The Travels of Dominique Ch 1

Pulling her long wool coat around herself, Dominique shivered at the cold of the Canadian winter. 'Damn,' she thought to herself, ' I need to get into the sun. How can a person live like this? All these clothes...How can a person think with so many clothes on?' The long wool coat is the only concession she could make for the weather. Underneath, she wore a chocolate brown leather halter and miniskirt, and her stockinged legs ended in ankle boots that exactly matched the color of the outfit. Having seen the newspaper, she just knew Jarod was going to be moody. Death affected him so strangely. The only death she have ever truly been affected by was her first one...

The sun was beating down fiercly. She had been given a bowl of chocolate to drink earlier, a rare treat for those not of the royal line. She knew, as she drank it, that there were drugs in it. They weren't really necessary, but she was greatful at the thought that had gone into it. This was the day she had been preparing for as long as she could remember. She had been taught, and trained, and well guarded so that she would be acceptable as tribute to Tlaloc. Today was her day of destiny. She felt the drugs beginning to flow through her, dulling her senses. She was being taken out into the hot sun, and could hear the murmur of the crowd. She wished she could focus more clearly, but everything seemed to be happening from a great distance.

She is being half carried, and half walks by herself, up the long steps of the temple. Up to the very top. The steps are made so that climbing up is easy, but you have to know the secrets of the temple to easily and safely make it back to the ground. She did not know these secrets. They are not necessary for her. Time seems to no longer mean anything to her. The sun is on her skin, and she enjoyed the feel of it. Suddenly her cloth dress is ripped from her body. It is not unexpected, so it did not frighten her. She is beyond being frightened at this point, anyway. Feeling the heat of the sun beating down on her breasts, she looks up to the statue of Tlaloc just above her. The tears in his eyes are as water for her soul. Her death will ensure the rains so necessary for the corn to grow. There is a sudden flash as the obsidian blade rushes toward her. The pain of its entry is intense, and immediately clears her fogged mind. Suddenly, everything comes into sharp focus. A scream rips out of her, try as she might to keep it in. She feels her ribs being spread apart, and the darkness begins to hover just at the edges of her sight. The pain of her beating heart being cut from her body is indescribable, and she knows that she will have just enough time left in life to experience the smell of her own heart being thrown into the fire. She looks at the priest holding the still beating organ, and can hardly believe that it is truely her own heart. As the blackness begins to close over her, the heart is burned. 'Yes,'she thinks to herself, ' it must be my last experience before coming before Tlaloc...'

With a gasp, she sits up, everything coming again into clear and sharp focus. The pain, however, is gone. She reaches a hand frantically to her chest, and the wound is gone. Her heart is still beating under her hand. How could this be? She looks up at the shocked face of the priest, his hands, and the obsidian dagger still showing the blood from her execution. A shocked silence fills the crowd, and then the murmurs...

The murmuring of the crowds began somewhat hushed. Then they became louder, more insistant. She had been sacrificed. She had died. Her heart had been cut from her body and burned. Her soul had been assigned to Tlaloc. How could it be that she was sitting there, looking around? The emotions turned quickly. The first was puzzlement. That gave quickly to fear, and fear to anger. There had to be a reason for this happening. What did it mean? What would it mean for the rains? Rains that were so desperately needed. Was Tlaloc showing his disfavor by rejecting her? Acting quickly, the Priest whisked her inside the temple. She was shocked. No-one but the Priests and members of the royal house ever step foot in there. The room was small, and the gold on the walls was highly decorative. Before she had a chance to take any of this in, she was whisked out of that room and deeper into the structure of the temple. She was lead down a steep staircase, one that turned back on itself to allow you to walk down comfortably. When they were again down to the ground level, she was taken outside.

The crowd was being addressed by another Priest atop the temple, so their attention was still at the top of the temple. The murmurs were continuing, but the volume had begun to decrease. She was taken to a public room, but the door and windows were secured, closing out the light. The heat has become stifling, and sweat trickling between her still-naked breasts. Quietly, the Priest handed her a dress, and she slipped it over her head, greatful for his thoughtfulness. Then his voice breaks the silence.

"I had heard of ones such as you, but had not thought to see one in my lifetime."

His words sent a shockwave through her. Ones such as she? What did he mean? Before she could ask the question, his voice continued on.

"The old histories speak of those who are chosen by the gods for special duties. Ones with the strength to survive death, to go forward to do the works for the gods, to gather the energies from others such as yourself. You must be trained, though, and to do this, you must go from here."

She at last found her voice, and had a question that must be answered.

"If there are others such as myself, how is it that no-one has heard of it?"

"Because the superstition and fear of the people will not accept some truths, even when they can be proven over and over. I do not know all that you must be taught, but I know of someone who can help. You must

trust me..."

