The edit is finished and published!!! (on Ao3 and Wattpad at least - the process of editing on fanfiction.net is so tedious I'm not sure I'm up for it and my readers are relatively low on that site anyway).

However I did not want to just leave you with nothing but an announcement after you were most likely excited for an update I don't have, so here are a few of my writing experiments surrounding this world. These snippets are not fully-fledged or polished by any means but I find them fun to come back to, so I hope you enjoy.

1. What if Alina was never discovered by the Grisha examiners?

2. What if Alina and Aleksander met at the same age (16)?

3. What if Alina was Alinus Starkov, 450 yr old Sun Summoner (more like canon Alina than my own version), and Aleksander was Aleksandra, young undiscovered Shadow Summoner?

*

What if Alina was never discovered by the Grisha examiners?

"Alina!" Mal exclaimed, but it was too late.

The black carriage barrelling down the road, mindless of the First Army soldiers marching down it, had clipped her and she fell to the floor with a cry of anger and pain. The back of her head had hit a stone, her arm was bent the wrong way, yet Alina Starkova clawed her way back to her feet, even as her head span and pain made her grit her teeth.

The carriage had slowed after hitting her. More fool them.

"Watch where you're fucking going!" She shouted, furious. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Mind your tongue, girl," The stern-faced oprichniki driver warned her.

"Alina," Mal was at her side, trying to calm her, and hold her up, but she shook him off, stepping forward.

"Mind my tongue? You broke my fucking arm! How am I supposed to die for this sodding country if I can't hold a gun? I'm the best shot this sorry mess of an army has this side of the Fold," That wasn't an exaggeration; Alina had won countless informal shooting competitions, every one she had entered. Her father's teachings had set her up well for leaving the stifling confines of Temgora the moment she turned sixteen, headed with Mal to join the First Army.

"Is that so?" A cold voice, clear as glass, said. A man had gotten out of the carriage at the commotion; a tall man, dressed in a black kefta, one any Ravkan would recognise at once.

Shit. Well, she'd already condemned herself to whatever punishment awaited her. She wasn't just going to fall to her knees at his feet. Alina raised her chin, even against the pounding headache and feeling of blood dripping down her back, and stared right back up at the Black General, holding eye contact. She was well used to standing up for herself, as a half-Shu girl, in both Dva Stolba and the army. Luckily, here she had made enough friends that any such conflict tended to be immediately shouted down.

"Yes, it is. Sir," The honorific was a grudging addition. But Alina had never been good at knowing when to stop, and as the man let the nasty pause drag on, she felt compelled to break it. "Seeing as it was your carriage that broke my arm, sir, surely it would only be fair to have one of your Healers fix it? I'll be needed in a few weeks to be a calculated loss in one of your battle plans,"

Dead silence. The look on the Darkling's face was cold. Mal moved forward to grab her again, grip tight and afraid. Several other Grisha, peering out of the carriage, were shaking their heads in disapproval, some even smirking, no doubt anticipating Alina's imminent demise. Other First Army soldiers were gathered around, as though preparing for a fight. The animosity between the First and Second army was no secret. Alina supposed it was somewhat of a comfort that if she was killed on the spot, there would no doubt be a (albeit easily quelled) riot. She wondered if the Darkling knew this. She wondered if he cared.

"Of course," His eventual reply suprised her. "As you say, that would only be fair. The Healers have a tent in the Second Army camp at Kribirsk. If you make it there before nightfall, I am sure they will see you," Bastard. That cold answer made more sense. It was evening already. And she could see that two of the Grisha inside the carriage wore the red and grey keftas of Healers. "What is your name and who is your commanding officer?"

"Private Luda Volkova," She lied instictively. "My commanding officer is Captain Petrov. Infantry," She was actually Corporal Alina Starkova, elite rifles division, serving under a formidable woman named Captain Irina Antonova, but he didn't need to know that. She counted on the intricacies of First Army uniform being beneath him.

