### Disclaimer: All characters herein are works of fiction. They come straight from the oddity that is my mind and expand themselves onto the sheet. There will eventually involve some sexuality between two consenting people. Please be of age when you are reading this.

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Faekin (Never Forget Me)

By Orhea the dreamer



It is in my nature to ask questions.

Of course, always asking questions means that sometimes I pay for my own curiosity. What makes my condition worse is that this particular malady projects itself at the most inopportune times. To summarize it all, I am a nervous person. Therefore I ask stupid questions.

Let's just back up a moment before I get into that. My name is Kit Larsen, and I like documenting everything. I document through photography, through paintings, and also through writing. I am not what you call famous. Hell, far from it, and I'd be starving if it wasn't for my day job. I tend bars at a local Irish style pub, The Four Leaf. You meet some interesting people there. People of all varieties show up, younger older, fatter, skinnier, totally off their rocker and maybe a little to uptight. It's the kind of place people drag their friends to on a Saturday night for lack of anything better to do.

I digress, where was I? Oh yes, the documenting. It's been a need I've had since I was a child. I bought my first camera when I was ten, one of those little box shaped kinds that you have to wind up before pressing the snap button. I'd snap pictures at everything, an ant on the sidewalk, my shoes buried in the sand, the freckles on my arms, whatever took my fancy. Then once the pictures were developed I'd select the best ones and burn the rest. I always burn the rest. It's an old superstition that says to photograph another individual is to photograph their soul. I figure if I am not going to preserve the soul of that photograph, then I should give it a proper burial by fire. Each photograph goes into a proper book, with a small square of paper written about the subject pasted beneath it. Sometimes I include short stories or just a few sentences; it really depends on the photo.

I snap a shot whenever it takes my fancy. Would it be too surprising that I have a photo of each of my past loves? Yes, down to the first one, Angie, whose wide eyes and brilliant red hair set off a smile that made my young heart go pitter patter. I never approached her, but I do have a few snaps of her. She moved away one summer and I haven't seen her sense. I have a photo of my one and only boyfriend, Brent, who showed me how to kiss when I was fifteen, behind the bleachers at school. The little shit also dated three other girls at the same time, including a very pretty blond. I think they are still married today. I have a few nudes; there is one of my first true lovers, Susan. I remember her laughing, that sort of nervous giggle a girl has when she's put on the spot, as I adjusted her hands and legs just so. She bit her lip just as I snapped the photo. I am very grateful to her, for showing me my passion, for helping me learn my own body. So she holds a place of honor in my photo book, and there are two pages on the subject of our relationship, from how I met her, to the first night I gave into her, to the resulting break up a week later when I found her in a compromising position in the back of her rusty convertible. Susan had appetites that I at the time couldn't begin to understand. There were a few lovers after that, none quite so special, but each memorable in their own way. When I describe my sexuality, I find it difficult to translate into a few words. Am I a lesbian? Perhaps, I only had one boyfriend and I didn't like him much. I can say that I appreciate the feminine form with a little more zest than the masculine form. Oh men are nice sometimes, but there is something about the curve of a breast, the delicate flare of the hip that is all woman, and all exquisitely erotic.

In spite of everything, I am happy with my life, or at least I thought I was. That is until I discovered why asking too many questions can be hazardous to your health.

Remember the pub I work at? The Four Leaf is a jolly place, usually. Occasionally though, some people drink too much, or the wrong sort of people pop in. I'm not a bouncer or anything. I'm sort of short, slightly too round in the middle, with dark curly hair I keep in a constant ponytail. My skin is dusky, indicating my multicultural heritage. I've been told I'm rather milk maid cute, with a smattering of freckles on my cheeks. Cute, I can live with. I'm so damned curious, too curious for my own good. So when an odd looking guy slipped onto a bar stool wearing a long black trench coat in the middle of May, I was curious. He had bright colored eyes, almost copper looking and because the trench coat was buttoned up, I guessed that he had an average build, maybe did the occasional run around the beach or something. He wore a gold earring in his right ear and an expensive looking gold ring that nearly dominated his right ring finger. It had quarter moon symbols on it, with a star that sported a tiny diamond. He ordered a scotch straight, no ice, and as I began to fill the order, I could hardly tear my eyes away. I wanted to photograph him, and put a note card with a big question mark beneath it.

