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Thread: Games We Play (Sybella)

  1. #1

    Closed Games We Play (Sybella)

    Ten Years Prior
    Nar Shaddaa



    It wasn't his usual measures for an assassination. Specific instructions were given to get close to his mark this time, likely to add that twisting of the knife at the very end. There was a hefty bonus though for following through with the added task given. He'd sculpted his place well, taking the place of a friend of his on Nar Shaddaa. It took the right people mentioning the right place to guide her where she needed to be. His 'business' couldn't be anything associated with the syndicate she had taken in with under false pretense, because she would always need some deeper level of security away from the lies.


    The shop was an offshoot from a local nightclub, a location for people to buy drugs, weapons, information. Really, anything one could want. The office required an escort to through the thong of people dancing, drinking, and enjoying themselves. Within Gunnar sifted through a crate of Verpine Shatter Rifles, illegal in most location. He inspected each meticulously, and took inventory of them, disassembling weapons atop the desk and surveying each component. It was still all a ruse, but one familiar enough to him from his dealings with the real proprietor. His comm chirped a warning of his visitor, prompting him to take a moment to get his game face on. He left the crate open for it's attractiveness to a sniper, but otherwise took a seat at the desk to await the woman's arrival.


    He sat ready for her, as would likely be expected of him at that point. She would know her arrival had been called ahead to him, and so he took the professional stance of awaiting her entrance. She would naturally be disarmed and checked for weapons, entering into his 'turf'. It would shift that feeling of control, which was necessary in establishing their relationship from the beginning.

  2. #2
    Kelane Vorsa was the exact opposite of Sybella; dim witted, arresting, and positively oozing charisma. She was the perfect fit for a group like the Shattered Nebula, a crime syndicate on the rise in the underworld of Nar Shaddaa. While the persona had scored her a place among their number, she had always worked within the realm of the clandestine before now; sniper rifles, poisons, and other subtle means to see her mission met. Now, she was positioned perfectly but lacked the means to take out a large number of individuals simultaneously. Qurvo Jasst, Shattered Nebula's Devaronian mastermind, surrounded himself with a collection of thugs with tempers just as bad as his; fortunately for her, he had an eye for provocative women and Kelane certainly fit the bill. It was one of Phaedra Vael's local contacts who had directed her to Gunnar Dryden, a supplier three levels up from her zone of operation. The nightclub served as an adequate front if any of Qurvo's goons happened to spot her hanging about, the dress she wore certainly raked attention her way when she stepped into the boisterous establishment.

    High heels clicking on the lighted floor, Sybella approached the bouncer stationed near the VIP area. She was expected but she could tell from the look on the guy's face that she was equally unexpected in other regards. A muffled alert was spoken into his comm unit and then the shimmering, opaque curtain separating the uninformed from the enlightened was peeled back to admit her entry into a long, dimly lit corridor painted in crimson hues. Her footsteps clicked louder but were still swallowed up by the incessant thump of the club's outrageous sound system. At the end of the hall, she was intercepted by two human males who looked intensely pleased with what was going to happen next. She was searched, felt up really, and then the door to Gunnar Dryden's office was pushed open to admit her entrance. She winked at the two before she stepped inside, the black panels of her strategically slit dress floating about her long, shapely legs as the door was shut behind her and air pressure promptly changed.

    What sat behind the desk was not at all what she was expecting but the surprise was expertly warded from her expression, her tongue sliding slowly over her lipstick adorned mouth and glossing it in a thin sheen of moisture. Her stare was predatory and the previous oral gesture would lead one to think that she was a woman with a particular... appetite.

    "Gunnar Dryden, I presume." She stated in her naturally sensuous voice, her vivid-lavender eyes dipping to one of the crates left open in the office. She approached it slowly, her body dipping and her fingers lovingly caressing one of the Verpine shatter rifles stored within. Her long, navy hued hair cascaded over one shoulder and she pushed it back deliberately, her eyes flicking to meet his. "Mmmm... already trying to appeal to your customer. Smart. You aren't going to be a bore and tell me I can't touch, are you?"

  3. #3
    He heard the rustling on the other side of the doors, the overconfident chuckling of his two door guards as they no doubt went through surveying her for weapons. He had seen an image of the woman, knowing that he would have been tempted just as they likely were to take their search further then they should have. A woman like her, in a dangerous line of work likes hers, was no doubt desensitized to those small details though. She could be objectified, but she would likely keep her composure because it was the mark of a true cold blooded assassin. The problem was, warm blood ran through their veins.


