It was easier to just give in to the energy he called up. He gave her fair warning. What happened now was up to her. The instincts to hunt were too strong and his form had slipped so smoothly with almost no thought. She took off like a shot‒ little bunny indeed‒ and he let her create distance. Wouldn't do to catch her too quickly. Ruins the suspense of the hunt.

The smell of her fear and feel of her frantic pulse in this dead place excited him in ways he couldn't explain. He could smell blood. Poor lil' bunny, she must have scratched herself in her mad dash away from him. Sightless prey wasn't as entertaining a hunt as he hoped. She took a fairly straight path through the foliage before huddling at the base of a tree in little to no cover.

His scales slid over the moist ground with a dull hiss. The rolling bulk of his muscle moved with more grace and ease than should have been expected of a snake his size. Carefully he wound a roll of coils around her waist and lifted her up over his head, bringing her face inches from his. A cool forked tongue flicked over her tear-streaked face.

"Are ya sssssscared, Bunny?" It came out as a coughing hiss rather than his usual gravelly purr, "I thought we were playin' gamessss, Lydsssss... but ya don't sssssseem to be havin' fun."

As if summoned by her thoughts, ropes of scale descended to trap her. She could feel herself moving bodily through the air, the scent of her fear peaking before he spoke again. Bunny. That's what he had called her before, right?

It was him. He was the monster. The revelation was equal parts relieving and horrifying. Pain and fear had sobered Lydia, ripped away all the magic and beauty of the evening. Her knee and elbow were scraped from the fall, hands soil-stained and a shallow cut on her bicep bleeding freely. Adrenalin kept her ignorant of the wounds for the time being.

…

A game?

Was this really all just a game for him? He was good enough to leave her arms free. They shook as she held him, her horrified countenance locked on his, unable to look anywhere other than those hypnotizing yellow orbs. They were close enough for her to make out slitted predatory pupils.

She knew this monster. They had met once before, and not on much better terms than this. At least that had been on Lydia's turf. Here, she was truly at his mercy.

"You are scaring me," she agreed finally, having taken a long time to find her voice. What she said was proven further when a forked tongue stroked her tear-stained cheek and a heartwrenching whimper crawled up her throat. "I didn't‒ I didn't know we were playing a… a game…"

She was miffed and upset and sad and hopeful all at once, a fat helping of fear keeping her from displaying any particular emotion with prolonged intensity. Even as far as he had gone just now, she was willing to let it slide if it really was just… a game. After all, he wasn't the most socially apt creature.

"P-promise you're n-not mad at me…?"

She was shaking, and the fear was coming off of her in delicious waves. It made him shudder, his long scaly body shivering. He could smell fresh blood, but not a concerning amount.

"You are scaring me."

Good. He wanted her scared and hurting. He loosened the coil around her middle and let her drop another inch, tongue flicking around her tasting the air. He could feel her pulse against his coils, awakening a dark hunger deep down in the pit that used to house his soul.

"P-promise you're n-not mad at me…?"

"Mad at you, sssssweetsss?"

He wasn't mad, he was livid. His chest still ached and he wanted nothing more than to do horrible things to his sweet little lover. His voice was calm when he answered her, and it was sounding more like his normal voice. His tongue glided along her face again. That hunger had started to rise, and he knew in this form he wouldn't be able to control himself at all.

Moving very slowly and carefully, he set his little Bunny on the ground on both feet. His long snake body started to writhe in on itself, loops of thickly muscled scales rolling in on top of itself. The more the coils piled on top of one another the more compact his form got. Finally, he stood there in his stripes, eyes glowing in the twilight.

An instant later he was on his knees in front of her, her arm in his cool hands, his long inhuman tongue running along the edge of her freely bleeding wound. Once he cleaned the blood from her skin he latched his mouth over her wound sucking for a moment before moving for her mouth. Only the effort was put into his body to make it seem nearly human.

He had her face cupped between his hands and kissed her rough, forcing his tongue into her mouth, sharing the fresh warm copper taste of her blood. He let out a throaty groan into her mouth. One hand moved down her body to lift up the voluminous pile of skirts, the other ripped the bodice of her gown so that his hand could slip inside to cup at the globe of her breast. Every movement was rough and uncontrolled, the noises coming from him more and more animalistic as they continued on. A large cold hand moved to her naked core, fingers running along her folds, thumb stroking her clit.

