Permission is granted to place "Stormy Night" on the JADFE archive.
 

Explicit
LaCroix/Female
Reasonable distribution only, please.
LaCroix property of Sony/TriStar, Catryn, property of me.

I was digging through my story folder and came across this.  I wrote
it last winter, late one stormy night (go figure!) for a bored friend on IRC.

Thanks to M.G., editing goddess extraordinare! Any leftover mistakes
are all my responsibility.
 
 

Stormy Night
 

      The kneeling woman ran her fingertips over the engraved letters on the small headstone as
she had every Sunday afternoon for the last three years.

                       Sean Michael Donald - Beloved Husband
                          Michael Fraser Donald - Adored Son
                                   of Catryn Fraser Donald

     The years listed were far too short.  Tears ran from her blue eyes and down her pale cheeks
unnoticed, as Catryn's heart broke again as it had every day of every week since her beloveds
had left her on this earth all alone.  The only thing that kept her from joining them in death was
that Catryn knew Sean would never forgive her.  She could hear his voice still, knew what he
would say.  'You're young and lovely, lass, I don't want you alone and grieving for me and the
bairn the rest of your life.  I want you to live.' She nodded at the unseen speaker, whispering,
"I'll try, love, I'll try."

     A cold wind brought her attention back to the world around her.  Catryn pushed her long
red hair away from her face, looking out over the lake from the small rise where the grave was
placed.  The spot where Sean had proposed marriage to her, the spot she had told him that
she was expecting their son. Pushing the rising grief away before it could overwhelm her again,
Catryn saw with concern that the storm that had been brewing was moving in faster than she
had anticipated.  With one last caress of the headstone, she stood, wrapping her plaid tighter
around her against the bitter wind. She headed down the hill towards the barn, whistling for
Thistle. The sheepdog came bounding up from the shore where he had been frolicking, he ran
around her legs, trying to herd her towards home and dinner.

    "You rascal you!" Catryn scratched his ears, "lets go home, boy."

     Catryn sighed as she and Thistle started back; if she had realized this storm was going to
be so bad she would have never let the Gordons, who helped her run the place, leave for the
week.  Well, it was not to be helped--they were gone and she would have to cope on her own.
She skirted the edge of the wood on her way down.  Its dark foreboding presence had been a
constant in her life, as was all the surrounding countryside. This night, though, Catryn shivered
slightly as she passed, listening to the wind make a haunting sound as it whistled through the
leaves.  She had the oddest sensation of being watched, and Thistle's growling into the
darkness was not helping at all. Nonsense! She had never believed in the old tales about how
the wood was haunted by demons. Mentally shaking herself, Catryn called Thistle to her side,
making her way quickly to the barn.

     By the time the sun was setting in the increasingly stormy sky, Catryn had seen to all the
stock.  She carefully checked to make sure all was secure before swinging the door shut
behind her.  Heading for the cottage, the wind nearly pushing her along, Catryn breathed
deeply, inhaling the scent of the oncoming storm mixed with the comforting scent of hay and
burning peat with pleasure.  Once prepared, Catryn actually enjoyed storms. They gave her
an odd thrill, the power and raw force of nature beating down on her.  Reaching the cottage,
Catryn felt the first drops of rain hit her face as she gathered extra peat in her arms to feed
the fire through the coming night. Manhandling her heavy load into the house, she kicked the
door shut behind her and Thistle.

     "Perfect timing, boy!" she said cheerfully as the storm hit with a vengeance.

     The sheepdog wagged his tail at his mistress, no doubt hoping that her good mood meant
a treat for him. Dropping the load of peat, Catryn hugged the dog. "All right, you spoiled
thing," she said with a chuckle as she moved to the pantry, where she cut a piece of sausage
for him. "Here you go," she said, tossing Thistle the treat.

     Catryn bustled around the cottage preparing dinner for herself and Thistle. After they had
eaten she busied herself with the many chores each evening brought. With one last look out
at the night she locked the shutter against the raging storm outside, then put more peat on the
fire and carefully trimmed the wicks on the glowing oil lamps. It was now many hours past
sunset and the storm had gathered strength since darkness had fallen. The wind was driving
the rain into the sides of the cottage with powerful force, and she could hear it throbbing
through the dark wood, making its own strange night music.  No wonder folk thought the
wood  haunted, she thought, shivering slightly on remembering the feeling of eyes upon her
earlier as she passed the wood's edge.  Here in the fastness of her stone cottage she was
safe and snug, but she pitied any man or beast out in the gale this night.