"Expect to be reported for insubordination,"

"For being hit by your carriage?" Alina really should learn to hold her tongue. "Have you not got the power to punish me yourself?"

She barely blinked before huge dark shadows engulfed her, restraining her painfully tight, around her working arm, legs and throat, tearing her away from Mal, who was shouting, being held back by oprichniki. Then she realised it wasn't shadows at her throat, but the Darkling's hand. He spoke in a low, cold voice, only audible to her. "For a lowly otkazat'sya corporal, you have a bold tongue. You lied about your rank, your name and commanding officer. I have worked closely with Captain Antonova in the past, I am well aware of her unit's badge. A night in the cells will do you some much needed humbling,"

He stepped back and gestured, and Alina immediately fell into the grip of two strong oprichniki. It was her own fault, she supposed, but that didn't make her any less angry. She settled for being a deadweight, dragged along the road, as the Darkling got back into his carriage and continued onwards. Her friends watched her be taken, angry on her behalf but ultimately helpless.

*

Her punishment was not as bad as it could have been. Three nights in the cells were cold, miserable and deathly dull, and the two weeks of reduced rations after that were hardly enjoyable seeing as the First Army were chronically underfed anyway, but considering exactly who she had pissed off, she was expecting much worse. Perhaps an impertinent First Army soldier was beneath even bothering to punish properly.

Alina should have known to not be so foolishly hopeful. When the names for the next Fold crossing were read out, and not only was her own on there but also Mal's (despite being in different regiments), she knew it was no accident.

"That spiteful prick didn't have to sentence you to death too!" She raged to her friend, after the announcement was made. "You didn't do anything!"

"You embarrassed him," Mal seemed more resigned. "He's trying to hurt you. First Army soldiers mean nothing to him,"

Unfortunately, he was most likely right. They had no choice but to obey, getting onto the skiff at the dry-docks with all the other poor sods. It's not a death sentence, Alina told herself. Not every ship that goes into the Fold is attacked. But one in ten did not come back, which was far higher odds than she would like. She was a good shot, but bullets bounced off the Volcra. It would be one thing if it was just her in danger; some strange part of her was drawn to the darkness of the Fold, and found the idea somewhat thrilling. But Mal was here too, her oldest friend.

"How many times have you crossed?" She made conversation with the beautiful, haughty-looking Squaller who was piloting the skiff that day.

"Once before," The dark-haired girl sniffed, seeming to wonder why Alina would even bother to talk to her.

Alina smiled sharply. "And you were so sour the Volcra spat you out, is that it?"

The girl let out a surprised laugh, looking at her in a new light. "Sour perhaps, but I've more meat on my bones than you, otkazat'sya," The Grisha girl did have a shapely figure, whilst Alina was a tall streak of skin and bone from years of malnourishment.

She grinned. "If we're attacked, I'll push you forward, then. Leave the rest of us some time,"

The Squaller seemed more amused than disdainful now, holding out a hand. "Zoya,"

"Alina," She shook it.

There was little time for making friends with unfriendly Grisha, however, as orders were being barked out. Zoya got into position to blow air into the sails, whilst Alina followed instructions for once and kept deathly quiet. Mal's warmth pressed against her side as they entered the Fold, pitch darkness enveloping them.

Until some idiot from cartography lit a lantern. Then all hell broke loose.

Alina did not remember much from the Volcra attack. Everyone panicking, Zoya's determined face as she attempted to turn the skiff around, Mal's hand in her own until it was wrenched free by a horrifying creature out of a nightmare, and then... light. Bright, blinding golden light, and a feeling of beautiful warmth within her. This was good. This was right. This was how things should be.

Then darkness.

*

What if Alina and Aleksander met at the same age (16)?

