And she's pissed off! *wicked grin* I've not posted in awhile, but I thought to pour a little of my particular bitch werewolf venom in here to fill the gnawing void of fresh blood. :)...
The streets passed unnoticed beneath her feet as she mulled the night's events over in her mind. The full moon hung above her, mocking the humanity she clung to with such persistence. Back home, her Den was full of Werewolves and Pinks, the streets were full of lunatics gone crazy in the moonlight, and somewhere in the city, Xander was in full form, probably tearing his way through another girl who would only live if she was lucky.
Sariah managed to work herself into a foul mood by the time her feet set down upon the planking of her porch. Music still belched from the windows, reverberated from the walls. The cacophony poured out as she opened the door, drowning her in its annoying rhythm. She stepped into the foyer, slammed the door shut and clapped her hands over her ears.
"Turn the fucking stereo off!" She roared.
She waited too long.
Sariah caged a growl behind her teeth. She hated to be ignored. She waded through the coupled bodies writhing on the floor of the parlor, kicking a stray male who dared to look at her and didn't look away quick enough. She stopped in front of the wall of vibrating electronic devices and punched the 'POWER' button.
The throbbing pulse stopped, the sudden silence occasionally punctuated by moans or growls of those too engrossed in their carnal pursuits to acknowledge her. Sariah's thigh muscle twitched as she forced back the urge to kick the interloping whelp again.
Meghan showed in the doorway, hands curled to fists on the round curve of her hips. A stunted, unpleasant grin twisted her lips as she locked eyes with Sariah. Tension, thick and heavy, boiled up in the silent space between them.
"Rough night?" Meghan mocked.
"Still pissed about before I see," Sariah threw back.
"Well, it takes a while for me to get over some things." Meghan's eyes narrowed, an angry glare pinched between the lids. "But you wouldn't know about that…"
"Shut up, Meghan."
The redhead crossed her arms over her chest. She shifted her weight on her hips. She returned Sariah's heated glare. "And what if I don't--are you going to kick me, too? Beat me like a Pink?"
"Bitch," Sariah huffed as she pushed past Meghan. She'd had enough of her confidante's insolence, and didn't want to continue on with another argument.
"Takes one to make one!" Meghan shot back.
Sariah stopped dead in her tracks. That particular barb always stung her, and Meghan knew it. She used it like a muzzle to clamp the blonde's mouth shut. Sariah stood on the bottom stair, her rancor sluiced from her. She was empty without that anger to cling to. Her amber eyes turned down to her foot on the stair. "Sorry," she breathed, not sure of whether Meghan heard.
"Sometimes I wish you were…"
Sariah climbed the staircase, slumping her shoulders and allowing her jacket to pour from her back. The bottom hem snagged on her extended left hand and a jacket sleeve thumped the edge of each step. She paused at the top, debating on whether or not to turn and say something more to Meghan. But she knew it was of no use, she could sense that Meghan had retreated to the parlor for solace and a cup of hot tea.
What a night, Sariah fumed. I hate full moons!
She turned the knob on her bedroom door and stepped in. The room was blessedly empty. Sariah closed the door behind her with a shove of her foot, and then whipped her jacket into the closet. Hangers clattered, and clothing fell to the floor to be ignored until morning. The Persian rug, woven in ivory tones and accented with blood roses, accepted her kicked off boots, and then she padded barefoot and peeling off clothes as she walked through the room and toward her bathroom.
The white porcelain tiles were cool beneath her feet when Sariah turned on the light, and she sighed. This was her favorite room in the entire house. The room was pristine--whites, blushes and burgundies--despite the number of times she'd washed away the blood from her path of vengeance.
Naked, Sariah stepped into the tub and turned the faucet handles. Hot water soon lapped along the sides, and she settled deep into the tub, her hair floating mermaid-like around her submerged face. She laid there, body unmoving, but her mind buzzing over the night's events, and her life's dark track. Air bubbled in a thin stream out of her nose, her lungs burned with pressure of kept breath. It would be so easy to end it all, just inhale and drown--easy, if she was human.
Occasionally, Sariah had to remind herself that she was no longer human. This was not, however, one of those moments. The locked door and bath water disguised her bitter tears.
The bath water cooled, to the point of discomfort. Sariah climbed from the tub as the chills prickled and climbed her flesh. She pulled the terrycloth robe up her arms, across her nipples and wrapped it tight around her stomach. Moisture wicked from her skin and into thick fabric as she walked back into her bedroom. She loosed the sash and the robe dropped to the floor.
Sariah scanned herself in a VSE, visual surveillance of extremities. The evidence of her Were tendencies was gone, no fur, no claws, no fangs. Gone, too, was the blood which she’d shed this night, no flesh beneath her fingernails, no sanguine stain in the ridges of her fingerprints.
Naked. Human. Or, at least she appeared that way.
She paused a moment, and then ran a fingertip along the curved seams of her quilt. “Double wedding ring pattern,” her grandmother said, so many moons ago. A sudden sob caught in Sariah’s throat. She snuffled back tears. Not just any wedding ring quilt; it was intended as a gift for her wedding, the wedding that never happened. There’s no marrying a corpse. Stephan Colinford was slaughtered the day before their ceremony, and also the day that Xander turned her Were...