by Cori Vidae
The woman approached him fast, and he had no trouble at all finding the exact right moment to slow down, veer into the dawn-dark shadows, and bump into her with a neat three-quarter turn of his body. So hard to control your running speed in those heels. He half expected her to search her purse for some pepper spray, but instead she just straightened her back and looked him in the eye without blinking.
“Sorry! I didn’t see you there.”
Merely a girl, aren’t you? Long hair, dark—black, perhaps?—but dyed fox red, framed her face. Her blue eyes demanded that you look at them. Confident, from what he saw in her demeanor, and smelled of her scent. Smart and…
Oh, fuck.
The girl took a step back and tilted her head. She peered at Valerian almost as if she knew him, almost as if he were the object of déjà-vu. For a second, Valerian’s muscles tightened: he felt like a stalking predator suddenly spotted by his prey.
“Erm… Sir, I’m sorry to ask you this, but have you… has there… Uh, did anything strange happen to you? Are you feeling okay?” The girl put one arm out, ready to support Valerian should it turn out that no, he wasn’t feeling too great.
Valerian relaxed and took another deep drag from his cigarette. Ah. No weaving of wards. No singing of spells. And she has to ask to know if the strange has happened. You see something, sweet witchling, but you don’t know what it is you’re seeing… Makes her a newbie. Looks like a lucky night.
Valerian took his cigarette between his first two fingers, shot the witchling one of his more disarming smiles and watched her blush in response. “Strange, my dear? Well, see, there was this girl who ran into me…”
And by all the unholy saints, the witchling returned his smile!
“Yes, sorry about that. I should’ve paid attention to where I was going, I just had my eyes on the embankment. You didn’t come that way, by any chance? My boss told me to go check over there real quick and—oh!” The girl’s eyes swept from his face to focus on something behind Valerian. “Excuse me!”
The witchling brushed past him, the staccato tap of her heels beating the pavement. Valerian turned to let his gaze follow her and saw the Fates had turned on him.
The fae-looking boy had followed him, as quiet as if his shoes were made of feathers, and undetectable to Valerian, as he’d been his food, not an hour ago.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you all right?” asked the witchling, taking the boy by the shoulder and shaking him softly.
Luckily for Valerian, the boy didn’t respond. His prey hardly ever could, so soon after he had fed on them, but it looked like the witchling didn’t know that. Which makes you wonder what she even thinks she’s doing out here in the middle of the night.
Well, what the fuck. Valerian knew his options were limited. The witchling obviously had no idea what he was, though she clearly had felt some sort of zing from their meeting. If she was half as smart as Valerian thought she was, she would figure it out eventually, especially with his prey so close to where she’d met Valerian.
Valerian could kill her, but that was always messy, and might actually create more problems than it would solve in an age that glorified crime solving to the point that blood spatter analysis had entered the vocabulary of the average person. Eating her, as delectable as the more-than-merely-human were, was out of the question. The magic that was as much a part of her as the shade of her lips would wound him, perhaps mortally, as soon as he forced his other eyes on her.
And so, Valerian withdrew; or rather, he silently passed into the predawn twilight, as quickly and quietly as a tiger fading into the underbrush.
But like any predatory feline, Valerian was a bit too curious to just leave the witchling and the fae-boy there, so he let the shadows of the twilight gather around him like old friends as he watched and followed them.
“What’s your name?” The witchling asked the fae-boy.
“I think… Chris. Yeah, Chris, that’s definitely it.”
“Okay, Chris. My name’s Cora. Everything is gonna be okay. You’re gonna be just fine,” the witchling—Cora—said. She didn’t look like she believed Chris would be fine, but Chris was in no condition to care either way.
“Damn, where did that guy go?” Cora looked over her shoulder.
“You were looking for him,” Chris said.
“No,” Cora said, “I was looking for you, that’s pretty damned obvious. C’mon, I’m taking you to somewhere warmer. You’re freezing cold!”