Aleksander stared into the darkness of the cell, contemplating how, if he had been placed here not even five years ago, he would have been terrified of the absence of light. That thought was a brief, fleeting one, however, swallowed up by the all-consuming wave of his anger. Anger at himself, his mother, his captors, his world. Sixteen years old; almost a man, and of an age to be treated as one. Whilst he had not yet mastered the darkness, he was formidable working with it nonetheless. And, in a moment of stupidity, he had let his guard down. The otkazat'sya butchers had shackled his hands apart and dragged him to this hole underground the sorry excuse for a fortress in the centre of Kribirsk.

He was surprised he was not dead already, but then again, they had caught him at night and did not know what he was yet. They had not seen the darkness come alive, and no doubt thought he was a normal Grisha; a Squaller, most likely, that was normally what happened. Either way, he wouldn't last long if he didn't escape. Few captured Grisha did. The Ravkans and their squabbling boyars might not have the terrifying discipline and efficiency of the Fjerdan Druskelle, but they knew how to kill them, and knew how to hate. Often, that was enough.

Perhaps he could try and break out of the chains? He had done it before, at half the age he was now. That had been an uncontrollable moment of pure fear, however, one Aleksander was not sure he could recreate.

A commotion in the corridor outside the cell caught his attention, the flickering of torches through the small barred window in the door; the sound of a scuffle, raised voices, swearing, chains rattling.

" - stop fucking fighting, you nasty bitch!" The gruff voice of one of the guards was snarling.

"You're going in that cell no matter what you do," Another panted, as they came into his line of sight; two of them wrestling another towards the cell. "You're in shackles. I don't know what you're trying to achieve, witch,"

A young, female voice replied with twice as much anger, and twice as much venom. "No matter what I do, I'm going to kill you. I'm going to burn the skin off your faces and watch your eyes melt out of their sockets. Otkazat'sya scum," An Inferni, then. That made sense.

She spat on the feet of the first guard, who rewarded her with a punch to the face. Her head snapped to the side, and from what he could see in the light of the torches, she slowly raised her eyes back up to look at him, teeth bared in an eerie, bloody smile. To his shock, the girl began to laugh. Mocking, slightly mad and thoroughly reckless.

"Oh, just throw her in here, Lev," The second guard sounded weary, and more than a little disturbed. "It's closest,"

A grunt of agreement, then the sounds of the door to Aleksander's cell unlocking. The girl was shoved unceremoniously in, falling to the floor as the heavy door slammed behind her. The guards left as soon as the key was turned in the lock, and all her attention was on him. They'd left a torch in the bracket outside the cell, no doubt unintentionally, allowing a dim light inside.

"You're Grisha," Keen eyes glanced at his wrists, seeing the characteristic shackles, the same that bound her own. "How'd they get you?"

"Was asleep," He said shortly, not entirely thrilled to have a cellmate, nor relive the embarrassment of being captured. "Got my hands in these before I could summon,"

"What are you?"

Aleksander hesitated slightly. "Squaller," Even some Grisha reacted badly to learning what his true gifts were. He and his mother had never stayed long in one place for that reason. Memories of his supposed friends trying to kill him for his amplifier bones flashed before him; he ruthlessly shoved them to the back of his mind.

"Are you any good?"

"I'm very good. Not that it's any use, wearing these,"

She snorted with dark laughter. "You have a point there. I'm very good, too,"

"Inferni?"

"What?"

"You're an Inferni? You threatened to melt that guard's face off,"

Her teeth glinted in the dim light as she grinned. "He deserved it. They all do. I'm Alina, by the way,"

"Aleksander," His real name was out of his lips before he could hold it back, perhaps his subconscious wanting someone else to know, just in case they couldn't get out of here.

"Can I call you Sasha?" Her tone was wicked, mocking, but held a definite charm that he doubted was intentional.

He smiled into darkness. "Only if I can call you Alinochka," Her noise of disgust made him laugh, despite their grim situation, or perhaps because of it. "I suppose that's a no?"

"I'm twenty years old, not a child,"

"You sound younger than twenty, surely,"

"Believe what you like - how old are you, then, Aleksander?"

"I'm twenty-three," He lied for no real reason other than to prove a point, trying to sound disdainful.

