The Marketplace became a loiter for her in the thickest hours of night where sin and desire seemed to shimmer in the air, clung to the stars.

Stocking had been smoothed, the hem line of dress drawn over the bit of black lace as she sat down on the side of the fountain.

She didn't see him watching her through the water, but felt it. Crawling on her spine.

A glance spared over shoulder, his glance away. The game they played better spent on children in the fresh awareness of spark of interest, love's pure smolder in young hearts.

This smolder though was dark fire.

He had warned her had he not?

She knew well what he was.

From the book of shadows, the book of spirits, there ever was a written bond mentioned of demon summoning, of a demon to take on a witch as his familar, his protege.

Laniandra understood that dark allure and how witches and demons would always be tied together by darkness and sin.

As he disappeared in shadows and her spirit quivered with a thread of disappointment all she knew was seduction, addiction... wild temptation.

He was there then behind her,hands upon her waist fingers tracing her sides. His whisper sultry warmth at the shell of her ear.

She would heed his warnings but would not resist.

Could not.

Dark hours.

There was no longer light for her.

Only Shadows. Only Darkness.

But this Twilight held not despair, lacked sorrow.

Wild and Wicked. Savage and Intense.

A turn of head to speak words that were silenced.

His lips on hers, her fingers played over his in that dark symphony that they forged now.

Sealed in the fate of a kiss

The deep of night...the time he loves the best.

Especially at the so-called 'witching hour,' the time of night between one day and the next.

The undead, the predators of night and their prey, and, of course, demons. All of them engage in the darkest dances of all, a siren song and symphony of life and death that is totally unknown to the creatures that stroll along carelessly in the daylight hours.

Come with me to Ghost Town, she had said. And so he had.

But as he is leaving, he can feel another call. A summoning, if you will.

A summoning to call a demon, and not a care in the world which.

He can feel it, calling to that deeper, darker pit of himself, awakening a darker nature that he had been all to aware of since the day he was born.

Guardian or not, he is, still, irrevocably, a demon - nothing that anyone can do will change that.

For his entire life, he had been all to aware of its desires. For much of it, he had let it reign free, never paying any mind to his human half, another cog in the evil machine.

Since his human half had been awakened, he had had to struggle with it, force it down, save for those few occasions that he needed it or it got out when he lost control. Since becoming a Guardian, he had found it easier to control, but he still had not found a way to peacefully coexist with it.

And now he's met Lani...and for once, both demon and human are in complete agreement on something.

Somehow, something about her appealed to both sides of his divided self...something about her had managed to unite both parts of a conflicted being into one.

It is the demon half that is called now, though, and he can hear a voice - a woman's voice - behind it.

Irresistable. Beckoning. Calling.

Summoning.

As much as he wants to resist, the demon in him answers the call, and he is pulled along with it.

What appears in the summoning circle, therefore, is not the human form of Kaleb James Holliday, Guardian, but Geryon, the demon.

A ten foot tall, hulking, demonic vision, straight from the depths of the Inferno. Skin like stone streaked with molten rock, the sheer heat of him enough to start the floor beneath his hooved feet smoldering, fire that streams from his form.

"Who is it that calls..."

The demon stops, its deep, rumbling voice like stone grating against stone grinding to a halt. The look on its face is all too human as he sees who calls.

There is a brilliant flash of sapphire light that consumes the demonic form, and a moment later before the skyclad Lani stands Kaleb, looking and dressed as he was when they parted. "Lani...?"

He sees her eyes roll back, sees the sudden relaxation of the muscles.

Eve if she hadn't fainted, she wouldn't have seen him move as he breaks free of the summoning circle with ease borne of long experience and catches her before she can begin falling to the floor. With all the speed and grace of a true night creature, he is there, sweeping her off of her feet and into his arms.

