A Warrior's Desire

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or anything else that I don't own in this story.

A/N: Sorry for any OOC-ness. I had a hard time deciding who to write about in this chapter. I wanted to write from Xianghua's POV but, since so many people asked, I decided to write about someone else. Sorry if you don't like the pairing, I don't even like it, but to me it seemed like a good match, even if it is cliche. Also, this chapter is somewhat suggestive of certain things, so if you don't mind, keep reading. Sorry my chapters are so short but this story has a lot of details to work out and I'm working on other stories. I make them short so that I can post sooner.

Chapter 2: Love, Revenge, and a Drunken Frenchman

"Merde! À qui pose près de moi et comment elle y est arrivée? Fichue
gueule de bois," the French man whispered in his native language.{A/N: The dialogue [roughly] means, "Sh*t! Who is laying beside me and how did she get there? Rotten hangover."} He rolled out of bed, wrapping a sheet around him. The woman beside him lay perfectly still, hidden in a myriad of sheets and pillows. He walked to the end of the bed and picked up his clothes from the previous day. He slowly put them on as he remembered the day before.
There was a beautiful woman, shrouded in mystery. She came knocking at his door in the middle of the night, dressed in almost nothing. She had wanted to seduce him and succeeded. They had a fine wine, sitting in front of the fireplace. They spoke not a word the entire night, and he did not try to stop her as she enticingly wrapped herself around him. They had done things that he had only done with whores, and this woman was to classy to be a whore. They had wound up in bed after a long night. He remembered that he hadn't gotten much sleep. Who was she? Why did she want to seduce him?
Slowly, the French man walked to the other side of his bed. He saw only the curves of the body of the mystic woman. She was sound asleep, most likely worn out from the previous night. He watched her shoulders and chest rise and fall in the rhythmic pattern of slumber. He carefully drew back the covers around her.
"Raphael! What are you doing?" She shrieked as she pulled the sheets away from him and wrapped them around herself. She wasn't as asleep as he thought.
"Ivy! You?! Wha- Why- How di- You. Here. Last night. Why? How?" Raphael screamed. This couldn't be. He had slept with Ivy. He should have known that she would try something like this to take possession of what little he owned. He should have known from the white hair.
She stared back with disbelief. Was she really that bad in bed? She had thought that she had been pretty good, not to toot her own horn, so to speak. She chuckled. It wasn't for his material items that she had seduced him, he didn't really have much except his books, the reason had been deeper, the reason had been partly revenge, and partly love. Revenge for Ivy, love for Isabella Valentine.