"Lovely girl you're the murder in my world dressing coffins for the souls I've left behind" - (Smashing Pumpkins, Ava Adore)
by Jessica French (Midnite363@aol.com)
Shannon slept late the next morning. She was only wakened by the soft click of the door as it closed shut behind someone. Thinking it Gretchen sneaking in after her night's excursions, Shannon pretended to be asleep, rolling over on her side.
"I know you aren't asleep," Damon's voice informed her. When she whipped around surprised he smiled and sat on the edge of Gretchen's empty bed. He was dressed in black slacks, with a white collared shirt tucked into the waist, and all that under a black formal coat, that hung to his knees and belted at the waist. His hair was carelessly tousled. "Who were you trying to fool?" He looked at the empty bed he was sitting on.
Shannon sat up, bracing her back on the pillows, running a hand through her hair to straighten it at least a little. "I think... why are you here Damon? I thought you would be with Gretchen." She shrugged and settled the quilt better around her.
He looked at her for a moment, making her feel queer. His eyes were black. Blacker than night, Shannon thought absently. When he was finished looking through her he said, "Why would I be with your cousin?" He smiled when he said it, making her feel foolish, and childish. She did not like the way he was making her feel, at all.
With a jerk that sent the quilts flying to the foot of the bed, Shannon was on her feet and making her way to the closet to grab her clothes and storm out of the room. "I don't like being made fun of," she said as she passed him, and uttered a cry of protest as his hand closed over her arm. She stopped, not fighting, not wanting to give the satisfaction of her struggle "Let go of my arm, Damon," she said through tightly clenched teeth.
Instead of letting go of her, he pulled her in, against his side. His breath was warm on her cheek. She turned to face him ever so slowly, knowing what would be the result of it. She wanted it, oh she wanted to kiss him terribly. She raised her own emerald eyes to meet the dark ones that were looking down at her already.
He took satisfaction at the sight of her eyes raises towards his. They were wide, but not all with fear. Apprehension. Need. Curiosity. Damon had seen the look in other's eyes throughout his escapades throughout Europe. "Shannon," he breathed her name, and released her arm, stepping away. "I was not with your cousin, last night. Nor will I trouble myself with her again."
"What is that suppose to mean?" she asked, gathering her own bearings and stepping back to breathe breath after cleansing breath through her nose.
"She rather bores me," he said lazily. "You know how she is, mio scuro." He smiled, turning, only pausing when her voice carried back to him.
"I know Italian. That was Italian, was it not?">
He half turned to her, his profile outlined against the dark wood of the door. Straight nose like a sculpture, mouth perfect if not a little cruel and brows and lashes dark and full. "Yes. I am Italian, after all. It only natural I know the language."
"I know the language too. I've had tutors, and Charles is Italian. The Bonnie Prince."
"I've heard of him. Do you have a point, Shannon?"
"Aye, I do. You called me your 'dark one.' What does that mean?"
He hadn't known she knew the language. He wouldn't of said it if he had known, but he had. So he turned to face her fully, his cruel lips now holding a cruel smile. "In time, mio scuro. In time, you will know."
He left.