"I can't." She whispered through molten lips that were pressed against the smooth library wall. "The curator forbids entry to anyone."

The fervid length of his calescent crimson frame condensed against her, pinning her between the beauty of chiseled Incubus muscle and the harsh masonry of the internal palisade. The bawdy elation of her growing arousal crafted a sinful smile along his delectable mouth, feeding on the unbridled emotion that she tried to disguise though could not deny.

"Certainly you can, my dear." The satiny touch of his ardent whisper thriving along the dainty bend of her ear, causing her dark eyes to flutter and her parched lips to gasp. "I promise that it will be well worth it." He emphasized his pledge by raking the rounded touch of talented fingertips up the outside of her thighs, drawing with it the length of her skirt to expose the bare limbs beneath.

"Oh yes." She murmured, her head falling back to rest upon the masculine support of his shoulder, a bowed undulation writhing against his sturdy physique. "Whatever you want." She assured him. "You can take it all."

Lips, housing a diabolical grin, pressed into the exposed skin of her neck, drawing from her an euphoric whimper. Her head tilted sharply moments later, offering him as much of her flesh as possible, pressed back against him, determined to meld.

"On the table." He ordered in a heated rendition of his velvety timbre. "Quickly."

Cognizant regard was hesitant, though within her swirling mind she was able to draw clarity, and swept away from him to head toward the table he suggested, turning back with an inquisitive perplexity once she arrived.
"On to it." He said behind narrowed alabaster cauldrons and a sinister smile. "As though it were a bed."

Her cheeks flushed with carmine hue, though any forbearance was quickly absolved from her dark eyes in observance of his predatory approach, the aqueous ripple of ridged sinew promising an embrace of power; an impaling acquisition. Quickly she turned and pulled herself onto the mahogany plateau, drawing her skirts up and splaying her supple legs in growing anticipation of his intimacy.

Once arrived he leisurely reached out and placed a velvety touch upon her knees, staring down at the treasure nestled into their enticing concourse. He knew that the lingering inspection would ignite lascivious panic inside of her and he was right, able to feel her growing tremble beneath the weight of his achromic stare. He held it for a moment longer, milking the yearning discomfort that lashed inside her very core. She shuddered beneath him, wanting the visual assault to stop, but fearful of what such a refusal would induce; namely, his withdrawal.

The stare lifted, and he watched the arid tiers of her mouth circumvent around her sigh of relief. Her brow had beaded with the most petite lines of sweat, the droplets a physical testament to the wicked labor she had endured.

The length of a cardinal-colored arm extended, reaching between the oblique splay of her thighs and upward near the swell of her still-clothed bosom. The startled intake of air between sharply tight lips indicated her returned trepidation, and yet her body oscillated beneath him with hunger and need.

The temptation of his hand dropped to her waist, the corral of deft fingers taking the thin and short crystal rod from her pocket with a natural proficiency that most thieves spent years perfecting. While swift, the movements had not been disguised, though it did not surprise him that she seemed detached from the severity of losing such an item. He had seen his innate endowment work on mortal women before, and recognized its success.

"If we are to partake in such lurid affairs then I must know that you are a capable lover. I've met far too many women who promised the grasp of a velvet sheath and instead delivered a barren satchel."
Her lips quivered, eyes lost in the sturdy contours of his ambrosial frame, mind swirling under the guile of this somatic fantasy. "What...what do I do?"

"I'm going to check on the vault. If, by the time I return, you've brought yourself to the pinnacle of rapture, then we will continue." His empyrean features descending into a dour mien. "If not..." He let the implication hang.

Confusion was the first reaction to crest her pretty and youthful features, but then as understanding crept in, her dark eyes became wide, the slender column of her throat admitting the harsh swallow that emerged.
With languid ease he turned and started away, rolling the cigarette-sized crystal pin across his scarlet knuckles. With a sweep of blood-red red tendrils he did glance back at her, though only once, and it was just in time to watch as she plunged her hands between those parted legs, eager and desperate to show her wanton worth.