For brief moments, Lydia was planted on uneasy feet again. It was a miracle she didn't fall flat on her ass from the abrupt displacement, the way he kept manhandling her. Alas, it was only seconds before he was on her again, grabbing her from out of nowhere. She cried out in surprise but his grip was true and held her in place through her squirming and struggling for something long, cold, and slimy‒ a tongue‒ to crawl a disgusting, slithering trail up her arm.

When an equally frigid, leech-like attachment she vaguely recognized as his mouth latched onto a stinging wound she didn't realize she had, she screamed. He was sucking too hard, and it hurt.

"Stop! Betelgeuse!"

That was the first time she had said his name since summoning him. It was meant as a warning but the poltergeist was deaf to it‒ or quite the opposite. He was quick afterward to shove his tongue still wet with her blood down her throat. She gagged and pushed, but he was persistent, forcing her to swallow much the same way he had another organ earlier that night. A thumb pressing maddening circles on her clit helped matters some.

Her lower lips were traitorously slick, making an easy glide for his fat, calloused fingers. They didn't pierce or penetrate though and had yet to in any way that would rupture her maidenhead. The way he stroked her now, sweet and delicately in this one sacred place while rough and biting in others, Lydia imagined he was saving it for something.

Marriage.

The thought blew her eyes wide open. She had long since adjusted to the tongue down her throat and was breathing steadily through her nostrils. Short, blunt fingernails dug into his neck and shoulder‒ almost an attack but not quite. If she lashed out and scratched, it probably would have just turned him on more. His hard-on was thick and heavy against her belly, ready to go again so soon after she serviced him.

She came for him embarrassingly quickly, coating his fingers in ever more slick. He didn't have to work half as hard to get her off as she did him‒ and she was fighting it. It wasn't fair. Fresh tears joined drying saliva on her cheeks as she choked her forced pleasure on his tongue. Finally, the beast sated by his taking of an orgasm, she was allotted the freedom to speak, the tongue slithering up and out of her throat to make its way down her neck.

"Please don't," she begged, worried that he had lost himself entirely and meant to take her for himself fully. She didn't want her first time to be like this, tainted by anger and fear and sadness.

"I love you… don't do this…"

She came so easily for him, the lust, blood, and terror doing a lot to sate that dark hunger left in the absence of his soul. He almost felt like he climaxed with her, his body shuddering softly against her. As he kissed and bit his way down her neck he pulled energy around him, allowing his body some semblance of humanity again. His fingers working her easier with the added lubrication. His hand and arm pulling her in closer. He relished her warmth spreading from where their skin made contact and from the blood he stole from her.

He dragged his tongue along her collarbone, and his hips had started to grind into her when he noted she was talking. Before, all he'd been able to hear was her pulse and the low vibrating hum that was just part of the Neitherworld.

"I love you… don't do this… "

He froze, eyes rolling up to her face. He rose from her chest and pressed soft kisses along her abused lips, his thumb working her clit softy, fingers still coxing.

"I love ya too, baby-girl," his lips were gentle against hers and he was trying to make eye contact. "Don't do what sweets?"

He pressed one more soft kiss to her mouth before moving them so her back was pressed to the tree she'd hidden beneath. Back on his knees in front of her, he pulled one and then the other of her delicate legs over his shoulders. Leaning in, he ran his tongue along her slick folds, taking time to stop and suckle at her clit until he could feel her writhing above him. Hands moving to support her cheeks, he pressed his mouth to her lower lips in a long passionate kiss with just an edge of pain to it.

"Don't‒ Don't‒"

Bark scraped her back, adding to her growing litany of injuries. He loved her. That's the only thought that stuck. Along with his sudden tenderness, it killed the protests bubbling up her throat, the ones previously suffocated by his tongue. His hands were solid and insistent where her legs were weak, malleable. She did not particularly want to be suspended this way but found herself there when he hoisted her thighs onto his shoulders effortlessly.

Broad hands found her bottom, taking a cheek each and squeezing indulgently while his mouth sought out her oversensitive, still pulsing core. He proceeded to do what he wanted with her. Her ass cheeks were clenched and squeezed until bruises would surely form while he devoured. That tongue that Lydia knew was capable of striking deeper purposely teased and pushed at the barrier marking her virginity, making sure she would feel it.

