Prima Materia

Prima Materia - Part 2

"You've got some nerve, Pero." Fatima looked at him for the first time in almost two hundred years. He was still the unnaturally beautiful Pero. His eyes sparked in the darkness, his curly raven hair danced in the wind like the waves of the ocean.

"I think not. This isn't about nerve, this is about fate."

"As they say here in America, fuck you and your fate." Fatima turned the other direction. She'd jump off this damn pier. She loved him to the point of physical pain, and now that he stood in front of her she hated him with an uncontrollable passion.

"How did the Senegalese put it? Don't try to make someone hate the person he loves, for he will still go on loving, but he will hate you."

Fatima sighed. He was right. She hated him as much as she loved him because he tried to make her not love him. She wondered if Sir Isaac Newton knew that his equal and opposite reaction theory held true to emotions as well as physical objects. She heard Pero chuckle.

"To read someone's thoughts you haven't seen in ages is rude, Pero."

"I've always loved the way you say my name. Your accent has not changed and it still excites me."

That made her stand still. The words he spoke brought images to her mind of them entangled in sheets, a mass of limbs, content with the intimacy they'd shared.

"It's no use, Fatima, you and I are one. I'm your sire, your lover and your fate. What you did here, in America, on La Amistad that was your fate. Those wiser than us came to me two days before you were to be killed and told me to rescue you at all costs. I didn't ask why, I just did as I was told."

"Why did you leave then?"

"You wouldn't have become what you are if you had me by your side. You would have leaned on me, and you needed to be strong. You would have made yourself subservient to me, and the Wise Ones couldn't have that. Sister Fate came to me and said I had to leave you or watch you die, again, but be helpless."

"So you had to abandon me for two hundred years?" Fatima flew at him with her fists raised. She knew she would never have been able to connect with the side of his face with her open palm if he hadn't let her. Vampyre moved quickly, and he didn't have to stand there and let her hit him. But he did, and Fatima felt all her anger dissipate. She stood still, looking at his unmarked face and felt defeated. Even being angry with him wasn't enough to quell the passion she still felt for him.

"That is how it is. That is the universal truth amongst mortal and immortal alike, Fati. Love is a primitive base that is much like chaos. There is no rhyme or reason to it; we do it because souls and the soulless are always looking for it. Perfect love, true love, self-love--the list goes on. We are all born out of love, we all love in its many forms."

"You are choosing now to philosophize with me, Pero?" Fatima turned to walk away. She didn't want a logical explanation of love--she wanted to hurt something so she could feel something else besides the blinding, all-consuming love she felt for someone who had abandoned her.

"Ahh, Fati." He came up to her and put his arms around her. The strength she felt in his arms drove her to distraction. She felt a lump in her throat, a lump she hadn't felt in the past two hundred years. The feeling of his body near hers was a catalyst for the barrage of images of their bodies entwined. She closed her eyes and leaned back into him. Relaxing, she let him into her mind, sending the images of them back on the Canary Islands. Using the power of the vampyre, he propelled them both to that bungalow, to the bedroom. It was a trick she'd never wished to use, fearful she would end up where her heart desired to be, in Pero's arms.

"This is where my heart always wished to be. Although I had to leave, I always wanted to be here." Pero whispered in her ear.

Fatima looked around in amazement. It was as they had left it. The bedroom was enclosed in deep, rich, red-and-black velvet drapes, and the settee had not fallen into disrepair. How could this be?

Pero, who still had Fatima in his arms, turned her around to look at him. His gaze was deep, cutting, and made her gasp.

"It is because I wished it. I wanted no one near you, so I wished that too. The Fates obliged my request to get me to agree to leave you. When I took your blood into my mouth, you and I became one, much more than just a marriage. You are a part of me. When you took my blood I became a part of you. You see we are deeply, madly, truly intertwined. And you, Fati, after centuries of waiting, are mine once more."

Pero's incisors lengthened as his face dipped to meet hers. The force of his longing was in the depth of his kiss. Fatima's own fangs descended as his tongue flicked in and out of her mouth. As she pressed her tongue against one of his canines, her blood exploded in their mouths. Pero, taking her lead, did the same, allowing his blood to spill. It was an erotic mix of blood and lust as their tongues danced, the mixed blood in their mouths cementing their union. Fatima's head rolled back and she allowed Pero to kiss her throat, hovering close to that dangerous jugular vein, licking and kissing.

Everything that Pero did, every gesture, every look, every touch, sent aching waves of pleasure through her, making her greedy and hungry for more.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered as he kissed her neck and collarbone, making her body arc into his. The pressure of his broad chest on her heavy and aching breasts made her moan.

"Yes," she said, sinking her fingers into his thick hair.

"I want to drink of you." Fatima knew he didn't mean her blood. She stripped off all their clothing, the claws on her hands making short work of his shirt, tearing it to shreds. Her lengthened nails scraped his taut abs, producing a thin red line of blood. She dropped to her knees in reverence and trailed her tongue over the long lines she'd inflicted on his skin. The lines would disappear, but she would always remember that she'd put him there. Licking her lips in anticipation she stood. Never breaking his intense gaze, she climbed to her knees and quickly seated herself upon the settee, and opened her long legs for his eyes. The feeling of displaying herself for him made her wild.

"Pero, please, touch me. I've waited to long." Pero looked at her in dark silence, a look that made her lip quiver. "Please," she begged.

In answer, Pero strode over to the settee, putting his hands on each side of her hips, and knelt before her, as if he were about to lie in worship. His eerie eyes had taken on the translucent glow of a vampyre in the throes of lust. At that moment, Fatima forgot all about being abandoned, she forgot all about being left behind. All that mattered was the here and the now.