Author's notes:

"It lives!" Victor Von Frankenstein shrieks this as the behemoth stirs.

There's a certain amazement when a creation takes life on its own. When characters reach beyond words and write themselves, their dialog, their narration, even their inflection and idiosyncrasies. Likewise, when plot arcs and complications seem to spring to life from the void, whole and appointed, ready to face the day.

Wait a second. Didn't Athena spring to life from Zeus' head, fully grown, armed and armoured? And didn't Zeus complain of a splitting headache to preface this birth?

Like the hapless doctor shrieking, "No, no!" as his creation destroys his equipment, so do these characters-come-to-life and plots-spontaneously-generated run havoc through our carefully laid plans.

So it is with Marc. The story was originally named "Callan & Sian." It's a lousy title, a working title. I didn't even know who they were beyond names, so I may as well use what little I know, right?

Marc came in as antagonist. So many actors leap at opportunities to play the heavy. Same here, I suppose. Only units of inspiration instead of actors. For some reason, Marc has stolen the story.

Originally, I wanted Sian to call Callan after Marc ravished her and left. That didn't work. She was going to call Marc, my intentions be damned. So she did.

Originally, I wanted the club scene to be done with, so I could hurry Sian back home, where she could call Callan. That didn't work. So we spent a chapter or two in the club, and not even the original club I intended.

Originally, Marc was going to come in impose his Will on her. He'd tease her, touch her mind and leave his claim. The story would be about Callan finding, fighting Marc's Influence.

Well, it's still that way, but we've seen a lot more of Marc and the effects of his Power than I originally expected. As a fellow author once said, sometimes you just have to shut up, sit down, and hang on when the story or characters decide to move in some crazy direction.

(Those of you just joining here, start with Callan and Sian 1)



Sian wavered out of the club, burning face pressed against the billowing silk over Marc's thews, for support, for shelter from her abashedness. Twice more Marc milked those coursing rapids of bliss from her, once on the dance floor, again at their booth. They waited in line for the valet. Sian kept her face buried, eyes clenched, devil-may-care-about-the-eyeliner, against his shirt. His fragrance wrestled free from the sharp pine of deodorant and rushed to her, intoxicating and lulling.

He stroked her hair, reassuring her with low and level tone. "That's my good girl. You made me very proud in there."

She nodded, loving how her tear-slicked cheeks glided over the smoothness separating her from his slow, strong heart.

His fingers hooked, gently scratching her scalp as he soothed her. "You weren't the only one, you know. In there, shining bright. So many others, giving off their puffs of light, like fireworks in the nighttime sky."

She nestled against his breast, luxuriating in how his chest rumbled as he spoke.

"You weren't alone in glowing, but you were the brightest. I lied. I said they wouldn't notice." His hand scythed through her tresses, the other one at the small of her back, drawing arcane whorls that caused her backside to clench.

Her head froze, her neck locked. Her eyes flashed open, one buried in the black of his shirt, the other wide and staring at the night sky.

"They had no choice but to notice. Your climaxes were like flares. Three of them, in rapid succession. Everyone noticed." His hand stopped atop her head.

No. No. This can't be. Not everyone. Please, no. Sian clutched him, crushed her nose against him.

His handful of her hair he clutched, fingers wrapping inexorably onto themselves. Much as a puppeteer would do, he pried her free from him by her scalp, forced her gaze upon him.

"Yes, my pet. Everyone there felt your brightness burst upon them. You may have been too much in euphoria to notice, but after your first, two others tried to best you and neither could approach you. While dancing, three others challenged us, and your response left them reaching for your vapour. And your last one, your last one shamed the prior alpha and his pet."

Ice formed in her belly. His words bore holes in her, letting that recent warmth of his presence leak out. She shuddered, shivered and shook her head, or tried to. "No," her mouth formed, but her throat would not cooperate. "No," she breathed out, again trying to force her hair free of him.

"Yes, little one. Yes." His hand yielded, but it was a trick. He let her turn her head back toward the crowd waiting for their cars. He let her turn that way, then held her there.

Six. Sian knew without counting, knew simply by feeling, six pairs of eyes held her, baleful intent rich in their hearts.

"Ah, here's our car. This way, pet." Suddenly, the chipper tone, the carefree lilt.

With the flick of his fingers, Sian's head sprang free, but the hand at the small of her back expertly guided her toward the convertible.

===

She gazed at the rose, caged by her fingers. From it, she still heard the echo of his praise. "Little one," it rang, low and regular. With concentration, she could hear the faint recitation of his directions to her, to get dressed, to wait for him. For all that it did for her, for all that it meant to her, she wanted to keep it this way forever. Part of her lived for when it repeated those two words. They calmed her, soothed her.

Part of her wanted to crush the bloom between her palm. Grind it to wrinkled, damp petals and let the wind claim it.

"I can't believe you used me like that. I can't believe it was all a contest to you."

"No, my dear. It was not. If it were only a show, would you feel it inside."

She winced, and hoped it didn't show. To hide it, she shifted in her seat, adjusted her seat-belt.

He continued on, seemingly unaware. "I wanted to please you, to show you the thrills of the flesh. I wanted to push you, prove to you that you could do more, give more, take more." He nudged the lever between them forward, and the car lunged. The engine's song changed from a purr to a snarl, angry and ready.

She nodded, eyes blinking furiously.

"Lesser girls would have fainted, you know. But not you. Even now, you have reserves of fire yet untapped."

At this, she had to agree.

"But I've seen other girls, pushed beyond their limits either in depth or counts, but either way, beyond their ken, simply pass out. Some never dared show their faces there again. Others did, but were but shadows of their former selves. That's not you, pet. That's not you."

She knew his next words, just waited unbreathing for them.

"Do you want to go back there next weekend?"

Her exhalation softly sighed "Yes" on its own accord. Its sweet whisper filled her ears, stilled the nearby turmoil.

"Then it's decided."

"Mm-hmm." She purred at the thought, sated smile flowing across her lips. Her eyes closed, but his finger tapping lightly on her nose popped them open.

"My dearest pet. I don't keep count of how many I gave this evening, but I can say with certainty that I have not gotten one yet."

She gaped, and the wind howled in her mouth.

"Yes, little one. Here and now." One hand dropped from its station on the steering wheel to pat his lap. Following its flight, she saw his ardour proud and prominent.

She nodded and giggled, then bent to stow the beloved rose back in the footwell.

"No, pet. I like that flower just where it is."

"But I thought--"

"You had the right idea. You know what I want." He turned. His smile pierced her, drove shivers into her. "Well?"

"But... but..." she lifted up the rose lightly trapped between her cupped hands, eyes wide.

"So you'll have to do without, pet. Teeth only. Begin."