The Huntress: Becoming a Huntress

THE HUNTRESS

**

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Coming Next

„Bonjour, mademoiselle! (Hello, Miss!)”

„Bonjour, monsieur. (Hello, Sir!)’

„Vous etes tres belle. Comment vous appellez vous?”

I shrug, bored. There are two and a half years since I live in France, and I would have said that I got used until now with these kind of exaggerated swaggering French. Nowhere near! You lose some things hard, unless you somehow manage to not lose them at all... And of course, as usual, when anybody says that I am beautiful, I am starting to piss. Because unwillingly, I'm reminded of a manly cute, blond face, with yellow orange eyes and dimples. And I don't want to give the slightest thought in that direction.

„Je suis Jean-Marc. (I am Jean-Marc.)’

Nothing could interests me less than the fact that the individual’s name is Jean-Marc. I choose to ignore him, hoping he would do the same thing. But he stubbornly keeps after me. I'm glad I no longer have much up at home.

“Quell age avez vous? (How old are you?)”

I don’t look at him not even with the corner of my eye. People are smiling beside us. The French recognize and enjoy a romantic story when they see one.

“Courage, mon ami!”

This was another guy who passes us and which encourages Jean-Marc. I rush a little my step, pissed. I respire when I can see the wrought iron fence of my house. I put my hand on the latch and I press down, glad that I can finally get rid of this irritating man.

“A moment, s'il vous plaîtes! (Just a moment, please!)”

I look at him, the more amazed. His hand was clenched around my forearm.

“Everything's alright, Patricia?”

Jean-Marc stepped back at least one step. I laugh. It is not the first time that Dom has such an effect on people. Very tall, very heavily, with dark hair, skin and dark eyes, he is now looking at Jean-Marc slightly menacing. I would like to tell him that it's not necessary for him to look ugly, because his mere appearance makes this job too well. Though I know now that even if more severe by his nature, Dom is good and gentle with those he loves, with his family.

“Oui, mon pere, tout va bien. (Yes, father, everything’s alright.)’

His eyes brighten when I tell him 'father'. Although difficult at first, over time, I could say 'mother' and 'father' to these strangers that offered me more in two years than my real family offered me in my whole life. But I do not want to think about the past. This is a definitive ending part of my life.

We both enter inside the home, not before Dom look ugly back at Jean-Marc.

Kyrya is waiting for us in the hallway, amused, and somewhat proud of.

-Another assail admirer?

Dom grouches something only he knew, but it turns out that Kyrya hears him very well, because she raises a distrustful eyebrow towards him.

“Come on, Patricia, let’s eat something!’

It's amazing how we go, for so many times, back to stereotypes. 'No matter how square the wheel is, the tide still manages to turn!’ Oho! Hoe it did turn for me! Because if you would have told me, more than two years ago, that I will come to live in luxury, I would have laughed my butt out. Yet, I have come from poverty and famine to a luxurious life

with an unimaginable ease. I can say that my life was taken away from me, and it was. In a way, it's as if I was born a second time. But as I said, I don't want to remember anything from my past. For once - because it's too painful, second - for that the same fair face crossed my mind with unwanted memories, and third - because it does not appear to me that I would be fair towards my new family.

Although they both sit at the table, nor Kyrya, or Dom eats nothing. There was no need for too much time for me to realize that the two of them do not have a normal diet. I do know that they eat, especially when they go away in the nights. I do know that they are most unusual, that is to say I do know that there's something superhuman about them, for I've seen fellow superhuman powers before, and I do know how to distinguish themselves. I don't care what they are. I admit my curiosity, but for me, they would not have otherwise, but wonderful people, exceptional beings, since the ‘human’ part would be probably too less to call them that.

“Good food!” I say, trying to break the silence.

Dom and Kyrya relate, and smile. I don't think I've ever seen such an establishment, such a link between two people, such as between the two of them. If - God forbids it! - Something goes wrong with one of them; the other would not be able to continue without the partner, without his or her soul mate. I deliberately banish the unpleasant thought of my mind.

