A Kiss of Twilight

The Forest was in twilight, light filtered through a thick canopy of leaves. A low fog obscured the ground and transformed the woodland sounds from familiar to alien. Sloan couldn't tell if it was dusk or dawn, only that this shadow light was too bright for eyes grown accustomed to darkness. The Elf Knight waited with a patience born of agelessness and death, sun rise or sun set would be revealed as time moved on. As he waited his emerald gaze swept over the Forest; observation was one of the keys to the power. A restless wind rustled through the canopy though the tops of the trees were beyond his view. Their lower branches, spindly and long, gave away nothing as to the season. Denuded of leaves they posed there, either to young to be ashamed of their nudity or to old to care.

Creatures stirred in the distance, bushes shivered and things scurried through the unseen underbrush. Something bear-like whuffed and the lesser noises were stilled. Though Sloan was born of the Forest and was secure in his skills of both blade and magic, he was unable to quell the unreasonable unease which had crept upon him. There was a trap somewhere here, decades of adventuring had honed his instincts to such; that edge was what had given him decades with which to adventure. A gauntlet covered hand dropped to the sword worn upon his hip. Sloan did not draw the blade, yet. Danger had crept closer, the winds stilled in the trees watching with held breath.

Sibilant laughter greeted his actions, chilling for the lack of mirth found in it. The laughter then trilled to stillness and left an ominous pause behind. From close behind Sloan came a woman's voice filled with musical overtones and dark creeping undercurrents. "Were that my intent, Teacher, neither steel nor spell would save thee."

With a fluid turn the gleaming sword was drawn and sent in a deadly arc to confront the voice's owner. Sloan had barely time enough to pull the swing short to insure against decapitating the Elfess. Brenna, he noted, did not blink as the adamantite weapon came to rest edge first against the unprotected side of her slender neck. As it was a thin bead of blood formed where blade kissed flesh then slowly seeped down her neck, crimson against pearl. Brenna's black gold feline gaze glittered with hateful amusement and full rose hued lips curled into a wicked smile. "Kill me Teacher, set the Demon free."

Her words had been carefully picked to taunt, and well did they strike their mark. Sloan had been Brenna's teacher when she was a child. His duty was to learn her the ways of spellcraft and to protect her from her inherent abilities. Yet, he did not fulfil his duties and for his failure Brenna was sentenced to death. Somehow, though she was but a child, the Elfess had managed to escape the Council and disappear into the night. That was the end of her, so the Village thought and returned to the normal life that had existed before the birth of the Dark Reverie Dreamer. Only, that was not the end, for Brenna had come home a millennia later as something unthinkable, DemonBound. Sloan was not there the night Brenna had returned to Roisin Dubh, and that small grace had spared his life.

The tableau held as Sloan fixed a critical gaze upon his Student, contrasting the child he knew against this creature before him. This was the Sneak-Shadow, the fabled monster and self proclaimed Bane of Elves everywhere? Though he knew she had killed at least one village, Brenna had no horrid monstrosity to mark her as kin slayer. Rather than claws or scales or even curling horns Brenna had grown into a woman and a very attractive one at that. Her features were the flawless beauty found in perfect symmetry, that much had not changed from child to woman. Still did her jeweled eyes hold a faint tilt, the heritage of her Elven blood, yet there was a feline slit to them now. Such was unnatural for an Elf and it should have repulsed him, yet upon Brenna it heightened her predatory aura and like the Phoenyx to the pyre he found himself drawn to her. Her pale skin whispered of time spent in moonlight's shadows, and short raven hued hair framed a face that had matured into adult planes after loosing childish roundness. Dark was the clothing which covered Brenna's form, simple elegance found in the clean lines of silk shirt, leather vest and leather pants. The masculine style did little to hide the swell of her breasts or the curve of her hips for they had been tailored to be form fitting. This was not done out of vanity's sake but rather necessity of her profession. Brenna was lithe like a dancer and possessed calm self assurance that many mages took decades to master. His gaze traveled to her hands with their graceful fingers and Sloan remembered the music played upon a harp as she wove magic with her words. So much potential rested within his Student.