“So..” I sat the drink in front of him, and he polished it off before I could finish the rest of my sentence. “Are you from the South?”

“Another please.” His voice was rough, like strong coffee and on the gravely side.

“Sure..” I poured another drink, wondering if he'd heard my question, and just as I sat it down he smirked.

“Nah, why you ask that?”

I gave a soft roll of the shoulders. “You are wearing a trench coat in the middle of May; I thought it might be colder than you're used to.”

In response to that he merely offered a secret smile. Another customer sat down so I left him alone. The man sat there for a good half hour, nursing his drink, and then the door opened and I saw from the corner of my eye, his back straightened, as if he knew who entered. Now greatly intrigued, I made a show of cleaning out glasses while I watched the person enter using the mirror. She was a little on the tall side of a woman, I hazarded a guess at about five nine. Her eyes, I couldn't quite see from the mirror, had to be a light shade. A sharp looking nose was accentuated by soft, half full lips and a wealth of long, thick wavy red hair. If I didn't look any further I would have found her stunning. I did look further though. She too sported a long jacket, but it was open, revealing a black shirt that opened up to reveal the tops of firm, high breasts. The shirt tucked into black jeans synched at the waist with a black belt. Her eyes scanned the room, and settled on the man at the barstool. I could hear her boots click, clicking over the creaking boards. With each clicking sound, I felt a jolt in my spine, a tremor of arousal that shot clear to my toes and set my body ablaze with sheer, molten lust.

Two exquisitely interesting people were sitting RIGHT there, having a conversation, and I just had to get a shot, even if it was for my personal files. I approached the pair. “Get you a drink?”

Bright blue eyes, so pale they practically blended in with the surrounding white hazarded a chance glance at me, stilted, and gave a more direct perusal. Fighting the urge to squirm, I picked up my notepad and pen. “Anything to eat?”

“The food must be decent, judging from the smell, but I'm here on business so why don't you get me some nice scotch, no ice.”

I lifted my gaze to meet hers again and immediately looked away again. She was too hot, and it had nothing to do with that jacket. “Ah.. sure thing.” When I turned to fill the order I could see in the mirror her gaze stayed on my form a bit longer than need be, traveled down and then turned back to her conversation. They spoke so low I really couldn't hear, though it wasn't for lack of trying. I sat the tumbler down, and thinking I could get in a quick break, I slipped towards the back room. Richard had a set up of lockers in the back for the employees so no one could claim the other stole anything. Mine was at the far left with a large gold shamrock at the top. I snagged my digital camera and checked the battery. Sure I'd be going to hell for this but, I just couldn't resist! Curiosity, it can be a very bad thing.

When I returned to the bar the camera was in my apron. I checked the other customers and went back to my cleaning. The mysterious couple were clearly arguing now, the bald man waved his hands to emphasize his words and the red head gazed at him, her body stiff and rigid. Funny, but she reminded me of a cat waiting to strike, or run. Her cheeks were a deep red of agitation and her lips pursed together in a thin line. I toyed with the idea of kissing those lips to a soft compliance. This is where it gets bad, suddenly; I was struck with the urge to capture those lips for all time. So, I positioned my camera in just such a way, positioned it at the mirror, and snapped a picture.