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It was not the dwindling sounds of ecstasy that had drew the lone, diminutive figure up the library stairs at such a hurried pace, but the unearthly quake and quiver of enthralled, salacious air. Ms. Elle Gianna was often a slight, queer looking woman but now as the head keeper and notary burst in through the building's doors she looked downright wild. Gem swollen eyes flickered from their normal, cool sapphire to a frantic sheen of white from behind their thickly wired spectacles.

Something was wrong... No. Something had been wrong. Something had been and gone all horribly wrong.

Someone had violated her sanctuary.

Elle ran, half stumbling into the back rooms nearer the darker, more secure ends of the building's stacks. Private chambers and viewing rooms, sterile zones painstakingly kept dust and ink free; everything that oh so sweetly and normally smelled like stale air and old pages now reeked of salt and sex and a corrupted sense of despair. Their recent temp was moving from a tall legged table with all the frailty and weak-limbed disgrace of a freshly birthed doe.

"Clarissa! Oh god... Clarissa what happened?!" Even as the broken syllables left her trembling lips, Elle already knew. Clarissa, the lust drunken library attendant, had immediately reached out for the smaller, older woman's arms as she half rose, half fell from the table in a mess of fluid slick, goose pimpled limbs.

It all hit the delicate blonde like an unstoppable tidal wave.

Red skin, moon swollen eyes, an intoxicator's gaze, a lecherous, ardor-born creature so beautiful it made the heart ache and the loins groan. His touch was a sinful contagion, his very voice a herald from realms much deeper and hotter than the planes of Rhydin. A seducer... An incubus. Elle felt his influence like a hot, wet slap to the face. It took all her might to dissuade the backwash of impulse and desire that poured from the poor, weathered Clarissa. Keeping her feet from collapsing also proved a touch more trickier than expected; her coworker was dead, wobbling, weeping weight in the circle of her thin arms. Though built as one might expect a bird to be, hollow bones and all, Ms. Gianna managed them both back to one of the adjoining rooms for a bit of a breather and privacy.

The poor temp was still nude and shaking in the throes of pleasure and shame. Though joy was a memory written over every inch of her supple frame, all the little nuances of her expression battled with a self loathing and mortification incomparable to anything else she'd ever experienced.

"It.. It. I couldn't. Oh Elle. Elle, I don't know why I did that." Half sobbing, half whispering, Clarissa wrapped her arms around her noiseless superior as she poured out her stuttering apologies and attempted some manner of recap. Oblivious to her 'savior's omniscience on the matter, the nude girl continued to sob and cry and verbally flounder. But through all the noise and the chaos, Ms. Gianna eventually gathered the younger girl without alerting their curator and superior, Mr. Tibbelts; the old man didn't need that kind of shock. While they did not alert their book master, there would come a time when the two of them would need to confront the subject of the missing Athalos Ledger.

Why that ledger? Why such sinister methods? Why couldn't they just come in and go through the motions like every other citizen? There were so many questions and logical schemes that filtered through the delicate woman's sharp thoughts, it all served the purpose of keeping her focused and anchored; it always did.

Old ghosts bade like wraiths and Baskerville hounds at the back of her brain, but Elle refused to let their baying take root... the notary was filled with an ardent mission. And once she managed to calm and clean up her disturbed, distraught coworker, Ms. Gianna would throw herself into a passionate manner of research. Only the solid, light stricken shine of her spectacles gleaming in the late night's spill of celeste gave hint to the woman's furious pace. She would look but a little thing through the building's high, monstrous windows; a curly haired mouse in the face of blackened, gaping maws both real and figment alike.

Surrounded by a stack of time tested tomes and archaic scrolls, Elle began her investigation with a quiet, tempered inner dialog. '.... the ledger of Athalos.'