The Den of Shadows Quartet (39 page)

“Perhaps.” Nathaniel glanced at Ravyn absently. “But I don’t recall anyone quite like her.”

Throughout the exchange, Ravyn’s gaze had remained on the car door. Her expression, however, she could not control.

“She’s not broken,” Jeshickah observed.

“Not quite,” Nathaniel agreed. “I thought Jaguar might enjoy that. I was going to pre sent the girls to him directly.”

“There was a time when you would have enjoyed them yourself,” Jeshickah responded. Turquoise saw Nathaniel’s expression cool to a blank, unreadable mask. The words had struck a nerve.

“Jaguar is much more qualified than I ever was,” he answered.

Jeshickah growled a rather unflattering expletive under her breath. Aloud, she added, “The little cat had talent, but I’m afraid time has liquefied his brain. I think I’ll come with you and see what he makes of this fine pair. Jaguar will certainly deal with their pride.” She sighed, and with an air of regretful practicality added, “Or he won’t, and I’ll tear out the bleeding heart
he’s developed and make him eat it.” She said the last words brightly and with a smile as she led the way toward Midnight, not even bothering to glance back to see if Nathaniel had heeded her commands.

“You two, follow,” Nathaniel ordered Turquoise and Ravyn. The tone was surprisingly similar to the one with which Jeshickah had spoken to him, and as the mercenary had obeyed, so did the hunters.

J
ESHICKAH’S BOOT HEELS
made a sharp
click
each time they struck the marble walk. Turquoise had to resist a wince at every strike; it was the kind of sound that would give a tic to anyone who had to listen to it for too long.

The imposing, carved door opened to reveal a young boy probably no older than fourteen. He started to walk outside, and then froze when he saw Jeshickah. His aborted step turned into a stumble, at the end of which Turquoise flinched to hear the impact of the boy’s knees on marble. He moved as if to stand, and then rethought the action.

Jeshickah regarded the boy as if he were a sickly dog.

“Can I help you, milady?” His voice was soft, and he kept his eyes carefully on the ground.

“Stand up and get out of the way,” she suggested. Carefully, the boy rose to his feet and slid aside, still never raising his eyes. He waited for Jeshickah,
Nathaniel, Ravyn, and Turquoise to pass before slinking after them.

“Mangy cur,” Jeshickah growled under her breath. She ignored the boy, who was following them, and spoke only to Nathaniel. “His name is Eric. Jaguar treats him like a son, gives him free rein of the building and grounds, even lets him into town when he wants to go. The creature is obedient, but spoiled.”

Jeshickah led the way to Midnight’s interior, which was slightly less intimidating, but no less elegant. An oaken panel ran halfway up the wall, where it broke into a rich jade green. A carpet of oriental design covered the floor, soft and plush enough that Turquoise could feel it through her sneakers.

Near the end of the hall, Jeshickah pushed open a door and let the party into a dimly lit room.

Long ago, Turquoise had learned that the most evil creatures in the world were frequently the most beautiful. The Master of Midnight was no exception.

Jaguar — and it could only be him — was sprawled on his back across a black leather couch, one hand beneath his head, with his eyes closed. His skin was the color of a deep, golden tan, and his hair was black, perfectly straight and long. When he stood, it would probably hang to his lower back. He was wearing soft, black pants that hugged a body that Turquoise tried valiantly not to stare at.

That was it — no shirt, no shoes, no jewelry. The whip Nathaniel had mentioned was curled on Jaguar’s chest like a black viper. His hand resting on the handle reminded Turquoise of a child with a beloved stuffed animal.

As she paused in the doorway, the vampire’s eyes
fluttered open — black eyes, like obsidian, they seemed to reflect the light cast from the lamp in the corner. They lit on Jeshickah instantly, and the expression on his face snapped from sleepy contentment to wary aggression as he stood.

Turquoise expected the two to come to blows in the moment of silence that passed, but instead Jeshickah spoke. “Have a good nap, pet?” she purred.

It took obvious effort for Jaguar to ignore her as he spoke to Nathaniel. “These the girls you called me about?”

The tension that Turquoise had seen in Nathaniel the instant he had sighted Jeshickah’s car was either gone or flawlessly hidden. He nodded, explaining, “They aren’t perfectly broken, but they’re smart enough not to give you any trouble. Besides that, they’re both healthy and fairly attractive. There’s some scarring on that one,” Nathaniel continued, gesturing toward Turquoise, “mostly on her arms, but nothing unusual.”