     Catryn placed the kettle over the fire to boil the water for her tea, sitting next to the fire
to warm her feet as she waited. Thistle lay curled on the hearth in a tight little ball, sound
asleep. Catryn sighed; she should be mending or knitting, but she was feeling lazy tonight.
Perhaps she would be quite sinful and merely sit here sipping her tea and reading. She
carefully lifted the kettle from the fire, pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves in the
crockery pot. She puttered around the cottage waiting for the tea to brew, then once it was
ready poured herself a large mug full and settled back down next to the fire.

     Almost dozing in her chair, Catryn watched the flames dancing in the fireplace and
listened to the rain pounding on the roof. The wind wailed down through the chimney,
making a lonely, mournful sound. Suddenly her reverie was broken by a thumping at the
door. At first she thought it the wind, but no, it was far too regular. With a start she realized
there must be someone out there. Thistle woke but showed no signs of concern, merely
watching the door, which she thought was rather odd.

     Who on earth could be out on a night like this? Well, whoever it was, she could not leave
them out in the storm. She moved to the chest against the wall and removed the pistol she
kept there for emergencies before moving to the door. Concealing it in the folds of her long
skirt--no sense taking chances, after all--she threw the bolt on the door and slowly pulled it
open to find a tall man standing there, his clothes dripping wet. She could barely make out
his features, obscured as they were by his hat and scarf wrapped around him. She did see
ice blue eyes glinting in the light from the doorway, arresting eyes, she thought absently.  A
strong gust of wind practically blew the stranger into her arms. For a moment, his hand
touched hers, sending a chill through Catryn's body.  She flashed back to the feeling from the
woods earlier. She mentally shook herself; here she was woolgathering and this poor man
standing on the doorstep catching his death.

     "Come in out of the storm, sir," she said, motioning him in to the cottage.

     A bolt of lightening and a crash of thunder struck at that moment causing her to jump in
surprise.

     "It's quite all right, dear lady," a very beautiful voice said to her.  "It's only the storm."

     She laughed nervously, embarrassed by her reaction.  "I know--silly, but it startled me."

     "Quite understandable, a raging storm is blowing and a stranger shows up on your
doorstep. Enough to make anyone a little jumpy,"  the lovely, musical voice spoke again

     Turning to close and rebolt the door, Catryn took the opportunity to gather her wits.
She was feeling quite odd; the stranger's voice was almost hypnotic in its lyrical quality,
causing long-buried feelings to resurface. She found her reaction confusing and strangely
pleasurable all at the same time. Taking a deep breath she turned back to her unexpected
guest. The dog, she realized, had not moved.  In fact, Thistle appeared to be asleep again,
his slightly twitching tail the only sign he was even alive. Well, she thought, he mustn't be
worried. That's a good sign.  "You need to get out of those wet things, sir, you'll catch your
death," she said, her voice expressing only concern.

     "I must admit, I am more than a little uncomfortable. I would appreciate the opportunity
to dry out."

     Catryn nodded as she indicated he move to the fire. While he pulled off his wet over
clothes she went to the chest and got out some towels. Now she could make him out better
as she handed him the towels. He was a well-built man, tall with dark gold hair, a very pale
complexion, and the most startling blue eyes she'd ever seen.  He took the towels from her
with a slight smile, a smile which caused all sorts of sensations to move through her body.
Rather pleasant sensations she had to admit, shocked at herself for thinking such things.

     "Thank you, mistress...?" he inquired, smiling down at her.

     "Catryn, Catryn Donald," she answered, her heart suddenly racing.

     "A lovely name, Catryn."  He savored her name, making it sound like an embrace. "Lucien
LaCroix," he introduced himself, taking her hand and bowing over it.

     Trying to keep her voice steady, so as not to betray her unsteady nerves, she replied,
"Welcome to my home, Master LaCroix, may it's blessings on you be many."

     He grinned wryly, his blue eyes sparkling.  "Oh, I'm sure they will, Catryn, I'm sure they
will."  Releasing her hand, he removed his shirt and began to dry himself with the towels she
had provided.
 
 

     Catryn watched him, she thought unobtrusively, as he dried himself off, her eyes following
his graceful hands as he moved the towel over his well muscled chest and down each arm. He
caught her bemused gaze with his eyes, however, smiling knowingly at her as she blushed.
Turning away hastily, she moved to the sideboard and poured out a measure of the carefully
hoarded brandy she kept for emergencies and special occasions. This should drive away any
lingering chill Master LaCroix might be feeling.