Everything else happened so fast. The man jumped from his stool and produced the meanest looking gun I've ever seen, he began to fire rapidly, but the woman had also moved, from seemingly nowhere she produced a pair of her own, lunging to knock him off balance, and with lighting speed, dodging out of the way. Bullets ricocheted around the bar, people screamed. The camera fell into my apron pocket and I, with no real escape in sight, dropped to the floor. Something sharp hit my shoulder and warm spread across my back, but I didn't pay attention to it, I just crawled, belly style, towards the back area. The shots seemed to last forever, and I seemed to go in slow motion. It's a wonder I didn't piss myself. When the gunfire died I didn't bother to stop, but it was eerily quiet, I heard feminine cursing as I slipped into the back room.

My thoughts whirled with confusion. The pub, the pub NEVER had a shooting. There was a shooting at the pub and someone should call the police. With tremendous effort, I pushed myself to my feet. A warm gush rolled between my breasts and I hazarded a glance down to see the disturbance. Sure enough, bright red blood was rapidly soaking my shirt. I swayed at the sight of it. “Shit! Holy shit!” With new motivation, I ran into the office and picked up the receiver. Its funny but I don't recall ever hearing a noise, not a single breeze, nothing. Then suddenly a hand wrapped around my wrist, holding it firmly in the air, another slid around me to hang up the phone.

“Can't let you do that. “

It was her! She had guns and shot at people in random bars. Maybe she was a drug dealer or something… I didn't care; I just wanted to get away. I tried to run, but her reflexes were quicker and she was amazingly strong. She wrapped her arms around me. “No, don't do that either…Listen… everyone in the bar is having a little nap. They won't remember what happened. You though, curious little bee, you are injured, you just missed a major artery but you will still keep bleeding. We're going on a little ride, but remember, whatever you do, don't try to run. Running is a bad idea. “

I was hoisted in the air as if I weighed less than a feather and before I knew it, I was placed in the passenger seat of a vehicle. I would have scrambled to get away, but as soon as I went to try the driver's side opened, the ignition started, and we were speeding onto the main road. “Where are you taking me?”


“You're not worried I'll tell what happened?”

“Not that kind of hospital.” She turned and grinned at me. I found myself temporarily amazed at the whiteness of her teeth and it didn't go unnoticed that they were just a tad sharp looking. I must have given her a funny look because she asked, “what?”

“You are like a wolf in sheep's clothing. “ We were going faster now, staring at the blurring scenery was giving me a headache, so I closed my eyes.

“Hold on kid…”


The familiar whirring of mechanical equipment woke me from a dreamless sleep. When I opened my eyes there was an iv attached to my left arm , and my right shoulder seemed immovable. I suppose you could call it a hospital room, if said hospital room were designed specifically for a horror flick. The walls were green tile, and the windows were painted so that very little light shown through. Even the ceiling was painted an off shade of tan, further adding to the spooky darkness. The soft blip of the monitor at least was familiar enough, indicating that I still had a heart beat. I made an effort to sit up right, causing discomfort that radiated from my chest and down my right arm. From this vantage point I could see that the tile itself was also a dark tan shade. What kind of a hospital favored dark colors? At least my blankets were the standard white, bleached to perfection and standing out sharply against everything else. It even smelled like a hospital, all plastic and medicine. There was a light tapping of the door and it opened with a soft creak.

“Oh good you're awake.” I blinked a few times, trying to associate what I was looking at to my brain. Walking into the room, dressed in scrubs like a nurse, was a pink woman. The scrubs were green, with little sunflowers all over them her name tag rattled against her chest, and when she turned to pull a cart into the room, I could see her long, nearly ankle length hair was a deep shade of grayish blue. Her pointed ears slanted close to her head and twin gold rings shot through each ear. I closed my eyes, rubbed them, and opened them, but the image didn't dispel.

“Huh? Um... Whatever pain killers you're giving me, you might want to cut down on them. “My voice was gravely to my own ears, but I forgot to muse on that when she paused to pick up my left wrist.