One tip of the forked appendage managed to slip past a little crevice and go deeper, the rest of it massaging her clit in rhythm to her dangerously paced heartbeat. Again, he delivered earth-shattering pleasure that turned Lydia's world on its axis. Were it not for his greedy grip keeping her all to himself, she would have fallen and earned another blemish on that luminous complexion. She pulled his hair, little thighs squeezing his cheeks, slim hips bucking to get away from the hyperstimulation.

"Beej," she whined, thoroughly punished. The poor thing could only take so much. "I can't! Please!"

She was begging again, and he loved it. He worked quickly to wring one more orgasm from her tiny body. Then he had her cradled in his arms, his back to the tree. He was kissing her again, little sweet pecks on her face, the bottom half of his own slick with her, her wetness and blood.

She may have turned him down but she said she loved him! It made him giddy. Drunk. That bitch from before had never said that and he had been ready to give her everything. Now his little mortal, she made him miss the softer parts of himself he lost over the centuries. He truly would give her everything, she just needed to agree to… she would, fuck she said she loved him. He didn't understand what was holding her back. He was good enough to fuck around with but not marry? He supposed with the spell… no. No, he would get her to agree. He loved her and she loved him. He could make her see.

His erection was throbbing in his slacks, pressed as close as it could get to her ass. Lifting her out of the way he got his slacks open and his hard cock popped free pressing against her. He let out a shaky breath as his sensitive flesh hit the air. Smelling her fear again and the way her little body tensed to pull away from him pulled a rough laugh from his chest.

"I ain't gonna use it on ya yet love." It came as a low growl. His fingers were in the silky curls of hair again. "Fuck, I love ya, n' I don't wanna break ya. Help me out, baby-girl?"

He maneuvered her so she was sitting on her bottom on one of his thighs. He took hold of his cock and gave himself two good pumps, letting out a grunt. He moved her hands in to help him. At the feel of her warmth on his coolness he let out a shuddering breath and a groan. His eyes slipped shut, his head dropped back against the tree. The hand in her hair moved to her back, big hand massaging, the other helping her to work his length.

Something about being cradled in his lap again and on the receiving end of sweet pecking kisses made her forget all about how mad at him she was just a couple minutes ago. How scared. Then, his cock was out and pressing against her without any warning or permission and she remembered.

"Wait‒!"

"I ain't gonna use it on ya yet love." His fingers were tangled in her hair, tugging pleasantly, and Lydia's whine to get away turned into a sweet whimper, her face finding and hiding against his neck.

"Help me out baby-girl?"

So now he was asking? She didn't not want to, but she also didn't feel she had much of a choice as he guided her hands between his legs to caress and pet over his weeping erection. Lydia could feel his larger fist flying along the shaft with a speed and grip she knew she couldn't pull off, her more delicate hands deferring to sliding precum all along the head, to petting the fat, hairy sack of flesh beneath the shaft.

The closer he got to his peak, the better Lydia felt. Everything was okay. She was just being a baby and freaking out over nothing.

It was just a game.

He leaned in to nuzzle at her neck as their combined hands worked his throbbing length. Again her soft touches had him worked up more than a boy with his first handy. He wasn't going to last long, he knew that going in. Now with her hot little hands trembling over his head and sack, the time he expected was cut in half. He could feel the drying blood around his mouth flake off against her neck as he pressed kisses along the big vein there.

When her little hand teased his tip again his hips bucked up. He picked up the pace of his own movements. He had one more surprise for her and he was hoping the impromptu bunny hunt hadn't lost them too much time.

"Just like that, baby-doll." He growled into her curls, unnecessary breaths coming in short pants. A deep throaty grown crawling from him. "I got one more surprise for you tonight," his voice was staggered with lust and pleasure, "just as soon as…"

The words were cut off as he made another growling moaning noise. His hips bucked against their hands, then he spilled his seed over them. He relaxed into the tree again, his clean hand moving back to her curls, pulling her against his chest and he huffed and shuddered.

He kissed her forehead and let out a wheezy chuckle as he conjured a cigarette. Her fingers trailing through her hair.

