Every Thursday a group of writers show short excerpts of their awesome work. All genres permitted and a comment on each others work will encourage everyone to keep going with WIP's Our blog is http://thursdaytasters.blogspot.com
This week I offer my lovelies another special taste of Satin and Steel; a deleted scene between Rhiannon and Vivienne, a devilish shadow-walking shadiil!
The night was cold and wet, oppressed by a heavy blanket of fog and drizzle dampening every corner. To the demons it was a keening thrill, crisp and exciting, as Vivienne led Rhiannon across the rooftops and then down, down to the streets.
“What kind of human do you prefer?” the shadiil purred at her as they slid down through the darkness, to the slick cobbles of a quiet alleyway. “I shall let you choose, mon cheri, and we will share, si c'est bien?”
“I don’t care,” Rhiannon rumbled, shrinking down into her coat. “It’s so late it probably won’t even matter, anyway—there’s a very small variety of humans out at this hour so we’ll just take whatever we can grab.”
“Non, non, non,” Vivienne admonished her, wagging a finger at her. “Absolument non. You will find us a delectable little creature to enjoy, not just the first thing that crosses our path.”
“Oh, no,” Rhiannon muttered, watching the street—across from them was a crowd of three drunken men in patchy coats, laughing animatedly between themselves as they passed a bottle of liquor around their circle. “Definitely not the first thing.”
She ducked onto the lane and took a long look around. The pub across the street—where the three men stood—was an uproar of intoxicated singing, swearing, exclamations. There would be no suitable prey there: even if she found a woman among the drinkers it would be a fat slut stinking with the sweat of the ugly men anyway. They were on The Strand: a major thoroughfare that led to Fleet Street market. She gave a quick nod to Vivienne and set off in that direction, briefly scenting the night air, and the raw, dank scent of the Thames running to the south of them.
“I must say, mon cheri, you certainly had me thrilled back there, when you fought with your guardian,” Vivienne muttered as they walked. “’I promise you I care very little about the consequences of killing you’… c’est magnifique!”
“Solva is having difficulty understanding that I am no longer interested in being her little personal doll,” the vampire muttered. “But I am happy to continue reminding her.”
“I think there is actually very little that makes you happy, little bloodsucker.”
It was not said cruelly, but even so Rhiannon felt a prickle of annoyance.
“Do the shadiil not see the difference between four fangs and two?” she snapped peevishly. “You are kin-bitten, shouldn’t you be calling for my public whipping? I threatened the life of a true demon.”
“And I believe you would have made good on that threat,” Vivienne grinned. “Do not apologize. I absolutely adore your defiance. I love the revolución.”
“I am still not convinced you aren’t a madwoman, you know that?”
The shadiil chuckled. “Of course, if you are feeling that you have not been punished quite enough for those pretty little fangs, I would certainly be happy to… whip you… if you like.”