    He hadn't even been expecting the sight that came to greet him. He knew she was beautiful, but he wasn't expecting the revealing dress. He'd actually expected something like a form fitting body suit, which was keen to show her features but chaste on what skin it allowed. This was not the case here though, and he found himself struggling for a moment for his composure. It instantly set him off, frustrated that she had gotten the upper hand so quickly in their encounter, but that was an emotion he kept contained well.


    "Do they appeal to you?" He questioned, knowing the answer. "I might have known what kind of tech you'd like, but those aren't for you." It was him making an attempt to wrest control back, put a tease of something she liked out there, and then pull the plate away. "I doubt the buyers will mind if you acquaint yourself with them. I might even be able to squeeze a few more credits out, saying I brought in an expert to survey the goods." That statement was made with the brief dip of his eyes across the backside of her frame. It was times like these he lamented that his female marks were not hideous enough for his liking. He kept himself distanced though, playing the part, keeping his cool. "How are you adjusting to Nar Shaddaa? I admit I expected you a bit sooner."

  4. #4
    "Oh?" She murmured, her expression immediately appearing crestfallen and she aimed the full impact of it right at him. She let her disappointment linger for a moment before she dipped her hands into the crate and hefted one of the weapons in her grasp. She guided it expertly, situating the stock of the weapon into the cradle of her shoulder and canting her right orbital socket to the scope. "That's too bad." She added, immediately relinquishing the weapon back into the indentation in the crate she'd pried it from. Once it was safely tucked away, she angled her body toward him more receptively. Her eyes moved down his frame openly, appreciating the stature of the man before her.

    "Nar Shaddaa is far too bright for my Umbaran eyes, truth be told. I miss the endless twilight of my homeworld." Whether that was true or not was anyone's guess. She slanted him a coy smile, twirling a lock of incredibly dark, navy hair around her left index finger. "As it happens, I've been busy. So, you'll have to excuse my tardiness. Your establishment does not disappoint, though. I only wish I had more time to enjoy the club itself. I do love to dance." She lamented while slowly making her way closer to him, stopping with mere inches to separate them. Her chest heaved in a sigh and that strand of hair was twirled loose. "Show me what I can have, Mr. Dryden. I cannot stay for long."

  5. #5
    He stole a glance away in their conversation, a contemplative motion that was common to conversation with him. "Yeah, all the neons out there can be a bit of an eyesore." When his gaze returned, his eyes found her twirling her hair about a finger. "Busy..." He stated distractedly, following through with an affirmation back to focus. "Yes, I imagine getting situated has been a bit complicated. Not many respect what a woman can do." He quirked a partial smile that was quick to disappear. He glanced towards the door with her disappointed remark, nodding, then back to her. "You're always welcome back, when you find more time. Buyers can find themselves an easy ticket to VIP." As with those that purchased other of his illegal goods, he attempted to appeal to their return visit with specialized treatment.


    He moved back to his desk, seated at the edge. He mood shifted, and it felt as if he was trying her patience. That was fine, he wasn't going to rush things. He needed to get close, it was the specialized clause of the job. "What do you want? Rifles? Explosives?" His head took a cant to the side, a brief glance towards the box of rifles. "It would be easier if I knew what you had planned really, but I guess our relationship hasn't reached that stage yet. Give me some heads up, and I can get you want you want." His eyes took a brief glance up and down her frame, before inclining his chin. "Assuming you have some way to pay for what you want."

  6. #6
    "You can tell a lot from a person based on their methods. I think, Mr. Dryden, you'll be able to glean an adequate understanding of my plans from what I'm about to request." She replied slowly, continuing to walk around his office and inspect everything with muted interest. A packet of plastic encased, singular rounds rested on his desk and she picked them up, wagging the long train of them at him with a faint smile. "I require a supply of Kashyyyk adreno-darts, three-point-eight centimeters, with volfram filaments. I should need no more than three; although, as I understand, they generally come in sets of five and are very expensive." She set the rounds back down carefully and then canted her hip, coming to sit on the edge of his desk adjacent to him.


