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section7mfu2019-10-25 08:03 pm
jantojones.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2019-10-25 08:03 pm
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The Seven Days of Hallowe'en - Day six - Envy
The sight of the blood immediately caught the attention of both Illya and Amarande. They stared in fascination as it slowly ran down Napoleon’s cheek. They each licked their lips and started to move towards the dazed agent who, noting the looks of hunger on their faces, scrambled to his feet. He desperately scanned the floor in search of the gun he had lost during the fight with Illya.
“Stay back,” he instructed.
Neither of them halted their progress until Amarande held up a hand and ordered Illya to wait. The Russian stopped immediately. Inside his head he began to wonder how this woman had such power over him. He wanted to get at his partner’s blood, but he found he was unable to defy the woman’s commands. He was in thrall to her, but he didn’t know why. Amarande knew why. She had created him, so she would always have control of him; no matter how strong he became.
As she drew closer to Napoleon, he began to edge along the walls, determined to keep her at bay until he could find some way to stop her.
“Illya,” he called out. “How about a little help here?”
“He cannot help you,” Amarande told him. “He won’t want to help you. He’s mine. You will soon join him.”
Despite the fear he was feeling, Napoleon could feel a stirring in his loins. There was something about this woman which was irresistible. He couldn’t deny she was beautiful but, after what she had apparently reduced Illya to, how could he possibly be feeling anything other than revulsion? She smiled sweetly at him and Napoleon couldn’t help but to smile back. He had to have her. He stopped fighting the attraction and allowed her touch his face.
Across the room, Illya watched as Amarande began her seduction of Napoleon. It wasn’t the first time his friend had taken a woman’s attention away from him but, somehow, it was much worse this time. Illya had always been envious of Napoleon’s way with women. Admittedly, he was hardly bereft of female company himself. He often won out over the American, but he sometimes wished he could he as free and easy around them in the same way.
As Napoleon mirrored Amarande, by stroking her cheek, jealousy burned in Illya’s soul. He was envious that the attention he should have been getting was, instead, being given to a man he thought was his friend.
The word ‘friend’ echoed loudly around his head. That word meant something. It was important. Something clicked in his subconscious and Illya experienced a clarity he hadn’t felt since before his first encounter with Amarande. A voice, deep in his subconscious, asked why he had attacked his friend in protection of a woman he didn’t know. It asked why needed blood, and what had happened to turn him into a vampire?
Looking at Amarande with this renewed clarity, he saw her in a different light. Gone was the sensual woman who had promised him eternity. In her place was a woman who had attacked him and was in the process of doing the same to Napoleon.
Illya crossed the space in three steps and tore the Amarande away from his friend. She did not react well to this and flew at him.
“You will regret this!” she screamed.
.
“Stay back,” he instructed.
Neither of them halted their progress until Amarande held up a hand and ordered Illya to wait. The Russian stopped immediately. Inside his head he began to wonder how this woman had such power over him. He wanted to get at his partner’s blood, but he found he was unable to defy the woman’s commands. He was in thrall to her, but he didn’t know why. Amarande knew why. She had created him, so she would always have control of him; no matter how strong he became.
As she drew closer to Napoleon, he began to edge along the walls, determined to keep her at bay until he could find some way to stop her.
“Illya,” he called out. “How about a little help here?”
“He cannot help you,” Amarande told him. “He won’t want to help you. He’s mine. You will soon join him.”
Despite the fear he was feeling, Napoleon could feel a stirring in his loins. There was something about this woman which was irresistible. He couldn’t deny she was beautiful but, after what she had apparently reduced Illya to, how could he possibly be feeling anything other than revulsion? She smiled sweetly at him and Napoleon couldn’t help but to smile back. He had to have her. He stopped fighting the attraction and allowed her touch his face.
Across the room, Illya watched as Amarande began her seduction of Napoleon. It wasn’t the first time his friend had taken a woman’s attention away from him but, somehow, it was much worse this time. Illya had always been envious of Napoleon’s way with women. Admittedly, he was hardly bereft of female company himself. He often won out over the American, but he sometimes wished he could he as free and easy around them in the same way.
As Napoleon mirrored Amarande, by stroking her cheek, jealousy burned in Illya’s soul. He was envious that the attention he should have been getting was, instead, being given to a man he thought was his friend.
The word ‘friend’ echoed loudly around his head. That word meant something. It was important. Something clicked in his subconscious and Illya experienced a clarity he hadn’t felt since before his first encounter with Amarande. A voice, deep in his subconscious, asked why he had attacked his friend in protection of a woman he didn’t know. It asked why needed blood, and what had happened to turn him into a vampire?
Looking at Amarande with this renewed clarity, he saw her in a different light. Gone was the sensual woman who had promised him eternity. In her place was a woman who had attacked him and was in the process of doing the same to Napoleon.
Illya crossed the space in three steps and tore the Amarande away from his friend. She did not react well to this and flew at him.
“You will regret this!” she screamed.
.
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no subject
The emotions of friendship can be powerful motivators.