She snorted. "No you're not,"

They fell into a comfortable silence.

Alina broke it a few moments later. "So," She said with a slightly hysterical note to her voice. "How are we going to get out of here? I've broken out of cells before, but not in these chains,"

His heavy mood returned. The sickening fear and burning rage had never left, really; Alina's presence had just made it fade into the background a little. "I don't know,"

Another silence, this one more uneasy.

"I hate it," Aleksander said, struggling to hold back the feeling that poured into those words. "I hate that it's like this. One day, I'm going to create a place where all Grisha can live in peace, away from the otkazat'sya butchers, away from fear and pain and misery," It was a dream he wasn't sure if he believed in himself, but one he was growing increasingly attached to. He wondered if Alina was going to laugh at the unrealistic optimism.

She did not laugh. "They would find us, eventually. They always do,"

"Then I'll make them accept Grisha amongst them,"

"That would take far more than a lifetime. They don't just hate us - they're so afraid of us,"

He smiled, somewhat bitterly. "I've got time," If what his mother told him was true.

Alina looked at him oddly. "More than a lifetime?"

The urge to tell her everything, so that he would not die a nameless Squaller in this damp dungeon, was suddenly overwhelming. "I'm not really a Squaller," Aleksander said. "I summon shadows. My mother does too - she is over two-hundred years old yet doesn't look a day over thirty. She says I will live just as long. I don't care if you know and don't care what you think of me,"

To his surprise, Alina laughed in disbelief. "I'm not really an Inferni. I summon the sun,"

His eyes narrowed. "Mock me all you like, we're both stuck down here,"

"I'm not mocking you," She said, amusement fading. "I really am a Sun Summoner. My family had to flee the Dva Stolba valley when I was nine and burned an entire Shu raiding party with light to save my father's life. The villagers already hated us for being half-Shu, and for this - saving their ungrateful hides - they drove us out. We ended up in the Tula valley. My father thought I was an Inferni and tried to help me control my powers in secret, but it became clear I was something different. I left when I was fourteen - I didn't want to cause them any more trouble. I didn't know that Shadow Summoners could exist. I've never met anyone like me before,"

Aleksander did not know what to say to that. She seemed perfectly genuine - in particular, her threats to the otkazat'sya guards - but he could not set himself up to be disappointed when it turned out she was not. "I'll believe it when I see it," He said instead, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Likewise," Alina shrugged, not taking it personally. "You might be a raving madman for all I know. Or vice versa," She changed the subject. "Is there anyone out there who'd be looking for you?"

"Just my mother," Baghra had been in the next town buying supplies the morning he was taken. She had been due back at noon, after a night away. She would know he was missing by now. Hopefully she would not think he had run off and left her; although, her anger at him letting himself be captured would be excruciating to bear.

"If she really is a Shadow Summoner then that is good news,"

"I suppose,"

"My friends will be looking for me, though I don't know how successful they'll be. I've been collecting stray Grisha ever since I left home. Katya was first, then Genya, Zoya, Viktor, Nina and Kasper. Some others just joined us - two Heartrenders called Ivan and Fedyor,"

"How did they take you, and only you, with a group that big?"

It was her turn to hesitate. "I was stupid. I'm often stupid. I went off on my own to do something reckless and they caught me by surprise and drugged me. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in a cage on the way to Kribirsk with my hands bound. Normally I would have Cut through them like butter,"

If her previous words had not convinced him, the word 'Cut' with the audible capitalisation did. Aleksander realised then that he was not as alone as he thought he was. 

*

What if there was role reversal and gender fuckery?

When he first saw her, his eyes did not linger any longer than they did on any of the others. She was just the sharp-eyed sergeant who was second-in-command of the crossing that day. Perhaps rather young for her rank, and surprisingly... radiant, considering she wore olive drabs and was part of the First Army, who were not known for their health and vitality. But Alinus was old enough for all of that to barely reach his notice.