    The position was strategic in a way, allowing her to part the side of her dress to reveal a lacy garter circling her shapely thigh and a freshly loaded credit chip tucked into it. She grinned at him. "I can pay." She assured him, laying the stick down on his desk. With her hands free, she braced them behind her and tossed her head to keep her slanted bangs out of her face. "Do you have respect for what a woman can do, Mr. Dryden?" She asked curiously, teasingly readjusting the hem of her dress by shifting her legs while her heels dangled off the edge of his desk by a few inches.

  7. #7
    She was right about that. His methods, at least with the persona he had worked to craft, saw him appeal to those that purchased to him, making that effort to graduate it towards a dependence. He tried to make what he provided a drug, since a decent portion of his clientele sought an addiction of some variety any way. His eyes took a fleeting dip to the rounds she held, because the movement succeeded in disturbing his focus, before it settled back upon her features. He mentally checked off what she needed, already preparing the information of how they came, but cut off from having to by the knowledge she already had on what she sought. “Not a common request, and so not easy to come by.” That was obviously as suggestive of cost, as her statement regarding price.


    As he saw it, the darts really only had one use, but how she would take advantage of that he hadn’t established. If he had to guess, he figured she sought to work her way up by discrediting those above her. She wouldn’t do so directly, but maybe have them display their lack of reliability. It was clever to keep them off her trail, if that was indeed the plan. His eyes dipped down at the part in her dress, and the credit chip slid down onto the table beside him. He could feel the quickening of his pulse in his temples, against his chest, and began to question just who was tempting who for a moment.


    He slid off his desk that small amount that saw his boots go flat, and turned partially towards her. His left hand fell atop the credit chip, fingers curling to draw it beneath his palm. Another quarter turn, and he was only slightly offset from being squared off with her. His second hand pressed to the desk on the other side of her hip, torso bent forward to keep them from having much contact but to infringe upon her personal space and have him lean over her. “I know what a woman can do.” He left it at that, dragging his palm with the credit chip off the table, and straightening his frame with a step backward to give her space. “When do you need them by?” The longer he had, the more he could negotiate a price to get her a better deal. He would then keep the credit chip as a deposit towards her next purchase, his aim to keep her and his other clients coming back.

  8. #8
    He was a dangerous man, that much was evident to her. A slow smile spread across her purple-hued lips as he drew closer, causing her faithfully steady pulse to race. Flirtation was not a common tactic of her's, usually reserved for particular individuals who required extra work in the social aspect of the game rather than a short and sweet bullet between the eyes. He was by no means far removed from her pending hit list; however, she was beginning to think it'd be a crying shame if her handler ordered his demise as a means of clean-up. It wasn't often that a man could stir her cold, unfeeling blood but there was definitely something there when he violated her personal space.

    As he drew away, Sybella stretched her high heel adorned feet toward the floor and rose to a stand. "Two weeks." She stated simply, gauging his expression for a reaction to the tight time frame. If he was as good as rumored, it would be no problem. Regardless, she began moving toward the door; she did, after all, have other appointments for the day. "As a personal request, if you can dig up a Verpine rifle that wows me, you can keep what's left on the chip. Either way, I'll see you in two weeks. It's been my pleasure, Mr. Dryden."

  9. #9
    All she was able to gauge was neutrality. He played it all close to the chest, not betraying whether it would be difficult or easy, being that enigmatic individual that would keep her guessing. She began to move towards the exit, and he considered for a moment if there had been any missteps he had taken. No, he was certain he had played things just as he needed for the time being, and now he just neded to impress her with punctuality. He gave a last nod, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Our mutual pleasure." He assured her the meeting had been equally enjoyed, letting her depart.


    Two weeks came and went quickly. He had acquired everything she had asked for, but only carried the darts on his person. He wore a black jacket, ripe with pockets, the left breast one containing the darts she desired. He made the staff aware of the woman he was waiting for, with instructions to direct her up to the VIP Lounge that overlooked the rest of the club. He sat in a lone chair, with high cushioned arms that curved into a raised back. His lounge was located right against that balcony lip, a glass divider allowing him to overlook the crowd.


    In his periphery he noticed one of his VIP bouncers speaking into his comm unit, and his attention drifted off to seek out his guest. Other patrons conversed, drank and dance in VIP, but most stayed at a distance unless the bouncers would allow them closer. For Sybella, she would receive the precise guidance she needed to find him and join him in the only other chair located nearby.