"Thanks sweets, that was wonderful," removing the cigarette from his lips he leaned in to plant a soft sweet kiss on her swollen abused lips.

"You scared me."

He seemed apologetic enough despite the complete lack of apologies given. Several orgasms deep, claws gentle in her hair, and cool lips soft on her forehead, it was difficult to find and hold onto the same rage and indignation she had found before.

"But… I guess it was… kind of fun…"

Everything was so much better before and Lydia was eager to get back to that. He said he had another surprise, and by no means was Lydia ready to go back home yet… if ever. That woman wanted to send her away, and her father wasn't fighting as hard as he used to. Was there even a home for her to go back to?

These were problems for tomorrow. Tonight's problem was still wet on her ruined dress.

"I'm a mess."

She didn't need sight to know. Where she began the night luminous and unblemished, her starlight gown was tattered, grass and blood-stained, hair mussed and fallen out, flesh scraped and bruised. Actually… she fit in perfectly for the Neitherworld, looking very much like a freshly raped corpse waking tragic and disheveled in the afterlife.

"I do love you."

It seemed important to reiterate not in the heat of the moment. Additionally, she still felt a need to appease him, still felt that he was wounded somehow and hiding it from her.

"I know I'm young, and I've never done… any of this before, but… I do. I know it. I just know." Frowning now, she poked him hard in the chest, chastising. "So stop scaring me! That wasn't nice!"

"I'm a mess "

He blew a stream of smoke away from her face and grunted his acknowledgment, fingers picking at tangles in her hair.

"Don't fret over that. Yer beautiful, n' I can take care of the dress."

It wouldn't take any energy to put her back to the glory she'd been at the beginning of the night but for now, he was content to just sit with her.

"I do love you."

That horrific ache in his chest eased at her saying it again. His mood was considerably better now than it had been, but he was still upset she turned him down again.

"I love ya too, baby-doll." It was tainted with… was it heartache? No, no it wasn't. He did feel like shit, though. The voice from before was back, whispering how he wasn't good enough and how she would see him for the monster he was.

"So stop scaring me! That wasn't nice!"

A warm little finger thumped into his chest, jolting him from his dark thoughts. Staring at her wide-eyed countenance, he grinned. Cute. He loved it when she thought she could boss him. He could feel the lust trying to crawl back up but shoved it down.

"Don't know if ya noticed, lover mine, but I ain't especially nice," kissing her softly, he sighed, "but I didn't intend ta…"

But he had intended to. He wanted her hurt and scared and upset. At the moment, it had been exactly what he wanted. But now, he wasn't so sure. He hated to see the trails her sad tears had left on her dirty little face. It made the spot on his chest ache and his stomach knot.

"Can ya stand up, babe?"

He helped her to stand, then stood as if pulled by strings. His hand softly taking hers and pulling her through a slow spin, as if they were dancing. His energy buzzed along her skin, all her wounds wrapped in clean bandages. Her dress mending and righting itself. Her hair gathered back up into the lovely updo from before, this time more lilies hid among her silvery curls. The exposed bandages on her hands were hidden with small lace kid gloves‒ fingerless, so she could still touch and see with her hands. The larger wrap on her bicep was disguised with a thick silver cuff. Her face was clean and fresh, he couldn't do anything for the visible bruises, but he really didn't want to either.

He flicked away his cigarette. Then righted his own appearance, still his ghostly striped gloy, and scooped her up bridal style pressing a kiss to her cheek as they disappeared from the Neitherworld.

He pulled them back into existence, and it was dark and quiet and smelled of far off incense. His steps had an echoing quality as he cuddled her against his chest and strode across the vast space. When he stopped he set her lightly on her feet to check his watch. Right on time. He placed her hand on the cool stone wall. His hand resting on her bare shoulder, he was watching the hands tick down on the cracked watch face.

He pressed three fingers into her shoulder, then two, and one, and the bells of Notre Dame began to toll the midnight hour.

Would she ever get used to the way he hauled her around without warning? Her entire life, Lydia had been forced to traverse with baby steps and gentle caresses, her touch mapping the way of the world. Betelgeuse didn't have patience for all of that, more often than not deferring to just carrying her wherever his long legs felt like stomping. She supposed it did make things faster and easier, but the stomach-dropping sensation of not knowing where she was never failed to make fear spike her scent just a little, make her clutch at him needfully.