“Let me see.” The command came from Jeshickah.

Nathaniel had prepared Turquoise for the inspection, and so she was wearing her only tank top, over which she had thrown a cotton shirt despite the August heat. She hesitantly removed her outer layer.

The scars had been hers for nearly three years; she had hidden them for nearly that long. With only the tank top, she felt half naked.

“Whip?” Jaguar asked, frowning at the semicircle of scarring around Turquoise’s left wrist, a smooth pearl bracelet cut into her skin.

Turquoise felt the muscles between her shoulder blades tense, but she kept her eyes down. She had
already concocted the story she could tell if asked about her past. Only Lord Daryl would be able to contradict her, and she counted on his pride to keep him from doing so if the opportunity arose.

“Her first trainer wasn’t as careful as most,” Nathaniel answered vaguely.

Jaguar seemed to accept the answer. “How much for the pair of them?”

Nathaniel was in his element now. He was a green-blooded mercenary. Any fondness he had for Turquoise or distaste he held for Jeshickah or Jaguar faded as soon as the question of money was raised.

Jeshickah forestalled any bartering. “Allow me, kitten. You need a few more toys around here.” Jaguar’s glare met the nickname, but Jeshickah had already turned away from him. “Nathaniel, shall we haggle in private while Jaguar gets to know his new acquisitions?”

Jeshickah wrapped an arm around Nathaniel’s waist. They walked out together, but the contact did not appear friendly.

In the silence of their departure, tension began to drain from the room. Jaguar let out a slow breath. Vampires by nature did not need to breathe, but human habits died hard.

Without speaking, he walked around the two humans, a silent inspection. It occurred to Turquoise that they were lucky to have this job so shortly after Challenge. They both had plenty of bruises and new cuts, the absence of which would have been suspicious. Turquoise watched her new master as long as he was in her line of sight. Jaguar moved like his namesake, all
grace and muscle. His black hair was a black pelt smooth against his skin.

“Names?” he asked finally.

“Audra.” Turquoise understood Nathaniel’s suggestion not to use the name Turquoise Draka — her name was well known as a vampire hunter’s — but there was no power on Earth that could make her start using Catherine again. Catherine had been innocent, a child — defenseless prey. The memories of that girl’s life, her family and friends, were bittersweet at best.

“Ravyn,” the other hunter answered defiantly, stupidly ignoring all advice.

Jaguar gave no sign of recognizing the girl. Instead, he offered, “If you have questions, ask them now.”

“Are there any rules we should know, sir?” Turquoise could not have managed to say “milord” or “master” without choking.

She knew the one general rule of slavery: Do whatever you are told to do. However, there were always household rules; there had been many of those in Lord Daryl’s manor, most of which Turquoise had learned painfully.

“Eric will find you something to do. So long as you get your work done, you may go almost anywhere in the building. I suggest you avoid the west wing unless you plan on a little bloodletting. Beyond that, if a door is locked, you aren’t welcome.” Jaguar paused, considering. “I don’t mind intelligent conversation, so feel free to speak as you wish to me. If you bother me, I will tell you to shut up; I don’t feel the need to hit people for talking. Around others of my kind, hold your tongue. Most aren’t as lenient as I am.” These last words were
accompanied by a glance through the door which Jeshickah had passed. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Turquoise answered. Ravyn echoed her assent, though her “sir” sounded like it was spit out through clenched teeth.

Jaguar gave the girls a sharp look. “You’ll want to practice that for Jeshickah, but I’m not fond of titles. Jaguar will do just fine.”

Ravyn nodded, her lips just barely curled into the edge of a smile.

You’ll find I give few orders, especially once you get an idea as to how this place is run. If you choose to do everything I say, fine.”

“If?” Turquoise prompted. He was all but telling her that she could disobey him. “Since when has a slave had a choice?”

Jaguar laughed, a rich laugh that startled Turquoise with its warmth. “If you choose not to obey, I suppose we will discuss that then, won’t we?”

Completely shocked by the lack of threat in his words, Turquoise could not speak for a moment, during which Jaguar decided the conversation was over. “Eric, come here,” he called. The boy who had avoided Jeshickah like a beaten dog entered the room confidently. He did not seem afraid of Jaguar.

“Eric, get these two situated, and find something to keep them busy. I have other work I need to get done.” With the words, Jaguar effortlessly changed from what for a moment had seemed like companionable bantering, back to the arrogant Master of Midnight. “Dismissed, all of you.”