     She turned to take it to her disconcerting guest, only to find him standing directly behind her.
She almost spilled the brandy all over him in her surprise, only his hand on hers stopping the
glass from flying from her grip. How had he moved so silently?

     "Goodness sir, you startled me!" she said, very aware of his nearness and his hand on hers.

     "I apologize, my dear; after your generosity at taking me in on such a hellish night, the last
thing I would wish to do is upset you," he said in low, soft tones. He gently removed the glass
from her hand, placing it on the sideboard behind. "I don't need brandy to warm me, my dear
Catryn, I assure you." He moved the hand he still held to his lips, kissing the palm softly.

     Feeling barely able to breathe, Catryn hastily pulled away from him, moving back to the
fireplace, trying to put as much distance between herself and LaCroix as possible. Her mind
was a tumult of confusion, warring with her body for control.

     "I've upset you," he stated, making no move to come closer. "It wasn't my intention, I assure
you.  I merely wish to express my appreciation for your hospitality," his seductive voice said,
soothing her with its mesmerizing tone.

     "It's not necessary, sir, I could not leave anyone out on a night such as this," she replied, her
voice shaking slightly, turning away to fuss with the draught on the fire.

     What was wrong with her?  She had never felt such an overpowering desire for any man
before, not even for her beloved Sean, and this a stranger, blown in by the storm. Guilt at this
realization hit her like a blow. How could you, she berated herself, feel this for another man?
Catryn felt his eyes on her; somehow she felt as if he was peering into her soul. Once again she
was reminded of her feeling at the wood.  So unsettled was Catryn that she almost was to the
point of giving credit to the stories the townsfolk told about the haunted wood.  Could he be
some sort of specter or demon, and if he was would he bring her the death she yearned for, to
join her Sean and her wee bairn at last?  Grief and loneliness once more crashed over her like a
wave. Despairing of ever feeling whole again, Catryn stood, squaring her shoulders--she would
stop this nonsense. She was being silly, she was letting the storm and the stranger play on her
imagination. He was just a man, and in the morning he would leave.

     "I will bring you some blankets, sir, you may rest by the fire till morning," she said coolly.

     "That is most kind of you, lady," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

     Pleased that she had regained her composure, Catryn picked up a lamp and went to her
bedroom to gather the extra blankets.  She knew she would never sleep tonight, not while he
was in her house. Catryn wished she had a bolt on her door but at least she was armed. Two
arms came around her suddenly; again she had never heard his approach. Catryn stiffened in
shock, her hand reaching for her pocket and the pistol there.  LaCroix's hand was there first,
however, sliding into her pocket to remove the pistol.

     "I don't think you will be needing this, my dear, do you?" his voice whispered in her ear.

     Catryn wanted to scream and try to get away, but instead found herself leaning against the
powerful body whose arms encircled her.  The same odd languor she had felt all evening in his
presence once again stole over her mind and heat washed through her body, all the more evident
against the oddly cool body of the man who held her.  Somehow, this time, she knew he wasn't
just a man.  He may not have come from the woods, but he was indeed a creature of the night.
Catryn wondered how she knew this, but the thought was pushed away as his hands began a
slow exploration of her body.

     She attempted to protest, "I... this is not..." only to be cut off by his lips on hers.  Her mouth
opened to the insistent pressure of his lips and tongue, her arms moving up behind her to link
around his neck.

     His voice, like velvet, ran across her senses.  "I really do insist on repaying your hospitality,
my Catryn."

     His hands moved down her breasts, kneading them through the fabric of her dress.  His lips
once again found hers, as she moaned at the touch.  He turned her around, holding her slightly
away as he moved to undo the buttons running down the front of her dress.  Once undone, he
pushed the dress off her shoulders; it slipped to the ground in a rustle of fabric. Once again he
took her in his arms, plundering her mouth with his.  Catryn's hands moved up his chest, her
fingers tangling in the gold hairs that covered its wide expanse.  She moaned as LaCroix's hands
pulled up her petticoats, running his hands up her stockinged legs to her bare thighs.

     Catryn ached to be closer, no longer troubled by anything but wanting him. As if reading her
mind, LaCroix turned his attention to removing her remaining clothing.  He methodically removed
each garment, gently placing feather kisses over the flesh being exposed.  Catryn shivered as the
cool air of the room washed over her now naked body. He pulled her to him in a hard embrace,
kissing her with a fury akin to the storm still raging outside, his hands mapping every inch of her
naked skin. Catryn returned his kisses with equal intensity, allowing her grief and loneliness outlet
in passion.