“Hmm, your pulse is okay. Your eyes look fine. We only gave you a little bit, we're not used to serving humans but considering the circumstances…”

“Not used to serving… WHAT? Where am I? “I entered full panic mode. I knew there was no reason why a pink woman would enter the room, with ridiculously long hair and... Were her eyes gold?

“Ah, I'm tripping balls! I know it… I'm leaving.” No sooner had I tried to get up but an arm snaked out and gripped my left shoulder. Try as I might I couldn't push from the grip. She couldn't have been more than a hundred and twenty pounds and she was holding me down?

“No ma'am. You were badly hurt, a few more inches and one of those bullets would have hit your lung…”

I ceased moving temporarily to look into golden orbs. “One? How many times was I shot?”

“Three, for a human, you're pretty sturdy. One hit your right shoulder, the other like I said, missed your lung by a few inches, and another just grazed you. I'm surprised you don't feel it, hmm; maybe we did give you a little too much. Ah well we'll just wait till we give you the next dose.”


“It is a fine one… if you're one of the fey.” The voice, like warmed over chocolate, purred into the room. She was standing in the doorway, the light from the hallway shone brightly, giving her hair an ethereal fiery glow. Her jacket was gone, and her black tank top stuck into the hem of her pants. I could see the metallic sheen of her gun shoved casually into her belt at the hip. “How is she Shahnda?” She glided into the room and leaned against the wall. I could see her eyes, that stunning pale blue, taking in every bandage. Her pupils dilated, and I tore my gaze away.

The nurse gave a roll of her shoulders, her long braid tumbled over her left shoulder and she sighed. “We might have given her a bit much on the pain killers, but other than that she is doing very good for a human. I can't explain it. I detect to fae in her. She's not got the aura of even a half breed.”

“Hey, sitting right here! What the hell are you talking about? There isn't any such thing.” I didn't like where this was going. More and more I was starting to feel like I was still in dream land.

Shahnda smiled warmly. “There is too such a thing. What do you think this is?” She touched her own face. “Make up? We come in many shapes and sizes with variable ability. Our half breeds sometimes stray into human society, powerful psychics or unremarkable, and all of them oddly long lived. Would you like an extra blanket?”

Suddenly I was a little chilly and I nodded. Obviously this was a very epic dream and I would write it all out as soon as possible when I woke up.

“Your name is Kit Larson huh? The name is Alice. “ As soon as Shahnda left she approached the bed. “You are lucky. “

I couldn't help but to snort at that. “I'm lucky? Tch…not really.” I tried to keep from looking in her eyes by fumbling with my blanket with my good hand.

“You could be dead. You are lucky. Whatever possessed you to take a photo?”

I blinked, and felt heat warm into my cheeks. “It was for my album. I rarely see interesting people.” Something crossed my mind dim, but disturbing enough for me to voice. “Wait…are you saying he opened fire because I snapped a photo?”

She shrugged. “He's a ghoul. Ghouls don't like sudden noises. He didn't see you do it. He just heard the click.”

“You mean I was nearly killed because some guy didn't like me taking pictures?!”

Suddenly she leaned over blue eyes so deep and intoxicating that I couldn't look away, her voice was soft and her breath smelled faintly of coffee. “You have quite the set of lungs on you. I wonder do you scream when you orgasm?”

It took me a moment to register the words and when I did my mouth fell open. I must have gaped at her because she laughed and then the laughter died down. Her pupils went huge, almost dominating the color in her eyes, beautiful and black. Then before I could make a rebuttal her lips were on mine. They devoured me, those lips, her soft, moist tongue pushed passed my teeth to meet mine and an instant jolt of heat shot straight into my belly, pooling between my legs. There was a sound, and it must have come from me. It was an odd animal like sound. I found my hands wrapping around her neck, threading through her hair which felt like silken threads. It seemed to last ages, but not long enough and suddenly the kiss was broken. Her expression was that of wonder and surprise, and then her eyes went hard and she abruptly stood. “Must be fae struck.” She muttered it irritably and abruptly left the room.




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