He is all too aware of the feel of her form, her silky naked skin and warmth cradled against his bare chest as he holds her there, in the darkness of her basement, next to the summoning circle. He doesn't know what she was thinking, but whatever it was, she wasn't expecting him. Or his other half.

Even as these thoughts cross his mind, he is carrying her, cradling her head to his shoulder, up the steps to the upper level of her place, smoky grey eyes catching candlelight and gleaming inside as he looks down on her sleeping face, worry and concern filling them.

Not only for her current state, but for what it was she was attempting to do.

And why.

Smoky grey eyes were downcast as she dressed herself, a show of modesty, though he knew not why - he had already seen everything, and to be sure, he thought it a pleasurable sight, but he had not been invited to partake in it. So he has been watching her, careful to keep his gaze on her face, save for when he had bound the wound she had made to perform the summoning.

A dangerous business, that - calling a demon unnamed.

He looks at her, his eyes catching the light again and gleaming from within with the reflected glow as his gaze locks on hers. "Ya called a demon, but didn' name one specif'c'lly. Y'should be more careful, mon amant, if yer goin' t'be doin' t'at...y'never know what might show up."

His own hands take hers in them, wrapping around her wrists before sliding up her arms, over her shoulders, fingers finding her chin and tenderly lifting her head again to meet his own gaze, eyes regarding her carefully. From within comes that cool, sapphire gleam, a light quite different from the more animal-like reflection they so often give off as they catch and reflect ambient light, the better to aid his vision in the dark. A trait of all night creatures, it seems.

When he speaks again, his voice is soft, gentle. "When ya call a demon wit'out specifyin' a name, we all hear it, an' whoever feels t'e pull of it firs', strongest, is t'e one t'at'll be answerin'. I don' know what you were callin' for, amour, but I was t'e one you got. I'm just glad it was me an' not anyone else...I wouldn' want t'lose you."

He sees the tears, and he pulls her closer, gently, placing his lips against the trail of one, tasting the saltiness of them, before he whispers to her softly. "What were you summonin' like t'at for, mon chere?"

As she explains to him what she was summoning for, his grey eyes brighten, widen, catching even more light and reflecting it back out, a greenish-yellow, shine from the backs of his eyes. Suddenly, it clicks - why he had been called, and had heard it strongest, had answered first.

Not because he had been closest...because he is what she was looking for.

In a way, at any rate.

"Yer an empath...?"

He had been given two gifts when Lupinius had bestowed upon him one of the five ancient Amulets of Avalon - greater control over his demon half, and the ability of empathic and mental healing. A way to touch a mind so as to ease its pain, to find some measure of peace.

It had been a long time quest of his, that sort of inner peace...and while he knows he is far from getting there, he is nonetheless well on his way.

And here, he has the chance to use his gift, finally. He has not been able to Not that he'd ben especially looking for a reason - he sees himself as the major muscle of the Guardians, as well as the darker side of things. When things get seriously bad, he can expect to be called.

All because of that damned demon inside him.

But here, finally, is one thing - one woman - both sides of him agree on, can find a common ground with.

He has been a demon for too long to be ignorant of the traditions - summoning a demon is dangerous, not only for the obvious reason, but because in exchange for the favor, a demon can claim the summoner for their own.

That price can be perilously high...but then, Kaleb is still not an ordinary demon.

His eyes meet hers as he pulls her close agains him where they sit. His voice is low, as husky as hers, and there is, interestingly, a slight smile on his lips as her request becomes clear. But still, he has to ask, though he wants nothing more than to make her his - not only because of her beauty, not only because he wishes to make her happy, but because when he is with her she makes him feel...whole.

"Y'know, mon amour, what it is yer askin' me for."

He nods, then, pulling her up as he stands, hands encircling her waist, his eyes fixed on hers. Grey the shade of smoke and fog meets a vision of ebon beauty as his eyes fix on hers, hands pulling her close against him. Despite what she has asked him for, he is determined that it shall not hurt her.

The mark of a demon can be a painful burden.

