Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

25 - Chapter XXV: The Dream of Kolya

The London Household. Two hours later.

Having just seduced Mr. Alexander Kerr in the most unspeakable fashion, Jacqueline, otherwise known as the forbidden fruit, was now smelling satisfied. Rewarded. Fulfilled even. She had flitted from one side of his bedroom to the other, congratulating herself with a second sojourn in his bathtub, ending it all by embarking on an absurd promenade through his wardrobe. Her clothes were still lying on the floor. Her voice was a very English and very frenetic buzz...

"...and then she sent for it, Alexander, but I swear, I never asked for it in the first place. I almost tore the thing up in front of her. I don't know why you keep her on...she really is an old prude..." The buzz suffered from a fit of husky laughter before resuming its course. "...but then I remembered those people you sometimes patronise. Is that the right word? Patronise. Can you patronise a work-house?" The buzz sighed. "Anyway, I was sure they would want the thing, no matter how ghastly, so I sent it to them. Can you imagine the nerve? A work-house sending a swathe of cloth back..."

There was a pause. The buzz was resting.

"...Alexander?"

The buzz was gaining altitude, starting to come awake again.

"Alexander, are you listening to me?"

Unconcernedly, Lucian looked up from his writing, realising only too late that the buzz was speaking directly to him, that the buzz required an answer. At the room's end, almost a silhouette in front of the fireplace, she was giving him that eye, her dressing gown open, her fingers gracefully inclined on her hips. He hated that dressing gown. It was just one of her many attempts to move in that had gone recklessly awry. Rather than take a hint, she had passively stopped moving and actively started hiding her knickers in his wardrobe. He had lost track of time, but he would wager she had been dressing for at least forty minutes. It was mind-boggling. Her only choices were the outfit she came in, the partially-ripped dressing gown or the knickers. What else did she want?

Oh yes.

An answer...

Scrutinising her, he made an unsuccessful attempt at putting some context to her question. She had been talking about...only God knew what. Something trivial. And she could tell he was not listening. Two hours into their reconciliation and already, she smelled riled. Putting down his pen and journal, he stood, walking slowly over to her...touching one of the flaxen curls at her face. Studying her face with that steady manner women assumed meant 'enraptured.' He needed to fix this...quickly. Thinking on his feet, he began to improvise...

"You know, I was thinking about you the other day..." he remarked, winding the curl about his finger, looking her in the eyes. He had been thinking about getting rid of her, but elaborating on that line was never a wise decision in front of certain women.

Immediately, her ears pricked up. "And..." she said, just short of eagerly.

"And I think..." Where was he going with this sentence? "...we should reconsider where we are going..." He kissed her ear, buying time for himself. "...in eight days' time." A swift calculation. Her date of birth as listed on the lycan registry. Let it be the right date... "A night on the town perhaps..."

She made a purring sound, her eyelashes flicking softly down, the faintest of blushes rising in her cheeks. His calculations had been correct. Temptress that she was, her ability to fake modesty was about equal to a half-naked bride dressed in grey. "You remembered," she said almost coyly.