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Enver Gortash was not a man prone to whimsical, irrational behavior. He had had mastery over himself and his knee jerk reactions before the age of 13, a requirement during his time in the House of Hope. Every move, every action, was carefully considered, and then considered twice, thrice, and then yet again. Approaching the leader of the Bhaalist temple was one such move. Getting involved with the ancient adversaries of Bane could, potentially, produce positive outcomes; but could just as easily have led to his life being cut terribly short. In the end, it had been the way she killed that convinced him she could be an ally, and an invaluable one at that.
Anyone who ran in the darker circles of Baldur's Gate was aware of the Bhaalist temple. It was generally best to stay out of their way, as they wouldn't hesitate to cut down anyone who got in their way, and to do it with glee. Most of them were sloppy though, sticking around their kills so long that someone inevitably stumbled across them practically, and sometimes literally, rolling in the guts of the poor fool they'd gutted. It was, therefore, of particular note when more kills began to crop up in connection with the temple that didn't follow the typical, blood thirsty modus operandi.
Quick and quiet, with no blood smearing, or blood bathing, or blood drinking. Simple slices across throats, twists of necks, stabbings and guttings artfully done to ensure their victims bled out as quickly as possible. And then there were the more curious ones, where it looked like the victims had been killed by a large cat of some sort. The fearmongering tablets ran with the idea of a rabid dog when they caught wind of those, but Enver had had the chance to examine the bodies themselves occasionally, and no canine that he knew of attacked their prey from the back, with a clean bite to the back of the neck.
It implied someone new, someone different. Different didn't tend to last very long in the cult of Bhaal, either because they would get caught, or their lack of murderous drive would get them singled, and then taken, out within mere days, so the longevity of this new murder was endlessly fascinating to him.
He'd orchestrated the display of the Bhaalist artifacts, just little nudges here and there, comments and suggestions to the museum. Then he meticulously planned their first and every meeting after, and perfectly plotted out their next ensuing heists. The two of them worked together perfectly, like two pieces of a beautifully oiled machine. She was more than content to follow along with his plans, and her skill in killing combined with her lack of a need for a mess soon found her becoming his preferred heist partner.
He was perfectly in control of every aspect of their relationship thus far. Which is why he couldn't explain what in Bane's unholy name he'd did what he did.
They'd retreated to an old section of abandoned alleys that he'd first discovered when he was a child, searching for a hiding spot from his parents and bullies alike. The moonlight had slid over her ink black hair like water as they'd run, and her green eyes had gleamed with an almost innocent glint of mischief each time he'd glanced back. They'd stumbled in and then collapsed on opposite sides of the alley, panting lightly from the run. She'd smiled at him, blood still smeared across her lips from where she'd ripped out the throat of a guard who'd been at the wrong place at the wrong time. His back had been turned, and she'd pounced, protecting him without apparent thought. He'd only been distracted briefly by the sounds of her chewing and swallowing, but she'd abandoned her prey as soon as the door opened.
So, perhaps it was a mix of gratitude and adrenaline that had had him stepping towards her, across the alley and into her personal space. Her grin hadn't faded, her head titled up to look at him. If anything, her smile and eyes turned tender, a look almost alien on her face. He'd seen glimpses of it before during their meetings, but he was more used to seeing it from the Upper City debutantes he charmed than he was seeing it from the Chosen of Bhaal.
Whatever it was that had pushed him forward, he pressed himself against her, one hand cupping her cheek, the other clutching at her hip, and his lips pressed against hers. She'd stiffened immediately, and her hands had flown to his shoulders gripping him almost painfully, but then her lips had opened underneath his and he'd taken it for an invitation. He pressed his tongue forward, perhaps a bit too eagerly as he cut his tongue on her still sharp canines. Blood welled between their tongues as he tangled his with hers, and then he was abruptly shoved away, so hard that his head cracked against the wall on the opposite side of the alley.
So now here he stood, his vision swimming, breath knocked out of his lungs, struggling to glare and snarl at Persephone. There were multiples of her swimming across his vision as he desperately tried to focus.
“What in the Hells was that for?!” His question finally broke the silence, and he saw her startle slightly as her form finally coalesced back into a single person.
She was still pressed against the other side of the alley, but now her hands were pressed against her mouth, her eyes blown open so wide that he could see white all the way around her irises. It was a pose that belonged to a scandalized maiden in a play. In fact, he could swear that he'd seen a play not three days ago where the female lead had had her first kiss stolen by a rogue, and had then turned to the audience in a copy of that exact pose. It was so ridiculous of a sight that he felt his snarl melt into a more confused frown.
There's no way. He knows for a fact that she's in her late twenties, and she's a Bhaalist. Sex might be more common amongst Baneites, but surely the cult of Bhaal isn't devoid of it. Surely, surely, he hasn't just taken the Chosen of Bhaal's first kiss.
But the longer that they stand there staring at each other, the more certain he is that he has. Had the Bhaalists considered their precious Bhaalspawn to be off limits, and thus seriously never propositioned her? Never attempted to tempt her into taking her due? Or had others tried, and just been cut down for their audacity? A good sign then, he supposes, that she has decided to stare at him in shock instead of tearing off his face. A deep, vicious satisfaction wells in his chest at the thought that he is the one and only to defile the Chosen of Bhaal. He stole one of her firsts, and he realizes with a jolt of lust, she'd let him.
She moved so suddenly then, turning and running for the opening of the alley, that by the time he realized she'd disappeared, he knew there was no hope of finding her again tonight. Her ability to transform renders her virtually impossible to find in the city unless she wants to be found.
He ran his tongue across his lips, tasting the blood that smeared from hers to his. It was a moment of weakness, of the slightest slackening of his control, a disgrace to his expectations and to Bane's. It should be infuriating, he should be furious with her. But instead, he was - pleased. It was a mistake, of course, but one he could turn to his own advantage, he was sure. He'd have to be patient now, and wait for her to come to him, but he should have a couple of days to plan his next move when she does.
Enver smiled to himself as he stepped out of the alley, slinking through the city with unfamiliar warmth and excitement building in his chest. The memory of her pressed to him should be enough to get him through the next few days, he's sure.