"Ah, yes. This is most certainly the life, wouldn't you say?" Benjamin Scots Wellington, known by only his close confidants as Scott, flopped down on the plush velvet upholstery of the sitting chair placed in the almost direct center of the Victorian hotel room. Serene candles were placed in all corners of the room, close to the ceiling, and oil lamps on every mahogany side table, flickering dimly in all of their weak glory as they bathed every sofa, desk, and footstool in a golden glow.
Rebecca entered from the powder room, tugging her black silk gloves over her wrists and off of every individual slender finger, finally placing them down on the writing desk near the bedroom's entrance. "Oh mah, yes it is very nice." She agreed, her dulcet accent dripping thicker than honey in awe. This vacation to Rome was going to be a wonderful one, indeed. Heaven knows she needed one, and when her daddy-spoiled best of friends, Scott, offered she escort him to the dazzling city, she was only too happy to oblige.
"Hurry and dress, Rebecca. I'm eager to taste what this city has to offer." Scott sat up.
"Taste what the city has to offer, or the women?" She smirked playfully, heading back into the bedroom.
"Now is that any way to treat the man that's making this all possible?"
She spun around but continued her pursuit into the room. "You, sir, are not the one making this possible. Xavier Wellington is making this all possible."
"Ugh, I'm hurt. My father had nothing to do with it! I suggested we get away from New York, I suggested we go to Italy, I suggested we stay at this," he gestured with a hand to the ravishing hotel, "highly acclaimed,"
"Highly expensive," Rebecca added.
"Highly expensive suite. But ah," he inhaled deeply, savoring the room's smell of lingering fine wine, "isn't it all you've ever dreamed of?"
She glanced over the room. "Almost. If a tall, dark, and handsome were standing right over there, it'd be everything I've ever dreamed of." Rogue nodded definitely, flipping a hand out to the open balcony, supported with ivory pillars and adorned with fine white silk curtains billowing in the night breeze, gentle as a baby's coo.
Scott sighed and idly made his way out of the window and past the flailing curtains until he stood outside on the balcony, peering down in awe at the tiny little yellow and white specks- the city of Rome creating a twinkling light show seemingly reserved for his viewing only, on top of the world standing on that balcony. "Wow," he said slowly, "You've got to see this Rebecca." He waved her over and she was soon standing beside him, the lights making her feel as if she was viewing the stars from above them instead of below this time. She took a quick intake of breath and turned to her best friend.
"Mah, aren't they beautiful?" She exclaimed. Scott nodded, tearing his eyes from the sight and turning, leaning against the broad stone railing.
"Hurry and dress, darling."
She nodded and took one last lingering look at the spectacular sight before scurrying back into the hotel room to dress.
Sitting in front of the vanity, applying the last of her make-up as she powdered her nose softly, Rebecca grew more excited with every second that raced by. Could this be the night?
Ever since she accepted Cody Dean's proposal, an overwhelming sense of wasted time swelled within her. Marriage? It was so final, and yet it was well past time. Still, she decided she needed one thing, one magical, unforgettable night with one magical, unforgettable man before she chained herself to the respectable, but not exactly exciting Cody Dean. Needless to say, there was a serious drought of men that fit this position in Westchester County. There was always Scott, everyone in town knew he'd been the magical, unforgettable man for quite a number of young, naïve women, but Rebecca could never see herself with him. They'd been best friends since grade school when he used to put worms in her hair and make her cry and his had been like a second family to her, particularly the extremely wealthy, and extremely generous Xavier Wellington. He was always bailing his spoiled son out of trouble when Scott did something stupid like set Mr. Essex' barn on fire three summers ago.
Rebecca giggled at the memory as she reapplied her already drying lipstick. But almost as quickly as the touch of humor had come, it faded. Scott would never have to worry about life. Next year, even, he graduated from the University and became a professor there, just like his father. And where would she be? Stuck in a house, albeit probably a nice house, but trapped washing dishes and ironing for her... husband, Cody. Yes, Cody would soon be her husband.