He made a point of seeing off every skiff that went into the Fold, when he was in Kribirsk. The guilt, from all those years ago, still twisted in his stomach, an ache that never went away. The Fold was his greatest mistake, by an enormous margin. Whilst most of Ravka hailed him as a saint, called him Sankt Alinus of the Rising Sun, there was a small subsect who named him the White Heretic instead. Both names made his skin crawl, but both he had to put up with. If that was his penance for what he had done that dreadful day, for the monstrocity he had unleashed on his own people, then that was not nearly a high enough price to pay. Though he doubted anything would be.

Alinus watched the skiff, and everyone on it, vanish into the blinding white void of the Fold, and returned to his duties. The Second Army would not run itself, after all. Like many things in his life, he had never asked to be a General. His gift of Sun Summoning had ensured that he was not hung, drawn and quartered after creating the Fold in the first place; the Apparat at the time had been convinced of his holiness, and named him a living saint instead. The grumbling royals had only agreed to show mercy when they realised how useful he could be. Grisha were only tolerated as long as they were useful to the otkazat'sya. And if Alinus wanted to create a safe haven for his people, the Second Army was a necessary evil.

The day seemed as normal as any other. Discussing battle plans, logistics, writing reports, trying to resolve ammunition shortages. Then, in the middle of a meeting, a harried oprichnik burst into his tent.

"Forgive me, moi soverenyi," He attempted to gather himself, though did not quite achieve the professional mask his order was known for. "The skiff - you are needed at the docks, urgently. It sounds mad, but there's a - there's a shadow summoner - "

Alinus had already got to his feet and was halfway to the door at the mention of the words 'shadow summoner'. He did not bother to wait for the oprichnik, or even check if they were following, running at full pelt through the camp towards the dry docks.

And there she was. The sergeant from the skiff. A crowd of both Grisha and otkazat'sya had formed a half circle around her, keeping their distance, as shadows - shadows! he forced himself to concentrate - swirled around her, spilling from her hands. She was defensive, and (despite the cold look on her face) scared. At Alinus' approach, she looked up and met his eyes. He could only stare for a long moment.

The spell was broken, however, by a nearby commotion. "Leave her alone!" A young soldier was shouting as he was held on his knees by two oprichniki. "Leave her alone, you bastards, she's done nothing wrong!"

The young woman he was protecting barely glanced at him, however, instead narrowing her eyes at Alinus and drawing herself up to her full height (tall, for a woman, nearly as tall as he was). The shadows did not waver. Apparently the sight of her friend being dragged away wasn't enough to get her to back down, or even lose concentration. It took considerable guts, to stand up to the Sun Summoner without flinching. The man who had created the Fold, a General who was hailed as a saint, centuries old and more powerful than any other being alive.

Alinus glanced at the man - a tracker, by the looks of him - who clearly cared deeply for her. It was times like this that he despaired at his own good conscience; whilst he had never stooped to such lows himself, over his long years he had observed that threats against loved ones were irritatingly effective.

Instead, as usual, he went for the diplomatic approach. "I will not harm you," He held his hands wide in a placating gesture. "I don't know why you've got it into your head that I would - I'm not known as a brutal killer. Stand down. I just wish to talk,"

"Call off your dogs, then," Her voice was sharp and surprisingly haughty, as she nodded at the Grisha and oprichniki surrounding her. None had dared touch her, knowing how much she was worth to him, but they were hardly presenting themselves in a friendly light. All those years he had dreamt of a shadow summoner, he'd been expecting a young child. Not someone this strong, already with deep rooted ideals and prejudices.

"They are highly skilled soldiers, not dogs," Alinus said patiently, but nodded to Ivan. The Heartrender stepped back reluctantly, but without argument, as did the others. The girl raised a pointed eyebrow, and he had to marvel at her nerve. "Release the tracker," Alinus granted, speaking to the oprichniki still restraining the young man, who obeyed at once.

The eyebrow fell, but the young woman continued to view them with dislike and suspicion. The tracker moved to her side at once, standing slightly behind her. This seemed to be a familiar stance for the two of them.