Sloan remembered the child that absorbed everything taught her and hungered for more. As a lass Brenna had been dark eyed and prone to quiet laughter despite being haunted by violent memories which belonged to others. Without training in the Dark Reverie it was little wonder that she had learned to hate. It was the only way she could keep others away so that she could dream in peace. In his mind's eye Sloan replaced Brenna's Hunter's leather and Mourner's black with the brighter colors of a warrior mage. This was the life she should have lived, if only he hadn't failed her. Now, as he looked into those darkling eyes flecked with hellborn gold, Sloan could feel the Infernal Bond within Brenna as it oozed outwards to bring corruption to her soul and flesh. If only he hadn't condemned her, a precious Elven child, to death. A muttered growl accompanied his actions as Sloan withdrew the Elven Blade. He sheathed the weapon knowing full well that to behead Brenna would serve only to annoy her.

Brenna tilted her head to one side, her features going flat as a porcelain mask. As her eyes roamed over his form the Elf Knight wondered what changes she saw. His hair was as long as ever, and black as pitch that much remained unchanged. The tan that had been the result of skin kissed by the sun had paled under moonlight's gentle caresses. Physical changes after that would be limited, for she had known him after he'd reached his majority and the signs of aging after that had stopped. The changes Brenna would find would not be in a wrinkle or a gray hair rather she would find changes in his attire. Black plate armor had replaced the colorful silks of the mage for he had taken up his sword once more. Emblazoned on the breastplate was Lloth's spider, She who was goddess to the Drow, the Dark Elves who were antithesis to their surface dwelling cousins. Strange was it then that he, once a jewel in the Elven Crown, had left the sunlight world to come to this realm of intrigue and shadow. Stranger yet was the fact that Sloan had donned the sword and armor in homage to his new position as self proclaimed Champion of the Dark Child.

Tssyrial was his Lady's name; and he knew that she would be his undoing. There was an aura of Prophesy about her, one that he had some how bound himself to. For Tssyrial Sloan had left the Mother Forest. He was hers now caught within invisible webs, only unlike the fly, he had no wish to be free.

"We are Cursed, you and I."

The scent of her perfume, black orchids and musk, curled around him and wrapped Sloan in an aromatic cocoon. Brenna took a step closer and Sloan drank deep her scent, catching undertones of Woman and Wyld. Something he had thought to be long dead stirred within him, roused by the proximity of Brenna's danger. It was an emotion he had believed laid to rest after his heated tumblings with the vampiress Meil. Desire. Games of hunted and hunter. Here then was the trap? Sloan stood his ground, even as Brenna placed a hand upon his chest. Her fingers traced the long legs of the Spider then danced over the metal, finding leather straps and mithril buckles.

"We are Cursed with insight born of death. We are Cursed to be pawns in Fortuna's games." Her voice was soothing as her fingers undid the fastenings of his breastplate and dropped it into the obscuring fog. Sloan clenched his jaw and gazed into the formless mist shrouded distance. This had to be a twisted game for he remembered from past conversations that the Elfess was full of burning hate; she had vowed not justice but vengeance against those who had betrayed her? Did she not support those words by continuing to hunt her kith and kin? Yet it was difficult to envision Brenna as a cold hearted assassin when she stood upon her toes, her lithe body pressed against his for support. Her breath, sweet and warm, curled around his ear as she whispered into it. "Cursed are we to be held apart. Our changes have removed us from the realm of mortal ken."

Sloan made no objection as Brenna's hands found his sword belt, undid the knot and allowed that too to fall to the Forest ground. Weaponless now, though he had always been defenseless against the Elfess he had wronged, Sloan was determined to play out Brenna's game. She would tire of it soon enough, as a child she would quickly grow bored if the creature she taunted gave her no response. Her hypnotic voice continued on, as her fingers danced over his torso. The light jerkin Sloan wore did little to protect him from her caresses.

"Cursed, but no so different you and I." As Brenna spoke her lips brushed along his jaw, warm and tempting as sin. "We should not be enemies Teacher." She pulled back her head, arching her chest against his. The gold in her eyes burned like the desire in his veins.

"I was never your enemy Brenna." His voice was low and rough, husky from an attempt to mask his growing desire. Truth, though was concealed in his words, for they had never been enemies, despite the fact that the Elfess had slaughtered their village. He also knew that she did not care for him. Flesh and words were weapons as well, he reminded himself as he unclenched his jaw and hoped for logic's chill to shield him from Brenna's actions.

