by F. E. Arliss
“Let’s go home,” she said quietly to Saulaces as he morphed into being at her side. “I never want to see this country again, even though my name is known throughout the land. And, please, make sure Mr. Antunes never approaches another clan gathering.”
At the lift of one of Saulaces’s eyebrows, she explained. “My middle name is actually Arana. I’m named after one of the old presidents of this country.” Walking over to a blood-spattered Guatemalan flag propped haphazardly in a corner, she lifted one frayed edge. Then she extended the fabric so the symbol was more visible. “Look familiar?” she asked, using her other index finger, now healed and sporting the blood encrusted intaglio ring, to point at an emblem.
“Remington rifles!” Jin exclaimed, as he descended the stairs into the open area where they stood. “I had no idea they were on the Guatemalan flag!”
“It’s why my family had such close ties with Joao Antunes. They’ve always armed the government here and any other cause that needed arms. As I said, I never want to see this country again,” Remi repeated firmly. Saulaces stepped forward and once again she was caught against his impossibly cold, iron-hard chest, huge claws crossing over her narrow form, creating a cage of protection against the world. Moths swirled.
The stone building was empty except for three dead bodies. Officials would discover other live humans in the dungeon. One survivor who ranted about vampires, would say on his deathbed that there had been another woman there. A young woman they had called a name, “the queen.” No evidence of that would ever be found.
No one knew what had killed the two dozen people in the cocaine lab, or why the renowned Hartsel men had been killed with a prominent politician from New York in a drug lords back-jungle hideout. None of it looked good. Human trafficking is what it was put down to and a black mark that didn’t last long was struck against two of the most prominent of New York families. Joao Antunes disappeared, never to be seen again.
The Motetz Dam, on the other hand, in the world of the strigoi, had learned a valuable lesson. Less than forty-eight hours later, all the elders of the clan had been beheaded, many in their well-guarded beds. Angering an ancient clan that could teleport was never a good idea.
It didn’t pay to screw with the Colchi. They were ‘above’ now. Their queen was not the soft little human they’d imagined her to be. Any infraction would be punished.
Chapter Twenty
Peace At Last
When Saulaces had swirled Remi away from the bloodbath in Guatemala, he’d deposited her straight into her Parisian apartment. Georgie, dressed in a pair of silk pajamas and sporting a rather nattily-tied bandage around his head, was sitting on the terrace drinking a cup of herbal tea. He shrieked, dropped the tea cup, and after his initial shock, hurried to Remi’s side.
She flapped her hands at him, stopping him in stride. “No touching! I’m covered in blood and stink like dead people’s piss. Bath!” And with that, disappeared into her private quarters. Water could immediately be heard running.
Six busied himself making her another cup of tea and finally said, “Well, tell me everything!” to the stone silent mountain of Saulaces’s back.
“It was her father and brother, working together with the Lobishoman and the Motetz Dam. They’re all dead,” he added, as though that was a given.
Georgie nodded silently because, of course, it was. “Anything else I should know?”
“She’s crying,” Saulaces said suddenly. “What should we do?” He took a few steps towards the closed door to Remi’s suite.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Georgie ordered sharply, halting Saulaces in his tracks. “Girls don’t like to be interrupted while having a good cry. And why shouldn’t she cry. She’s had a super stressful day. Kidnapped, and all that, you know?”
Saulaces looked questioningly at Georgie, then added for good measure, “They cut off her parure ring as proof of life to her father.”
“What?!” Georgie shrieked, spilling hot water over the counter and then cussing like a sailor. “What did you just say?” he repeated shrilly. “Did you just say they cut off her finger?”
“Yes,” Saulaces said, glaring at the effeminate man as though he was an idiot. “They did. They cut off her finger, then threw her in a dungeon where they were holding a half-dozen other humans they were using as bleeders.”
“Oh, my gawd,” Georgie yelled at Saulaces. “Are you nuts? She should be in a hospital!”
“The finger is re-attached,” Saulaces gritted out, glaring at the gaping young man. “I helped it reattach. It’s fine.”
“Well, shouldn’t she still be getting psychiatric care or being sedated...or something?!” Georgie spat back.
Remi appeared in the doorway, her wet hair neatly slicked back. She was wrapped in a robe with the belt pulled tightly around her. “Please calm yourself, Georgie. I can’t go to the hospital. All that would sound completely crazy. Besides, Saulaces put my finger back on...she held up a hand and waggled all five fingers.
Georgie swooped over to her, pulled her into a bear hug and rocked her back and forth for several minutes. Then pulled her onto the fuschia velvet couch and demanded, “Saulaces, bring the tea.” He did.
After plying her with tea and cuddles, Georgie told her about his traumatic ordeal and waking up in the hospital with Four and his parents clustered around him. Mr. Bemis had been there too. It had been, he related, the most attention he’d ever gotten from his parents. With a snicker and a wink, he took himself off to bed as his eyelids drooped low. “I can sleep now that the concussion isn’t such a big deal,” he added, his voice slurring with weariness. “I’m glad you’re ok and that the big guy saved the day. Georgie waved a wiggly-fingered goodbye at Saulaces and then blew him a kiss as he closed the door to his bedroom.
Remi could have sworn that if the pale giant had the ability to blush, he would have. “Shall I have a nurse come?” Saulaces asked her quietly, afraid to speak too loudly in case he set off another round of tears.
“No, no I don’t think so. You’ll do,” Remi replied, then patted the seat next to her on the velvet couch.
Cautiously, Saulaces settled his enormous length onto the human-sized sofa. It didn’t even creak. Good quality, he thought.
Remi nudged his elegantly wool-draped arm up onto the back of the couch and then nestled into the side of his long, well-tailored, high-necked jacket. Within minutes, she was fast asleep, not even minding the weird smell of must, mold, and oud that always exuded from Saulaces form. For now, it was the smell of safety and comfort.
Unsure of what to do, Saulaces sat there. For hours. Not minding a bit.
The End
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