She shook her head, a few disobedient strands of russet coupled with a shock of snow falling from their pinned position atop her head. No use worrying about it. Tonight, hopefully, she would meet a man that would leave her never wanting again and she could move on with her life, marry, have children, settle, settle.
**
"This is wonderful!" Rebecca said with wide eyes, taking the sight in. The party took place right on the street, not like those boring parties her mother often "encouraged" her to attend in hopes of finding her a husband, infested with old, balding millionaires within the walls of a stuffy Victorian mansion. No, this party was different, new, exciting. Rebecca's heart swelled with anticipation for the night ahead, the whole vacation ahead of her. She would have no problem finding a man to whisk her away from her sheltered life in breath-takingly exciting Westchester New York. 'Yeah, right,' she thought dryly.
Scott turned to look down at her from his place on her left arm. "Isn't it? I can already see a plentiful selection of eligible women." He grinned down at her. Rebecca simply rolled her eyes, something she trained her self to do in the presence of none other than her best friend. He didn't fool her. Scott had been with many a woman in his day, but she knew he was growing out of his stallion adolescent stage and wanted nothing more at this point than a woman to settle down with, someone to call his bride.
Though she would never let it past her lips, she somewhat envied him- his insatiable desire to tie down. Who WANTED to tie down? Of course he hadn't when they were younger. Like all of the other town boys, he had only one thing on his mind for a short period: what lied between a woman's thighs, but she always knew a time would come when he would no longer want a night, he'd want the rest of his life. Lo and behold, that time had come, eliciting a twinge of pride from Rebecca toward her dear friend.
'And when will your time come?'
She shoved depressing thoughts to the corners of her mind and concentrated on the men at the parties occurring on the streets.
Nonchalantly, Scott and her broke apart from one another, a custom they were used to once arriving in public so nobody assumed they were 'together.' He stole a quick kiss on her cheek and they warned each other to behave before parting. Rebecca watched him immediately aim for a blonde he had previously been eyeing and disappear into the crowds. Slowly, she too made her way into the dancing. Tentative at first, she felt a slight bit out of place. Only a scant few wore clothing similar to hers: a bodice cut dress, obviously English complete with lace trim on the short sleeves. Both expensive and fashionable yes, but an apparent awkward choice of apparel when surrounded by Gypsies and native Italians with their flowing skirts and excessive gold jewelry that dangled from parts of their shapely bodies that Rebecca wasn't even aware you COULD dangle jewelry from.
Still, many men approached her and asked if she'd like to dance and it wasn't long until she was dancing on stars, the electricity of magic simply swirling around her in an eddy of twinkling lights with every fluid move she made in another man's arms. She spun from one to another, one to another, each trying desperately to hold her close, or not too tight, or gently, or savagely, all trying to get her to stay with them the longest. But she didn't want to stay with one, she wanted to dance everywhere, forever, twirling and spinning with her eyes closed, letting the enchanting music spellbind her. Suddenly, she was in the arms of a man that held her close but not in a way that she didn't approve. It was romantic and uncaring all at once, casual and complete. He pressed her against his strong body and she unconsciously placed her hands first on his chest, then his shoulders, wanting to hold all of him at once. Finally, she glanced from where she had been gazing up at the constellations down to the man with whom she was dancing, if it could even be classified as such.
She took a sharp intake of breath. He was mysterious and intriguing all at once. His eyes were a fathomless garnet set against an onyx background, boring past your soul where some people's eyes could indeed enter, but to your dreams, where not a soul but this man had a right. Rebecca swore those eyes were related in some way to the stars adorning the black velvet sky behind him.
Before she could even ask for his name, he maneuvered out of her hold and to the next woman eagerly awaiting his arms. Men flocked to fill his now vacant position, but Rebecca denied them, still staring after the man until the crowd and dusk swallowed him whole.