"I killed your wife." Brenna paused, raised a hand to brush her knuckles along the tilt of Sloan's cheek. Her darkling gaze caught and held his emeraldine one until the Elf Knight closed his eyes, twilight faded to the darkness of his mind.

Larissa, my bride. A loss made all the more cruel for no matter how long they were wed they would have been just starting their journey of a life time together. Such was the blessing of the immortality of Elves.

"I killed your child."

Chantralle, my darling girl. Golden curls and laughing green eyes, she'd not even reached her majority when the assassin's blade sent her Spirit back to the Mother Forest. He'd lost his family and to add to his shame he not been there to protect them, to die with them. Always, too, was the guilt of knowledge that he could have averted the tragedy if only he had not failed his duty.

There was neither hate nor pride in Brenna's words, just truth pulled free from lies. She had killed many the night she finally returned Home. Most were fortunate to die in the Reverie that had driven Brenna to insanity. Her finger's worked their way up to his hair, curling themselves into those dark locks. She then clenched the fist, pulling firmly, assertive without causing pain. Brenna waited until Sloan opened his eyes and looked into hers before she spoke again. "I remember not their faces."

As the heat of Brenna's lips pressed upon his Sloan discovered that neither could he. Brenna's tongue glided into his mouth bringing with it the taste of cinnamon and orange. Desire waged a winning war against Sloan; his need pressed against Brenna while his arms encircled her slender waist. Surely this was madness, at the very least it was betrayal. Traitor! Hissed a voice in the back of his mind, then the ghosts of wife and child faded away.

The sound of a low hungry growl rumbled against his chest, though Sloan was not sure if she or he was its source. Control slipped free its leash and he crushed the slender Elfess to him, hand traveling up her back to entangle itself in her long dark tresses. The soft sigh he heard next, Sloan knew was Brenna's. A mixture of feline danger and kitten games, this softer side of the assassin was a more stirring aphrodisiac than the aloof predator.

Musings halted, stumbled into a groan of his own as ten lines of fire raced down his bare back. Sloan ravaged Brenna's mouth with his eliciting soft mewls of pleasure from the Elfess. His hands slid downwards to embrace Brenna's hips, slowly though so he could savor the sensation of her silken skin. The coolness of the fog swirled about their ankles, giving contrast to the heat of their bodies. Sloan could feel his erection rub against Brenna's bare hip. When had-? The rest of the thought was lost when her hand encircled him with a firm and warm embrace. In response Sloan groaned, rocked his hips forward and raised his hand to cup the fullness of her breast. The twilight Forest faded to nothing, woodland sounds lost amidst pleasured and tortured groans. The hand which worked him moved slowly, almost as if uncertain. No, he decided, given her life Brenna wouldn't know much of the ways between men and women. His thumb and forefinger found Brenna's nipple and gave it a gentle pinch, which caused Brenna's hand to falter mid-stroke as she moaned before renewing her heated kisses.

Sloan's free hand slipped around Brenna's waist, supporting her as he lowered the two of them into the mists. Her response was to wrap her arms about his neck and softly purr as she nuzzled his cheek. There, amidst the mists Sloan looked down upon his Student. Twilight shadows bathed the Elfess' body creating darkened valleys that he explored with a feathery touch. Fog crept up curling fingers over her hips and thighs. "You should have been treasured." He whispered between kisses which trailed over her neck and collarbone.

Brenna's fingers traced random patterns upon Sloan's smooth chest as she gazed upon the Elf Knight with sage wisdom. "Pawns are to be sacrificed."

Sloan shook his head denying her words. "We are not pawns Brenna." He then silenced her protest with a heated kiss. Kisses traveled down, along her neck which she bared for him, past her collar bone the to her breasts which he then lavished with rough licks and kisses. Sloan's hand then traced the planes of Brenna's stomach, caressed her sides, and slid down to her thighs. The soft rustle and swirling of mists were faint clues of Brenna parting her legs.

