Disclaimer: I do not own Skinwalkers nor its characters. They belong to LGF, After Dark, and whoever else screwed the movie up.

Note/Warning: DARK!fic. Non-graphic sexuality. Movie canon based.

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Rotten Fruit

The bed was cold and the sheets were rough. The body lying beside his was warm and all wrong. The form didn't fit to his just right, and the smell was so different; the taste of it was bitter and sharp. Their sticky sweetness was much like her taste; it could only lead to tooth decay.

Thoroughly spent, he felt empty of all emotions as well as his seed.

The strands of her hair that fell on his pillow were tinted auburn; they were supposed to be black as ink.

Sleep had taken hold of his companion; sated and content, she was peacefully deep. Six feet wouldn't be deep enough for her though; she kept coming back to haunt him. She was alive and she was present, and she was the one he had to comfort him from ghosts.

He didn't dare tell her that the ghosts were the ones he wanted to find solace in. He didn't dare disappoint her. He didn't dare cry until she was drowning in dreams.

Was it her face he had seen when he reached his release? Was it her taste that made his mouth water for the briefest of moments, or her scent that got him high?

Memories came when he did. All he could see was only what his mind chose to recall. Just a ghost now; so vivid in his mind that for the few seconds of his vacuous euphoria he almost felt alive again.

And then he saw the one beneath him, felt her, smelt her, tasted her. A past life suddenly present; a sin back to keep him locked in a stale, stagnant hell. He stared blankly into her orgasmic gaze, and he felt none of it even as his body twitched out the last of his vile and vain pleasure.

She smiled at him; saccharin sweet and blissfully ignoring. She was happy to be his; she would never know she was his sin. The fruit he never should have taste; overripe and rotten.

Lilith would be weeping, Eve would be proud.

Adam had made the ultimate mistake.

He now knew how sour Eve's fruit must have tasted. But he did not feel like a god, and he had gained no great knowledge. All he knew now was how his victims felt, but he couldn't find it in him to feel remorse. He was too busy trying to cry the taste out of his mouth.