"Everyone else, leave," His voice rang out across the docks. "We don't need an audience,"

The crowd grumbled slightly, but dispersed, and he saw the woman relax ever so slightly. Ivan stayed, as he had intended. Alinus stepped closer; up close, she could only be in her early twenties. Sergeant was indeed a high rank for one so young, though he supposed the First Army was notorious for its young average age and shortage of experienced soldiers. The draft was seven years, from age sixteen, and most who survived left as soon as they could. He could not blame them.

"What is your name?" Alinus asked her.

"Sergeant Aleksandra Morozova," There was more pride and poise the way she held herself than most of the nobles in Os Alta, he observed. Why, she looks more of a leader than the heir to the throne.

"You are to address him as moi soverenyi," Ivan said rather harshly.

Alinus wouldn't have insisted on the formal address, but now his guard had brought it up, he could hardly back down. Aleksandra turned to him with a glare, silent for long enough to make it uncomfortable, then (to his relief) at last spoke.

"Sergeant Aleksandra Morozova, moi soverenyi," The way she said the title was unobjectionable, without a trace of sarcasm, but Alinus still picked up a slight edge to her tone, a glint in her eye, that told him she hated every second of being forced to submit. How had she lasted in the First Army? Or perhaps she didn't think him deserving of her respect, unlike her otkazat'sya superiors.

"You have an extraordinary gift, Aleksandra," Alinus said honestly, earnestly. "I've been waiting for someone like you for a long time. Not to kill you, or cut you up, or whatever it is you've been told would happen that had you scared enough to hide your gift, and fight," He added; she still looked ready to lash out at any second. "But to bring you to the Little Palace. You would live and train as any other Grisha,"

Something in the girl bristled at the mention that she still needed to train, though she said nothing. He wanted to tell her she would go on to do great things, even destroy the Fold, but that was rather too much pressure to put on the girl yet. Especially in public. Her display had been eye-catching, and rather impressive. That was smart of her; everyone now knew a shadow summoner existed. If Alinus had wanted to drag her off somewhere and slit her throat - not that he was inclined to such brutal measures - now everyone would know.

Aleksandra slowly lowered her hands, the shadows moving to swirl at her sides. She had remarkable control, for someone without any formal training. He could see she was tempted by his offer, too - who in the First Army wouldn't be? - but still wary.

"If you harm me in any way," Her voice was cold. "I'll slice you in half,"

That took Alinus aback, though he did his best to hide the fact that the knowledge she could already perform the Cut disturbed him. Never mind the pure viciousness of the threat.

*

Aleksandra Morozova had been raised in an orphanage, yet had always known she was different. Destined for something greater than serving as cannon fodder in the First Army.

The only memories she had of her time before Keramzin were to keep her gifts secret. To not let anyone see the shadows that she could bend to her will. They had lived on the Shu Han border, so it had made sense. Even after her parents' deaths when she was six years old, Aleksandra had kept her powers hidden, though often snuck out to practice, where no one else would see. It had taken everything in her to keep them shoved down when the Grisha examiners came to test her.

It would be different if she was a Heartrender, or an Inferni, or even a Durast. But her gifts were of darkness and shadow, and would surely be stamped out by the church and their holy Sun Summoner before she even reached the Little Palace.

She had other skills to work with, however. All of the children at Keramzin respected her not for her powers, which they knew nothing of, but because she was born a leader. If any larger child had tried to pick on her, she had always been able to reduce them to tears with a few words. If they hit her, she learned to hit back harder, with less restraint. She was a favourite of Ana Kuya, as she was capable of keeping the others in line, stop them misbehaving, although as she grew older her teacher had started looking at her

Those skills had benefitted her in the army. When she had a goal in mind, she was quite capable of following orders, even orders she resented. Aleksandra would always excell by going beyond what she had been told to do, showing up her immediate superiors, sucking up to the higher ups, and earning herself an impressive two promotions in the four years she had served.

