Off The Grid - 10

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            Remy picks up another knife and flings it at the target she wants to work off some anger and confusion.  God, her mind is a muddled mess and this is very unlike her.  She narrows her eyes and checks her target.  She’s off center and to the left.  What is going on with her, she never misses.  She varies her throw, underhanded, side arm, just wrist, full arm throw. 

            “You are good,” says Stefan.  He picks his way easily down the trail that leads to their training area.  It’s about half a mile from their home, a small woodless clearing, surrounded by thick pines that hide them from spying eyes.  There is a small camper off to the far side where sometimes Remy goes to think or when her mood is too dark for company.  Other times the camper serves as a wicked playground for Remy and traveling men who don’t want to take a girl back to their hotel room.  She looks him over.  His dark hair mussed from sleep, but his eyes are wide awake.  Seems her future husband can at least have a few beers with her brothers without it affecting him. 

            “I practice a lot.”

            Stefan edges towards her, but doesn’t touch her even though by all accounts he is allowed to touch her.  “My grandfather told me about you.  You came to the Roma almost 9 years ago?”

            “Yup.”

            “Your mother was of our blood?”

            “I didn’t know her, but far as I can tell that’s true – had a Rom last name, family traced back to a tribe in Florida.  And, from birth certificates and such.”  Remy takes aim and launches another knife at the target, this time it finds it intended home.  All this, of course, is true. But her Roma family thinks it is a made up tale.  Some things Remy needs to keep to herself.  Her birth, Fritz, the dreams.

            “Most brides are pure,” says Stefan.  There is an edge to his tone.

            Remy turns, looking him over with hungry eyes.  “You’re going to have to understand that I’m not your typical bride, Stefan.  I’m doing this for Lena.  She’d married you and you didn’t have kids, it would have been a dark shame on her, and her soul.  Instead, I’ve vowed to take her place, but I’m not a blushing bride that’s going to gasp in delight when you drop your jeans.”  Her eyes shift down his chest and then his belt buckle smiling.

            Stefan’s face brightens and he laughs.  “No!  I know that, I’m not typical stock, Remy.  I see how the old ways have stifled us, held us from being a true power.  I want a new world.  I still think we need our lines to be pure, to fight the fight for good, for the church; to rid the world of the demons, but I do think some of the things need to change.”

            Remy grimaces.  “You better not let C hear you talking like that.”

            “He hears it all the time,” says Stefan, taking a knife from her pile.  He flips it in his hand.  “I tell him all the time.  I think it’s one of the reasons that he sent me here, sort of an exile.  The Roma are the odd ones of our tribe, they stay put, they don’t move.  Even in Miami, where I lived for a time, we moved all the time, from one part of the city to another.  You have roots.”

            “And you want the roots?” asks Remy.  She feels something bristling in her soul, could he be different?  A knife clutched in her hand, she crosses her arms over her chest.  Could he be someone she could trust, as she trusts the Roma?

            “Yes,” says Stefan, flinging the knife at the target and coming very close to Remy’s last hit.  “A tree is strong when it has deep roots; the branches leave the trunk but are attached.”

            He turns to Remy.  He looks at her as if seeing her for the first time.  “I want roots and I want branches.  C has said I can stay a year with the Roma’s after we marry.  I want roots, Remy.”

            “Maybe,” says Remy, “we can manage to do some hunting in this year?”

            “I prefer to hunt.”  He steps a breath closer, their eyes locking.

            “I do to.”

            He seems to think for a long moment, standing toe to toe with her, holding her gaze.  “Lena, what of her?”

            “What do you mean?”  A panic fills her chest at the thought of Lena and her lips on her own last night.  Does he know? 

            “You gave up your freedom for her, what do you envision for her?  College?  Does she have someone in mind?  Does she love someone else already and that is why you did this?”

            “Does it matter?” asks Remy, her voice cold. 

            Stefan doesn’t move but he narrows his eyes, studying her. 

            “Yes, I want to know my bride, Remy.  Why would you let my grandfather marry you off?  He had no claim to you, even if you were with the Roma you could have slid under the wire, he wouldn’t have pushed to have you matched.  You said it yourself; you came to the Roma a free woman.  You gave that up for Lena.”