His hand then drifted further down still. He discovered that Brenna was smooth, silken skin uninterrupted by soft fur. Long fingers which could weave the stuff of spells worked their magic over Brenna's sex. The Elfess mewled, brushed her hands over his shoulders and down his back while her head slowly rocked from side to side. Her wetness coated Sloan's fingers which he rubbed along her until she opened for him like a flower bud greeting the dawn. Still he coaxed that bud, listening to the music of Brenna's ragged sighs. Her hips rocked forward of their own volition under the workings of Sloan's fingers and he could not help but smile. "Little hell cat." He fondly murmured even as the Sneak-shadow image lurked on the edges of his mind. To drive that image away he slide his long fingers inside her and Brenna's delighted cry pushed the image of black and crimson away.

Mists swirled higher now, thicker as well, so that all that existed was Sloan and Brenna. Delicate kisses drove his lips from Brenna's breast, to her stomach, tasting her thighs. He brushed his lips over the inner folds of Brenna's sex, warm breath causing her to thrust her hips upwards, bringing her clit closer to his lips. He flicked his tongue out, swirled it around the bud, then sucked it into his mouth. His tongue ravished Brenna's clit while his fingers continued to stroke her insides. Curling those finger he then crossed index and middle, turning his wrist as if opening a door knob. Brenna growled softly, a low rumbling sound, while hands moved to tug upwards on Sloan's shoulders. Taking a cue from Brenna's body language, Sloan rolled himself atop of her. Brenna's long legs brushed along his while her hand found his hips and invitingly tugged them downwards. "Varra D'dubh." She breathed, not in the tongue of Elves but rather in Loth D'al, the language her DemonBond. Varra D'dubh. Desire of darkness.

Sloan had no time to ponder Brenna's words for as he started to ease himself into her the Elfess arched up her hips and with unnatural strength pulled him downwards, burying him with a single thrust deep into her silken warmth. "Varra D'loth," She hissed. Desire of glory. Brenna wrapped her long legs around his hips holding Sloan deep within her. He felt muscles contract and massage his erection, milking roiling motions coupled with gentle rocking hips. "Varra Jalk." Desire me. She whispered in his ear and Sloan knew it was true. He wanted her and had since she was a child.

The potential he had seen in her darkling gaze had haunted him then. Light wrapped in shadows struggling to be free, just as he struggled to move within Brenna's warm iron embrace. She granted him a small mercy, loosening her hold upon his hips and allowing Sloan to move with slow strokes of satisfaction. The Elfess' gaze was smoky lust, as she gasped Sloan could see the unnatural fangs that further spoke of her DemonBond's influence. Brenna was moving her hips counter to Sloan's quickening the pace that would reach an inevitable climax. The threat of danger but served to fan his desire, as did the naked pleasure and husky moans from his Student.

Brenna reached up, entangling her fingers in Sloan's hair, bringing him down for an impassioned kiss. Tongues glided along one another, mirroring the thrusts of their counter parts. Sloan felt her hands drift down his back to pause on his ass before sliding up to his hips and grasp them firmly. A fine sheen of sweat coated their bodies, the sound of his thundering heartbeat almost deafened him to his partner's cries. He could feel his body tighten up, waiting for release. Had it been so long? A muted growl broke into his thoughts as Brenna ended their kiss and, fingers digging into his hips, urged him faster and deeper. She would take him all, everything that was his to give and more. Her hips bucked under Sloan as he rode her, hard and fast as she demanded. A love bite which sank her fangs into the flesh of his shoulder caused Sloan cried out, pain mixing with lust which pushed him over the edge. A flood of warmth rushed from him, filling Brenna, a true mixing and unity of Teacher and Student. Her throaty laughter of triumph mixed with his hoarse moans until, spent, Sloan collapsed atop of Brenna panting in the aftermath of their frenzied coupling.

---

Warm limbs embraced him, holding him close and Sloan opened his eyes as he reached up to touch the Elfess' cheek. The mist was gone, as was the Forest of dappled light. Brenna was gone as well, replaced by down pillows and silken sheets tangled around him. A horrid thought entered Sloan's mind, that he had just been used for some darkling plot, yet as his senses left the realm of twilight mists familiarity was found. Spider silk sheets, the musty scent of leathern tombs full of ancient knowledge. Fairy fire with its faint amethyst hue illuminated his study located in the corner of his bedroom revealing that, aside from him, it was empty of occupants.