“I hope you're ready for tonight.” Kyrya reminds me.

I roll my eyes.

“Is it really necessary?” I whimper a little, fact that disgusts me, for I really started to sound increasingly spoiled.

“Of course that’s necessary!” Kyrya answers me. “You’re not becoming 19 years old every day! Tonight we are going out to a bar  all the three of us, one in hand - because I really want to celebrate, two - I do want to go out and to have some fun, and three - because I know that Dom would prefer not to lose you from his sight for a second.”

Then she begins to giggle, while, in his own grouchy way, Dom starts to chunter under his breath something only the two of them could understand.

“No, my dear, I don't think Patricia has misunderstood you. She knows that you prefer to keep your eyes on her not because you don't have confidence in her, but because, being as beautiful as she is, you saw how many times she's been literally assaulted by unwanted and insistent attentions.”

I feel that I’m going to roll my eyes again. Me and beauty! It's as if you would say that you have seen an old woman with a bazooka on her shoulder! She sees me, as Kyrya admonishes me softly. She raised a reproving finger toward me.

“Come on, come on!” she tells me. “I know that you do not want to admit, but you're quite pretty! Otherwise, men wouldn't just hive next to you! In any case, what puzzles me is why you seem not to like even one of them. Even if Dom would not intimidate them so, I'm sure you manage all by yourself to do that!”

As a matter of fact, in a veiled way, she asks me if I like a boy, any boy. I don't care too much to answer. Of course not.

Kyrya waits for my answer for a few seconds, and then she drops the subject.

“I want us to be the most beautiful tonight!”

And so it was. At least she was. You could hardly say that Kyrya was my mother. She seems rather my sister or my friend, but certainly not my mother.

The club's full to the brim when we get there. People, dressed cool, are dancing to commercial rhythms. Strips of lights of different colors get over their faces, as whitish lines. It’s so much smoke that you could really cut it with a knife.

“Let's find a table!” Dom cried in order to cover the noise of the music. “I'll go and fetch us something to drink!”

Instinctively, people clear his way. Many male heads are back with us.

“See?” Kyrya tells me conspiratorially.”I told you that you're beautiful.”

As a matter of fact, people are staring at her, but I am not bothering to tell her that. We're both dressed in red leather tight trousers, with a same material top, and with a short, black leather jacket. I have to admit that I've done with my teenage years, and I now look like a normal woman, with forms where they should, as they should be. My hair has grown, with large curls, which are very natural. I have now learned to put some make up on my face, as I have seen at Kyrya. Yeah, you can say that we're pretty alright

Nor do we have out sits around a table, that few men encircle us.

“Bonsoir! (Good evening!)”

Nor do I or Kyrya respond.

One of them, bolder, has a sit down on the sofa, near us. A golden glaze passes through the Kyrya’s beetle-browed black eyes. This means a sure sign of irritation. Just as I know that this golden glint in her eyes can lead to broken furniture. For that it is not a first time when I've seen her angry, and then I had to replace several parts of furniture, because Kyrya tore about everything that fell in her hands.

“What are the girls doing?”

The bold one is trying to put an arm behind Kyrya’s shoulders. With virtuosity, Kyrya catches his arm, and she tightens it in a vice. The man gasps surprised.

“You should mind your own business, with your friends,” says Kyrya, “and so, everyone will be pleased with it. We will get rid of your smell, and you'll keep your limbs whole!”

“Tres bien, excuse-moi! (Very well, excuse me, please!)” the guy started to stutter. “Allons-y, mes amis! (Let’s go, my friends!)” he then said towards his friends, disappearing into the noisy crowd.

Dom is coming back with the drinks, and he slightly frowned when he sees Kyrya’s quiver nostrils.

“Problems?” he wanted to know.

She laughed.

“Nothing I can’t solve.”

