The Order of the Rose Episode Eight: Double-Tasking at the Devil's PlayThings
The Order of the Rose Episode Eight:
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| Follow Me |
Double-Tasking At The Devil’s Playthings
Darria wasn’t the only one aware of Valentina’s presence at Idle Hands. Kramer felt her presence too, even from outside the nightclub while manning his station in the Rolls.
Kramer never left his post for anything when he was on chauffeur duty, unless Azreal explicitly told him that he wasn’t needed for the return. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
About an hour after Azreal and the Van Klumphs entered the club, Kramer felt Valentina’s presence. It was an intrusion into his mind against which he had no defense, nor did he possess a word for it. It wasn’t sight, and it wasn’t mere intuition; it was more like a seventh sense—something new, tangible, and deeply persuasive.
The sensation lingered, followed shortly by a tap at the driver’s side window.
Startled, he looked up and saw Darria Van Klumph. He immediately opened his door to step out and assist her. “Miss Van Klumph, will you be leaving ahead of the party, or are the others coming out?”
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| The Numbers |
“No, and I must go back in. I just came to tell you this: 69-181-4-2,” she said in a completely flat monotone. She turned on her heel and re-entered the club.
Puzzled, Kramer committed the numbers to memory, having no idea why.
Valentina was occupied in the women’s restroom of Devil’s Playthings Lounge below Idle Hands. She wasn’t merely hunting; she had her prey cornered in a stall, though she wasn’t feeding—yet.
Lucy was a young graduate student who had caught Valentina’s eye. Drinks had been bought. Smiles exchanged. Mutual attraction peaked. A subtle nod from Valentina was all it took.
Lucy had eagerly led Valentina into the stall.
“Sex before dinner whets the appetite,” Valentina murmured with a laugh.
Lucy giggled and pressed herself tighter against her, her hand traveling down Valentina’s waist. “Ooh, you’re so cold,” she whispered. “That’s actually kind of hot.”
Valentina smiled, letting Lucy take the lead. The choice was deliberate. Blood was always sweeter at the height of orgasm, and prey was far easier to guide there once they believed they had brought their partner to the edge first.
Valentina was multitasking. She knew Azreal and the Van Klumphs were upstairs, and she felt Kramer waiting outside.
While Lucy worked to pleasure her, Valentina went to work on Darria and Kramer.
She mentally commanded Darria to approach Kramer and deliver the alarm code to the Van Klumph estate, whispering to Lucy, “That’s good. A little faster.”
Valentina felt Darria complete the directive. The successful execution of a psychic command carried a distinct sensation of release—which synchronized perfectly with her own climax beneath Lucy's skillful touch.
Now, it was Valentina’s turn to steer. Lucy followed her lead eagerly; so did Kramer.
Kramer didn’t understand why, but an overwhelming compulsion seized him, demanding that he drive directly to the Van Klumph mansion. Arriving at the gates, he parked, approached the entrance, and faced the keypad to the right of the heavy door. Instinctively, his fingers punched in 69-181-4-2. An indicator light flashed green. The door clicked open.
Lucy let out a breathy moan. She was close; Valentina was ready.
Kramer navigated the dark halls, drawn unerringly toward Darren’s bedroom.
“That’s incredible,” Lucy gasped. “Even your tongue is cold.”
Valentina smiled against her skin and reached up.
Kramer slid open a drawer in Darren's bedside table.
He retrieved a small leather jewelry box.
The nails on both of Valentina’s hands extended into razor-sharp talons.
Lucy began to tremble, tipping over the edge.
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| The Heist |
Kramer extracted a pair of engraved cufflinks bearing Darren’s initials, pocketed them, and returned to the car.
Lucy let out a guttural moan just as Valentina sank her teeth in deep.
Kramer began the drive back to the club.
Valentina drained Lucy completely. Blood laced with the intoxicating hormonal cocktail of an orgasm was far too exquisite to waste.
Miles away in the driver's seat, the tension in Kramer's mind broke. Valentina felt the connection slacken, knowing the task was complete.
Kramer was startled once more by a knock at the driver’s side glass. He looked up to find Valentina standing in the alley shadow. Without thinking, he lowered the window and handed her the cufflinks.
She took them in her still-taloned fingers, turned away, and spoke a single word into the cold air: “Forget.”
Kramer blinked and glanced at the dashboard clock. It was 3:30 AM; the evening seemed to have vanished in a blur. Patrons were slowly spilling out of the club doors. He stepped out of the Rolls to assume his post, expecting his passengers at any moment.
He spotted them among a pack of young goths—laughing loudly, unsteady on their feet, Azreal included.
Kramer held the rear door open as they piled in clumsily.
“Can you believe the sheer gall of those kids?” Azreal scoffed, slumping into the leather.
Darria laughed. “They’re just kids, Az. Pretentious, yes. Melodramatic, absolutely. But they’re finding their way.”
“Calling themselves the Exalted Wraiths of the City of the Dead? Pretentious spooks, my ass.”
“And how is that any different from our Order of the Rose? Playing vampire just for an excuse to get off once a month?”
“That is entirely different.”
“How so?”
“We are the Undead.”
“Your pulse defies that statement, darling.”
Frank aka Foxxfyrre
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