<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Ava settled into bed, into the comfort of his side as he draped an arm around her, pulling her close. She relaxed into him, her drink in hand as she stared out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows while her mind wandered. Her curiosity regarding his whereabouts was met with one of those contagious, good-natured laughs of his. With a gentle, reassuring squeeze of her hand he informed her that it was a friend that kept him away, that the distance made him unreachable. “A friend, hm?” She teased, feigning incredulous suspicion. When he mentioned the purpose, she was slightly surprised. Her expression softened as his eyes met her own, the look he wore-- though movingly affectionate-- telling her that he was concerned. She didn’t blame him. After their encounter with the blooded Vampire she, too, was worried that they might have been in over their heads. It was one thing to have the full force of the Order behind her when hunting, but with their minimal resources and small numbers they were in no position to be on the offensive. They were no match for such a being who could easily overpower them in every possible way. But, before the immense gravity of their situation could fully weigh on her, he added to his remark. Her lips curved, turning to a smile. “Well, that’s good to know. I just hope this ‘Madame Lacroix’ knows that she’s not your type.” <br/>
<br/>
Taking another small sip of the red liquid she nodded, agreeing that they would need some means of balancing the scales-- hopefully tipping them in their favor. If it meant holding off on their search, she was more than willing if it meant increasing their chances of survival. More than ever she wanted to be more cautious, more thoughtful and proactive. As he gently lifted her chin, bringing her out of her deep thoughts, she was delightfully distracted by the taste of his lips. The sweetness of the wine that lingered on his tongue made her hum softly as it was accompanied by a rush of arousal. Ava wasn’t quite ready to part as their lips separated, the tug of her desire making her crave more than just his kiss. Her green hues stared up at him, “We might as well make the most of our time now, then.” She smiled, pushing herself up and gathering the material of the blanket that was wrapped around her. Her legs straddled his as she positioned herself in his lap, and she leaned over to set her glass down on the nightstand. “Who knows when Madame Lacroix will steal you away from me again . . .” Amused laughter was muffled against his lips before the sound diminished, consumed by the passionate kiss she pressed to them.<br/>
<br/>
Ava rolled her hips, the plush globes of her ass grinding against his lap at an agonizingly slow rhythm. A soft sound left her, slow and patient motions encouraged by the stiffness beneath her. While she didn’t have to work too hard to rouse his cock, she was enjoying the feeling of him-- and, shamelessly, the satisfaction of teasing and tempting him with the sensual and seductive undulations of her body. She knew neither of them would last for long, having already experienced the kind of bliss they could bring one another. The longer her hips rocked, the more eager she became to have him again despite her renewed restraint. She did away with the blanket. The heat and the friction of their bodies making it feel as though it were made of wool. Pulled into the undertow of passion, she fell deeper into the kiss, beginning them on one of many intense lovemaking sessions. The night was full of them, in between intimate conversions, and playful debates while they emptied the bottle of wine. They entwined again and again to indulge in their carnal desires, their fiery lovemaking ranging from rough and feverish to heartfelt and tender until they were completely spent.<br/>
</span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">***</span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><br/>
Her mouth was dry, cracked, chapped lips in desperate need of water. The only liquid in reach was a pool of stagnant run-off, dripping at a maddeningly rhythm that never ceased. It crossed her mind to seek it out, take from the cold, grainy droplets to at least soak its moisture, but she was tired and weak. The effort of dragging herself to the darker corners of the cell, across the frigid stone, was too great. She reserved her energy by remaining where she was; her back to mossy cobbles with enough slack in the heavy shackles to use to her advantage. The chain was a blessing and a curse, tethering her to the wall and yet acting as a weapon. Its metal was strong despite its rust, dusky orange corrosion staining the silver along with the smudges of her own blood. Cuts and scrapes stung her flesh, the fresh wounds still tender to the touch from the rough scuffles with big goons who cared little for her well-being when putting her right back against that scuzzy, unforgiving wall. She should have given up, accepted defeat and the unfair reality that she might die in the dark, dank hole. There was no glimmer of hope to latch onto, no feeling in her gut that help was on the way. <br/>
<br/>
She was glad, and yet it was a difficult pill to swallow.<br/>
<br/>
Heels clicked audibly against the hard surface outside iron bars, echoing in the dark tunnel. Those footsteps grew louder, coming toward her. She lifted her head, tangled, lackluster golden blonde locks parting from her face. Dreary brown eyes narrowed between the bars, able to make out the silhouette of an exquisitely dressed woman. Shadows laid on her form, darkness clinging to her like a second skin. The beam of wicked green orbs seemed to glow against the miserable backdrop, an amused shimmer in them as they fell on her. She could tell that there was a smile on her visage, the false mask of humanity making it appear so unnatural. There was no warmth in it, not even cruelty or malice. It was purely mimicry, something to wear in order to disarm her. She knew better than to trust the foul veneer of evil. <br/>
<br/>
“The <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FGvzz0JE.jpg&amp;hash=72356511417e3c0e123677a870ce624f" href="https://i.imgur.com/Gvzz0JE.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Devil</a> <i>does</i> wear Prada.” She remarked, a smirk forming on her lips. The fine layer of taut skin on them cracked, and she knew she’d taste the metal of blood on them when she ran her tongue over the pads of her lips. “Let me guess? They’re still not negotiating with terrorists?”<br/>
<br/>
Hands ran over the fine, expensive material that covered her form as if she had forgotten what skin she wore. “Yes. It is . . . Inconvenient. I hoped they would be compliant, but I’m afraid they are determined to keep her from me. I have underestimated these mortal bonds . . .” The smile wavered briefly. “Does it not anger you that they would leave you to die?” <br/>
<br/>
There was no genuine interest in the questions she posed-- none that she could tell since her voice was unnaturally even. She knew it was meant to provoke her. “Actually, par for the course. You fucked up and took the wrong Bergeron.” Scarlett chuckled weakly, able to taste that blood now. <br/>
<br/>
“Well. I plan to take the right one.” The unsettling smile returned. There was an eerie promise in her tone that sent goosebumps down her back and up her arms. “I will keep you. For now, you are of more use to me alive than dead. No more trouble from you for my men. It is the only way I can assure that you remain in one piece.” A final word of warning and those heels were tapping at the stone again.<br/>
<br/>
“No promises . . .” She whispered under her breath, letting her head lean against the wall as dread gnawed at her.</span>