He, however, is not just any demon.

His hands move up her body, pulling her flush against him, molding her curves to his body. A part of him relishes the sensation, and another does it because the best way to do this is to have her as close as she can get.

There is another way, of course, to be closer, but he will not ask that of her, until she is ready. He doesn't need to be that close, no matter how much he might want to be. As his hands reach her shoulders, he leans his head down, and as both of his hands move up and over her neck, his thumbs find their way under her chin, raising her lips to meet his. As his lips touch hers in a long, lingering kiss, it begins.

It starts in her mind - a warm, liquid feeling that is at once relaxing and invigorating and...cleansing. He cannot take her memories, or all of her feelings away, but perhaps he can help her understand, and he can at least free her from the pain of it.

That he takes upon himself, absorbing it, sending it to the demon.

He can handle it, will in fact enjoy it and feast on it, and finally be rid of it.

It is a long process, and as he is slowly, lovingly removing her pain, stripping her free of her anguish, his lips still move against hers, with hers. She, being an empath, would be able to see every event that had led the two of them to this moment, the climax of a long journey that both of them had undertaken at great cost, with great sacrifice, to finally reach each other.

Why would she be able to see it? Because she is an empath, certainly - but also, to make a point.

You see, mon amour...every'ting happens f'r a reas'n. No one ev'r said it'd be easy...only t'at it'd be wort' it.

His fingers find their way to the back of her neck, pressing lightly there, and from that tender patch of skin there would come a moment of exquisite heat that travels over her skin, spreading out to engulf her body in what feels pleasurably like the flames of desire, echoing throughout her soul.

And a moment later, it fades again. Where she had felt pain and anguish would be the beginnings of a new life without it, if she so wished. He had not, however, stripped her of her empathic abilities - he had simply joined her to him, and in so doing, on the back of her neck would now be found his mark.

http://th02.deviantart.net/fs30/300W/i/2008/146/0/a/Rune_Tattoo_by_Freetha.jpg

((Above image copyright 2008-2009 http://freetha.deviantart.com - used without permission for non-commercial purposes.))

He does not let her go so easily. He knows about joining, knows that she belongs to him now, but in return he likewise belongs to her, is bound to her until death. His death will not come easily - it is hers he is concerned about. But wherever she goes, whatever she does, he is only a thought away - all she will have to do is wish him to be there, and it will be so.

For just a moment, his eyes still closed, his being drained somewhat from the joining and the effort of siphoning off her pain, a part of his mind questions. What exactly was he thinking? Not only to be bound to another, but to be forever worrying, never knowing when that final moment of mortality might come.

He opens his eyes, swaying slightly on his feet as he looks down into her eyes. Those deep, black orbs looking back at him, her lovely features, and the laughter in her smooth and somehow husky voice...the delicate feel of her wrapped in his arms...

He feels his heart pound harder, a feeling of warmth that flood through him and maches his heart, his very soul ache.

It is that feeling, more than anything else, that tells him he will not regret what he's done.

And at that moment, the energy he has used catches up to him, making his legs tremble, his head swim, as he begins to go limp in her arms. Before the darkness claims him, though, he manages to whipser to her.

"Oui, mon amant...wort' it t'me as well."

No dreams, this time. Too often has he dreamed of Julia, the final attack upon her, the way she withdrew into seclusion.

A good woman, a light to those in darkness, driven away, dimmed.

That dream does not come to him, and he sleeps peacefully for the first time in many years.

As the murky depths of the exhausted sleep he is locked in finally reliquish their hold on him, he keeps his eyes closed. As always, he lays still, becoming aware, bit by slow bit, of his surroundings, taking the time to relish this place, this slow, languid feeling of laziness and warmth.

The room is not his, he becomes aware. And neither is the deep, slow breathing he hears next to him. In that languid place he is in, he becomes aware of the seemingly delicate, curvaceous body curled up against his, his arm wrapped around her waist, as if holding her against him, her back against his chest.