     He moved her to the bed, pushing her back.  He ran his hands down the length of her, making
her twist and moan under his touch. His hand brushed the damp curls between Catryn's thighs;
she jumped as if shocked at the touch.  With the other hand on her stomach, he ran his fingers
along the line of her inner thighs, now slick with her wetness.  Whimpering, Catryn bucked under
the roving fingers, LaCroix's strong hand on her stomach keeping her in place.  He smiled in
delight at her uninhibited reaction to his ministrations.  His fingers found the entrance to her
center--giving her no warning, he plunged two fingers deep into her, moving his thumb up to her
clit. Catryn's gasp at the unexpected invasion quickly turned into screams of passion as his fingers
moved in and out of her and his thumb moved hard against her.  She arched against the thumb
that was driving her mad with feeling.  Knowing she was close, LaCroix increased the speed of
his fingers, and rubbed his thumb harder against the now inflamed bundle of nerves. Catryn's
orgasm hit with the power of a lightning strike, jolting through her body with an intensity that left
her bereft of all thought.  Her body spasmed again and again, her inner muscles contracting
around the fingers buried deep inside her. The hand on her stomach patted her gently, soothing
her quivering body, till she regained her senses.

     Withdrawing from her, he ran fingers wet from her center up over her stomach to her breasts,
leaving a damp trail behind.  LaCroix ran one finger around each nipple, leaning down to kiss
her gently.  Catryn made a noise of protest as he got off the bed.

     "Patience, my Catryn, patience," LaCroix's seductive voice reproved her.

     She watched him as he removed the rest of his clothing, blue eyes dark with passion as they
followed every move of his lean body. He stood there for a moment, allowing her to watch him,
letting her see his arousal.  Catryn reached out a hand to him, beckoning him back to her bed.
LaCroix took the proffered hand, allowing Catryn to pull him down beside her. Now having him
close to her, Catryn's hands began their own exploration of his bare form.  Pleased at her initiative,
he relaxed under her warm touch.  Catryn's hands drifted lower, caressing the sensitive skin of his
rod with delicate fingers. LaCroix's swiftly indrawn breath made her smile in the knowledge that
her touch was as pleasing to him as his was to her.

     Quickly he moved to cover her body with his.  He leaned down to take first one nipple, then
the other in his teeth, delicately nipping and biting each one to hard peaks.  As his mouth explored
her breasts his hand moved lower, to the damp curls between her long legs.  He found her once
again ready and wanting.  His long fingers teased and massaged her mound, bringing her to the
edge once again.  He felt himself grow even harder as she whimpered and writhed against him.
He wanted her, now. To take her totally, to make her his. Oh, he had wanted her after watching
her from the woods earlier, but merely to while away the storm until he could resume his search
for his errant son, to feed and rest.  Meeting her, soaking in her presence had changed his mind.
He might let this one live, but, regardless, he would enjoy her.

     Looking down at the lovely mortal woman who was writhing beneath him, he smiled, his eyes
gleaming gold.  Moving his weight fully on top of her, he thrust into her hot, waiting body.  Catryn
arched against the invasion, screaming. So aroused was she that she came almost instantly, her
muscles contracting against his hardness. She threw her head back, her white throat totally
exposed to his now-descended fangs.  LaCroix growled, biting deeply into her throat.  Her legs
locked around him as his feeding brought her to orgasm yet again, swiftly on the heels of the last.
He pummeled her body, thrusting into her with an animal passion, drinking her essence, her life.
He tasted her grief, her loneliness.  He saw her memories, visions of a black haired man, a red
haired baby.  Intertwining through all was a desire for death, an end to the desolation she felt
every waking hour.  He wrapped her mind in feelings of belonging and love as he drank from her,
linking their minds together in total oneness.  They spiraled down together from fire, to the low
burning of embers.

     Withdrawing from her, he looked down on Catryn, gently brushing the hair from her damp
face. On the edge of consciousness, she reached up and kissed him. He found himself
unaccountably touched by the gesture.  She whispered. "Thank you. I shall never be alone again,
shall I?"  With that she drifted away into blackness.

     He gathered her still form in his arms, listening to the storm roaring outside.  "Never, dear
Catryn, never."
 

End

Altariel
altariel@usa.net
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