            She takes a step back, taking the last two knives from the pile, one in each hand, she spins and both knives fly from her grasp, finding their marks.  “I’m a hunter, Stefan.  That’s all you need to know.  You need to know that I’ll marry you and do my best to have your kids.  What more do you want?”

            Stefan stiffens.  Remy doesn’t wait for what he has to say; instead she walks away, leaving him.

            Stefan rushes to her, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around.  “I want to know my bride.  I want our tribe to rise from this lowly place that we’ve allowed ourselves to be put in!  But mostly, right now, today, I want to get to know you.  I’m not looking at the future, just at us right now.  I need to know you.”

             Remy grabs his shirt roughly and his hazel eyes widen.  “Do you?”

            The look in his eyes changes, turning deep and feral and he whispers heatedly, “Yes.”

            “It takes a very long time to get to know me,” says Remy.

            “What’s the best way to get to know you,” asks Stefan the hint of a smile comes to his face.

            Remy doesn’t hesitate for a moment.  “Let’s go hunting.”

thumpa-thumpa

            “You can’t go without the boys,” says Victor intensely.  He stares at Remy and her attire.

            She typically wears jeans, a tight tee-shirt and her broken in leather jacket.  But tonight she’s wearing a slinky deep purple dress that falls just below her knees, slit up the side, and low heels. She’s already taller than most women and taller heels would make her less desirable.  Her chestnut hair, the natural highlights shimmering in the low light of the room, which she wears in a ponytail most of the time, is styled in sexy waves, and she now tucks a strand behind her ear. 

            “Why?  I’ve gone canvassing without them before, Papa, and Stefan is coming with me.  We aren’t hunting, we are scouting, there is few new clubs that some Strigoi might be tempted to taint.”

            Lena perches with unnatural balances on the back of a chair in the kitchen.  “You look like a slut.”

            “I’ll take that as a compliment,” says Remy her violet eyes find Lena’s.  They haven’t spoken since the kiss.  That damn kiss!  Lena crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes shift from their natural hue to vivid and green.  Remy gasps lightly at the shift, such an old and primal and Pricolici trait that she isn’t used to seeing it.  “The whole point is for a Strigoi to think I’m an easy mark.  You know they like to play with their food.”

            Victor’s lips form a hard line.  “No.”

            Remy sighs and walks to Victor.  “Dominic is working.  Dax is studying.  Lena is not a hunter yet and you…”

            “Am old,” says Victor.  He places his deformed hand on her shoulder the moment his bare skin touches hers he pulls away.  “I do not like this; you will be three hours away.”

            “I can take care of myself,” whispers Remy.  “I need to know him before I marry him, Papa.”

            At this Lena launches herself off the chair and rushes from the room.  Remy looks down at the floor she wants to chase after her but she can’t.  This is the choice she’s made.  She’s a sexual being and all she is feeling is a reaction to a sexual event, or so Remy hopes.

            “You need to talk to her,” says Victor.  “I love you like my own, Remy.  I know you did this for her but she feels like she’s lost...”

            “I know,” hisses Remy.  She knows what Lena has lost because after the kiss the previous night, Remy feels that loss too.  “We will be back in the morning.  I’ve arranged for a room in the city.”

            “A room?” asks Victor.

            “Rooms, Papa, rooms.”  Remy shakes her head and tries not to laugh at her suddenly protective father.  “I’m not bringing him into my bed before he puts a ring on my finger, I’m playing this one old fashioned like.”  This from same father who knew how many men she’s been with, or at least a ballpark figure, in the last eight years. 

            “Safe and don’t engage,” says Victor.  He points to her and sighs.  “Wait and the boys will go with the two of you to take them down, please?”

            Remy shrugs, the silky material moving across her body as she turns and walks away.  She knocks on Stefan’s door and he whisks it open.  “Hello,” he says.

            Remy’s breath is caught in her throat.  His usually messy hair is now styled and pushed away from his chiseled face.  He wears a crimson shirt and black dress pants.  The top button is undone and the glimmer of a gold cross is evident.  His deep hazel eyes sweep over her and he emits a low whistle.  “Goodness, you are a sight a man can get used to for an age, Remy Roma.”