Sloan groaned, and rolled over onto his back. "A blasted dream," his voice said to the half darkness. The stickiness at his groin attested to how livid it had been. "Damn." And he pealed back the sheets in order to swing his long legs over the side of the bed.

It irked him to loose control, even in his dreams. Warriors and wizards lived and breathed restraints woven of order. The Brenna he knew was not the seductress of his dream; while she'd a body that was undeniably feminine she thought herself as sexless at the blade she was bonded to. Her caresses should have warned him to the fact that it was just a dream, though his subconscious it seemed cared little for such details.

Sloan made his way, with stiff and brisling steps, to the basin kept in his room. Picking up a cloth Sloan dampened it and cleaned himself with quick astringent strokes. Irritation prickled his thoughts which he grumbled out loud. "I'm too old for these dreams and the dead resurrected have no need for such foolishness." Still, Sloan though he smelled the ghost of Brenna's perfume as subtle as it was. Cleaned and awake the Elf Knight padded around his room. Habit dictated that he check the wards upon his chambers. Faint silvery whorls spun though lazy arches, untouched and intact. Research books with notes scrawled on papers next to them were still neatly stacked. The feeling of invasion, however, continued though why he could not say. At his desk Sloan sat, catching his reflection in the bedside dresser's mirror.

While not a creature prone to vanity Sloan did take time to, with a critical eye, survey his appearance. Fine features with high cheekbones, though his jaw was squared turning feminine features masculine. The ears had a slight point to them and his emeraldine eyes held a jeweled tilt. Both were gifts of his Elven blood. Turning his head this way and that, Sloan saw the shared characteristics between he and Brenna, but all of the Roisin Dubh tribe had similar symmetrical features. The lean dancer bodies and elegantly long fingers were other village traits. Roisin Dubh had produced the best bards and mages for magic flowed more heavily through their veins. Those nimble fingers could weave the filaments of spellcraft or coax the most exquisite notes from harps strung with silver strings.

Sloan stood, to better view himself in the quarter length mirror. Six centuries he had lived, though like all his kith he appeared to be no more than his mid twenties in human terms. Lean muscles, earned through decades of sword play, proved to be deceptively strong. His form was unmarred, testament to his skills as warrior and mage for what few slashes he took had been healed to nothing. His gaze traveled down his smooth chest then stopped at stomach level. A reflection in the mirror caused him to turn about, startled.

Everything within his room was dead, old books, strange potions, dried leave and old stones. Though upon his desk was one vanity, a thing crafted of pure magic. A single black rose in a thin white vase graced his desk, a tribute to his home village lost. It was his reminder of what he had been: teacher of the young, husband and father. All lost because he had allowed himself to be manipulated. A black rose bud, potential never realized for it had been cut from its roots.

The rose, however, now lay upon a small velvet pillow. It had been replaced by a single black orchid. Its five star petals were spread, revealing innermost softness. Beautiful, exotic and as Sloan identified it as a Noxvilla Orchid, very deadly. It had a light earthy scent, full of spice and shadows. The petals could, if plucked and seeped in alcohol, be made into a tincture that was odorless, tasteless and could kill in under ten minutes. Brenna had found a way to make a perfume from this beauty and wore it upon rare occasions.

Brenna. She had been here; black orchids were her calling card after she made an assassination. Only a handful of beings knew that she was an assassin, though many were well aware of the meaning of the orchid. They were death's herald and yet he still lived. "What game are you playing Brenna?"

Peeking out from under the velvet pillow was a triangle of white. Sloan teased a corner with his finger until a small note folded in two slipped out from under the pillow. There was no name upon it, but for who else could it be? Sloan opened up the note and read:

Meet me at the Raven

There was no signature nor was there a time listed. Sloan decided that he was better off not knowing how Brenna would know of his arrival. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that she would be simply watching the tavern. He then folded up the note and tucked it back under the velvet pillow. The dream feeling of danger lingered as did the dream desire, both swirling about his mind like so much lingering smoke. "Not this eve Brenna." He addressed the elegant black flower while letting his forefinger caress a beautiful deadly petal. "But soon, very soon."

The End

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