Valerian followed them, always making sure they couldn’t see him. At one point, Cora got out her phone and had a short conversation that she ended with an annoyed, “Well, he looks like shit, and I’m taking him to the office.”
Oh, please. Let’s see where and what that office is, Valerian thought as a gray morning settled over the city.
* * *
3. All the legends agree on gluttony, but the truth is, he is choosy. He is a connoisseur among connoisseurs, passionate when joy is involved.
Valerian knew that many witchlings had been made to vanish by those who did not appreciate their meddlesome natures. He himself might have seen the need to take care of one or two over time, but he didn’t hunt them on principle. However, when paths crossed, and on a bridge, no less… To tell the truth, it intrigued him, the way any cat is intrigued by a string of wool or a particularly soft-furred mouse.
He kept following the witchling after their first meeting, after he saw her take the fae-boy to the office of a private investigator, something that only intrigued him further. Valerian stalked her, watched her from a distance until he knew all about her that could be learned when one is patient and observant and built to stalk.
And then he thought, and wondered, and guessed what he might do with her, this sweet, honey glistening treat.
* * *
4. In the legends, all their meals are feasts and delicacies, rare spices, and sweetmeats. The truth is, he is more interested in the ceremonials, the dazzling joy of preparation, than the food itself.
“Doughnuts, the ones with sprinkles, and a bear claw. Two coffees.”
Valerian walked up behind Cora as she stood in line at her go-to coffee shop. He waited patiently as she picked up her order and exchanged pleasantries with the barista.
As she was turning to leave, Valerian caught her eyes like a magician ready to conjure a dove from thin air. Cora’s pupils widened slightly when she recognized him, and for the fraction of a heartbeat her irises shimmered ever so slightly. It was the faintest luminescence and would have been easy to miss, but if you knew what to look for, it was a dead giveaway of magical senses flaring.
Valerian ran a hand through his perfect hair when she turned, knocking Cora’s order straight out of her hand. The little bag with the baked goods crashed to the floor, as did the coffees, creating a nice mess.
“Oh, shit!” Cora’s eyes widened and gorgeous color flushed her cheeks, giving Valerian an idea of what she might look like in orgasm. Damn, and how I would love to see you come for me.
“Bridge Girl. I am so sorry, how clumsy of me. Are you all right?”
“Oh. Yes. Sure.” Cora stepped out of the coffee puddle. She forced a smile, but Valerian could see how annoyance pulled her lips down again as she glanced at the mess.
“Well, I’m just glad I didn’t scald you. Please, let me replace whatever I spilled,” he said, already stepping up to the counter. "The same again for the lady, and a red eye for myself," he said to the barista. His head swiveled to Cora. “And you must send me your dry cleaning bill.” He indicated Cora’s coffee splattered pants and coat with a stage-worthy frown.
Cora brushed at her clothing before she stopped herself and put her hands on her hips instead. “Thanks, but that’s all right. Accidents happen.”
Cora stepped out of the way as a barista arrived with a mop. She glanced at her watch, so Valerian wasted no more time. He flashed her one of his smiles; it was not an average smile, not the sweet bait he could use effectively on just about every hum
an that still had a pulse. This was a smile of intoxication. Desire. Promise. This was the smile he used to seduce a god or demi-god, to break the will of those whose will cannot be broken.
Cora blushed deep crimson, and Valerian liked how the blood in her cheeks complemented the artificial red in her long hair. Fuck. I wanna fuck you right here in this puddle of lukewarm coffee. Wanna take you and taste you until you turn soft in my hands.
“Let me take you to dinner,” he said softly. “I will beg your forgiveness.”
“Well, I don’t…”
“Chinese. And I don’t just take anyone out for Chinese. It’s my favorite.”
“Look, sir—”
“Valerian.”
“What?”
“Valerian Smith. Who will pick you up at seven-thirty. And what may I call you?”
