Chacun voit midi à sa porte
Cornelius Butch was, by far, her favorite within her little harem, even with his ridiculous name. Which meant when he did not come when she expected him, his absence was immediately noted. For a moment, she wondered if he had betrayed her, but such an idea was quickly dismissed. The few she had selected knew the price of treason and that her ruthlessness had no bounds. Or so she assumed. Foolishness could strike anyone (except her), and she expected a human like Nel would be no different. Hunting him down had been a simple task, because humans were so, so unsubtle, though the location she reached surprised her. What she found was his body and the stench of another like her. Her fury had been blinding.
This great offense would not go unpunished.
She could smell him. It was impossible not to when his stink was tied so closely with that of Nel’s blood. Her blood. The place didn’t matter so much as the fact that she knew he was here. That knowledge alone prickled her fury as she entered the club, shoving past anyone who wasn’t fast enough for her taste. The stench of that thief grew stronger the closer she drew to a private room. She cared not for the security trying to dissuade her from invading, nor the clear intention of privacy the curtains existed for. They both were pushed aside with great disinterest. Nothing mattered but getting what was owed to her.
What she saw upon entering the space was the beast responsible for thieving from her and a man dancing in his lap. Undeterred, Lilith drew closer, grabbed the human by his shoulder and unceremoniously pulled him off of the other infected and shoved him out through the curtains. Without a word, she turned to the thief, though rage was not yet in her eyes. She took the chance to keep his lap warm, drawing forward and straddling him like she was born to do it. Smirking, she cupped his face with his hands and leaned forward to taste his lips against her own.
“Mm,” she purred when she drew back, “You’ve been naughty, mon chéri.”
Chacun voit midi à sa porte
She saw how he grimaced.
She did not care.
He would be doing a lot more than grimacing if failed to give her what she desired.
Lilith was pleased that he had not refused her kiss, for it would have made identifying his crime slightly more challenging. Of course, when he did not resist her, she could taste, however faintly, small traces of Nel’s blood. That was all the proof she needed, though the fact that he had been rather well behaved thus far (and not particularly hard on the eyes) stopped her allowing him to see how thoroughly enraged she was.
Instead, she watched as he began to smirk. Did he know what he had done? Was he taunting her? Did he know how very unwise that was? Men were foolish creatures and she doubted infection would have changed him much. This particular foolish creature appeared to be clueless, which made her all the angrier. Nel had been marked and he chose to ignore it. Despite her fury, Lilith smiled at him while she listened to his near mocking laughter. It was not nearly as friendly as it could have been, though it hinted more at her amusement than anything else.
Men, no matter how silly, always did manage to entertain her in the end.
“A reward, you say?” She echoed, running her tongue on her bottom lip like he had simply been delicious. “I suppose it can be, but I must say you taste sweet. Casually, she rested her hands against his chest as though she didn’t want to curl her nails into his flesh and tear. It was then her smile faded ever so slightly, turning into something that began to hint at her anger.
“Too sweet.” Her words, still honeyed with flirtatious undertones never faltered as she began her own line of questioning. “I am sure you are capable of noticing when something simply delectable has crossed your path, no?” For once, she was not talking of herself, though she certainly knew she was desirable to many.
His attention, she did not seek, unless it was to give her recompense for his thief. “So tell me, mon vilain, is it your habit to steal or are you simply foolish?” Her tone never lost its coy tone, though her words were very clearly accusatory. “There is no use in lying to me, mon amour, for I tasted him on your lips.”
“You have been a naughty boy.” And she would see to it that he paid for his thievery in one way or another.