            “You’re not so bad yourself.  Are you ready?”  Her smile is true and easy.  He is sexy.  He looks like a boy she might go out hunting for when she needs to scratch an itch.  She licks her lips.

            He nods.  “Shall we take your car?  Or my car?”

            “Mine is fine.”

            “I figured as much,” says Stefan closing the door to his room.  He slips into a jacket and waves for her to go first to the front door.  “You do like to control things, don’t you?”

            “You have no idea,” whispers Remy. 

            “I’m very willing to find out,” says Stefan.

            The drive to the club in the city is uneventful.  They don’t talk much and when they do it’s about current events.  Remy does prod for some information about his family but Stefan tap dances around the subject and always turns it around to her family. 

            The club they are going to is huge, and known for its wild nightlife, just what Strigoi like.  Easy pickings.  What she’d said earlier to Victor had been true; Strigoi did like to play with their food.  Sometimes they teased them for days, meeting them several times, getting tastes of them before killing them, usually viciously.

            Remy goes in first, her entrance is easy and swift, and the crowd swallows her.  She sweeps the club, seeking out her adversary.  Strigoi move in a very precise way, each movement is graceful, always reminiscent of a dancer, yet their smile is always cold.  Death bleeds the color from a human.  Their eyes pupils are typically dilated, and their skin pale, the pallor of a sickly person.  But Remy can always tell a Strigoi from a human by one simple way, they smelled different.  There was always a soft, underlying stench of death that colored them.  Humans didn’t smell it.  It was too soft of a scent but Pricolici could sniff them out also, and Remy with her superior senses could tell a Strigoi from across a room. 

            While no Rom, or Gypsy could transform any longer, Pricolici senses still ran deep in their blood.  It was what made them effective hunters of the walking dead. 

            Remy gets a drink and slips up onto a stool of a small table in the corner, crossing her long elegant legs and surveying the crowd.  Oh the sexy men that were here tonight, bedding one on any other night would have been her second priority.  She feels her libido stirring.  That familiar swell of heat and hunger that covers her in waves of sexual desire, she tries to distract herself by sipping her drink.  It’s a gypsy cocktail, which makes her smile.  Sweet Vermouth, gin and a cherry and its rather tasty. 

            “You look devastating sitting here,” says Stefan from behind her. 

            Remy stiffens.  She hadn’t known he was anywhere near her.  No one, absolutely no one, snuck up on her.  How had he done it?  Maybe her desire was making her less observant. 

            “I can’t lure anyone in if you are hovering over me.”

            “You lured me in.”

            “You have fangs?”

            A sweet chuckle.  He comes around her left and stands just within earshot of her.  “No, I don’t.  Perhaps two centuries ago, but today, no, no fangs, Remy Roma.”

            “This is true, but there are still – taints of that in your blood,” says Remy sipping the drink.

            “In yours too, Remy.”

Remy downs the rest of her glass, walks past him; her finger tips feather along his shoulder and down to his hand.  “Come and make me noticeable and desirable.”

She looks over her shoulder and sees that he is surprised but follows her nonetheless.  They find a less crowded place on the dance floor, a song she doesn’t know plays.  The speakers thump the heavy drowning beats.  His hazel eyes find hers and a smile lights his face.  “Why, Remy, are you flirting with me?”

“If I were flirting with you, Stefan Zeko, you would most certainly not have to ask,” says Remy.  She places her arms on his shoulders, they are just about the same height and she begins to move with him.  His hands fall to her hips. 

“Is this…”

“I am yours, Stefan,” says Remy already having come to terms with the fact that she was going to marry this man.  She was going to sleep with him nightly.  She would have to grow accustomed to his touch; maybe someday she’d even relish it.  “We’re just dancing.”

“No, not yet, you are not,” he says.  He begins to move with her and he is a very good dancer.  After a few minutes, Remy starts to enjoy herself.  Both of them smile and Remy turns away from him and his fingertips linger on her hips.  He moves closer and she doesn’t pull away, he takes her into his arms and then spins her away, her dress a halo around her.  She returns to his talented arms, their lips close. 

The room seems to stand still.

