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The creature known as Ishkur watched her from the top of the sandy rise, feasting his eyes on her wild beauty. His position, carefully chosen, overlooked the lonely beach house by the windswept shore. The moon was almost full, casting unearthly shadows over the dunes and spindly trees as they swayed in the breeze.
He loved the night; he was at home here, and the darkness was his domain, belonging to him totally. Here, he was king. Here, he answered to no one.
Created in Mesopotamia during the time of Sumer, Ishkur had been roaming the earth for over three thousand years, his senses and powers growing stronger and more potent with the passing of each century.
He had seen and done many things throughout his long, and unnatural existence. He had been present during the Persian wars with Greece, had met and talked with men of learning — Herodotus and Sophocles among them. He had witnessed the growing power of Rome, travelling from one end of their empire to the other, residing for a while in Alexandria and Carthage, and living for many savage years with the Druids in ancient Britain.
And then, following the last significant Roman victory at the battle of the Catalaunian Fields, where the Legions and their allies finally triumphed over the rampant Huns, he had watched the Empire’s decline as the barbarian tribes inevitably prevailed.
Throughout, he had observed the rise of and spread of Christianity and, later, Islam. He had watched their warriors battle for dominance over the holy lands, destroying each other during the Crusades. He had marvelled at the Mongol tide as it surged westward, sweeping everything before it, making a mockery of European knights and Arab horsemen alike.
He had drunk wine and argued with Copernicus, Da Vinci, and Galileo, Descartes and Newton. These things he had done, and more, until he grew jaded and frustrated with the Old World, tired of its bickering. And so he moved to the New.
Still unspoilt by civilization, the New World beckoned like a candle flame to a moth. In those first years on these shores, he had explored voraciously. With a new sense of discovery and excitement, he travelled from the northern wilderness with its huge boreal forests—the Taiga—to the southern tip on the Tierra del Fuego—the Land of Fire, with its stunning, glacial landscapes. Fire and ice, literally, coming together.
For the last few centuries, he had been enjoying the seemingly endless opportunities and possibilities in the most vibrant part of this fascinating continent. A land of pioneers and hope; he enjoyed its audacity and assuredness, and its total belief in itself.
After the Revolution—or rather, the War of Independence, he had watched this young country take its first faltering steps into nationhood until it became the power it was today; decadent, impulsive, growing in strength with time, until it was the dominant force in the world. Like he himself had grown in strength, growing more powerful with each passing decade. He smiled to himself. He liked the comparison.
Now he sensed change was afoot in this country of excess. Like the Roman Empire before, it was teetering on the brink, toying with a path that could lead to its own destruction. Perhaps then, he would seek a new home—though where, he could not imagine.
Perhaps. But first…
During the last few decades, his desires were changing. He was yearning for something different. It had taken him a while to recognise what he sought, and why.
He was lonely.
It really shouldn’t have surprised him. After all this time, it was only to be expected. He needed something else—someone else, to make him complete. He sought… companionship.
Of course, he’d had companions before, but the last one had departed many years ago—before he’d come to the New World. Previously, there had never been an expectation of permanence. Now, though, he wanted to share his knowledge, his power—his existence—with another. Someone—and he recognised the irony here—who matched his zest for life. Someone he could love.
Now, here in this place, after years of searching, he thought he might have found that someone.
Maybe she was the one? Maybe his hunt was finally at an end?
Tonight was the night he would find out.
Maybe…
Ishkur had always had diverse tastes, enjoying intimacy with both man and woman alike. But he sought only those with vitality; those with open minds, who enjoyed the world for what it was. He delighted in their creativity, their ardour, their abandonment of the banal, their joy and laughter.
He had been watching this particular female for a number of nights now. It was around this time that she inevitably took a stroll along the shore, savouring the wind, or the rain, or whatever the weather was doing—it didn’t seem to matter to her. From a distance, his preternatural eyes studied her behaviour. She loved to embrace her surroundings—lifting her face towards the sky so she would feel the salt spray from the pounding waves, or the drizzle from the night sky. He saw how she revelled in the elements, relishing the primaeval power.
What his extraordinary eyes couldn’t see, his other senses told him what he wanted to know.
He couldn’t read minds—not really. He did, however, get a strong sense of what someone was thinking—a glimpse, if you like, into their thoughts and desires. With this one, intriguing pictures drifted in and out of his consciousness. He discerned a mind as mischievous as his own. Her delinquent thoughts fascinating him.
There was a wildness about her. And though she was very much aware of her own sensuality, recognising her appeal to others, not many tempted her in return. But, he sensed, for the ones that did, it was an experience they never forgot.
He found her features exquisite; paradoxically both delicate and strong. He enjoyed watching her impish smile, and her gaiety. Her scent was scintillating; her bouquet was so unique and powerful that he would know her anywhere now, even if she was miles away from him.
He could taste her on the breeze, as she walked along the seashore, revelling in the moonlight, her long unruly hair blowing with abandonment about her face.
He growled softly to himself. He would need to control himself with this one; her appeal was almost too great. Over the course of only a few nights, her allure had become almost too powerful for her own good, her thoughts reflecting such an affinity with his own, it was as if fate was taking a hand.