**
Rebecca found Scott around one a.m., sitting at a table for two outside in front of a quaint Italian restaurant, sipping a bottle of chardonnay and still chatting with the attractive blonde he had victimized earlier in the night. They laughed together when Rebecca approached behind the woman.
Scott noticed his friend signaling behind the woman that she was heading home. She obviously didn't want to interrupt the couple, so she opted to communicate from behind the blonde. Scott nodded to Rebecca and then to his companion to make it look as if he was agreeing with whatever she was saying. Rebecca nodded in finality and headed back to their apartment.
**
Scott Wellington knocked on Rebecca's bedroom door. "Come in," she called from inside.
He gained entrance and seated him self on her bed as she completed the last stroke through her long hair the color of autumn's glory with her silver plaited brush.
"How was your night?" He asked, pressing his palms over his eyelids, covering his caramel colored eyes.
"It was...wonderful." She replied, rising from her stool and performing a dramatic twirl. He nodded. "And yours?"
"Mine was nice, too. I met a woman." He said the last part slowly, as if deciding on something.
"Oh I saw her! She was a porcelain doll, Scott, simply porcelain." She said certainly.
He grinned, blushing a bit in the process. "Yeah, I guess she's great, huh? Her name is Emma. She's really something."
"Oh no, mister. You can't fall in love on the first night!"
He sat up defiantly. "I tried not to! I really did, but she's amazing. And educated, ever so educated Rebecca, dear. She's studied both French and Latin and the highest math score."
Rebecca sighed. "A potential bride even?"
Scott looked down from where he was staring at the ceiling and thought a moment. "I'm not sure, perhaps." I hope so, he thought, and got up to leave.
**
Two nights passed, both consumed with nothing but wine and dance and the diamond-colored light that the moon poured forth from her spherical body- fully contempt with her sister Sun owning the day, but night time was hers to bask in all her shimmering glory. Scott, despite his attempts not to fall so hard so fast, spent the majority of his time with Emma Childs. She, too, was an English woman, eagerly awaiting a chance to jump at so that she may make a gentleman a proper bride. Scott grew fonder of her at every passing moment; she enthralled him with her witty intellect and soft-spoken but prominent opinions on the president, the situation with India, and the factories.
Rebecca, too, was having the time of her life. Though more than a scant amount of men had offered, she had yet to stain her purity. She told her self that they were not what she was looking for, perhaps the time wasn't right, something, anything, but her reason was definitely, absolutely, positively NOT that she was waiting for any particular man, like that stunning fellow with the engulfing eyes and beg-worthy touch. It was not that at all, no matter what her heart told her.
So why did she find her self no longer entertained with the street parties anymore? Ah yes, because HE was no longer to be seen at them. Rebecca opted to explore a charming cobblestone back-road, tiny little homes settled in by children playing and lover's quarrelling lining the road like ancient soldiers. She could just make out the wild clover and other various flowers sprouting defiantly in every which way from the houses' unkempt gardens with the last of the sun dipping behind the horizon. Rebecca decided that they wouldn't look half as nice if someone had actually trimmed the gardens; they were just marvelously beautiful when they grew wild.
So caught up was she in the gardens that she hadn't noticed the man before her until she was merely inches from him, in danger of colliding with him. "Oh!" She said, taken aback in surprise.
"Woah there," a man said, grasping onto her shoulders to support her. She nearly sank in his embrace when she realized who it was.
"Oh mah, it's you." She said, blushing at the absurdity of the moment. "Ah mean, thank you." She recovered.
"Not a problem. We've met before?" The man with the burning embers he called eyes asked.
"We danced a few nights ago," she replied.
He smiled. "Oh my father." He paused, leaving her to wonder for a brief second. "How could I forget?" He reached for her hand and kiss the back, sending sensations coursing through her body. "You were all I thought of for the rest of the night."
Rebecca smirked. "Oh really? Then why did you leave me?"