“You truly are breathtaking,” whispers Stefan.

The world moves at full speed again. 

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” says Remy.  He isn’t.  He’s almost sinfully sexy at the moment and she runs her finger down the side of his jaw. 

“Might I cut in?” asks a tall man to their left.  Remy turns and looks at him about to tell him to buzz off.  But the moment she lays eyes on him she knows: he’s Strigoi.

change of pace

            “Sure,” purrs Remy shifting gears instantly.  She slides up next to the Strigoi.  “What’s your name, tall dark and very brave for interrupting my dancing?”

            “Caleb,” he says.  He is wearing black on black and his blonde hair is slicked back severely from his face.  He’s not handsome but he does move with that seductive grace that all Strigoi have.  He isn’t as good a dancer as Stefan though.  “I wasn’t being brave I just wanted the best thing I’ve ever seen on the dance floor by my side.”

            “Flattery will get you everywhere,” says Remy.  She casts a sidelong glance over to where Stefan has moved into the shadows of the tables.  She moves against Caleb and after a song, she says she needs a drink.  He gallantly leads her to the bar and orders for her.  Some gimlet or something, but Remy drinks it, hiding her distaste.  “So, Caleb tell me what you are looking for tonight?”

            Caleb smiles and she can see the tip of his fangs pressing against his lips.  “Oh just some fun.”

            “Fun I can provide.”  She sees Stefan nod to her from the other side of the bar, and hook a thumb towards the door.  “I have a place…”

            Caleb’s eyebrows arch, he seems taken by surprise at her brashness.  “Not one to mince words, are you?”

            “I’m a horny girl, dancing always gets the juices flowing, if you’re not up to the task, that sweet guy that I was dancing with before will be up to it.  Your choice.”  She runs her hand up his chest and leans into his ear.  She holds up two fingers to Stefan who nods and is gone in a moment, merging seamlessly into the crowd.  “You can do anything and I mean anything that you want.”

            Caleb emits a low growl.  “Anything?” he says into her ear, his tongue tracing the edge of it.

            Remy lets out a small groan.  How she’s missed this sort of hunting.  Most Strigoi have sex before killing their victims.  Remy used to get them right to the precipice of sex and then kill them before she had found the Roma.  The sexual high was beyond anything else she’d ever experienced.  “Absolutely anything.”

            “Where is this place of yours?  Hotel?  House?”

            “Hotel.  I’m here on a week away from my life,” says Remy.  She gives him the address to the decent hotel she’s rented her room at.  “I’ll call a cab, meet me there.”

            He nods, his lips brush hers.  “I am going to do very devious things to that body of yours.  You may not walk for days.”

            Remy smiles.  “I look forward to it.”

macabre dance

            She had told Papa that they wouldn’t actually engage a Strigoi, but she and Stefan had agreed in the car that if the opportunity presented itself they may as well go for it.

            And the old man didn’t have to know a thing about it.  The back of her car was always loaded for a kill so they had all the tools of the trade at hand.  The cab driver drove lazily and she told him to pick up the pace.

            “Got a hot date?” he asks, his gaze falling to her cleavage in the reflection of the rear view mirror.

            “Yeah, now step on it,” she says. 

            She spots the Strigoi, Caleb, at the door of the hotel.  Already here, wonderful.  She wasn’t going to be able to have sex with him since Stefan was going to be in the other room waiting, but at least she’d have some fun.

            She walks right by him and he follows, his hair mussed.  She wonders if he’s driving a sports car with the top down.  She gets into the elevator and he slides in next to her.  The instant the doors close, she’s all over him.  She shoves him into the wall and he groans.  His fangs nip at her lips and he gasps.  They don’t cut her at all, but she is tugging at his belt.  Rubbing his erection with one hand and removing the belt with the other. 

            “Whatever are you going to do with that?” he asks teasingly, watching her hand and the belt.

            “Beat you with it.” says Remy, cocking an eyebrow.  “Run it slowly up along your backside then whip you until you’re red and raw.”

            He laughs and moves quickly, trying to snatch the belt from her, but she’s faster and the door opens that instant and she pretends to stumble out.  “Come on, lover.”

            Caleb

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