While packing my bags Friday afternoon, I kept remembering the odd dreams I'd been having. I hadn't mentioned them to Alfred. I felt like I'd dumped enough of my personal baggage on him lately. However, I planned to tell Kat as soon as she picked me up. I'd had the same dream twice, so I thought I should pay attention to it. There was more than one reason I'd accepted my friends’ advice. In the dream, I was going out, and Kat was with me. We were in a club I'd never seen before, in a place that was not familiar to me ... and there was a man. I knew him in my dream, though, for the life of me, I could not remember him when I woke up. The more I concentrated on seeing his face, the cloudier the image became.
When Kat arrived, I threw my bag in the back of her SUV.
"You're only taking one bag?” She looked like I'd just committed a crime in broad daylight.
"Why? How many are you taking?"
It had been a stupid question. I looked at the many color coordinated cases beside my own simple black leather bag and gave her a questioning look.
"Well, one is just shoes,” she said, as if that explained everything.
"We're only staying one night."
"I couldn't make up my mind!” She laughed.
"Let me say goodbye to Alfred. He's probably forgotten I won't be here tonight. Most likely would have called in a search party before he remembered."
She laughed, shaking her head as I went back in the house. I found Alfred walking down the stairs, looking confused. “There you are. I was just looking for you. I meant to tell you—Kathryn called, she's running late."
I smiled. “She's already here, Al."
"Oh. Well, I guess that explains why you weren't upstairs."
I laughed as I reached to hug him. Like I said, Alfred and I didn't have much physical contact, I just felt like hugging him. He had been a comfort to me in the past few days, and I appreciated him.
He smiled at me. “Well, I feel special."
"You should. I'll be back some time tomorrow."
"Try to relax, have fun. The world won't stop if you forget to be miserable for a few hours."
"Is that advice or doctor's orders?"
"Doctor's orders.” He laughed.
As I was buckling my seat belt, Kathryn looked at me and shook her head, tut-tut ting me under her breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"If you've got something to say, say it."
She took a deep breath, “I don't understand why you're still broken up over some loser when you're living with a hot Italian.” Kat giggled at the expression on my face.
"Alfred?"
"Yeah, Alfred. You've know him for what, fourteen years now, and you never noticed the man is sexy?"
I shrugged. “I just don't think of Alfred that way."
She was so busy giving me ‘the look’ that she nearly missed her turn. Once we were safely on the right road, in the right lane, she said, “Well, maybe you should."
"Should what?"
"Stop being difficult! You know damn well what I mean. I just can't believe that a hopeless romantic, a poet for Pete's sake, and an Italian, who are notoriously romantic, have been living in the same house for seven years now, alone, and they're not getting in it on."
My jaw dropped. “I think I've been a bad influence on you,” I said.
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
"When I suggested that you listen to some mellow R & B—"
"Stop avoiding the subject. You've noticed, or it wouldn't be so difficult for you to talk about."
The ‘subject’ was beginning to wear thin on my nerves. “It is not difficult for me to talk about. I just have nothing to say, that's all."
Kat looked like she didn't believe me, but figured she wouldn't get any further. “Whatever you say. You know, in some cultures, sex is considered therapeutic."
I couldn't help but laugh. “It is not."
"Sure it is."
"Where?"
She snickered. “I'll think of somewhere. Personally, I'd use any excuse to get into the good Doctor's pants."
"Kathryn!"
"What? It's all your fault. I was a normal, upstanding citizen before I met you."
"Liar."
"No, really, I was. I would never have said something like that four years ago. I might have thought it, but then again, you've influenced my thoughts, too, I think."
"You think I've influenced your thoughts? Bit redundant, don't you think?"
"Give me a break. I'm trying to concentrate on not running into a ditch."
"No. I believe you were concentrating on getting into Alfred's pants."
"Oh, not for me. I was concentrating on getting you into Alfred's pants."
I admitted to myself that Alfred was handsome, and I had noticed. But I honestly had never thought of him ... intimately before. I could have slapped Kat for putting thoughts into my head that did not need to be there. Alfred was my friend. He'd worked with my father ... I could not be attracted to him. It would complicate things I didn't need complicated. My life was messed up enough as it was. After a few minutes, I came up with an excuse I thought would get Kathryn off my back.
"He's too old for me, even if I did find him attractive."
"No. What is he? Thirty six, maybe?"
"He's fifty."
I enjoyed the look of utter disbelief on her face, raising my eyebrows as if to say, See, I was right.
"I knew you guys lived longer, but damn. I had no idea. He looks thirty something.” She pressed on, undeterred. “Oh well, what's the expression, ‘age ain't nothin’ but a number?’”
I laughed, “You're sick."
"Possibly."
"This is off the subject, but I want to ask your opinion about something."
I told her about the strange dream I'd been having, doing my best to not leave out any detail.
"And there was a man there?” she asked.
"Yeah."
"But you didn't know him?"
"I knew him in my dream. I just can't remember his face once I wake up."
"You know what this sounds like?” she smirked.
"I'm afraid to ask."
"You need to get laid."
I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you've got issues."
