Seals of Power - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Michi-chan and KazeRogue
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 4

Sarah was still angry as she poked the young lady in the back with her dagger to lead her into the right direction. But she also felt a kind of bitter satisfaction. She had found this pimp all too close to the thieves' hideout and that would prove Rem and Chatton that she was useful, that she was to take serious. She could already imagine ther two men's faces when she brought the little princess before them.

That, and the fact that she underestimated Jacqueline as easy prey, made her inattentive enough that the young noblewoman took her by surprise as she swiftly turned and pinned the girl at the floor, her own knife at her throat. And though the thief was trained, as were her reflexes, she stood no chance against the merciless attack of a former pupil of Mme Corbeau.

"You can kill me now, but it won't do you any good. Rem will be after you, and he will kill you" the red-headed girl hissed, more out of spite than certainty. Even if Remy felt enough for her to want revenge, she knew that he despised killing in cold blood. And her boss had a soft spot for women, though he would never let that get in his way during a job.

Nevertheless, the thief stared at the noblewoman defiantly, lips pressed together in a thin line to keep them from trembling and betraying her fear.

"So Rem is his name?" Jacqueline snorted in a most un-noble way "Don't worry, child" now she grinned as Sarah flinched at the title that was more of an insult. "You're not the one I came to kill."

With these words, the young lady pulled the handle of the knife over the girl's head and left her laying on the floor unconscious.

Remy LeBeau subconsciously stroke over the glass with his thumb before he packed the frame in the sack along with his other belongings. Suddenly the hut seemed too small, the air to thick and he decided to sleep outside with the rest of his band. The thieves looked at him confused as he took place next to one of the fireplaces but seeing his expression nobody dared to question him. He had chosen a place as far away from the hut and the other bandits as possible, wanting to be left alone, and the others respected his wish and left this fire for him solely.

He crossed his arms behind his neck and laid his head on them, staring into the darkness of the night and trying to give his troubled mind some rest. He watched the stars and called them by the names his father had taught him when he had been little. The stars held a strange peace for him for though they wandered he could always trust in them returning to the same place in the same scheme.

A disturbing resemblance to his life, he thought wryly. Though never steady, never at home and nowhere at peace, everything in his life seemed to rotate about the one thing that kept him going. Unwanted memories returned, unfulfilled obligations, promises unkept. This was one of these nights when one remembered, when you thought about things you had struggled to ban out of your mind.

The stars mocked him, blurring his tired vision, reforming, while two stars in the middle shined brighter and brighter every second until they changed into sparkling emeralds, while above them, the milkyway turned into a white streak. Why was he thinking about her now? Maybe because she was yet another victim in his line, another one whose life he had destroyed. Remy could too well understand the pain of losing one's father but he couldn't bear the weight of another crushed existence on his shoulders.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he hoped against hope for sleep to come this night.

Jacqueline didn't pant. She wasn't even nervous. Instead, a strange kind of numbness had enclosed her feelings while her senses were as active as ever. Silently as Irene had taught her, she sneaked closer to the guard, elegantly moving around branches to prevent any betraying noise. Even her heartbeat was quiet and steady as if not to alert the thieves. Reaching through thorny twigs with one long, slender hand, she grabbed the guarding thief with an astonishing strength, covering his mouth, and pulled into the undergrowth.

When he was bound and gagged, she crouched closer to the bandits hideout, looking for their leader. Then she saw him, aside of his gang, sleeping next to one of the numerous fires. Luckily, his fire had almost burned down what would make it easier for Jacqueline to get to him unnoticed. She followed the line of the clearing to the place where the wood was closest to the thief's sleeping place.

Suddenly her heart bumped against her chest and the air seemed heavier. Swallowing she felt her mouth drying and tried hard to keep herself calm. So this was the thrill of the hunt when the prey showed up in the line of fire. But she was trained enough to not give in to the rush, but stay careful. Removing her knife from her boot, she crawled the few yards over the

clearing to reach his sleeping form.

Lifting the knife to hold it only inches over his throat, she argued whether to wake him up to make him see his murderer and have her relish the look of his face in view of certain death or whether that would be too risky. She had no eyes for his peaceful features, untensed in sleep, for the almost dried line of tears on his cheek, for his hand that clutched to his chest as if wanting to hold something. She just saw the face of her dying father as she moved the knife closer.

Against all odds he had fallen asleep, but it was as troubled as sleeps can get. He knew that he dreamt again, about her of course. But even this knowledge wouldn't let him wake up. Or maybe it was his guilt that made him see these pictures again, punishing him for his past mistakes. That was until a trained instinct pulled him put of the abyss of his subconsciousness, the instinct of a light sleeper who had learned the hard way to be alert at every time.

While opening his eyes he felt something cold at his throat and slapped the knife away with a swiftness that held no memory to the sleep he had been in just seconds before. An instant later the surprised assailant laid under him, Remy's slender but surprisingly strong hands holding delicate wrists like iron manacles his legs pushing down at the other's legs to keep them from kicking, his hip pressing against the other's to keep the struggling at bay.

It was only then that Remy noticed the softness of the skin he held, the fragility of the bones and the tender curves of the body he was holding down. Easing his grip instantly he looked into defiant green eyes that were covered by a few stray strands of white hair to complete the almost mocking repetition of the vision he had had earlier this night. But even before the realization who had attacked him had sunk in, he felt a tender but amazingly strong knee between his legs.