Archangel Crusader (13 page)

Krastinios made the light dance in his dark velvet eyes as a subtle smile softened his flawless features when he approached the blonde. Perfect French with just a slight, undefinable accent would add to his exotic charm. "I love the lace of your black underwear, but Jean Patou is too light of a fragrance for your personality. You should wear Poison," he declared with a smile he made irresistible. Looking straight in the woman's eyes, Krastinios could read her thoughts vacillating from embarrassed to ashamed, to flattered, to angry.

The blonde's clear blue eyes glinted gray. Only for an instant, Krastinios thought she might slap him and briefly wished she would, but instead she answered with venom, "Insolent," then picked up her small black clutch. She stood, turned her back to him and left.

Krastinios did not try to stop her, rather he watched her walk sensuously away. As she reached the open doorway, he suddenly re-materialized on the other side and greeted her with the most winsome smile.

"Leaving so soon? I was hoping we might get to know each other." Reading her most intimate thoughts, Krastinios played with her feelings.

“
How did you do that?” The woman touched her forehead as if she felt dizzy. “I think I had too much to drink. I’m seeing things. Please step aside." She obviously tried to look offended, but Krastinios knew she secretly enjoyed his insistence. The poor creature did not stand a chance but did not know it yet.

“
I have chosen you tonight. It is a great compliment. What do you say?" He patiently waited for her response, witnessing her weighing the consequences, but the husband was away on a trip... Krastinios reveled in her absolute attraction to him and already savored the young voluptuous body with generous curves in the right places. He read as well her strong-minded temper, spoiled childish habits, propensity to have things her way. Krastinios relished the prospect of breaking her. He would make her his first Chosen.

Many others would follow. Of course, Jennifer and her beautiful mother, too, would be his before long. Krastinios had already seduced their minds. He would shield them from any outside interference. Soon, they would no longer know the difference between right and wrong, ready for him, innocently playing into the palm of his hand.

For now, this woman would do. Krastinios delighted in manipulation. The pretty blonde did not have to answer at all. He simply took her arm then smoothly guided her toward the elevator. On the way, he materialized a bottle of champagne and a bunch of fragrant red roses.

Conveniently, the couple did not meet anyone on the way to her hotel suite, as if the omnipresent staff and guests had suddenly vanished. The blonde beauty smiled now. Her manicured hand wrapped around Krastinios' arm, she fingered the supple leather of the black jacket, bewitched enough to follow him anywhere. The woman did not question him, but smiled, adoring eyes on Krastinios all the time. She did not notice how he opened the door, or that the room smelled of incense.

Krastinios hypnotized, subdued, and overcame her easily. The woman giggled and laughed then drank the champagne from a crystal glass. She moaned with anticipation while he slowly and tenderly peeled off her clothes. The sweet perfume diffused stronger waves when she offered her lips. Krastinios carried her to the bed, gorgeous in her naked state, wavy blonde hair cascading down softly.

Smiling in reassurance, he took her hand, brought it up to the brass post of the bed, then bound the wrist to it with a soft leather cuff. He gently kissed the bound wrist, slid his mouth along the arm, over her generous breasts, mouth, shoulder, and along the other arm, all the way to the other wrist that he deftly bound to the opposite post in the same fashion. For an instant, a question flitted in the woman's eyes, but Krastinios erased her doubts with a languorous kiss.

Taking his time, Krastinios explored with hand and mouth the hard nipples, then, further down, her navel. The blonde beauty moaned again while his tongue invaded a moist, warm private place, but did not resist as he gently fastened her ankles apart with soft leather ties.

As the drug in the champagne wore off, the woman slowly came back to her senses, opening wide eyes as she took in the scene. Krastinios flashed her a benign smile and gently caressed the smooth skin inside her thighs. When she responded sensually, he proceeded to slowly arouse her, from hard nipples to the soft white skin under the breasts, smooth underarms, and nape of the neck. He left no sensitive zone untouched.

