Snippet #1537197

Actually, this was turning out to be a perfectly lovely evening. With the feeble woman who somehow, inexplicably plagued the mind of her lover, and her sad little band of misfits behind them, for now, Sofia felt that she could breathe easier. Thank goodness. She was never one to be plagued with unrest or self-doubt like so many of the countless, pathetic humans that Nike was so intent on saving. No, confidence and control had always come naturally to the blonde beauty. But, in that room, in that bar-less prison so hot with Nike’s stifling presence, she had felt herself flounder. It was a foreign feeling, and one she’d taken an intense and immediate disliking to. If there was one thing she could take away from this encounter, it would be the promise that she’d never again allow herself to be caught so wholly off-guard. No; never again.

As they reached the elevator, the Father stopped to take her hand and run it across the length of his own face. He made a promise to her, in that moment, and it seemed as if he sealed it with blood; her own blood, and Sofia did not doubt him. Each word he spoke seemed like its own promise--a truth within itself. She had his words, his promise that she would be the one to bring Nike to her knees. She imagined standing over the frail figure as she begged for her life to be spared. What a delicious contradiction that would be: the mother and protector of the human race begging for her own life. Sofia relished the thought.

She found herself wondering if her need, her hunger to spill Nike’s blood had anything to do with the fear that she owned a part of the Father which Sofia could never hope to know. If he could be possessed by anyone, she wanted it to be her and her alone who had that privilege. She could not stomach sharing him with anyone else, though the knowledge that he’d had countless lovers before her was always at the back of her mind. It had never mattered before because when he was with her, he was with her and no one else. That belief was now threatened. She knew now that even in their most intimate moments, Sofia would be wondering whether the look in his eyes was truly for her, or if he had the other woman on his mind. Sofia would see blood seeping from Nike’s fragile body for the small inkling of doubt which she had managed to put in her head. She would teach her to feel pain in ways she’d never dreamed she could; even in her darkest nightmares.

…at least she had that to look forward to.

Even the night seemed to echo her newfound good humor. The stars sparkled like silver ribbons in the rapidly darkening sky, and a sultry smell hung in the chill of the air. Of course, Sofia had never been one to care about such things. “Wesley awaits near the curb,” said the Father, and he hung back at the elevator. It was a dismissal, she knew. He had something to do which didn’t require their presence. Sofia walked away, as she was bid, but she walked slowly, and she didn’t go far. Every step she took further from the Father was a physical ache to her body. If she couldn’t be near him, if her hands couldn’t be on him, she would always stay close at the very least. She watched him place the curse on the elevator doors, and she smiled. That would send them reeling into darkness, and the darkness was just where they needed to be.

When the Father was finished, he walked determinedly away from the building, and with every step he took, he seemed to become more himself again. To Sofia, it was as if the building which Nike called her home cast a spell over him; a curse, and the further away from it he strode, the more its grip slackened. The thought that anything or anyone could have such power over her lover still made her mind reel, and she hated Nike all the more for it.

As the Father walked passed her, she hurried to match his stride, slipping her hand into his, their now matching wounds meeting and their crimson blood combining. It hadn’t been the first time their blood had flown together in this way, but the thought, the feeling lit a fire of desire in Sofia all the same. She wanted him so profoundly that words were difficult to find. Now was neither the time nor the place, however. Even Sofia knew her limits, and there would be time for such things later. For now, she walked with him to the curb, the two of them leading their sick little family to the waiting car. The sight would surely have been endearing to onlookers who knew no better.

As promised, Wesley waited faithfully--or perhaps spitefully--by the car parked on the curb. “Made a kind statement, did you, Boss?” he asked. Sofia winked at him before slipping fluidly into the sedan. She had never minded the oldest member of the Father’s recruits, but, then again, she’d never given him much thought of any kind. She had never puzzled over him like she had Vincent, and there was no bitter rivalry between them as there was between her and Delaney. He was just another faceless cog in the machine; a ghost of a man whose chance to be anyone of greater substance had passed him by, it seemed. He was there, nonetheless, and Sofia might as well amuse herself with him. Times like these could get very dull if one didn’t find ways to amuse oneself.