  10. #10
    "We'll see how useful Mr. Dryden is shortly, I'm outside his establishment as we speak." Sybella said to the cloaked, transparent figure perched upon her holo-communicator. It was rare for Phaedra Vael to contact her directly when she was under cover but this was a delicate matter, so she could understand the woman's required, frequent updates. The hybrid-Umbaran stood, shadowed in a tight alleyway mere steps away from her desired destination; the flickering lights of the city street beyond catching the glimmering facets of her racy evening dress.

    "You will be hearing from me again soon, Sybella."

    The sniper deactivated the holo platform and slid it into the thigh holster hidden beneath the folds of her dress, moving out of the alley and into the radiant, multihued lights of the boulevard. She bypassed the line at the night club's entry with a nod from the bouncer and headed inside, moving onto the main floor of the establishment and waiting. In little time at all, she was directed toward the VIP lounge where she was advised Gunnar would be waiting. The slits of her dress parted to expose the creamy expanse of her toned thighs as she ascended the rounded staircase, the sound of her high heels clicking devoured by the thrum of music that permeated the club.

    She moved before his chair, bestowing a mischievous smile upon him. "We meet again. Fortunately for us both, I have more time on my hands this evening."

  11. #11
    The constantly fluctuating lighting made it difficult to find her for her skin and hair color, especially with such a diverse crowd of species. It was her garments that actually saw Gunnar picking her out of the crowd well before she made it to VIP. That dress on any frame like hers would have drawn his attention, and so when he did find her he hadn’t even been intending to. He traced her path through the crowd, until she reached the staircase that would bring him to his level, at which time she fell out of sight but promised her arrival.


    He sat back to await her final approach, arms widely rested against the rests of his chair. “Is that why you’re dressed to kill?” He withheld the desired twitch of the corner of his lips that sought to express his humor with his own question, instead leaving it to feel unintentional if she chose to take it that way. He wondered to what aims she was flirting with him. To her, he should have been a means to an end, and so he wondered what other ends she had that her means would fall to flirtation. He didn’t really mind, but he knew how dangerous she could be, and he had to keep his guard up.


    His fingers bit into the plush cushions, leaving behind temporary indentations after he had risen to a stand. “Let’s move elsewhere.” He wanted to be more out of sight for their business, versus the vantage point they had being easily visible from any on the ground floor. He took to another part of the VIP section, a large semi-circle couch with a small table before it for drinks to be set upon. Guards drew the sheer screening cloth closed around them, their silhouettes visible but enough obstruction to mask who they were. He sat himself first, and on the holo display set in the center of the table he punched in his drink order to be delivered in short order.


    “I am guessing you don’t plan to bring your rifle with you.” She’d certainly have a hard time moving unnoticed with it or the case it was presently disassembled into as she was. “We dealing with business first?”

  12. #12
    His question made her smile. Not the kind of smile she would bestow upon her mark; in truth, there was nothing fake about her amusement at the inquiry he posed. White teeth flashed in the colorful atmosphere of the nightclub, the swiveling of overhead lights far more subdued in the VIP lounge she found herself in. It was reply enough and he was soon rising from his solitary chair, her eyes dipping across the veins protruding on his forearms as he pushed himself up from the glossy leather. Even with her high heels, he was still several inches taller than her, and it was with this observation that her smile became a bit more secretive.

    She followed after him, approaching the semi-circular booth and slipping within the sheer curtain held open by the guards. She settled onto the plush seat, sidling close enough to him to invoke curiosity but far enough away that conversation could still be kept professional. After he punched in his drink order, Sybella reached over and ordered a purple martini with a twist for herself. "I'm guessing you'll think it will impress me." She quipped with that same mischievous grin from before, leaning her face into her folded palms. There was a certain playfulness to her demeanor this evening, something more befitting her eighteen years and outward appearance.

    As to his second question. "I had hoped to dance at some point this evening. However, we can get all of the boring stuff out of the way before I go about finding a partner."

  13. #13
    “Do you really think I’d come back with a poor quality rifle? What kind of footing would I be starting on with my products?” The moment he left, he’d resolved he wouldn’t bring a rifle to the table that couldn’t hold up to a certain standard, but he did want to bring her one to establish a truly positive footing. “The rifle is in my office though, so that can wait.” Assuming she didn’t end up so inebriated that she was unlikely to bring it back with her, but if that was the case there were solutions.


