03-17-2014, 09:47 AM
Spectra’s soft voice and velvet accent stirred a stormy passion within his heart. The predatory gleam in her eyes and cunning movement proved itself to be no deterrent in his attention. Many men would wilt under the shining vigour Spectra embodied. Several of the onlooking admirers baulked in their timidity. Damien had glimpsed the sun but far from burning his eyes it inspired him to reach out and take it for his own.
Spectra addressed Yulian but Damien provided the answer while resuming his seat as a king his throne. “Protégé? I am afraid you are mistaken,”
the British and American accents harmonized to produce a confident charm that relied on nothing but force of will. Unlike his associates with their forked and slick tongues tamed by flattery, Damien needed only the light as his guide; his mind the sword. “I represent a friend from Mexico who wishes the Custody well.”
Yulian interjected, his hands trembling at the proximity to Spectra. His nod was dismissive. “You are too modest, Damien. This man escaped the corrupt tyranny of the fools who shame the name of the United States.”
Yulian filled the words with more venom than a cobra. He held no love for the North Americans. “The guards of San Quentin are probably still searching for his corpse. You do remember the news of the storm that shut the prison down, yes?”
Damien’s reply was as iron. “I had endured my penance long enough. There was nothing left for me there.”
He did not deign to explain, nor was he inclined to indulge idol curiosity. He was much more interested in Spectra herself. “From what Yulian has told me, this is your first time in Moscow. What brings an illustrious woman such as yourself here amidst the growing turmoil?”
Rumours had spread of trouble within the Custody and Damien had certainly observed more than a few curious sentiments while searching for a willing client and those in business tended to keep a sharper eye on events than most others.
But that was of no event, Spectra held his attention this night.
Spectra addressed Yulian but Damien provided the answer while resuming his seat as a king his throne. “Protégé? I am afraid you are mistaken,”
the British and American accents harmonized to produce a confident charm that relied on nothing but force of will. Unlike his associates with their forked and slick tongues tamed by flattery, Damien needed only the light as his guide; his mind the sword. “I represent a friend from Mexico who wishes the Custody well.”
Yulian interjected, his hands trembling at the proximity to Spectra. His nod was dismissive. “You are too modest, Damien. This man escaped the corrupt tyranny of the fools who shame the name of the United States.”
Yulian filled the words with more venom than a cobra. He held no love for the North Americans. “The guards of San Quentin are probably still searching for his corpse. You do remember the news of the storm that shut the prison down, yes?”
Damien’s reply was as iron. “I had endured my penance long enough. There was nothing left for me there.”
He did not deign to explain, nor was he inclined to indulge idol curiosity. He was much more interested in Spectra herself. “From what Yulian has told me, this is your first time in Moscow. What brings an illustrious woman such as yourself here amidst the growing turmoil?”
Rumours had spread of trouble within the Custody and Damien had certainly observed more than a few curious sentiments while searching for a willing client and those in business tended to keep a sharper eye on events than most others.
But that was of no event, Spectra held his attention this night.