M.

"Where are you going, little doe?"

The voice resonated in the depths of her soul. It sounded like crystal, ice, and eternity.

Shit! Did he see me do something in the previous club?

Mila gazed up to conclude that the rest of him matched the voice. If she had to imagine an angel it would be quite like that man: beautiful and frightening. Even in that dim-lit hallway, his colors were extraordinary. Silver hair was cascading to his shoulders, white skin was shimmering like silk and his eyes were sparkling with mischief in a thousand shades of blue. Everything about him was ambiguous from his demeanor to his features, strong, yet still smooth with a touch of feminity emerging from the curve of his full lips and the majestically elongated lashes, which made him even more beautiful.

He was smiling, revealing perfect teeth, still, the smile was anything but reassuring or inviting. It was like the sun reflecting on snow, mesmerizing but still burning your eyes.

"Dance with me," he said, lifting the hand he grabbed to his lips.

No. No. No. I have to go. Mila's consciousness was screaming, but what she did was... Nothing.

She did not protest when he lead her into the room with the dance floor, nor when he wrapped his arms around her. Her better judgment was oblivious to reason and her body limp in his embrace.

She just looked at him in awe, like you look at a painting or at the rising sun. Silver beads were braided in his almost hip-long hair and the dark blue velvet jacket he was wearing was tight on his slender torso in all the right places. On his neck, Mila noticed a crescent moon pendant, and peaking from under his shirt were the lines of a silver tattoo.

The eccentricity of his look didn't diminish his natural elegance. It was hypnotizing to watch him. All his movements seemed so perfect and all his smiles plainly disarming. He was a walking work of art of frightening perfection.

Where did this very... unusual guy come from?

He pulled her closer, while the first chords of a song resonated in the room.

...before the night is through...
I wanna do bad things with you...

Those strange lyrics sounded like an ironic warning.

His cheek was now on her forehead, awfully close. It was frightening how much she enjoyed his closure.

"Oh goodness, it is more intense than expected, and it might not even have reached its full extent," he whispered into her hair.

"What?" she said, her breath panting slightly.

"Your smell, little doe."

He lifted her chin to look her in the eyes.

"So, so alluring," he whispered, more to himself.

Mila felt hypnotized by him or paralyzed with fear, she was not sure which. Or maybe it was a wild mix in-between.

To her own surprise, she leaned closer.

The hand he was holding was raised slowly to his mouth, and he moved his lips smoothly down the back of her palm. Mila trembled when he traced with his tongue the cut on her finger. A soft moan escaped his throat in tune with her own arousal throttled by fear. Then he bit his own lip until a thin rivulet of blood bloomed on ivory skin and moved it over the cut.

That fleeting moment when his bleeding lip touched her finger felt like a lightning strike. The tingle she felt was spreading through her whole body. Goosebumps built up on her arms and her nipples hardened under the soft fabric of the dress.

It was as if he knew, noticed and he smiled with malicious satisfaction.

"Oh, you like it too. I can feel your heart beating faster," he said extremely amused. Then he pushed her chin up and traced with his tongue the line of her neck leaving fire in its wake.

What is he doing? And why am I still standing here?

Her better judgment had been urging her to walk away a long time ago, she just didn't.

The man was staring at her lips. The smug smile disappeared and it seemed for a brief moment that he was not in control of himself anymore. His pupils were dilated and his gaze lost when he bowed his head to caress her lips with his. Mila sighed in delight. His tongue slipped into her mouth tracing along the shape of her teeth, making her feel the taste of mint and cinnamon.

Maybe because of the surprise, maybe because of the aura of that man but Mila leaned wholly into the kiss and let him explore freely her body. The feeling was completely irrational and oh-so delightful until she felt a hand on her arm and heard Dasha's voice.

She pulled her from the embrace and dragged her to the exit.

When the man flinched out of his trance, they were already out the door.

Dasha shoved her into the first cab that was parked in front of the club and they drove away.

"Who was that? I saw you just disappeared."

"I have no idea, but he was... different."

"Yeah, different is a good word for mighty hot and weird as fuck. I hope you did not tell him your real name," said Dasha, scanning her with a skeptical gaze.

"No. He... He did not even ask. It ... It was very weird."

"Weird how? You found him hot too, didn't you? Saint Milena found a guy that appealed to her," said Dasha teasing.

"I ... Yes I think I felt attracted to him. It was very stranger like I could not resist his touch and I ... don't know."

"You are a little weirdo, you know," said Dasha laughing. "But you are very cute. Mila, it's ok to find a guy hot. You are twenty-three. It's overdue you get laid," she continued.

"It was unusual because I found men objectively good-looking before, but this time it was different, more vivid."

"Uhu..." said Dasha smiling mischievously. "Let me help you figure it out. Did you get wet down there?"

When Dasha said it, she became aware of that fact and blushed slightly.

"I... I think so... How odd, it never happened to me before," said Mila very amazed and wondering.

