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The Story of Dante by MarkReaper

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Author's Chapter Notes:
I would like to dedicate this portion, and all the parts, of this story (and all my other ones, too) to a few special readers who have been my inspiration and have provided amazing feedback. Raeann, Carla, and Lola: I'd like to extend my thanks to you for your great support. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
David
Give me your life, your blood
Give me the pain that I so desire
Please, take me with you to your magic place
My mind is a bed for you to rest within
You are a velvet cloak that hugs me tight, protects me
Your teeth tear my flesh
Your nails tear my flesh
I am your feast, and please, take all you must, take all you fancy
For when you pull away, afraid to hurt me,
I will only lower your head again
David
Take my life, take my blood
And I'll give you the pain that you desire


Dante tucked her quill pen away inside the wide sleeves of her billowing satin blouse, gritting her teeth and wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks.

What the hell is wrong with me, she thought angrily. I never cried before. I never wanted anything before.

Before him.

The parchment whispered slightly as she rolled it up, tucking it away in a hidden pocket within the folds of her flowing skirt. The roots of the peach tree formed a perfect seat beneath her and she sighed contentedly. Her secret place was so beautiful, so wonderful because it belonged solely to her. The moonlight above shed its silver luminescence down upon the sparkling, ebony lake, little wavelets licking at the shoreline as the gentle night breezes urged them into movement. Beyond, the herb garden grew, holding all the secrets of magic healing within their outstretched leaves.

But now, the whole beauty of the place was amplified, because Dante's special visitor had chosen here to be his meeting place, where he would find her as always waiting for him, sitting with her basket beneath the gnarled peach tree.

David.

She loved the lilting sound of his name, the syllables solid and real on her tongue, tangible. She loved to whisper it as the soft winds caressed her skin, her short hair, all spiky with the sea breeze, and carried the sacred word all around the cove. Beyond, the greater rumble of the massive sea contentedly sighed out its opinion of the world. Dante liked to listen to it; the sounds soothed her and calmed her mind.

There was the slight rustle of a little bird in the tree above her, and seconds later a soft breeze rippled in from all around her, not physically possible but still...just there. She breathed deep the smell of sandalwood, and a smile crossed her pale features.

He was here. David had come to her again.

"My Dante," came the soft, ethereal voice from the hidden entrance to the cove. "I knew you'd be here waiting."

"I would rather die than miss your visit," was Dante's reply. She could not voice the pleasure she felt at his return, for she had never thought anyone would want to return to her for anything.

David stepped into the moonlight and Dante was immediately on her feet, joining him on the shore of the lake and entwining her hand in his.

"You haven't fed," she observed, and a tiny, barely perceptible nod came from David.

"No killing," he said simply, firmly. "Not tonight. Tonight, why, tonight is a special night, Dante."

"Oh?"

"It's the thirtieth anniversary of the joining of the clan. Thirty years ago tonight the Lost Boys came to be."

"Really." Dante was gazing at him dreamily, her eyes drinking in the soft pallor of his skin, the medley of blues, greens, and grays always moving, always swirling, in his entrancing eyes. "And are the other boys planning a celebration?"

"Of sorts," answered David tranquilly. "Tonight I thought you'd like to visit the cave for the first time. You have only met but a few of our clan; only one other has come to visit you with me. I know you dislike leaving this beautiful place, but it is only for a night or two, though you are welcome to stay as long as you wish. The other Lost Boys would like to meet my prophecy."

"What do you mean by that?" Dante asked, but David merely shook his head.

"I'll tell you when the time is right," he said, "but not before. I have only just now come to realize what the fates were trying to tell me when I first came to you that night."

"Oh." Dante was mystified, but she held her tongue against more questions, trusting David's judgments just as she trusted him with her life, her happiness, as she had trusted no other soul before.

"So, will you come?" David asked quietly, taking her hands in his. His eyes drew Dante in and she barely moved her lips as she answered.

"Of course."
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