Now there it is, Valerian thought as he saw the gears turning in her head. She might have found a good excuse, but now that he had given her his true seducer’s smile, there was just no way she would say no to him; in fact, most parts of the cautious and observant areas of Cora’s brain were sure to be taking a good long vacation right about now, sunning themselves in the memory of how he smiled.
She blinked at him, twice.
“Just Cora. We could meet here,” she suggested instead.
What self-restraint. Not too bad, for a fledgling witchling.
“Fine with me. Right here then, half past seven.”
She did the blinking thing again, pressed her lips together, which Valerian thought was kind of sexy.
“Okay,” she said with maybe a hint of sheepishness lacing her voice. Valerian added that to the things he liked about her.
“Here, your coffee is ready.” Valerian dropped a bill on the counter and collected both orders. “Enjoy,” he said as he handed her the order. He could have done all the little tricks—brushed her fingers with his, paid her a compliment that made her feel special, stuff like that—but he didn’t. He didn’t just want a taste, he wanted the whole fucking dish, cream on top.
“Well, I should get going. See you tonight, Valerian Smith.”
“Looking forward to it.”
She breezed out the door, leaving Valerian still standing in the coffee puddle. He almost made a sound in the back of his throat like a tiger laughing, almost, but he caught himself in time.
* * *
He could not quite decide which of the dozen azure shirts he tried on he should wear, nor was he sure about whether his favorite sapphire tie was really the right shade to match her eyes. He liked the idea of wearing the midnight blue silk suit that an ancient tailor had made for him in a street in Beijing that had long since fallen prey to the building frenzy of the city executives. Or maybe he should try the emerald shirt with a dark gray tie and dove gray suit of cotton combed until it shone, a set that really complemented his almost colorless hair and honey pale eyes?
After no less than two and a half hours in front his three wall length mirrors, he ended up wearing a crisply pressed wine red shirt, charcoal gray tie folded into an immaculate Windsor knot, and a black jacket that fell across his shoulders like a second skin.
At precisely 7:30 p.m., Valerian arrived at the coffee shop. He pushed the door open, and to his delight, found Cora sitting at one of the tables. Oh, good. So you have been waiting for me.
“Hi.” She wore a black sheath dress; nothing really fancy or expensive, but she was wearing the hell out of it all the same, walking that fine line between effortless elegance and trying to impress. A blue silk scarf hugged her shoulders, making her freshly combed fox colored hair look extra bright against it. Her scent floated toward him, rich and sweet, but not candy sweet; sweet that grew on your tongue like fireworks.
“You look gorgeous, Cora.”
“Thank you.” She took him in as she stood, eyes traveling from his shoes to his face. Valerian loved the feeling of her eyes on him. It undoubtedly showed, because her gaze skittered away when it met his. “You, too.”
Valerian was already enjoying the shit out of this evening. “Ready to go, then?”
“Sure. Where are we going, exactly?” Cora asked.
“Somewhere you have never been, I promise. A family-run place. Lovely Shanghai clan I’ve known for ages,” Valerian replied. “You’ll love it.”
Cora took the arm he offered. “We’ll see. You know, I don’t normally just go out with random people.”
How lucky that I am anything but random. “Neither do I.”
He never just went out with anyone. That part at least was true.
* * *
Valerian tucked Cora’s hand under his arm, taking care not to lick his lips as he got another whiff of her scent. He very gently guided her around another corner in the street to the bridge where they first met. He pulled her closer to him and threw another seductive smile her way so as to really soften her innately tough witchling shell.
But even without that, the date had gone very well. Cora’s bright smile and dilated eyes that ran down Valerian’s jaw spoke a soliloquy of attraction. He could feel another lucky night coming on.
After a sufficiently long silence brought them to the apex of the bridge, the center of a crossroads, Valerian stopped and turned toward her. Come, see me. Come, want me. A crossroads offers you a new path…
Valerian beamed at her, held her close but not too tightly. Cora, untamed Cora, didn’t know that she was giving in when she stood on her toes and found his lips with her own.