Bells sounded clear through the air, swallowing her sharp startled gasp of surprise, and Lydia knew immediately where they were.

He loved her. He did.

The enormity of where she stood kept her grounded. Never before had she simultaneously felt so small and so big at once. The bell chimes hung in the air for long moments, fading into the soft breaths of life Lydia provided the space‒ the only other sound. The outside world was deafened from here. There were cars on the streets and passersby, even this late, but their noise was canceled out and nonexistent.

Lydia and Betelgeuse were always in their own personal bubble when they were together, but now it was as though that bubble had pulled itself from nonexistence and solidified to give them just that much more time alone…

Before it had to end. As all things must.

The silence carried on, filled only with echoes of her breathing. Anxiety pooled in her stomach with each passing moment. It had been a whim to suggest coming here, the thought of singing in a place like this where the walls would bounce her voice and sing back to her was novel and exciting‒ but it had been just that. A thought. The reality of being here with her terrifying, short-tempered, wonderful lover and giving him a song was not as glamorous as it was in her imagination.

Still, she had to indulge just a little while she was here. Her lips dropped. A single testing note filled the air, clear and pure. As short and sweet as the sound was, it carried and rang around them as if she had just rung her own personal bell. Lydia couldn't help but beam listening to it, her own voice ringing back at her.

"Okay," she whispered low, respectful of the power of this space and how it amplified everything, "we can go now. That's all I wanted. Unless you want to stay…?"

When he noticed she was completely hypnotized by the bells he decided to give her a little space. He stepped to a nearby pew and slumped into it, a lit cigarette appearing in his lips. He made sure he was still close enough she'd be able to find him easily if she turned around.

He watched as the joy of it all lit her face and played across her features as she listened. He wasn't sure in all his years he had ever met someone who listened like her. He'd experienced Notre Dame a number of times both while alive and dead. Been here, done this, didn't care enough to get a t-shirt. But now he was a little disappointed that he didn't experience this in the same way she was.

When she let out the one long note, it touched him in the core of his being, thawing something that had been dead and frozen long ago. He leaned forward, ashing his cigarette, and licked his lips.

"Okay… we can go now. That's all I wanted. Unless you want to stay…?"

"The one note's all I get, baby-girl?" He leaned back into his seat, kicking his legs out in front of him crossed at the ankles, eyes glowing nearly as brightly as the cherry from his cigarette. "If I gotta be yer Phantom of the Opera, ya can at least sing ta me like the Angel of Music."

Oh no.

Lydia burned up from the inside out‒ with embarrassment this time. She shouldn't have done that. Now he knew that she liked singing and he was going to want to listen to her sing and oh god, this was not good. Singing was something private she didn't share with anyone. She liked her voice. It was high and clear and attention-getting, precisely the reason she kept her mouth shut in choir at school and just took the F.

It would only be another thing to make her stand out, drag negative attention. Regardless, just because Lydia liked her voice when she was singing in solitude did not mean she knew if it was any good. What if Betelgeuse hated it? She couldn't bear the thought of him hating her singing. It would break her heart.

Crimson-faced, she pressed her back to the stone and sought out glowing eyes through the dark.

"Okay…" She hushed her agreement, grave and serious as if negotiating the exchange of her soul. "But‒ but you can't make fun of me. Or‒ or I'll be really upset."

Very threatening, Lydia. Turning so that his glowing gaze was no longer in her limited field of vision, she took several deep breaths in preparation. They were ineffective. This was a fair price he asked in turn for everything else they had done that night, really, but the fairness and obligation of the matter didn't make performing any easier.

The song that eventually burst forth from her lips came from another time, but not the one this cathedral belonged to. It was meant to keep a simple piano accompaniment that allowed for the indulgent, imperfect rhythm of a jazz singer. The acapella version made for a decidedly eerie twist.

"I don't know how it done happened,
The devil caught me nappin',
He must have come without a-rappin',
Without a-rappin' on my door,"

Lydia took her time, giving herself ample breath control to keep her tone smooth, acutely aware of her audience of one.

"And he done took me flirtin',
My honey, you can be certain,
I didn't mean to go hurtin',
And I ain't gonna any more..."