"I'm pregnant, John."

Desire was like fire in many ways. It could provide warmth and it could burn; it could enrapture as much as it could repulse; it could be the source of inspiration or the root of destruction. All this, Ingrid knew. Yet here she was, again, following the path of Desire, tracking it with as much skill as a hunter tracked a wild beast, across the city. On this occasion she was impervious to the emotion itself but it was certainly fuelling her greed and her need for money.

An unfaithful wife and her lover had travelled from one end of the city to the other. They had met in one of their usual spots on the usual date of their passions cycle. Theirs was no opportunistic flash that burned brightly once and then died; theirs had been going on years now, ossified, evolved, taken on a character of its own. The husband had been completely oblivious till he had been forced to take a job closer to home. Ingrid had been hired once he began to see the pattern...

...Ingrid had completely unravelled it. She had known before the couple did where they would meet. She had suspected they'd take off across the city in an opposite direction to the one in which they would normally go. She was even able to pick the motel out before they did.

She had her footage for her client, yet she still remained crouched beneath the window. How could she not feed from the exquisite font of glamour that suddenly exploded forth into the night. The couple's fountain of passion was like a geyser or a tongue of fire. Dumb struck, she was barely processing the words as the motes of glamour filled her to the brim.

Desire turning upon itself. Anger. Wrath. Bitterness. Sharp envy. Fear. Sudden regret.

Desire was like a fire and this time the secret couple were burned by it, consumed by it, destroyed by it. Things would never be the same after this night. Relationships would die, consumed by the flames. Desire would burn itself out after this.

It was awful. It was brilliant! Scintillating!

And a part of Ingrid felt disgust as she feasted like a goblin by the window, mouth agape, eyes closed while her body throbbed with unnatural pleasure.

She should delete that footage, she thought, hold off a few days while the fallout from this cheap room with its cheery pink curtains manifests. It might be better that way. Their might - always the hope - be a way out of the maze that the lovers had constructed. The cuckolded husband had been a generous sort, and if approached the right way something might yet be salvaged.

Providing the wife plucked up the courage before the husband had proof by other means...

But Ingrid needed the money. More.