"We cannot make any ugly noises now, can we?" Krastinios said in a suave voice. He kissed the slightly open mouth with passion then slowly taped it shut with wide surgical tape. Seeing the fear in the woman's eyes, he whispered, "There, there, it's all right. Now we can have a good time without scaring the neighbors."

Standing up, Krastinios walked to the table and picked one of the red roses from the vase. Walking back to the bed, he produced a dagger of hard, dull silver, carved in the shape of a serpent, the handle encrusted with gems. To test the razor-sharp edge, he sliced the rose blossom twice through the center. The scarlet petals, like tiny butterflies, flew and settled on and around the white exposed skin of the woman's body.

Krastinios then lowered himself comfortably on the bed beside her, brushed the flat of the blade against her nipples, soft belly and tender throat. He smiled at her terrified face. The smell of fear lent an edge of loving cruelty to his voice as he said, "Now, my beautiful Chosen, let me teach you what true pleasure is all about..."

*****

The next morning, Jennifer woke up to sunlight filtering through the pink drapes of her dollhouse bedroom. Breaking the silence, a bird sang outside while the smell of fresh coffee teased the nostrils. This would be a good day, she decided.

Tossing back the covers, Jennifer jumped out of bed and opened the drapes to a breathtaking, sunny view of the city. When the sliding glass door opened easily, she slipped onto the deck surrounding most of the second floor of the glass structure. The happy chatter of a sparrow attracted her attention. Perched on the branches of a potted citrus tree, it stared at her, fearlessly chirping away. Delighted, Jennifer observed it for a while, happy to be alive and wide-awake on such a beautiful day.

Barefoot, Jennifer scampered down the white-carpeted open stairs to find Tori on the purple sofa, reading the newspaper.

Tori looked up with a smile. "Good morning, little girl." She took off the glasses.

"I'm ten, I'm not little anymore. Good morning anyway."

"Sorry, my mistake. Good morning, young lady."

"Now, that's more like it."

"Would you like some croissants and hot milk with a little coffee in it, French style?"

"Is it good?"

"I like it. Would you care to try it?"

"Okay." Jennifer hardly noticed the old servant in the kitchen, until the woman set breakfast in front of her.

"Where is the rest of it?" Jennifer asked, looking at the paper lying on the couch.

"Oh, that's all of it," Tori answered. "This is a French paper, only a few pages. Just essential news. No junk."

"Whoa, this is really small. Can you read French? What does it say?"

Tori put her glasses back on and applied herself to translate the headlines for Jennifer. Suddenly she exclaimed, "My God, someone got killed at the Astoria last night!"

"The Astoria? That's where Mr. K is staying isn't it? It wasn't him who was killed, was it?" Jennifer felt uneasy, almost a feeling of impending doom.

"No, it was a woman... Oh my, what a vicious killing! She was cut into pieces alive!... But I shouldn't tell you that, you are too young. Besides, you're having breakfast..." Tori stopped then apologized. "Sorry, I did it again. No, I'm not going to treat you like a baby."

"I hope not. What did she do? Why was she killed?" In Jennifer's mind there had to be a reason.

"I don't know, but this is something about big cities you will have to be aware of. You cannot trust strangers. You have to be very careful. Paris is a dangerous place for women and young girls."

"Do they know who killed her?" Jennifer attacked her croissant with a vengeance.

"Not yet. They say it might be the work of a cult." Tori turned the page.

"What's a cult?"

"Dangerous people doing mean, crazy things."

"What for?"

"The worst of it is, they are so twisted that they believe it's the right thing to do."

Jennifer dropped the matter. Such a heinous crime so close to someone she knew made her uncomfortable. She finished her breakfast in silence then asked, "Do they have tigers at the zoo?"

"Certainly."

"Can we go to the zoo today?"

"It's a good day for it."

"I like tigers and timber wolves. Do you think they have timber wolves?"