Dom frowned, and he gazed the crowded room. This isn't the first time I want to have such abilities, as well, so that I can do what they do, too. To see everything at a glance, to hear every sound, every word people are saying. Because I know now that Dom and Kyrya can and do all these things. Kyrya picked up her glass.

“Many happy returns of the day, Patricia, for your 19 years!” Kyrya says.

“Happy birthday!” says Dom as well.

I feel a lump in my throat, like a fool that I am. Not that I get easily that  nervous, but this 'Happy birthday' of their own reminds me of another 'Happy birthday', said in one night, in New Year’ Eve. And the truth is that it was the last time I saw Dane...But I said that I don't want to think about the past any more. For me, 'Happy birthday' is an omen of

evil. A momentary chill goes through me, unpleasantly. We clang our glasses, and we sip. The lush taste makes me realize that Dom did not go cheap at all. On the other hand, neither he, nor Kyrya, has ever gone. Without asking them anything, they gave me more than I could ever ask for.

“Let us dance!” smiles Kyrya. “Will you come, Dom?”

As usual, Dom just grunted. Kyrya shrug.

“Come on, kid,” she then said to me, “let’s smash the dance floor!”

Her joy is infectious. Women look at us with envy. Men look at us appreciatively. Next Kyrya and Dom, I feel indeed, that the whole world is mine. We are both moving in the rhythm of the music, we may break in figures, as others vexed might say. We have fun. We both laugh, our mouths up to our ears, while multi-colored lights illuminate on our teeth that could make you think we brushed them with phosphorus. In that atmosphere, Kyrya appears to be even more unreal than she usually appear to be.

‘/As I remember her even now, just like in a film with slow motion, in which her hair moves in all directions, her body so vivid, beautiful, following a song rhythm that I only in my imagination can hear… /’

Her long and black hair moved in all directions, like a velvet curtain. Her body wound in the rhythm of the music. I have never seen and I shall never will again a such a being, full of life. I have never seen a creature to inspire me a such a real affection, as I feel for her. My heart is filled with a status which leads me to take her in my arms and to kiss her forehead, her hair, makes me to curl up in her arms as if I were in fact her daughter, and she would be my real mother. And even if s didn’t carry me in her womb, she is my mother. Because I know that she really cares for me, really loves me, a feeling that I have plenty of, without demanding me anything in exchange.

“Patricia, what is it?”

“Rien. (Nothing)” I say slowly, knowing exactly that she actually heard me. “It’s just that... I don't know... I so much care for you, for Dom…”

I can't say 'I love you'. I have never been able to do this thing before, and I will certainly not in the future I won't be able to render it. Kyrya stroked my hair, looking tearful. It is so much tenderness in her gesture, that the state of my emotion is more pronounced.

“Hey!” she says. “We came here to have fun, or what?”

I smile and I begin to dance with relish. Even if I'm rather tired and sweat begin to run on the back of my neck and down my spine, I still dance, especially when I know how much Kyrya enjoy it. Of course, she is not tired, and she is not sweating either. Isn’t that a nice thing?

“I'm getting tired." I say. “I'm going back to our table! Will you come?”

“In a moment!” she answered in the almost deafening blatancy. “I'm going to the bar to order something on the basis of caffeine for you.”

A watch how she moves away, laughing, for a few moments, and then I turn, abruptly. I crashed into someone, and I falter. If you remember, I am very high. But now, looking at the figure above me, I feel quite short. At the moment of impact, a shudder crosses me from my head to toe. I don't know if you've ever left alone in the house, and you were beginning to feel fear, and you could even hear footsteps that were only in your imagination A thrill makes my hair stands on its end. It is a thrill, but not of fear. It is not

fear was I felt, but it was a paradoxical reaction, of fascination mixed with a variety of prevention.

“Excuse-moi! (Excuse me, please!)” I softly murmur, while trying to pass him by.

“No problem!” I hear his answer.