Their kiss was more than exchanging breath; it was a feast of shared air, a delicacy of sighs. Cora went soft and tame in Valerian’s arms.
“How about I take you to my place, for now?”
Cora smoothed a strand of hair back behind her left ear, looked back at him, straight at his sunshine pale eyes. She licked her lips, and what little there was left of prudence quickly gave way to passion.
“Okay.” She leaned in. He kissed her like he wanted to drink her breath.
* * *
“Oooh…”
Mmmh, so you like my teeth on your throat, do you?
She still had her dress on. Valerian wasn’t even sure there was time to take it off, as he really wanted her, and she him.
Cora had already disposed of his belt and was working his zipper.
Fast, then. Fucking fast, he thought and pulled her dress up to her hips.
“Oh yes, yes, yes, YES,” she said, her lipstick smeared from all the kissing.
Valerian ran his hand over her pussy to make sure she was ready for him. He felt her clit already standing to attention and circled the dewy bead appreciatively with his finger. Cora groaned and pushed her hips against his hand. Valerian wasn’t going to make her wait; he lowered himself into her in one delicious movement. Her pink silken sheath enveloped him, tight and smooth. Cora ground her hips against Valerian as he pounded down. He watched her cheeks flush and her lips go redder under the faded blush of her lipstick; she was very close, and if he wanted to, he could get her there right fucking now.
He pulled out, felt the cool absence of her heat on his sensitive skin. When her eyes found his to see why he had withdrawn, he pushed back in deep, pinned her with his hips and drilled into her with short but focused strikes. It was his thumb coaxing her pearl that sealed the deal, that made her back arch and her breath grow ragged. When he felt her sheath spasm around his cock, he let go as well, pooled into her until he had nothing more to give.
* * *
Valerian never allowed his prey to relax long enough after sex to regain their senses. He didn’t know just yet what he meant to do about his clueless little witchling, but he did plan to get more from her than one quick fuck. (Maybe three? Four would be better.)
They cuddled on his couch. Cora nestled against him, drowsily allowing him to stroke her hair.
“Stay the night?” Valerian asked in a whisper.
“I shouldn’t. I should get up now and get myself home, because I have to be at work early tomorrow.”
&nb
sp; “Mmh, I think St. John can do without you for a couple of hours,” Valerian said.
Every muscle in Cora’s body jolted, and her breath shifted from relaxed and exhausted to adrenaline fueled survival mode.
“I never told you where I work.”
“No, Cora, you didn’t.” He ran one finger over the tight muscles of her jawbone.
Cora’s hand cracked across his cheek. She stumbled away and yanked her dress down, backing away. Valerian blinked, like a lazy tiger after a big meal, and rubbed the insulting sting from his cheek. He didn’t appreciate insults, but before he could do anything about it, a heavy banging rattled his door.
“Open up! I know what you are doing in there!”
Begging fucking pardon? Valerian thought.
Cora bolted for the door, her scent even sweeter and stronger than before. Valerian sprang after her. He caught her just as she reached the door and whirled her away, slamming her into the wall beside it with a hand to her throat.
And, because he was really interested to find out what whoever was banging on his door thought he was doing in here, he opened it.
The now empty-eyed fae-boy from the other night stood outside with another man Valerian didn’t recognize. The fae-boy looked like he wasn’t wearing his own clothing—his pants and sweater were about two sizes too big. The other guy’s black-peppered-with-gray hair looked like it had been combed with a hacksaw, and his five o’clock shadow didn’t suit him. Valerian guessed it was St. John, the private eye.
Before either could say anything, St. John forced his way inside.
“Who you got there?”
Now, this is gonna be awkward… Valerian let go of Cora’s throat, and she immediately began coughing loudly.
“Cora?” St. John whipped toward her. “What in hell are you doing here? He eaten you?”
The fae-boy stepped into Valerian’s penthouse, too, and looked around as if he were trying hard to remember something, which Valerian knew was practically impossible.