    Since she had expressed finishing business first, he withdrew the small case from his inner jacket pocket, setting it on the table just before her. Only three were within the case, but that was what she had asked for. Instead he had taken the funds he could save from charging her for two darts she wouldn’t use, and put it into ensuring the finest quality for the rifle that awaited her. “Exactly as you ordered, though if you’re wondering about the other two, I kept them for future sales. You’ll approve of my reasoning later.”


    Already having her credits, and her now having the case of darts, he gave a mild shrug and turned his attention away to check the status of the approaching drinks. “So, that about sums up business for now.” Easy as that, really. He folded his jacket pocket back down, and smoothed a hand over his chest. “So what does a trained killer look for in a dancing partner?”

  14. #14
    "I'm not quite sure what to make of you, Mr. Dryden." She confessed with a faint smile, nodding her head in understanding when he imparted that the rifle was in his office. It could wait, despite her burgeoning excitement. She turned her attention down to the slim case holding the darts she had ordered, flicking open the lid and admiring the rare injectors with a guarded expression. A moment later, she snapped the lid close and then whisked the case beneath the table, stowing the darts in a leather garter encircling her toned thigh. "You do not disappoint." She informed him curtly, all business for that brief moment in time.

    The waitress moved to the table with their ordered drinks balanced on a metal tray. Napkins were situated before them both and then their glasses, her playful attitude sliding back into place upon observing the strong cocktail she had ordered. Her pale stare flicked to him at his question, her lips fastening upon the rim of the glass after it was lifted to them. She sipped cautiously and then sighed in a sign of her approval. The martini glass was relinquished and she angled her body toward him. "I suppose I look for the same thing in a dance partner as I would a lover, Mr. Dryden. He must be possessive but anchoring, trustworthy, and skilled. Where do you suppose I could find someone like that?"

  15. #15
    Beneath the table, he drew his right leg up to rest the ankle of that foot atop his knee. His arm at her side stretched across the back of the booth, but with her small distance it did not take the illusion of making an effort to reach about her shoulders. His second hand rested atop the table, fingers curled in a relaxed fashion around the glass. When she inspected the darts, he brought his drink upwards to sip from while gauging her expression. That brief appraisal of her was interrupted when she lowered the case downwards. The mystery of where she stowed the case piqued his curiosity, a barely noticeable tightening of his eyes and raise of his eyebrows nearly hidden behind the rim of his glass.


    “Hm, well there’s your problem. In this life, you’ll have a hard time finding anyone you can truly trust.” It was a cynical outlook on life, but one most learned from experience. He realized the brief falter in his mission there, not that he cast distrust on himself, but that he had made himself likely unappealing for his honesty in that moment. “I’m not sure what all I can give you, but I can give you a dance partner, and we can just let the rest figure itself out.” He transitioned quickly, hoping that his efforts to let spontaneity take its course might redirect them back down the direction of the job he was assigned to.


    In one swift motion, he downed his drink then slid out of the booth away from her. He rounded the table, offering his hand down to the young woman who had previously been his client, and was now his guest.

  16. #16
    He had not dismissed her other requirements but it seemed he replied with more thought given to the generality of the prerequisites rather than what she'd want from a dance partner. In truth, she could not fault his reply; she agreed with him wholeheartedly, in fact. In her line of work, placing one's trust in someone was an invitation for mistakes. But, she was not anticipating that mistake to be tempted into fruition from someone that her handler had recommended as an accessory to the job. In fact, staring down at his hand and listening to the steady thrum of the music ensured that suspicions of duplicity were the furthest thing from her mind.

    Sybella slid along the booth and placed her slim hand into his outstretched palm, inwardly reflecting on the warmth of his skin in comparison to her own pleasantly cool flesh. She rose and as she did so, took a step forward so she was a merely breath away from melding her form fully against his own. "You're asking me to play a dangerous game, Gunnar. But, you are a tempting enough offer that I cannot refuse."

    And shortly thereafter, they headed down to the dance floor; her teasing of their personal boundaries no longer a thought. The nightclub was a living entity, she noticed as she set foot on the main dais. The music was the pulse, the roving crowd of people served as the vessels, and the roiling heat was a byproduct of their friction. After several dances, Sybella tugged him away for more drinks. She had found on numerous occasions during their activities that she wanted to know more about him; which was not something she often ventured with potential lovers and especially not business associates.

    "You dance very well, very instinctive. Tell me, Mr. Dryden..." She flagged down the bartender at the main bar, forsaking the lounge upstairs for convenience. "What did you do before all of this?"

