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Bodies swayed, undulating to the music. She could feel the bass vibrating through her. Heads turned to appraise her when the female passed; she offered nothing more than a knowing smirk. What they would give for a moment of her time. It wasn't just men but women too, well those who weren't scowling indignantly at her for daring to make eye contact with their partners.
Blood-red lips parted to sip the sanguine liquid she carried with her, a drop left glistening on the female's full lower pout. She dared to glance across the dance floor, seeking her prey. None had caught the vixen’s eye, none were yet intoxicated enough to fall foul of her compulsion. She sighed dramatically, turning the head of a rather devilishly handsome male. Adonis made flesh. From the soft blonde curls tied back at the nape of his neck, to the perfect Cupid’s bow of his lips. Broad shoulders gave way to a smaller waistline, the tight tee he wore certainly helped her appreciate his obviously well defined physique. The vixen licked her lips in appreciation, icy hues rising to meet the forest green of her would-be prey’s.
She was ravenous and knew this Adonis given form would be more than willing to offer what she needed. He wasn't what she wanted, though. There was something else within the dark interior of the club. A palpable power brushed against her, sweetly intoxicating - it tingled against her skin sending delicious shivers down her spine. The vixen needed to taste from that undiluted power surging through the club, to find herself drunk on it, incapable of remembering anything but the way it coursed through her veins.
The female swallowed hard, turning her back on her willing victim. She could feel the disappointment rolling off of him in waves, rippling against her. He would live, perhaps another time, when there wasn't such an intoxicating distraction begging for her attention. Her body swayed in time to the music, winter hues seeking the source of the power. If this was how it made her feel simply brushing against her aura, what would it feel like to drink from its source? She had to know, to taste - to feel it.
Movement caught her eye. Turning her head, mahogany curls bounced around her delicate features. The source of such incredible power closer than she anticipated. It reeled her in as much as she wanted to chase it and then someone brushed against her. It engulfed her, drowning her, unaware of the quiet moan spilling from her slightly parted lips. Her head fell back, resting against the bare shoulder of what could only be the source of the power. Hands anchored her, resting against her hips, warm breath cascading across her ear and then the surge of power seemed to move away from her. She turned to meet the tawny gaze of a willing victim.
The girl hesitantly leaned in to claim her lips. She literally had in her grasp a willing victim but all she could think about was the raw power source somewhere close by. It was with reluctance that she pulled away, meeting the girl's tawny gaze.
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He was Elvhen, she noted. Now outside pressed against him in the dingy alleyway between the club and some department store, she studied her prey. Tall, even by Elvhen standards, and bald, but it seemed to suit him and the quiet air of regality he seemed to exude. Definitely not her usual prey. Mysterious, enigmatic and calculating even. The power she felt rolling against her in waves dissipated. It couldn't have been emanating from him, but she was so desperately hungry.
Her hands crawled up his torso, appreciating the lean muscle hidden under the white cotton of his shirt. She stopped when she reached his shoulders, winter hues rising to meet his own stormy gaze.
Her teeth barely even grazed the tender flesh of his neck, before she felt his iron grip encircle her upper arms, driving her backward until her back connected painfully against the wall. Air expelled from her lungs, the vixen gasped, daring to meet those stormy orbs. Defiantly she raised her chin, even when those long, elegant fingers curled around her neck, thumb pressed against her pulse point exerting subtle pressure. The warning was clear, he could snap her neck without a moment's notice if he so chose to.
“You toy with powers beyond your ken, child,” he intoned, voice as smooth and rich as she imagined it to be.
She felt it then, the surge of raw power she felt within the club, brushing up against her skin and tingling down her spine. She offered him a feral grin, the wicked points of her teeth gleaming in the diffused light. Safely nestled between the walls of the alley, neither were expecting the side door to the club to rebound loudly off the wall, jerking both their gazes in said direction. It was just another drunken reveller stumbling out to somehow find their way home. Still, the elf stepped closer to her, in the mockery of a lovers embrace, her own hands curling up and over his shoulders.
“You are a hard woman to find, Aliya Trevelyan.” His breath ghosted over the shell of her ear and she stiffened, inhaling sharply. “For years I have searched and to no avail.”