A gust of chilly winter air swirled around her again, traveling up under her coat to touch her legs, making her shiver, and bringing her back to the present. Looking at her watch, she realized that if she didn't hurry, she wouldn't make it to that cafe he is so found of, and that would cause an argument. While she did that occasionally just for the fun of it, this is the first time we have seen each other in about six years, and they had much to speak of. Hurrying on, she quickly reached the cafe, and saw that Jarod was just being seated by the waiter. She saw him look up, and recognizing her, waved. Holding the coat closer to herself, she made her way through the crowd to where he was now seated.

"You could not have perhaps taken a table inside, Jarod? Just this once? Just for me? How in the name of the Gods can you stand this cold?"

"Ah, but Dom my love, with you around, the blood boils. The chill air is meant only to keep my passions at a simmer so that rational thought is possible." Smiling at Dominique, Jarod stands and pulls her hand to his mouth, at the very last second turning it to place a soft kiss on her wrist. Then stepping back, he pulls the chair out for her so that she could sit comfortably at the table.

"Ah, Jarod, what a tease you are. Is that any way to greet someone you haven't seen in so many years? And after I come such a long way, to this miserably cold place, just to see you?"

Putting her hands on the back of the chair he had pulled out for her, she leaned over it to give him a long kiss on the mouth, moving her mouth as the kiss broke to nibble on his ear. As she did so, her coat gaps open, revealing her outfit underneath. As she drew back, she saw that several men were eyeing her with interest. Bah, what interest are they? Mere mortals, more often than not below contempt. Pulling off the coat, she shivered again. Sitting down, she folds her arms in front of her.

"If coffee is the only way that you are going to offer to warm me up, then just make sure that it is not mocha. You know I have no stomach for chocolate."

"Dom, don't you think after all this time, I know better than to buy chocolate for you?" With a wry smile, he motioned to the waiter hovering just in the background and places the order.

As he makes the order to the waiter, she looks around the cafe. It was one of his favorites, and she had to admit that the food was excellent. The only two draws that this place had for her were Jarod, and the food.

The centuries that the French had been here had left a definite mark on the food. "The years seem to have been kind to you, Jarod. I am very happy to find that you still have that handsome head on your shoulders. I

would hate to have to hunt down the one that takes your head. It would remove one of the few joys in my existance."

Looking across the table at Dominique, her slight figure a camoflage for unbelievable strength, amusement filled his eyes, and he chuckled softly.

"Still so very blood thirsty, little one? Ah, how I wish I had known you before the harshness of our reality stole the softness from your soul."

"And just what is it about me that makes you believe that there was ever any softness in my soul, Jarod?"

The coffee arrives, hot and black, and Dominique wraps her hands around the mug gratefully, nearly gulping down the hot liquid in her desire to feel the warmth begin to enter into her.

"Within the hearts of men, my love, all women have a softness that they keep close to themselves, and share only with that one special man."

Dominique arches an eyebrow at Jarod, her lips twisting in a wry smile.

"Men look for softness, Jarod, and women for something just a bit hard."

Hearing her words, Jarod threw back his head and laughed, then he held out his hand to Dominique, watching as she put down the mug, now empty. The coffee had warmed her just enough to thaw out the fingers she now placed within his hand, and Dominique looked up into his eyes, which were filled with mischief. Standing, she allows him to place the wool coat over her shoulders, sliding her arms into the sleeves and hugging its warmth to herself.

"Why is it only you that I am unable to say no to? No matter what we do to each other, you and I always end up together again. Have you ever stopped to count just how many times we have killed each other?"

She hears him chuckle as eyes swing toward them, and feels him put his hand under her elbow.

"You silly thing, you hate it so when I call you little one, and yet you have never learned to guard your tongue." As he whispers these things in her ear, and she shivers at the feel of his breath on her neck.

"What do I care of their opinions of me, Michelle? The only opinion that ever mattered to me was that of my chosen God, and he chose to reject what I offered to him."

She could not keep a note of bitterness from entering her voice, but shook it off.

"Enough of this talk, Jarod, what shall we do to enjoy ourselves? Should we take a tour of this city you love so well, or should we make our way back to your beautiful home, and even more beautiful bed?"

Sliding her arms up around his neck, she rose up on the balls of her feet, rubbing her body against his as she does, pulling his head down so that her lips meet his. She felt his arms wrap aroud her, pulling her even closer to him, his hardening cock telling her that she had managed to attract his attention. Her open lips meet his, and their tongues danced together in a firey joining. She felt one of his hands grasping the back of her head, as he ground his lips into hers, their teeth clicking together as they fought to get closer, and still closer. The taste of him was intoxicating to her, and she felt herself trying to push even closer to him, her body responding to his..

"Excuse me, sir..."

It was the voice of the waiter, holding out the check for their coffee, left forgotten on the table. As reality began to regain its hold on Dominique, she glared at the man, but Jarod only laughed, and took the check.

"Dominique, darling, the poor man is right. This is not the place for such displays. Let the poor man live, and let us be on our way."