"Maybe, but I know hormones in overdrive when I see them."
"I know a pervert when I see one, too."
"Takes one to know one."
I decided to not argue the fact. When it came to extracurricular thoughts, my mind wasn't in the gutter, it was the gutter.
* * * *
While we were getting dressed that evening, Kat took the opportunity to pick on me further for my eccentricities. She wore a short black dress and sensible low heels, not too dressy, not too casual. She'd fit in most anywhere.
My outfit on the other hand was ... different. If I was going to go out, I wanted to be able to be myself. I wore tight low cut leather pants, combat boots with a heel, and a slinky black shirt that was open only enough to reveal my spine from the bra line down. I'd been careful, as always, to cover my scars. There were some things I just didn't feel like explaining. The only color I wore was my red hair and silver belt buckle. I felt more confident in black. The leather was just a fetish of mine.
I suppose Alfred had thought Kat would be responsible and keep an eye on me. Yeah, right. We went to a few places. Mostly, Kat drank a lot and watched me dance. I love to dance. It's such an incredible stress reliever. There are some times when stress just calls for physical activity. I'd worked out so vigorously over the past few months that I'd lost ten pounds. But, I was sick of making my punching bag suffer defeat, or slicing and dicing my poor steel dummy in the training room. I needed to do something less violent to calm my nerves. I needed to dance.
It was very late, or very early, depending on how you want to look at it, when we arrived at the last stop of the night. This club was unusual, to say the least. Three bold letters splashed above the door in massive blood colored brushstrokes said,
Red. The moment I saw it, I knew this was the place from my dream, and somewhere inside was the man I'd been dreaming about.
The inside of the place was dark, with occasional flashes of strobe lights illuminating a path through the crowd of sweaty, gyrating bodies. When I say the music pumped, I'm not using a figure of speech. You could feel the rhythm in your chest, like a heartbeat. Like really good sex, the pounding music rattled your teeth. The whole room pulsated with an energy I couldn't describe. It excited me.
In the time we were there a variety of music was played and a variety of people were on the dance floor. Some who could dance, others so drunk they thought they could. Kat made her way over to what may have been a stage, but it looked more like an elevated part of the dance floor. She sat at a table there to enjoy watching some drunk guys trying to dance.
"Free entertainment,” she yelled, pointing at the staggering group.
I yelled back that I'd be at the bar for a while and made my way back through the crowd. I sat on one of the tall leather barstools and ordered a cola and rum. Unfortunately for me, it took a great deal of alcohol to get me drunk and right then I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in the wonderful haze of intoxication. I metabolize alcohol at such a fast rate that I can get a buzz, sit down to watch a movie, and be completely sober halfway through. Kat saw my high metabolism as a gift from God, until I told her how fast I burned off alcohol.
"No one could ever take advantage of you,” she'd teased, looking scandalized.
I tried explaining to her there are ways of intoxicating the senses besides alcohol. She'd grinned and said, “Yeah, but I haven't had sex that good in a while.” That wasn't exactly what I'd meant, but I thought explaining would have been a waste of time.
I stayed at the bar for at least twenty minutes, eventually downing straight shots of rum. The whole time I was there, I sensed someone watching me. I put down my tenth empty shot glass and focused for a moment on the eyes that I could feel on my back. Even through the haze I'd managed to accomplish I knew a werewolf when I sensed one. My heart fluttered, my pulse quickened, and I was suddenly short of breath. It was almost like being aroused.
Someone leaned over me just as there was a brief pause in the music and whispered against my right ear, “Would you like to dance?” His scent was thrilling. He smelled clean, like soap mingled with aftershave, and underneath it all, there was the undeniable scent of a man. I turned enough to see Marco Barak.
"Hello, Red,” he smiled.
I wondered if he'd been waiting till I got drunk enough to accept his offer. I hesitated for a moment, just looking at him. I might have to kill this man one day. But that night, I wanted to dance. I took his hand and led him onto the dance floor through the crowd, and onto the raised platform in front of Kat's table. We danced for what felt like hours. I suppose you could have called our dancing foreplay. I know many women consider dancing a metaphor for sex. If that's true, then my God, this man danced well.
Time stood still as we moved together. The touch of his body against mine sent fire through my veins, like small jolts of electric sensuality. I was vaguely aware that Kat had taken out her camera and was snapping pictures between the flashing lights. The room seemed to freeze with each flash, giving me unforgettable mental images. Marco wore black leather pants and a matching shirt that felt smooth to the touch. We looked as if we'd dressed to match.
His hair that I remembered as a dusty brown had darkened over the years. Through the rain a few weeks ago, I couldn't tell. After all, everything is darker when it's wet. But, his eyes were the same deep chocolate brown I remembered. I noticed a light stubble on his chin, as if he'd forgotten to shave, and the beginnings of side burns. Have I mentioned how fond I am of men who look like they've been roughed up a little?
He pulled me close and asked, “What are you thinking?"
"That you're a good dancer.” I paused, looking him up and down. “It's difficult to find a man with such ... rhythm.” I looked into his dark eyes and saw a passion which could only be described as hunger.