The steady rise and fall of her chest, her back against his, the deep, relaxed feeling of sleep.

He opens his eyes.

There next to him is Laniandra.

He doesn't remember anything after the sheer exhaustion of the bonding last night had claimed his mind, dropping him into its black depths. How he got into her bed is a mystery to him. This woman must possess strength indeed, if she had managed to move him. He's not a goliath among men, certainly, but he still outweighs her by a good portion.

Fascinated by her, he watches her sleeping. On the back of her neck, he sees the mark left by the bonding, the demon's sigil. MArking her as his.

And at the same time, laying her claim to him.

Unbreakable.

He feels the sudden urge to place a kiss there, on that spot, and resists. He doesn't want to wake her, doesn't want to disturb this tableau before him. Not moving, curled up against her, he watches her sleep, a peaceful smile on his lips.

(delete please, accidental post)

Even in her twilight nature her smile could be a glorious thing to witness. Unlike her sister of light, Laniandra still possessed a dark fire. That smoldering within her quick sparked soul.

Those words she had not heard for so long it brought her eyes to raise to him. Questioning in silence. That look in his eyes then, his expression she found was something genuine.

He meant the words.

"Je t'aime. Je t'adore."

A whisper at his chest, lips brushing his chest even as she was pulled to him. Bodies molding together.

How much closer could two be save for the evident joining of physical bodies.

Dusky touch rose from its descent to trace every fiber of his being. Wanting more of him and yet still she would keep herself from that final unity.

It was meant sacred she believed. Joining of the bodies to not be just about the moment but about bliss, about completion, becoming soul bound. Made whole.

The notion left her whimpering against his chest with contentment. Hand raised and curled in the dark of his hair. Stroking before grasping those tendrils lightly as her lips found his own again in hungry claim.

She belonged to him and yet she found in his presence she was unsatiable. Ever drawn, ever wanting, ever yearning, ever to burn only for him.

Laniandra knew then it was not just the bond and brand that made it so. She was his entirely.

Demon seed. She might have been meant for it. This moment. Bonded to him. His duality of demon and man.

Laniandra feared nothing when it came to him. Desired all that was him. Even the demon called to a darker part of her spirit.

The wild thick darkness of a soul that was not meant to be tamed or broken but left to be uncontrolled.

This was the part of her that wanted the demon as much as the man.

Her body entangled and intertwined with his, mouth on his was sweet victory that became a dark burn.

Was it any question then why the dusky flesh of her lips would rise to meet his with a smile saturated with night invoked passion as a kiss was broken.

Black diamond eyes lifted to meet grey as he spoke. Her hand was bold. In her mind she knew she drew upon that part of her soul that was of times past.

Of a witch that could claim ownership of a pool table, break a heart, saturate a night in sin and desire, pleasure and need.

Dusky fingertips brushed a caress to that stirring sensation, the hard presence of him.

Corner of mouth curled, laughter soft and hushed. Bedroom intimate as she whispered at his mouth.

Fingers curled around him, finding hard member to claim as her own.

"I always finish what I start, mon amour." A lift of brow. Smile growing. Juding all reactions as thumb and fingertips coaxed that sensation to truly start it into something more then just a bond between demon and witch.

Silver light. Blue smolder. Sapphire and Silver. Hues that would draw her more then twilight. There were stars in the black diamond depths. Shining bolts of energy within those dark depths.

Smile found a sensual curl. For a moment Laniandra found that part of her soul that had long known of hours of bliss and desire.

Fingertips stroked, curled, and possessed that part of him as he had possessed and claimed her soul. Her heart.

Eyes on his as she gave herself to him, a hushed moan as hips lifted in invitation. Fingers spilling within her, the moist heat enveloping his touch as she closed her eyes.

Challenges. Invitations. She claimed both. Body warm with hungry passion invoked like an incantation. Those dark eyes held something more an energy that was not just witch, not just part of the bond. Did he understand? Did he know?