E
RIC CHATTERED ALL THE WAY
down the hall. “This whole building is pretty much a square surrounding a central courtyard. We’re in the northern wing now. There are a couple of shape-shifters housed here, but mostly it’s sitting rooms. There’s a seamstress, and her office is at the end of the hall, right there.” He pointed, and then led them through a dark oak door. “This is where most people sleep.” Turquoise noted his avoidance of the word “slaves,” though that was obviously who he was talking about.

The décor in this wing was just as elegant as Jaguar’s sitting room, if not quite as dark. The oaken panel and chair rail continued from the north wing, but the floors here were polished wood, and the walls textured, pale honey-beige. Sponge painted? Turquoise wondered, amused by the thought of a vampire sponge painting a wall. Though of course, human slaves would have done all the work. Lamps set in the ceiling provided a soft glow.

“Who did the painting?” Ravyn asked, apparently as curious as Turquoise.

“I did,” Eric replied proudly. “It was white before. There aren’t any windows in Midnight, so I thought something warmer would be better for the sanity of us humans. That’s my room,” he added, pointing to the first room in the hall. “And here is where you two will be staying.”

The room was simple — two stacked beds, currently unmade, sliding doors Turquoise assumed led to a closet, and an empty table. A second door was set in the side of the room.

“There are sheets folded in the top of the closet,” Eric said. “Bathroom is through that door; you share it with Lexi and Katie, who are your neighbors. Katie is the woman to talk to about clothing, toiletries, and stuff like that. Lexi … she doesn’t say much, but she works with Katie. They both usually sleep until about midnight, but after that you’ll find them either in their room or in their workspace in the northern wing. Anything else you need?”

Turquoise did have one gnawing question. “How old are you?” Jaguar seemed to trust this boy, and Eric certainly seemed to be in charge of the humans when Jaguar was not.

Eric seemed startled by the question. “Fourteen. I think. Yeah, fourteen.” After a moment, he seemed to understand what she was really asking. “I’ve been here since I was eleven.”

Turquoise felt her stomach churn.

“It’s not that bad,” he said softly. “And honestly, I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

She didn’t want to hear this. This boy was her brother’s age — the age her brother would have been, her mind forced her to remember. He was what Tommy might have become, if he had lived.

Eric must have translated Turquoise’s distressed expression as skepticism, for he continued, “Jaguar found me with the vamps that had killed my parents. He bought me; saved my life.” He shrugged. “He trusts me. And I can run this place cold.” With a half-smile that seemed forced, he added, “I’m actually one of the lucky ones. Some of the people here with different owners, they don’t even know their own names anymore.”

Turquoise understood, and did not want to know more. She had seen the human dogs Lord Daryl surrounded himself with. Only through pure luck and dumb stubbornness had she avoided becoming one of them.

Ravyn flopped down to sit on the lower bed, asking, “How many humans are in here?”

“Eighteen in the building,” Eric answered promptly. “That’s including you two and myself. Two cooks. We could use one more; can either of you cook?” he interrupted himself.

Ravyn nodded. “I can cook.”

Eric smiled, and continued, “Great. Besides them, of course there’s Katie and Lexi. Two more people work in the infirmary in the south wing. I’ll show you there later. That’s it.”

“That’s nine,” Turquoise stated.

Eric gave her a look, and then his eyes fell. “The vampires need to eat, you know.” The message was clear. “A few vamps live here permanently, and other
vampires come and go. Most of them aren’t too threatening, but you should be careful. They’ve been starting to grumble that Jaguar won’t let them treat us like they want. Jeshickah showed up about a week ago, bringing her own pair of … pets,” Eric finished, voice apologetic at the last word. “She’s staying in the first room in the west wing, and she doesn’t care what Jaguar says she can or can’t do. Be careful around her. If she hits you, don’t get up. She’s less likely to hit you again if you stay down.” With that less than cheerful advice imparted, Eric glanced around the room, double-checking to make sure he had not left anything out. “That should be it,” he finally decided. “Get some rest; I’ve got some stuff to do, but I’ll be back about midnight to show you the south wing. Oh,” he added, “meals are served at sunrise, sunset, and midnight. There aren’t enough people awake at noon to make it worthwhile to cook. Nothing fancy is made, but if you want something special, you can feel free to ask. Generally, sunset is breakfast food and the other two are dinner.”