we got that MAGIC - - 1x1 ( fem here )

We got that MAGIC,

Quote :

Tantalizing. He wanted to sink his thick, bright white fangs into that girls neck... draw blood, shred her delicate pale arms to pieces, lap up the remainder of the sanguine liquid. So hot and thick, salty yet sweet, slithering so lusciously down the back of his dry throat.. the taste of human flesh dabbling on his tongue, taunting his taste-buds... his neck jerked back. He could feel a hand--soft and supportive--rest upon his inner thigh which was clad in a pair of stylish fitted jeans. "Jonta?" He glanced softly at the girl--his 'sister' who was an amazon on her own--tall, curvaceous and very daunting. She raised a finely curve eyebrow, regarding her topaz colored eyes that were currently an insanely light green--then sighed, wiping the drool that cascaded down his square jawline. Swift, chocolaty brown eyes darted left and right--his voice, so deep, sent tangible shivers up nearby females' arms.

"Lunch."

He listened to his quiet sister's words, lifting his weight, dragging all 250lbs of strong muscle with him. The gentle scent emitting from his clothing and apparel--thick and musty, much like the rustic scent of fresh clay--wafted from his top. His companion followed, quietly, wide hips straying back and forth. "You're oddly quiet today." He raised a brow--Jonta's soft lips formed a gentle smile, almost uneasy to a human, then swiftly faded from its host. "Dante... vampires." He stopped and coughed coarsely--he had just been getting over an illness. An illness from what, one would ask--from mating with a human who had been drenched in a thick vat of fruity perfume. The floral, pungent aroma was too much for his delicate sense to take so he had been sneezing and sniffling the whole day. "Don't give a rat's ass," he groaned. So... hungry. I hope this fasting period is over now. Irvine wouldn't like if we ate when he told us not to, though. Nonetheless, it will be difficult. I'd love to slaughter the whole cafeteria, humans, lycans, vampires and all...

The weak, guttural utterance resting in the chasm of his throat was arid. He licked his maw, ambled forward into the room, each thin, stray lock of obsidian black hair bounding with him. Jonta loved his hair--so lovely and earthen, it curled just in the right spots and covered his dark and ever so delicious eyes. He took a seat with a few other friends at a nearby table who had discreetly offered him a t-bone stolen from a nearby store off campus. But he rejected it. A few hours left... suddenly, Jonta pulled up a chair, sitting on the very top rather then the curved landing that would usually host her perfectly rounded rear. She learned forward, her breasts pressing together, the silvery-chain and cross sinking into the visible line of cleavage. Dante watched for a split second then redirected his scrutinizing eyes forward--vampires. He had no qualms with the posh kind. Nor did Jonta. But their parents and cousins did...

It was simply that reason that they created a rebellion--a pack of oddballs, neutralists and peace-makers that wanted nothing to do with the redundancy of the meaningless war. A smaller lycan, but equally handsome barked a pleasant hello at both Emily and Gerrit--two boys, similar in look, most obviously twins--locked fists after playing a game of dominoes on the table. They were obviously Latin--little to no hair on their heads, deep chestnut eyes and either sides of their ears pierced. One even had a thin black band around his lip. "Oooh, there's your husband-to-be Jon!" they chanted in sync--which always crept Jonta out. She couldn't help but glanced at Gerrit every so often, he was attractive but she wasn't attracted to him in that way. "Swimmingly," Dante muttered through his thin lips, the labret piercing in the center of his lip bounding on ring and silvery ball. He swirled his pierced tongue around in his mouth ( one he had pierced along with Jonta ) and sighed. "You?"

Quote :

Don't hurt him? Don't hurt him? If Frost hadn't conjured up the arduous plan as he did, Emily would be dead in the creature's massive clutches, or worse, raped violently. Either way it would be painful, even for this self-proclaimed, painless creature of the night. Lycan's healed faster then humans, obviously. It wouldn't be difficult for Dante to heal, or, better yet, his body would reject the gunpowder and bluntly crafted metal, forcing it from his flesh and muscles. Frost, like his counterpart Jonta, wasn't extremely well taught of vampire lore. He only knew about his own kind and had no need to confer with the likes of... vampires. Except for Emily. He had noticed the sheer shining in Dante's ecru eyes, each brimming fleck of puce brown. "Don't act like you know things, Emily," he barked, her name rolling off his tongue like water from a duck's back. "You don't know what fully transformed lycans are capable of. And don't chomp back at me saying something cheesy like, 'Oh, you don't know what vampires are capable of.' I'm not in the mood for the fictitious bull shit, ok? So get your mind straight."

Frost's darker side was always entertaining. It was the contrast in his blue eyes, strikingly cogent that revealed this new, untraveled terrace. "You can't leave?" His eyes were painted with rage and tetchy, petty anger. "It's not your job to ensure that a lycan doesn't do damage! Are you fucking daft!?" His optic orbs bustled with ire, sudden fire exploding in his veins. He gripped her tighter in his arms, watching as Dante's massive tail swished back and forth across the loose soil like a broom. "Since when does a vampire care about a lycan's affairs? You're some piece of work. But it doesn't matter. It is my job as a Keeper to watch over the lycans in my clan. Not yours. You're not obliged to this occupation. Don't stick your nose in. Our affairs are none of your concern, and just because you think you know Dante, you're allowed to be all up in our business!" Frost was very outspoken in regards to Keepers. In each clan there was a lycan directed a birth--born with the gene--or illness--or not, appointed to watch over transformed lycans while they weren't in full control of their senses.

It was a gruesome, sometimes horrifying job... but somebody had to do it. And Frost was that somebody. Currently? He was just being bad-ass, following the bi-polar personalities he hosted.

He watched, so intently, as she attempted to make use of her broken legs. A fool, just like her wolfen lover. He circled her, examining those silky white legs then eyed her midsection, followed by her eyes. "He is not your responsibility, Emily," he uttered calmly. "At least... not yet." Their love--if it's there--isn't strong enough. She can't control him... she won't even be able to make it through to him. As far as I'm concerned she's just another trick that Dante brings home; leftovers from some hot and bothered party in the suburbs. She might be different, but then again, I've believed that about all of those tramps and bitches he's brought home.

-rapes-