Plush tiers twitched into the semblance of a smirk, realisation dawning on her. There was also the smug satisfaction that he hadn't been able to locate her. Always on the move and when she wasn't, secreted away somewhere but within easy reach of sustenance.
“I know you and name you, Dread Wolf,” Aliya husked, tongue darting between plush tiers to lick against his pulse.
She felt the steady staccato beat beneath the muscle of her tongue and felt the sudden erratic jerk at her words. He pulled back and for a split second she registered his shock that she knew who he was but just as quickly as she had seen it, he schooled his expression. Aliya laughed, dark and seductive.
“I know my history well enough, Fen’Harel. You've hunted my kind longer than I have been alive. The fall of Arlathan set you on this path, and the subsequent failure to tear down the veil, hunter.” Aliya leaned back against the wall, a lazy smirk slithering across plush tiers. There was more to Fen’Harel’s story than just that. She wasn't quite aware of all the details but what she did know included him turning his hand to hunting her kind. Ironically, Fen’Harel was the reason her kind now existed.
Solas studied her, appearing to take in her measure and she let him. She was no match for him, whatever he truly was, and she knew that. Instead the vixen blinked languidly, peering up at him from beneath her lashes. Her relaxed demeanour belied the internal trepidation she felt. Raw power still battered against her and knowing who he was, she knew he could end her life as swiftly as she drew her next breath.
“Then you know you should run,” Solas countered, lips quirking ever so slightly.
The thumb pressed against her pulse point exuded a little more pressure before falling away entirely, though his other hand maintained a bruising grip upon her hip. Aliya was sure she felt his fingers tighten, blunt nails seeking to leave little crescent shaped marks on her dark skin. It didn't help whatever magic he harboured pressed against her with more insistence, dragging a fractured moan from her lips. To taste from him would be to taste from the nectar of the Gods themselves, of that she had no doubt.
“Am I to play the part of Little Red?” Aliya queried, amusement lacing her tone. “You'll be the big bad wolf come to eat me all up.” Despite the fear the Dread Wolf might take her life as she spoke, the wanton images she envisioned had heat pooling in her belly. She was hungry and craved the heated touch of her would be pray her bite could elicit.
The throaty chuckle he gave in response only served to heighten the tension coiling in her. Aliya was sure he could feel it too if the insistent press of his magic was anything to go by. Arms still curled over his shoulder, she dragged her nails across the nape of his neck. Where any other prey would have shuddered with her touch, Solas remained as stoic and unaffected as ever. It was frustrating to say the least but this man, this Elf was older than she could ever hope to be, he had seen and done things she could only dream of. It seemed only fair that one with his power would be completely unaffected by her and any compulsion she could force upon them.
Without even realising, Aliya leaned into him, inhaling his unique scent. It was supposed to be the other way round; her prey drunk on lust, allowing her time to feed before leaving them none the wiser to what had transpired. Blood red lips parted on a sigh, head falling against the elf's shoulder. Her tongue flicked against his pulse again, a soft moan spilling her lips. She wasn't sure what happened next, only that pain exploded against the back of her head, long fingers once again curling around her neck. Shit that wasn't good, the set of his jaw alone told her the amount of trouble she was in. He dipped his head, breath ghosting against the shell of her ear.
“Run,” Solas intoned, fingers loosening their grip.
Aliya gasped, ducking under his arm and darted toward the mouth of the alley. She didn't look back - dared not to - even when she heard the snick of a bolt falling into place. The projectile whistled through the air, slamming into her side with enough force to throw her off her course, crashing into the wall with a startled cry. Breath falling from her lips in heavy pants, Aliya gathered her legs under her, bracing a hand against rough stone for leverage. She could already feel the trickle of blood soaking the bodice of her attire, precious life fluid she would need to feed to replenish - assuming she made it out with her life. Her vision swam, pain slamming through her lithe frame, but she made it to her feet.
Aliya had very little to fear, being the top of the food chain but she felt that fear now. It slithered under her skin, skittering down the length of her spine. It clawed and pierced her heart, squeezing almost painfully - a heart she no longer needed to beat to live. Still it beat, with her will, when mingling with mortals. She didn't truly need breathe either, but she still did it; force of habit she supposed.
Footsteps filled the tense atmosphere, spurring the vixen into action. It was with renewed haste she bolted toward the mouth of the alley, thinking only to preserve her life.