way down we go; any

[Charlemagne]

charlemagne

Baby, this is what you came for…lighting strikes every time she moves

He calls her ‘Beautiful’. They all do. She has them wrapped around her like a around a human finger, and plays to her strengths. Even without her power, she is powerful, and she finds this moment is rife with pheromones. She does not know anything about Stillwater. But there is something intriguing about her. And there is so much in Beqanna that is changed. Could he be proven useful to her?

He is so unlike Fenrir.

Fenrir was honest. He was perfect. He loved her and gave her the quiet moments of his mind—and she had driven him away. But instead of taking advantage of her happiness, she had become what she had been born to be. Life and love had taken a back seat, and Charlemagne put to the fore an iron wall. Her children were forgotten, their fathers—who were they again? Fenrir, her wolf, was the only one that she regretted. Or even remembered.

But those days were long gone, and his body was long dead. And she—well, she was still here to mourn them.

Except that she mourned no one.

Charlemagne keeps her grey eyes upon her black shadow man. Stillwater. He seemed as at home in the water as he was on land. He leveled his gaze with her, trying to drink her in as an alcoholic downs a glass of champagne—and she can see that he wants her. There is no pretending with them. They both know what they are—and what they want. She blushes, and looks down coyly. She laughs breathily, the sound tinkling like small silver bells, carried off into the chilly night air. His eyes rake over her body hungrily. She knows how to play this game. She is far too experienced in the ways of this dance to be caught so easily. She takes a step into the water again, pressing her hoof deep into the soft mud that lays there, playing quietly—tantalizingly—with the ripples, teasing him, tugging on his first love, prying her away from him. He seems to think she is new at this, and her secret smile plays into her advantage.

She would have him.

And then he asks that all important question. Is she scared of him? No. Not in the slightest. But perhaps it is best for them both if he thinks she will shudder at his touch. Of course, there is no feigning the shuddering…but it won’t be with fear…

…But with smug self-satisfaction.

I would…except… She gestures helplessly—coy little bitch—to her feathers, perfectly pristine from where they lay wrapped around her like a delicately placed cashmere sweater. These do not make good flotation devices. I can watch your muscles rippling just fine from here.

She has no doubt he’s toying with her—just as she is toying with him. That is what makes this so much fun. And when she is once more a lady of power—she just needs to set her trap.

Everyone’s watching her, but she’s looking at you…