"I wouldn't be surprised at all if they did."

Chapter Eleven

"What kind of degenerate is your best friend, my dear?" Walter seethed, raging out of bounds.

Standing in the middle of the living room, Debbie could not think of anything to say. Walter had uncovered a truth she could not deny, but how to explain the unexplainable?

"According to my sources, and they are extremely reliable," Walter went on, "Michael Tanner is a despicable character, an alcoholic who jumped bail on DUI in two different states, a brawler arrested on one count of aggravated assault with intent. There are warrants for his arrest in several western states. He frequents the most dubious establishments, rubbing shoulders with go-go dancers." Walter turned away, staring through the patio doors.

Debbie had to control her outrage. Her own sister, Becky, had been a topless dancer for a while. "I know, but he never got a chance to even start right," Debbie pleaded. She slumped onto the sofa, feeling defeated. She should have known something had gone wrong when Walter took two days to answer her messages.

"Easy excuses. He's a mean bastard, your best friend. And you are asking me to help him get exposure for a moral crusade? What kind of joke is this? I can't believe it from you. I trusted you. In fact, I thought you could do no wrong. Please, Debbie, tell me this is a mistake... Michael was only twelve when he attempted to kill his stepfather, for heaven's sake. How trustworthy can he be?"

"Please Walter, you have to understand... His childhood was a nightmare."

Walter's face, red and congested, remained immovable. "I was raised by a very strict father myself. Nowadays, they call anything abuse. I got hit, too, when I did something wrong."

Debbie boiled inside, the sensation of heat reaching her temples. She rose and paced the room, remembering her fighting spirit. "Did your report also tell you that Michael took his ten-year-old brother, Dave, away from that tyrant. At fifteen, Michael raised his young brother, working hard to feed him, providing a roof over his head and keeping him in school. Only later did he finished his own education, attending night classes at a community college."

As Walter's stubborn expression did not change, Debbie went on. "His wife and baby died when he was a teenager. Later, when his dopey girlfriend had a sick premature baby and ran away, Michael raised Jennifer himself, and very well I might say. What he needs is love, understanding, another chance at life."

Still no reaction from Walter, but if Debbie pushed a little more, maybe he would give. "Often his extreme sensitivity pushed him to the limits," she continued. "Do you know that he raised several sick kids that weren't his own? There was a little girl with cystic fibrosis, Penny. Michael bankrupted his business paying her hospital bills. When she died, at seven, despair made him swim out to sea, hoping to join her. He was rescued unconscious by a fishing boat. His bipolar personality drives him to extremes in stressful times. But all his life he tried to help others, giving a job, sharing his place with a homeless for a while, doing free carpentry work for charities that needed it, helping his neighbors and his friends when they hit hard times." There. Debbie breathed better now.

"I didn't know that, but it doesn't change anything."

"Walter, you don't understand. Michael always had love at heart, but his stepfather beat him regularly because he was smart, sensitive, different. Michael had to fight back to protect himself and those he loved. Hatred, he learned from his stepfather who, I suspect, also abused him sexually, although Michael never told me that..."

Walter remained silent, his face an unreadable mask.

Undaunted, Debbie continued. "The mother was a pretty young thing with no skills who couldn't manage by herself. She married out of desperation, keeping a cleaver under the pillow at night, just in case her husband would try to brutalize her, too." Debbie could smell her own sour sweat now and hoped Walter could not.

"I'm sorry, Debbie. Lots of people who had a difficult childhood don't break the law at every turn because it's convenient. I cannot jeopardize my career by endorsing someone I don't trust, even for a good cause." Walter turned suddenly, bumping the table, shaking the vase still containing the red carnations. "This campaign is different from simple news coverage... I would be personally involved. I just don't trust him enough. I'm not even sure I can trust you anymore. Now I wonder what else you're not telling me. Is Michael your lover? Why do you support him so unconditionally when he's on the wrong side of the law?"