"I was seriously considering asking you to leave with me,” he confessed.
"I was considering doing just that."
He didn't seem as surprised as I'd expected. “Are you here with someone?"
"A friend."
"Are you attached to someone in any way?"
"Yes,” I lied. “Are you?"
"Yes, but I'm beginning to regret my choices,” he answered.
He pulled me near, as if to kiss me. Stopping just short of contact, he breathed against my lips, “Let's get out of here."
"Let me tell my friend I'm leaving. She's really drunk and is going to need a cab,” I explained.
"Does she know me?” he asked.
"Yeah, she knows who you are."
He paused, as if trying to figure out how to word his question. “I mean, does she know—"
"What you are?” I interrupted.
He nodded.
"Yes. She does,” I said simply.
"Will she tell on you?” he asked.
"No."
Stepping down from the platform, I walked to Kathryn's table and tried to explain that I was leaving with Marco. She was very drunk and couldn't seem to grasp what I was saying. I handed her some money. “You go back to the hotel, don't take anyone with you, and lock the door. Understand?” She nodded, but still had a blank look on her face.
"But ... isn't he....?"
"Yes,” I interrupted, “He is."
She looked around me at Marco. It was obvious what she was thinking. She looked him up and down like he was on a buffet and she was starving. “Oh ... alright then.” I gave her a look that said this was not up for discussion. “How long will you be?” she asked.
I glanced back to Marco waiting patiently and let my eyes roam over all of the places I'd like to put my hands. “This might take a while,” I answered.
We made our way back through the crowd and stepped out onto the sidewalk. I followed him to his car. We arrived at his hotel and wasted no time getting to his room. There was a straight backed chair in the corner which looked perfect for what I had in mind. I stood the chair in the middle of the room and indicated that he should have a seat. Marco looked very pleased with the way the evening was turning out. I pressed him back into the chair as I straddled his waist. The sound of our leather pants creaking together turned me on.
"I'm not really into one night stands,” I said.
"I was planning to keep in touch."
"Why bother? You're already having me followed."
"You can't pretend not to feel what I felt when we danced.” He paused. “And I'm not talking about a hard on. Say what you will, but we'll never be here again ... this exact place, with this precise opportunity."
"So, you'd like to screw my brains out, then get to know me?"
"Something like that."
I could no longer control my urge to touch him. I ran my hands along the taut muscles of his arms as I kissed him. His skin felt hot, almost fevered beneath my touch. I could feel his hands on my thighs, caressing me through the leather. I ran my hands underneath the short sleeves of his shirt so I could grip his shoulders. Ever so gently, I ground my hips against him. He growled in response, a deep, primitive sound. What I felt for Marco was raw, animal.
"Fuck,” I whispered as I drew back.
"I was getting to that,” he said.
I got up and walked over to the small purse I'd carried with me that evening and took out two sets of handcuffs. I saw the surprised smile on his face as I turned around. One set of cuffs was connected by a long chain. Marco sat quietly as I cuffed his legs together, and cuffed his hands through the bars on the back of the chair. Once I'd sufficiently subdued him, I took a seat, again straddling his lap.
"Did you try to have me killed?” I asked.
He didn't seem to immediately follow the change in subject.
"Huh?” He struggled briefly. “These cuffs are silver,” he looked angry.
"Yes, they are, very observant of you."
"Do you always carry silver handcuffs in your purse?” he growled.
Leaning into him, I decided to take a page from Alfred's book as I whispered, “This is not my first time.” To my surprise, he laughed. He was trying to appear calm, but I knew better. I wasn't sure how much he knew about me or my psychic ability. However, there were things I could sense that had nothing to do with my mind, and everything to do with the body of the man I was sitting on.
I brushed my face against his, like a cat, enjoying the way his stubble felt against my cheek. “Mmmm,” I purred, “You smell good."
"What do you want?” he gulped.
"I want what every woman wants, a man you can trust."
I wasn't lying when I said Marco smelled good. Oh, this was beyond good, it was down right appetizing. Continuing to rub my cheek against him, I pressed my lips to the soft skin just beneath his earlobe, placing my nose near his hair line. I wanted to remember his scent. I could feel his pulse beating faster beneath my lips as I moved in a trail of kisses, down to the curve of his collar bone.
"If we're going to do this, the least you can do is let me use my hands,” he struggled against the cuffs.
"Oh, we're not doing anything. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you're going to give me what I want."
"Which is?"
"Answers, Marco. I want answers."
"Suppose I don't...?"
"Then I'll be forced to kill you,” I said as I licked across the pulse in his throat.
Much to my delight, he gasped before answering. “You'd kill me, but you touch me like this? I don't think so."
I pulled back to look into his eyes and found them to be a rather unfocused werewolf amber. It should have frightened me, I suppose, but I thought it was sexy as hell. Moving forward, as if to kiss him, I hovered just above his lips. “Please ... don't suffer delusions, Marco,” I whispered seductively. “Just because I like to play with my food, doesn't mean that I won't eat it.” I sighed and watched as it made him shiver. “Now, I believe you were about to tell me why you tried to have me killed?"
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