred, and Amaranth felt that tone tighten things low in her body, desire rising in tandem with the danger in the air. "You toss those words around like they actually mean something. What you don't seem to understand is that we are not simply not human, we are more than human. And you have been dealing with things that are beyond you. Had you gone much further, you would have realized that the death I give you now is a kindness in comparison to what they would do to you."
Edward realized what was happening one moment too late to resist. The knife flashed, carving a bloody seal into the side of his neck, and he was gone the moment the final line was drawn.
Silence fell, broken only by the clatter of a golden locket tumbling to the ground. After a moment, Heaven reached down and picked it up, turning to offer it to Amaranth. However, Amaranth simply shook her head and slipped the hair-fine chain over Heaven's head.
"You've always had my heart, mi amor," she said with a lazy smile. "Shall we make it official?"
The breeze from the wide windows picked up, and Heaven gave her a sinful smile, form already shredding like morning mist. "All right," she agreed, stepping back. The distant lights of the city called them, whispering of a never-ending hunt, a chase that would last until the human world crumbled. "Catch me, wolf?"
"Always, wind," Amaranth whispered, and they were gone, only the lingering scent of black currants and lavender, vanilla and clove, left to mark their presence.
Note: The scent descriptions were inspired by/paraphrased from another prompt at the Six Imp Ear Challenge, Bewitching Brews, (http :/ / 6impearfics . livejournal .com / 869. html) because I am in awe of their beauty and overwhelming perfection.