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[Home After the Fire]


[Master Post]


All her life she’d dreamt about monsters. When other little girls had dreamt about their princes or their knights, her fantasies and daydreams had been rife with great horned beasts sitting upon thrones of bone and the bodies of their enemies strewn about their cloven hooves. While other little girls dreamt of flowers and sonnets, Alavesa had dreamt of blood and fire. When other little girls wanted to watch the sun rise, she wanted to watch the world burn. Other girls gushed over their romantic stories. Alavesa rolled her eyes and tossed the book aside when the hero won the fair maiden. The hero saving the princess and carrying her off to his castle to marry and live with happily ever after was not her idea of a good love story and never had been.

She admired the bad guy. The one arrogant enough to command the powers of Oblivion to seize what they wanted. The ones who would let nothing stand in the way of their ambition and desires. Men who conquered and overthrew.

She always felt that there was something more beyond the walls of her home, that there was more to life than cooking some man’s dinner every night and raising his children. She always felt that somewhere, out there in a world of magic and mystery was the beast she’d always imagined ravaging her, stalking, waiting. But then she’d grown up as all little girls do and over the course of years and under the weight of her mother’s tirades, she’d come to accept her imaginings for what they were; the wanderings of a fanciful and all too imaginative mind.

Maybe it was Rieldunai’s admittedly vague resemblance to the beast in her head, poking at memories she’d long since forgotten, when she chanced upon him under a waterfall near Riften, maskless, that kept her from running when she knew she should, every bit of common sense she possessed falling to the wayside. But it wasn’t that that made her stay through the days, weeks and months that followed. It wasn’t that that kept her hovering between anger and grief while he laid unconscious. He was just a man, but a man unlike any other and pretty words had meant nothing to her until he’d spoken them.

She couldn’t help but laugh when he put her onto her back, as he always seemed wont to do. She wrapped herself around him and pressed herself against the heat of his body. “All hail the conquering hero,” she teased before his mouth claimed hers, stealing her breath and her thoughts.


Both hands went to her neck as he kissed her, deepening his zealous need for her as he growled in the back of his throat. He gave a light squeeze and, feeling her gasp and her body move, he let go only to snake his left hand to her wild locks of red hair where he pulled back forcing her head to crane, exposing her scar to him. His right index finger traced the scar upon her neck before dragging a sharp nail down her collarbone to the top string of her corset.

“A conqueror, maybe… but no hero… not me.” He grinned licking his teeth as he bared down upon her neck pressing fangs against her flesh but not breaking the skin. His right hand toying with her confined breasts.


Her hands moved to his wrists as his hands wrapped around her throat, lips parting as her breath escaped her and eyes drifting closed. He sent tremors through her body when he grabbed her hair, left a trail of goose bumps in this wake of his finger and her muscles tensed where he touched her. Her chest heaved on an intake of air.

White hot desire snaked through her when she felt his fangs against her and she reached under his arms to dig her nails into his back. She wanted to feel the agony of his bite tempering her lust, wanted to taste her blood on his tongue.

“Do it,” she hissed. “Bite me.” She dragged her nails along either side of his spine as she arched toward him to emphasize her words.


Gladly…” He whispered as he sunk his fangs into that same old scar only months healed.

Her blood was pure fire, her own soul and passion mixed into every succulent cell that spilled from her wound to his lips. Her curiosity and vigor, her doubt and fear, and her love – her very desire seemed to mingle in the proverbial cocktail that was just a fraction of the glory that she was. His right hand tugged hard on the lacing of her corset, not in an attempt to tear it loose from her body, but in tightening the thing around her. Teasing her more with its constriction. His fist tightened around her hair as her back arched and her nails dug into his back, growling like the beast he was and knowing all too well how much of himself was so unrestrained around her.

I will not die without you on my lips. Burning through my flesh and filling my veins with your inspiring agony. I won’t. I just can’t. Not again.


The air rushed into her lungs and caught as his fangs sank into her flesh and the searing agony of his bite shot through her forcing her nails deeper into his skin. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make a sound and the pain destroyed her thoughts and ability to think, reducing her to primal instinct. One hand found itself way into his hair, her fingers tangling into it, and her other clawed it’s way to his ass as she pressed herself into the bite.

Her body acted of its own accord grinding against him. Turning her head toward him as much as his own head would allow, she grabbed the tip of his ear between her teeth and pulled not so gently. A groan escaped her, causing her to turn her head away again, craning her neck to expose more of her skin to him. The hand at his ass slipped into his pants, nails biting into his flesh as she tightened her hold. Love, pain and anguish were all felt in equal measure and she felt she could drown in it, in him. The only thing that existed was him, his body on hers, and the burn of his bite. It was comforting and familiar as much as it was excruciating, draining away the fear and uncertainty of the past day and a half. He was here, he was alive and he was hers.


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