  17. #17
    It was easy to lose himself in his objective. What should have just been a part played, at times felt like a part lived. That line blurred so much that he didn't even notice the difference in some instances, and where he should have taken a step back and made enough distance to reorganize his thoughts and objective, he couldn't risk doing so without jeopardizing his entire goal. He let himself be carried away, complicating the job, but with promises to himself that he would sort his thoughts out and get his head straight. He focused on the physicality of their relationship as much as he could for a distraction, and their dance was assuredly physical and a distraction. When they left the dance floor, he welcomed the reprieve from the crowds which had only been dampened and accepted due to the company.

    Their retreat wasn't as private as he might have liked, but it would fall in line with her present desires. At the bar, he neglected the stool to remain close, posting one hand against the bar on the side of her hip opposite where he stood, trapping her in. "Professional dancer. Coruscanti Ballet. Can't you tell?" He teased, his posturing evident by the smug smirk that caused his lips to twitch upwards. She expected a serious answer as some point, and so better sooner than later. He kept things honest, but he didn't need to go into full details. "Bounty Hunter, not too dissimilar to what you do, only it was for the credits not for an organization. Before that, all kinds of things a kid of the streets would do to get by." That involved gangs, thievery, and all sorts of illicit deeds that should have left him dead in a gutter by now. "Have you ever known anything other than your current life?" His head gave a slight tilt, a brow quirking challenging. "Or, would you like to?" He wasn't propositioning, but fishing, to see what he caught and what he could do with it.

  18. #18
    Admittedly, his quip was amusing. She felt herself smile genuinely, turning her face away from him to help conceal her mirth which she recognized within herself as some sort of weakness. Instead of looking directly at him, her eyes trailed down the length of his arm which was juxtaposed just so near her hip. Skilled, anchoring, possessive. He had seemingly fulfilled the majority of her requirements without the obvious intent to do so. Sybella was a distrusting individual by nature, however, and she couldn't help but wonder if this was some kind of demonstration to earn her trust. What possible reason could he desire her trust for? Beyond becoming a repeat customer and a notch on his bedpost, she couldn't fathom one.

    She listened to his explanation of his occupation intently, her hand extending toward that arm and trailing her nails along the radial seam of muscle. The caress halted short of his shoulder at his own inquiry, her face angling to the side to look past him at the roving crowds. For a moment or two, there was a hint of longing as she observed the club goers, free of obligations and simply enjoying their uninhibited lives. Then, as swiftly as the longing had appeared, it was extinguished behind a defiant mask of pure solemnity she aimed right at him. "No. I have not. I've never considered it."

  19. #19
    She may have flipped that switch and turned on the cold demeanor he would have attributed to an assassin, but he'd seen another side of her that she would no longer be able to hide. He also made note that while had dismissed it had never been something she considered, she didn't respond to whether it was something she would have wanted to. He could use that. Would use that.


    "But you'd like to." He didn't let himself be pushed away by her suddenly frosty exterior. Instead he made a bold move. He didn't give her a chance to respond. With her armor up, she was likely to brush it off. Her guard needed to be down, for her to be vulnerable. The first indication of his actions would have been felt by the hand on his shoulder, which pressed more into her palm as he moved forward. His other hand rose towards her face, passing back just behind her cheek to steady her face but curl around the back of her neck and keep her in place. Then he kissed her, and his entire body sank forward against hers, swallowing her entire surrounding world up with his presence.

  20. #20
    He wasn't buying her front. She might have guessed that a bounty hunter turned businessman might know a thing or two about carefully constructed facades. Her pulse started to thrum as his hand found hers at his shoulder, her eyes darting down to his touch and then up to his face when he grasped her cheek. Her mind scrambled for some means of defense and the only meek imitation of one she could grasp at that point in time revolved around embracing the persona of Kelane Vorsa. But, instantly the barricade of personality was shattered when she realized that she didn't want him to kiss that woman. She wanted him to kiss her, Sybella. Wanted it more than she'd ever let herself want something before.

    She tipped her head back slightly into his grasp and surrendered to it, her eyes slipping closed as his mouth fastened over her's. She was pleasantly assailed by the intensity of his presence; all encompassing, warm, and undeniably male. She found herself pressing forward as he did, her other arm wending around his waist; her hand sliding beneath his untucked shirt to stroke the broad muscles of his back.

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