Of Mine Enemy

chapter six

He was rather surprised, if one were to be honest. The past days events were no less than shocking for a consecutive amount of time and the matters only seemed to grow more strange as time crept on. Two days - or was it three? No, no, only two, surely - he'd been in the clutches of this woman (dare he call her that) and even still, she still surprised him around every bend. Now, mind you, it wasn't particularly his own fault he'd fallen asleep when he'd meant to take the right moment to slither from her clutches out the terribly dusty windows, but as the sun pried his eyes open and his muffled brain from sleep, he found himself in a rather strange predicament.

To another man that wasn't aware of Saiorse Addinell's darkest secret it may have been a blessing - she was beautiful, after all. Her skin washed with sunlight, her hair hiding hints of honey near their roots - and those eyes of hers, like the richest of silver a man could pry from the Earth. It was a phenomenon - watching her sleep as if she were the same as he - like their hearts beat in precisely the same rhythms. But Alexander LeRoy knew the monster that hid behind those ribs and the fangs that sought to tear his own pulse in two.

He knew he could probably manage to wrap his fingers around the hilt of the dagger hidden in her bag - he'd caught a glimpse of it as they were traveling. He could plunge it into her chest, or, more practically, her abdomen, as the flesh was more tender and unbarred by the sternum. It would take only a matter of moments for him to race down the halls and shout for help. If the soldiers from the kingdoms did indeed stay over night, his words would not fall on deaf ears.

Yet, as he counted the seconds between each breath Saiorse inhaled, the awe that held him captive to the bed would not leave him long for his scurry of plans to unfold.

She was like any other woman he'd woken next to. Blissful unawareness clogging her sleep as she floated on whatever dream her thoughts had conjured. More than once his many affairs had dreamt of him, whispering his name even after his hands had left them - it always gave him the urge to gag. Sure, his mother was frustrated that he hadn't found a suitable wife, but who could blame him? Trouncing around with the same woman until she was old and grey hadn't an appeal. No, a new face, a new voice, the same mutters of sweet nothings - it worked far better. When Alexander was done, he could be on his way.

What was the use of falling in the claws of a woman that would only wither?

His fingers drifted in the air, mingling with the specks of dusts floating about the panels of sun splintering the windows beside them. It touched her cheeks, bringing forth a false shade of rose that could even fool him into thinking she was alive. Well, maybe she was alive? He didn't know. All the tales of creatures that walked hand in hand with demons and death portrayed them as undead, unearthly, unfair - yet, Saiorse looked just as another woman may have during one of his drunken-lovestruck witching hours.

Though, the closer Alexander looked, the more he began to see Saiorse wasn't like them at all.

Tall, short, thin, to pudgy, Alexander had them all. There was not a letter of the alphabet he hadn't graced, nor a tone of voice, or perhaps even an accent, if he was so boastful to say (which he was) he hadn't heard cry his name. Red, blonde, dark-haired, you name it, it had all covered his cheeks at some time or other.

His hand pulled through the tension in the air, until his fingers fell to rest on the waves of her unruly hair. The brunette mop lay in a frazzled mess over her face, leaving only just enough room for her nose to peek through. Every now and then Saiorse would huff or sigh - a defenseless ring would flutter on her breath, falling only to rest right over her eye once more. Alex took a small strand between his fingers, twining about his thumb. It was softer than he could've imagined. If she were truly a monstrosity of midnight, would her hair not be dry and dead like the rest of her?