At a first glance, people saw a tall, skinny young woman with a pretty face and didn't take her seriously. A second glance was enough to convince them they did.

*

Alinus did a slight double take when he saw Aleksandra for the first time after her visit from Genya, the Corporalki trained as a tailor. She had clearly made the most of the opportunity. The girl had been pretty and haughty before, though tired, dirty and dressed in the garb of the First Army. Now he could see that wealth suited her. Her skin was flawlessly pale, clean and unblemished. Her hair shone like raven's feathers in a regal style, and her grey eyes glinted with something like entitlement. Her tall, slender frame was shown off in a sweeping blue kefta with black detailing, and she walked like she owned the place. She was beautiful; there was no other word for her.

"Sun Summoner," Her lips twisted into a smile when she saw him, though it wasn't a warm one. "Thank you for the gifts. Though blue has never been my colour,"

"You want a red kefta instead?" He chuckled slightly. "I'm sure the Corporalki would be thrilled to have you join their ranks,"

Her eyes flashed, though the smile remained on her face.

"I would like a black kefta. Darkness is not an element, nor is it a force of life and death. There is no power like mine. Or yours. Why do you wear Summoner's blue?"

"I'm the Sun Summoner. The clue is in the name,"

She laughed, though there was no joy to it.

"I don't know why you insist on trying to act like a common man, when everyone knows you are not,"

Alinus was paying attention to her now. Aleksandra was certainly not some simple, provincial soldier as the Lantsovs believed, and the idea of her being his pawn was laughable. She was no saint either, despite the whispers the Apparat had started to spread, though her eyes lit up rather concerningly when she heard herself called Sankta Aleksandra.

"If I wished to act like a common man, I'd have rye and herring served at breakfast and make everyone sleep on First Army issue bedrolls," He wasn't smiling any more. "Perhaps in time you may wear a black kefta, but for now you will remain in blue,"

Her lips curled, but her eyes were cold. "As you will it, moi soverenyi," Only she could make his title sound like a threat.

*

Alinus stiffened as Aleksandra's hand came to rest on his chest, those grey eyes looking deep into his. She was only an inch or two shorter than he was. Saints, he was over four hundred and fifty years old, there was no reason he should be feeling this way for an overly ambitious, worryingly intelligent girl in her twenties.

"If you're trying to manipulate me - " He started, but she just smiled. Gods, she was beautiful, and knew it too.

"Of course I am - you're old enough for me to be concerned if you didn't realise. Is it working?" Her smirk faded slightly at his silence. "I do want you, if that's what's stopping you. I wouldn't bother if I didn't. Whoring myself out for personal gain is a line I wouldn't particularly like to cross," She paused, eyes darkening slightly. "But surely you've felt it, whenever we touch,"

"You are a living amplifier, that is all,"

"Like calls to like. Everyone calls me 'Darkling'. And you are the Sun Summoner,"

He paused. "Have you ever - " She huffed a laugh at his slightly awkward words, guessing what he was about to say, and he broke off, smiling slightly. "Of course you have - look at you,"

Her lip curled, satisfied. "I'm no blushing virgin, if that makes you feel better," Her voice lowered as she leaned in to murmur in his ear, her breath brushing against his skin. "Though I would very much enjoy finding out what four-hundred-and-fifty years of experience adds up to,"

Long, elegant fingers tightened in his hair, sharp nails scraping just enough to be painful, but it set his nerves alight. Her touch always did regardless. Aleksandra's eyes were darker still as she looked at him, not through her lashes but unflinchingly, intensely.

It was Alinus who closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers. She responded eagerly, her kiss almost bruising, all sharp teeth and nails. So that's how you like it. He was very much capable of responding in kind, one hand tangling in her hair, the other grabbing her hip and pulling her tight against him. She gasped, back arching into him as his lips moved to her jaw, her neck.

He realised then how dangerous she truly was. Knowing Aleksandra was powerful, manipulative and amoral was one thing; realising that part of her was truly genuine was quite another.