Would she choose him? He smiled at the thought. It didn’t really matter. He couldn’t read minds, but he did have a power of another sort. When he had been changed—when he had become other—he had acquired so many gifts; beauty, strength, speed—senses a hundred times more potent than before.
And a power to beguile.
People simply couldn’t say no to him. One look into his supernatural eyes was all it usually took. And then they were captivated. His desires became their desires. Without knowing why, they felt an overwhelming longing to please him—his pleasure became their sole focus—their one and only reason for existing.
The woman had finished her nightly excursion. Barefoot, she was almost back at her house.
It was time.
He floated gently down beside her. At first, she looked puzzled—where had he come from? Then, after her first glance into his seductive eyes, she became oblivious of everything but him. Mesmerised, her frown became a welcoming smile.
When he enchanted his prey like this, their minds became free of complications, untethered from reality, unfettered and free to roam. Looking into her innermost thoughts, all of a sudden, he was able to read so much more.
This woman wasn’t prey. Not in the normal sense. She was so much more than that. But she reacted the same way. Now, there was a torrent of thoughts and images flooding his mind all at once.
Now, her name came to him.
Kim.
"Hmm," he thought. Kim—a name with so many meanings! A name of gold. Noble and brave! Bold, like the hero of Kipling’s novel. A leader, Chief of War…
What an appropriate name for a wild one such as this!
He had known Kims before, both male and female, good and bad. This one… this one was both good and bad—roguish and wilful…
Kim’s thoughts were becoming clearer, reflecting her true, inner being. Her soul, if you like.
He smiled to himself. She was an artist. And a writer—he’d seen that! A writer of love, passion, and eroticism; she had a fertile imagination, coupled with a ribald wit. She liked to put herself into her stories, becoming the character she wrote—different, but the same. And in her stories, she enjoyed misbehaving.
Just like she did in life.
Yes, she was perfect for him.
It was a shame she wouldn’t remember any of this—not until he was ready for her to remember. Though perhaps elements of this night would surface in her subconscious, feeding her imagination? Perhaps she would write of him? He found the thought amusing.
He could sense that she was driven by the sexual act, with a capacity to match his own—something he had neither expected, nor seen before in his three thousand years. As she smiled at him, jumbled thoughts continued to flow from her agile and suggestive mind; ice cream, a bearskin hat, a naughty girl standing in a corner, polka dots, a trombone… so many that he couldn’t make sense of it all—only that her thoughts were delightfully titillating and indecent.
There would be opportunities to decipher their meaning another time.
She took his hand and led him into her home, unconsciously heading for her bedroom.
Without hesitation or embarrassment, she disrobed, casting aside her simple clothes, proudly displaying her sensual body for his pleasure. His eyes delighted on her riches; just how he imagined, only so much more! Her body was nubile, knowing, and full of secrets demanding to be discovered.
She came to him, her fingers caressing his hard, muscular frame. Slowly she began to undress him, exposing his primaeval, but pristine, ivory physique.
He had seduced her mind; now, full of lust, her own carnal instincts took over, seducing his body and soul in return; her lips teasing and kissing, tongue licking and probing, fingers toying. He felt his ardour rapidly rising.
Eager to please, she pulled him onto her bed. She was ready for him; her rapacious cunt, wet and swollen, waited to draw him in, welcoming, hungry, desperate for his thick organ.
His own passion, raised to heights he had seldom reached before, started to overcome him. He impaled her raging furnace with his iron rod, his cold member soaking up her extraordinary heat, the contrast making her gasp in shock and delight.
He could feel her sodden pussy, drowning him in her warm juices, subliminally responding to the raw power he was exuding. He felt her muscles contract around him, and with a monstrous groan, he exploded, filling her womb with his potent seed.
Her own arousal already heightened, his pulsing phallus tipped her over the edge, and she came powerfully with a scream, raking her nails down his chest, unexpectedly drawing blood with a sudden, supernatural strength of her own.
It startled him, this sudden power that she had demonstrated. His seed was having an instant effect with this one—much more than he had anticipated.
Irises dilating in response, he bent towards her neck. He could feel her life-force pumping beneath his exposed teeth. Submissively, she raised her chin, giving herself to him. Commanding all his willpower, he delicately grazed her jugular with his lips, then, leaving the skin unbroken, he gently kissed her mouth.
Was she aware? She shouldn’t be, but suddenly he was uncertain.
He raised himself, and looked intensely into her eyes—deep pools of honey, languid and unfocussed. Oh, she was so intriguing—aware or unaware, she had captured him completely!
He didn’t want to make a mistake and drain this unexpected seductress. She was too important to him now—too special.
But her responses perhaps belied the truth of who was in control.
He smiled ruefully to himself. He was no longer certain who was the beguiled. He felt that it was he who no longer had a choice in the matter. She had chosen him. Her own potential was already being realised, his seed working its magic, unlike anything he had previously encountered. Her power could, perhaps, even exceed his own!
Satiated, he should leave her now—for a while at least. If he still could. But he would be back soon, of that he was certain. Her hold on him had grown too intense, too powerful. He did not think that he could escape her even if he wanted to.
Just as well he didn’t.
She was more than he could ever have hoped for.
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