"I had to be somewhere," he said simply. "I am truly sorry, though." He knelt before her on the gray, crooked cobblestones, a passing Gypsy couple hardly taking notice for more than a moment. Rebecca blushed. "Please forgive me." He pressed her hand to his heart- it was racing. "Please forgive me." He repeated, this time in a throaty purr that sent her almost kneeling beside him.
She nodded both weakly and faintly amused. This man had power; she didn't know what, but it was power. He rose from his ridiculous position on his knees. "Oh thank you. I really don't know what I was thinking. You are so...beautiful," he breathed as if in awe at her presence. She shifted her weight, unsure of how to respond. He was everything right now...he was romantic. Romance- it was like something only in novels to her until now. Now she was living it, this was her tall, dark, and handsome. She wanted to dance with him in the rain.
But she couldn't even bring her self to let him into her suite. He had offered to walk her home, she eagerly accepted, but when they stood at her door, she could not bring her hand to open it for him. He waited there, stunning smile spread across his beautiful features, but she could not.
Though she hadn't said a word, he nodded knowingly, slowly backing away and retreating back down the stone steps to her building. "I understand, beautiful one. Another time." Rebecca couldn't believe it.
"Yah're mad." She said a bit more accusingly than intended.
He shook his head and grinned. "No, far from it. I'm impressed. You earned a tremendous amount of respect from me tonight. I only hope for the opportunity to return it." He waited at the bottom of the stairs, staring up expectantly. Rebecca could not believe it. She had blatantly denied him access into her home and he still persisted.
"Ah would love to see you again," was all she could say. He nodded, grateful, and began strolling away down the cobblestone street, the ever-watching moon seeping her rays between the stones' cracks.
**
So early in the morning, when the sun still slept under the ground and the stars still reigned, a gilded mansion's candlelight glowed brightly through the cracks of the balcony and glass window frames. The manor's roof was half collapsing, with wild ivy and various flowers intertwining with the gaping holes. A stone fountain, guarded by a sad-faced, round-cheeked cherub protruding atop it, stood in the center of the front yard, consumed with over grown grass and wild flowers. The whole setting was both elegant and hauntingly beautiful at once. And inside, perhaps a dozen beautiful women wandered the three floors, all doing something of their own interest until it was time to resettle since the sun was sure to peek the horizon very soon. Sunlight was wicked. Though the number of women was undeterminable, the count of men was definite: four. Four men occupied the house, one acting as leader to everyone in it. The leader: a man with burning red eyes.
Remy LeBeau was fascinated, extremely fascinated. The woman, he had been sure, would be writhing elatedly under him, begging him for more by the end of the night. But she was not. She was at home, sleeping soundly and peacefully, undisturbed in her slumber. Remy smiled at the thought. A woman, cream-color skinned and devastatingly beautiful, had refused him; she'd resisted, bless her heart. She was pure- Remy knew that instantly the night he'd danced with her. And she was yearning for a man, but not a man to be with forever, just a man to remember forever.
All this he had gathered, but still she had politely declined his silent offer to spend the night. At first he was shocked, but shock melted into profound respect. This woman was strong, and it delighted him, aroused him, interested him. He wanted to know her, to bend her and break her- to have her on his knees for him like the others. She would be fun indeed. But it would take time. The woman was intelligent, she obviously had been trained English, for she very well knew better than to fall into just anyone's arms. Her instinct stopped her, though she craved it. He knew. He knew she wanted it, wanted him.
'Yes it won't be long, Rebecca,' Remy thought.
Remy buried the back of his head into the sitting chair, taking a sip of fine red wine from his goblet adorned with emeralds. One of the heavy oak, double-doors clicked open and a woman swooped in, half walking, half floating on the very air beneath her, an unannounced breeze somehow swirling around her, mussing the wild red mane of hair that cascaded in curls and waves to just below the center of her back. She stood before him, eyes permanently ablaze with a passion bonded into her very soul, a passion for life and love and lust.
"You rang." She said, a smile creeping across her dangerously scarlet lips. Remy noticed the slight flush of rose that kissed her cheeks and bridge of her nose.
