He is but a shade in the night, a spectre made of darkness and destruction and fueled by lust and delirium. He stalks the dark streets of Delumine with equal measures of impatience and anticipation, passing in and out of the shadows of buildings as if he is made of them. This is not his home, and while these streets may not belong to him, someone who walks them does. The man is here to take back what is rightfully his, no matter the cost, and just the thought of it sends a thrilling tingle along his spine. He is leonine and predatory and as he paces his mind is busy thinking, busy hatching a plan.

It started when he had traveled to Denocte for their summer masquerade, dressed in his finest attire, ready to work the crowd like a true noble, wooing women and men alike with his charms and prowess. It was there that he had seen her, not even dressed for the celebration, no silks or jewelry to cover her scars. Only her gilded hair tied back into a braid, and he’d thought about all the times he had held that hair in his grasp, smelled the sunshine and earthiness of it. He might have gone to her then, but she had no been alone, and he’d scowled when he noticed the man who appeared to be escorting her.

He’d followed them for a time, watching the way they seemed to relish in each other’s company, the way they looked at each other as if they were the only two in the world. It had made him sick, to see that man look at her like he was everything in his world. She was his, and nobody else’s, and from that night on he’d started thinking. It had only taken a simple, innocent enough question, ”Who is that? to find out it was the Sovereign of none other than his neighbors to the west. Delumine. Somehow, she had laid claim to a King, and it did not sit well with him in the least. He had watched them disappear into a tent, and the smile that turned his dark lips was wicked and sinful.

After being sure he had no outstanding business at home in Solterra, the man had decided to take a little trip to the Dawn Court. He’d never been, preferring his desert home above all others. It provided him the means he needed for his lifestyle, and well, he was loathe to leave behind everything he had made for himself there, and all the perks he enjoyed. Still, it hadn’t been quite the same for awhile now, ever since his prized possession had stolen away, out of his reach. How he missed it, every day he longed for it. He oft had tried to replace it, with more than one, even, but none of them made him as happy as she had.

Finally, all of that would change. He was here, standing on the streets that she walked every day, standing beneath the sky that she looked up at. His heart was a drumbeat against his chest, and he could not deny his excitement at just being this close to her again, closer than he had been in more than 2 years time. It was a tingling, electric feeling on his skin. He had thought he might need to get her alone somehow, and he wasn’t quite sure how. From his short time in the court, he noticed she rarely went anywhere alone. If she wasn’t with another equine, there was a overgrown bird following her around. It would be a problem.

But oh! What luck he must have. Truly, the gods have blessed him, for as he paces the streets of the court this night he looks up and who does he see but the object of his desire. She stands but a walks but a short distance from him, seemingly occupied in her thoughts as she does not notice his shadowy figure there, watching her. Her golden hair hands loosely against her neck, swaying gently in the breeze, and he imagines himself pressed up against her, burying his nose in it again after so long.

She turns a corner, away from him, and he follows her. He keeps at a distance, simply observing her. Whatever is she doing by herself walking the streets at night? All the better for him, of course, he thinks as a devious grin stretches across his face. Soon, his excitement becomes so great he begins to whistle to himself. When she stops suddenly, he does too, waiting, watching, listening. She doesn’t turn around, does not say anything, simply begins to walk again, and with her so does he. He closes the space between them, his height allowing him to make larger strides. When he begins to whistle again, this time he is testing her. She stops a second time and at last turns.

He doesn’t think she can see the smile on his face, but he can almost taste her apprehension, taste her fear, and it gives him a flush of pleasure. Soon she is running away from him, and if anything the chase has always been the best part. He begins to run, but soon two massive, black as night wings are unfurling at his sides and lifting him into the air. He watches her with intent, swooping low over the buildings, cutting off her path as she stumbles around the next corner. She isn’t expecting him when she catches herself and looks up, he can see it in her face, in the widening of her dark brown eyes. He thinks, perhaps, she wont run this time, but he knows the moment the idea comes to her mind.

It is then that he begins to walk toward her, slowly and with methodical intention. She turns back around the same corner she had just come from, and he knows where she is going. He knows her well, even after all this time apart, and because of this he does not rush. There is no rushing the reunion that is about to come to fruition. She cannot escape it, even if she thinks she might want to. He had seen the alley from the sky, the only suitable place to try and hide on an open street. When he rounds the corner he sees she has already disappeared down it for she is gone. Still, he walks oh so slowly, relishing every minute, every step that brings him closer to her.

At first he walks by the alley, glances down it from the corner of his eye. She breathes quietly, so quietly, but he lived with her breath in his ears for years, he knows she is there. So, as he passes the mouth of it, he stops, waiting, waiting to see if she emerges. She does not, and in some respect he is proud of her for it. She is biding her time, but their time is now. The minutes have passed, and then he turns and steps before the alley, looking deep into its shadows. She stands halfway between him and the dead end behind her, half concealed in darkness and half lit by the fringes of the moon above. He does not speak, but she does. She is brave, always so brave. It is a troublesome quality, and the one which he overlooked. The one which helped her escape him. Not again.

“Oh, my dearest Eulalie,” he says, and his voice is velvet and liquid gold. Even in the poor light he can see the way her body stiffens. He misses the way her body feels against him, misses the way she used to need him to provide for her. He misses the way he have her, but soon he would own her again. “This is where you’ve been hiding from me all this time?” his words croon softly into the night, sickly sweet. He is a good 3 hands taller than her at least, with fine tuned musculature and violet eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. He makes his way down the alley toward her, one step after another, and his anticipation only builds to a crescendo.

She is oh so close to him now, he can smell her. Her skin, her fear, but he can also smell what he assumes is the man of gold and ivory, the King of this place. It sours his expression, but even that cannot truly dampen this moment for him. Then he is before her, towering over her, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her, for now. “You have been bad, my dear.” It is a threat, and he knows she knows, he watches her swallow, his eyes raking over her. And then she says it, the word he had longed to hear, the voice he so dearly aches for.

“Albrecht.”

@Somnus