"Well girl, maybe Serbs are peasants, or you met only peasants till now... Sometimes one has ill luck. Even gorgeous ones like me do, hence why I am still single... Or maybe British gentlemen float your boat more. Seemingly now you are more open to changes in your life."

"But why did we leave so abruptly?" she asked, as it just dawned on her.

"Well, remember the hot guy I tried to pick up? I think he saw you doing something in the previous club. He was asking me lots of questions about you. No offense, but if a girl comes over to hit on you, you don't keep asking about her friend you barely saw," said Dasha sarcastically.

"Yeah, better safe than sorry. So we made like one thousand tonight. Still lack two."

"I will send them that tomorrow and will think about another plan. This is too risky. Hmm... Thank you, Mila. Really. You are my sister."

That night, or rather morning, Mila went to sleep thinking about herself, the world, that strange experience from the club, and how her strained relationship with her father made her feel fear and shame when interacting with men.

She had always been shy and found it difficult to befriend and open up to people. She was afraid they would see her as strange, unworthy, ignorant, or as an inconvenience like her parents made her feel. It also frightened her that they would see her physical scars and be appalled.

Her father didn't beat her often; it happened only when her mother made him so angry he drank till he lost himself in the process. When that happened, it was with raging violence.
He never hit her face and tried to not leave traces that could not be covered up.
Not that anybody would have cared. Certainly not her mother, else she would have tried to stop him, not run away. She would have taken her daughter and left.

When she was sixteen, her mother was caught cheating again, meeting a neighbor when her father was at work. He had been blind with rage when he found out.

Petra ran away. The moment Mila saw his face she knew why. When you looked into his eyes you could not notice anymore when the human ended and the beast began.

He threw her onto the glass table in the middle of the living room, which shattered into pieces. The glass dug deeply into her skin.

The shock of the impact made him come to his senses but it was too late. Mila was bleeding heavily.

They never went to the hospital. Nobody should know or notice, because if they would, her father would go to jail and there would be nobody bringing money to the house anymore. At least that had been her mother's logic.

Instead, they called their neighbor Miroslava. She was a nurse. A kind woman in her forties, that stitched her up as well as possible.

The wounds heald hard and improperly, leaving the skin uneven and bumpy. Even if flat and somewhat muscular, Mila was always self-conscious about her abs and the silent story they told.

When Dasha saw the scars for the first time, she just hugged her silently, knowing very well what must have happened. Broken households are the same in Serbia, Ukraine, or any other part of the world.

All these made Mila the silent child, that never had any friends, that was sitting alone in the breaks and seemed uninterested to interact with anybody. It took a while for her to overcome deep fears and not flinch anymore when somebody unknown was approaching her or moving abruptly.

Still, she proved to be resilient despite all.

Now she was safe and fine, but events like that shape one's personality. It was part of the reason why she wanted to become a doctor, to help people, and ease pain.

Sleep came hard that night, even as tired as she was. That strange man was still on her mind.

She had been scared of him and was still drawn towards him like moths to a flame.

In the end, she fell asleep dreaming about white mountains and snow. She was running, not feeling the cold whatsoever, loving the feeling of snowflakes on her skin. It felt like she was snow and the white mountains and the ice. Her soul felt ancient and covered in deep sadness.

The next morning Dasha made breakfast. Eggs and bacon, jam, and fresh-baked bread looked delicious on their small table.

"Sup girl? Did you have wet dreams again? This time it would make sense after the hottie I saw you with."

"Nah, not really," said Mila, lost in thought.

"Look what I found, a job as hostess tonight. I only have to look good and welcome guys to the club and they will pay me two hundred pounds."

"Sounds like a deal. Does it help if I come too?"

"I'd prefer you don't. I am still afraid because of that guy. What state is your dress from last night in?" said Dasha.

"Pretty good I'd say."

"Good, we must wear golden."

Mila fell asleep watching the crescent moon again that night. It reminded her of the pendant of that man from the club.

She recalled his somehow odd behavior and realized with astonishment that the cut on her finger disappeared and in its place, she could trace a very strange-shaped white scar. It looked like the margins of a snow crystal. She decided she was probably half asleep and let go of the thought, sailing into dreamland.

The next morning she woke up hearing Dasha storm in at five am just in time to take a shower before they had to go to work.

"Man Dasha, I thought you said you are home by three," said Mila sleepy.

"Yeah, well stuff happened. I had the most mind-blowing sex of my life. The guy was a bit weird. He insisted to buy that dress and gave me five hundred pounds for that thing that was not even worth twenty. Besides this little weird detail, he was super hot and knew very well what girls like. Uhh, I am sore all over."

Mila raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Made some money and got laid, win-win," said Dasha energetically.

An hour later they left together for work.
Mondays were usually quiet and a Dasha that did not sleep at all that night was looking forward to taking a nap in the break room.

Mila was starting her rounds when a man burst in on the front door holding a heavily bleeding arm.

"I need some help. Miss, can you help me please?" he said looking at Mila, his face twisted in pain.