"Your color is well. Where have you been?"
She grinned, running a pink tongue across her stark, two-curiously pointed white teeth. "The men in Florence are fabulous, Remy."
He scoffed, taking another sip of his wine. "You must do something for me, Jean."
"Anything." She said. He hesitated. She continued, sensing his thoughts. "A woman." She said simply.
His head shot up, daring her to go further, but he did not frighten her, though he was very capable of ending her life... again. He nodded, slowly. "Yes. A woman unlike any other." He paused, again prompting Jean to pry the essence of his tightly guarded thoughts.
"A woman refused you? I don't believe it." A twinge of amusement laced her voice.
"Nor could I. She was... beautiful. Her soul begged me to take her, but she refused. I could not get past the front door. She has made her self a conquest for me to dominate now." He turned to the woman. "And she has a friend."
She nodded. " A man," she stated, already knowing.
"A man," he confirmed. "Do not take him, do you understand? Do NOT create him into what we are, but possess him. Consume his mind with thoughts of none other than you. I am positive that she will be much easier to initiate if he has clung him self to you."
" I understand. You wish to lure this woman through her friend, whom I will be seducing. You believe that if he has devoted him self to me and our guild, she will have no choice but to do so as well." She stopped. "Is that correct, master?" She didn't usually address Remy as such, but sometimes she was benevolent and let him know through settle hints that she remembered whom she had to thank for being what she was: immortal, eternal, beautiful. Unlike the others in their guild, she did not have to kneel in his presence or always call him master, but just sometimes, she did.
No one was entirely sure why their master, Remy, had favored Jean. They were not in love, or even lust, but certain things he allowed her and no one else. She wasn't his first kill, or even his first woman, but he had taken a liking to her for some reason unbeknownst to anyone. Perhaps because she was smart. Most of the other women in the guild were brainless shells, good for nothing but satisfying the four men in The Circle and luring fresh blood. They were a mere step higher than the common Italian whore, but Jean and a select few of others were not. She had tactics, suave, wit. Remy respected her as well, which was saying a lot for a man who respected little.
"She must be something special, to go through this much trouble." Jean said playfully, wrenching Remy from his thoughts of Jean and focusing them on the green-eyed angel he was soon to stain.
"I just want to take my time with this one, do it right. I want her to be a permanent addition."
Jean raised her eyebrows at this. "An addition? She would be the first in almost thirty years."
He gave her a look of knowing. "Thank you, I had no idea."
Jean sneered at his sarcastic remark, not amused in the least. "Well you need to be concentrating on..."
"Don't even say it." Remy broke in. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to drain some of the tension behind them. The fifth, the fifth, I know the fifth, he thought. The Circle, his tight group of men that worked with him for the past centuries, originally had five members. But the fifth was caught making love to Remy's wife, Belladonna, and therefore they were both tied to The Pole immediately the next morning. The pole was an ugly, wooden spike protruding six feet up from where it was drilled into the ground. It stood hidden behind the wild flowers in back of the Guild Mansion, positioned directly under the beating sunlight.
Rarely was anyone seen walking by it for leisure purposes. It reminded them that if it could happen to as close a friend as Jean-Luc was to Remy, it could happen to anyone of them. It was always there, towering above all mockingly, warning, waiting for them. Their pleading screams can still be heard sometimes at night, when crickets even cease to shrill. All through the night, they begged and screamed, the very sounds of both her and his shameless tears splashing to the ground in thunderous ker-plinks. But from their coffins, Remy and his Circle and all of the women could almost hear the sunrise, and the screams of pleading-turned-pain that soon followed. It was a sound that echoed through their ears to this day.
But that was decades ago, and now, The Circle weakened without a fifth, someone to fill Jean-Luc's position. Remy did not want to think of that now, though. Instead, he turned his thoughts once more to his latest project, a curvaceous English one pure as the driven snow, but not for long....
MY NOTES*
Trust me, it gets better. Not one of those corny, eternal kiss of death things.