Could he see it within her... that the darkness was not just for a witch's invoking but something older. Ancient and Savage.

Hips rolled even as her fingers curled to hard length. Bold so very bold. A part of her soul so long kept in slumber would wake up then.

Knowing smile.

"Then see it through..."

Power. It was a tribal, unruled presence bonded with her own magic. Energy that would speak like morphine to an addict. That darker part of her was provoked to want the demon within him to be awakened. Unleashed and within her.

The thought brought a low moan from her, eyes near to roll to the back of her head. Her fingers grasped him, magic burning darkness in her touch even as she would guide him.

Slow, sensual torture this. The witch let him fill her till he was deeply impaled within her. To the hilt. For a moment she would not move, the sensation awakened again that dark of her magic that was tribal and wild dark.

Her energy called out to the demon within him. Unspoken desire spilled into that magic. Daring, drawing that demon to take her in such a way completely.

Black diamond eyes opened. The night sky on the darkest, longest night pinpricked by stars of energy. Met his own. She savored that sensation before her hips arched up to him. Wanting that sultry friction to have him ever and always. All over again.

How long had that nature of the demon been within her long before the mark had been maded by Kaleb on her flesh? The witch blade had its presence that was forged of the demonic. So long with it in her possession had left her influenced by its sway. Had changed her.

Her body was meant for his. The way every bit of their flesh would fit like missing puzzle pieces. Meant for each other. It seemed to make sense as he filled her. His movements and her own causing that deep friction that left her shaking to the core.

There was such power and emotion in that moment. The heat and desire a wicked, delightful smolder in her soul. Her eyes closed in savoring of feeling the demon stir within him.

Black diamond depths would snap open when she felt herself pinned down and held to the bed. There was a passing moment of fear, a passing moment of adjustment.

Laniandra though... was a Valendria witch. Meant for this part of him as much as all the others. She was crying out then but the sound was not of fear or panic but of the deepest pleasure. A bliss she never thought obtainable. Demons like witches...were meant to be sinful... and she would sin indeed beneath the demon. Over and Over again.

Arms embraced him and the witch writhed and stirred beneath him, making it as known to the demon as it had been to the man that she wanted all they had to offer. Every single inch.

The sensation was like none other ever experienced or known. Breath breathed in. Drawn into her lungs in a shaky release as the demon was above her. A witch could summon a demon, and a demon could claim a witch... but this was so much more.

Kaleb was there with her, inside of her, just as the demon was. Never could she imagine such bliss.

Deeply bonded, impaled by the demon as much the man she moved below him. Matching ever thrust with every rise of her hips. A study in demonology this all seemed and she wished and wanted for more.

A cry out to the night as that pleasure shook her to the core. Nails gripping with a dark wrought passion. His name on her tongue, the demon summoned name called out after. Possessive and needing that final moment of completion.

She could not be sated. There was more. Always more that she wanted from him.

Black diamond eyes locked upon the demon's visage as he claimed her wrists. A wicked light in her eyes as body arched and moved beneath his own. Rising to find that fiery demon kiss.

It was enough to send her over the edge. Past that point of no return. And none of it mattered save for this.

Darkness and shadows, night magic was a curiously cold thing. Hardly unpleasant but it held an autumn chill claimed with the same heady spice aroma of grotto born additions.

Everything about the Valendria witch was claimed so. Sweat glistened like shards of tiny light at her skin. Stars to the dusk of her flesh.

Those black diamond eyes were alert to her surroundings but still she felt wild eyed and deluded with bliss as the sensations of that unescapable fire and heat poured and pooled through her.

Wicked sin.

It was only when the flames and heat subsided without their touching burn did she look up to the demon and man she had bound herself to.

Dark depths searching as she smiled to him.

"There now, mon cher, we are forever..."

Bound. Joined. Unseparable in so many ways