The First Age

Spectra was a woman straining for the stars, and when she made the decision to whore herself out, it was for her own devices. Such was the distinct difference between authority grasped of her own free will and forcibly coerced into acts of slavery. More unusual was when the decision made out of sheer appetite. Damien was deliciously handsome. The way he submitted, unquestioningly, was exactly as she predicted. All men are the same. Especially when it came to yielding beneath Spectra's salacious attention.

Among them, however, there was one distinct among the fleshy masses of the male race. While Damien's lids lowered beneath her all-too-simple spell and his face glowed arousal, Spectra was thinking of another. Hood transcended everything that made Damien worthy of molding. What was he doing at this very moment? Was he reclining beneath the whim of a woman, only to find himself thinking of Spectra instead? Nothing would make her more overjoyed than if that were true. She almost purred for that little treat.

With Hood flashing the heat of recent memory in her imagination, Spectra's otherwise mechanical motions became gloriously impassioned. A glance at Damien was hard to tell whether or not he noticed the shift.

To his credit, he lounged like a king on his throne bathed beneath the wide expanse of his kingdom. His subject was on her knees at his feet, and he reveled in the positioning. The one attribute Hood lacked, Damien grasped in excess. Ambition. Ambition that would be inflamed by Spectra Lin, the woman at his side who should be there every step until they crested Olympus itself. An unfortunate attribute about mountaintops, however, was there was only room for one at the top.

She sensed the tightening of his physical tensions, and Spectra reacted perfectly. Her nails trailed along his stomach. They burrowed beneath his shirt and pulled his waist closer. She was smiling as she pictured their view from the pinnacle of the world in the way reminiscent of when she first pictured the man beneath her was Hood rather than this runner-up male. She'd keep both, of course. As his defenses broke, Spectra's body mirrored his, flooded euphoric.

She was smiling when she licked warmth from her lips and looked to him. Damien's ambition and Hood's attentions were not mutually exclusive possessions for one who should be queen of the known world.

She allowed him to absorb her beauty for a moment. She was his true and faithful subject, one deeply apologetic for the earlier misconception. Then again, if she hadn't reacted as she had, they would not be here.

One last lingering, coy glance and she carried herself away, a feather on the air, in search of a drink of water. He could follow her if he wished.

If he can even walk.

Tension drained from every sinew as Spectra finished her piece with a flourishing stroke. She was a true artist among her kind; a Da Vinci amongst a sea of grey souls. Damien sat silent, fingertips brushing smooth leather with a rhythmic steadiness. His eyes never left Spectra’s back until she had disappeared into the kitchen.

As it was with so many artists of such calibre, Da Vinci was so very insane in his brilliance. Damien felt the pain as he forced himself to relive the moment of volatility that seemed years ago. Unbidden, a hand rose to his chest.

He shook the last vestiges of passion from his veins and stood, zipping his pants slowly. Never again. Do not let it happen again. Ever.

He had done nothing he had not wanted yet his spine chilled at the mere thought of what could have been. Running water soothed his misgivings. He approached Spectra, regarding her with a gravity that held weight. It had been enough to stay the hands of some of the most vicious criminals in the United States and yet he doubted this woman would be so easy to cower. Not that he wished to break her – she was far too interesting, it would be a shame. It was a matter of curbing the temperamental danger she represented.

“Did you get what you wished from me?”
Damien abandoned pretence and guile. He was neither harsh nor haughty. He simply requested. “I believe I misjudged you. You have a very unique skill, but do not turn it on me again.”


A futile request that stung even as he spoke. It had been his weakness, his own mistake. “I don’t know what you want, nor do I care. You are an interesting woman, we both have much to gain from one another, but remember – I am not like your usual toys. Don’t test me on this.”


It seemed he still had much to consider. That Spectra had managed to provoke him so gnawed at him. Yulian would have to reschedule his flight to Mexico. It seemed he would need to leave Moscow sooner than he would have liked.

The sounds of footsteps and Spectra turned. A bottle of water was at her lips, but she was in no rush to drink, merely moisten her mouth with refreshment.

Damien's question tilted her curiosity, an emotion safely tucked compartmentalized from the skills he alluded to. It caused a playfully bashful fluttering of her eyes.

Beneath the coquettishness, worry curled like smoke around her stomach. Damien had captured her unawares once, and he had the potential to do as much, or more, again. They were each creatures of legend, but even a dragon may be slain by another of its own kind.

Spectra bowed her head, the warning sincerely heeded. Had he tipped her chin upward, she might have followed, but without the provokation, she kept her gaze lowered, subservient as she came into the circle of his immediate presence.

Her fingers trailed tentative along his forearms, careful to neither bind him down nor show too much fear. By his own admission, Damien's interest in Spectra was tied to her usefulness to him. A cowardly woman he would cast aside.

An apology, crystalline and soulful dripped from those moist lips like droplets of dew. Her eyes, vibrant as the jungle, shifted to his, "With all my heart, I will never turn my malice upon you again."
Her smile was doleful as her words.

Spectra's reaction was of the uttermost importance and she performed the role perfectly. Damien could not be sure of the sincerity of her vow yet, it did not matter.

She understood his will with uncanny accuracy that gave him pause. Did she understand because they were alike or had she had many men fall prey to her wiles that he was predictable?

His answer to his own question was a soft smile that held no sense of triumph, merely acknowledgement. However wily Spectra was Damien still held to his caution despite the moment of danger. He had passed unscathed and learned. For now Spectra's word would do.

"Good, I would not lose a potential ally."
Damien turned on his heels and resumed his seat. Exhaustion betrayed itself to him seeping through his muscles down to the bone and he closed his eyes. "Please, make yourself at home. My bed is yours to use if you wish. I will be leaving Moscow within the week much to my regret. When I return, perhaps we can catch up. If all goes well, I believe I may have an offer that you will find of great interest."

Damien called her an ally.

Spectra smiled beautifully. Perfecto.

He situated himself in the comforts of a chair, and Spectra envied the peace that settled over his features. The armistice between them was calm, now they were done with war and passion.

Spectra followed, slinking at her own pace. The room itself drew her study while he was content to see nothing but the insides of his own eyelids. That grated, his dismissal; fatigue was no excuse. Hood's vitality lasted the whole of the night, until Spectra was content to drift asleep first. Here, Damien floundered disappointingly. He'd had what he wanted from her, and she was discharged to a bedroom. She should give him the satisfaction.

The Light seduced her toward retaliation. Affections Damien dangled like golden geese, but a wave of a hand and Spectra clearly saw through the illusion. Bitterness coated the back of her throat; already slick with his slime and filth. He disgusted her.

Yet this was not the time. Spectra was not a patient woman, but she was demanding of her desires. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she would crawl over the corpse of this man to get it.

He laid there, testing her with his very presence, but Spectra withstood the temptation. Instead of going to him, rather than crushing his heart in Light, she gathered her things and saw herself to the door. "If you wish me to go with you. Call my agent. Buenas noches."
She purred and left.

When the door closed Damien released a long held laugh. It was low and soft like the whisper of a churning volcano under the sea. It had taken months of wading through the conceited mass of humanity to be given the opportunity to put his life in the hands of potential madmen. And what for?

Sometimes he barely remembered the answers. His initial will had been refined and tempered but still after eight years he was dissatisfied. He would suffer no less than perfection in this.

Unbeknownst to her, Spectra had sharpened the blade of resolve. He had no inkling of her intentions but trust her, he most definitely did not. Useful though? Assuredly; and he was not unmoved by her anger at the world.

It was a fine line to walk with knives poised on either side. Damien would have it no other way.