Vampire Mistress (7 page)

When he sneered at that, her voice remained even, despite her obvious disadvantage. “The fact that one of my associates is a vampire is irrelevant, as it is to any patron of Atlantis. This is my club. My decisions, my choices.”

He could do it, break her neck in less than a heartbeat. She wasn’t even lifting her hands to defend herself, simply hanging in his grip, but her lack of fear was a defense strategy all its own. She was so pissed off, it penetrated his suspicions. “Let me go,” she repeated. “Right now.”

He held her gaze another long minute; then, with an oath, he dropped her, drawing back as if he’d touched poison. She rocked back on her hips, but recovered her grace quickly. Rising, that mask in place, she didn’t even bother to pick up her oil-stained clothes, no attempt to shield or protect herself superficially. As she turned away from him, walked toward the wall panel, his gaze latched onto the taped square of gauze on her back. There was a bloodstain in the center where the wound had been aggravated. Now he knew why she’d changed shirts. He remembered them hitting that alcove together, her shoulder leading the way.

Fuck, he hadn’t even thought about it. He’d hurt her, and she’d . . . He gritted his teeth. She was a vampire’s bitch, probably took worse from him. It didn’t mean shit. It shouldn’t bother him, but since he couldn’t avoid the truth that he hadn’t known about her association with vampires then, it meant he’d carelessly hurt a woman in his need. Something he would never,
ever
do.

Reaching the panel, she flipped a switch. The camera lights flickered back on. When she pressed another button, he heard the latches releasing the collar and remaining cuff. The sound was loud in the silence. Gideon pulled them away from his body and stood, facing her.

“You’re free to use the locker facilities to wash off the oil and get dressed,” she said. “There will be a cleaning crew coming to prepare the chamber for our next guest, so please don’t linger. When you’re dressed, stop at the accounting office to pay your bill for the room damages.”

The frost in her voice, the cold detachment in her gaze, penetrated his own anger, made him want to howl. Ask questions. “Why are you with him?”

“I’m not with anyone, Gideon. I think you’ve demonstrated why I’m not. I saw something in you that convinced me to cross the line. It was a mistake, as it always is.” When she drew in a breath, her nostrils flaring, he saw her consider him, an inch at a time, from head to toe. Where her gaze had been appraising earlier, as if she were caressing him with every movement of her thick lashes, now it was clear she was doing a far different type of evaluation. “Chantal was right. You don’t belong in a place like Atlantis. This is for people who have the courage to reach for something more than what they know.”

She turned as Madelyn entered from the staff door. The woman looked neither left nor right, holding out a robe. The Mistress slid her arms into it, regal as a queen. Madelyn placed another robe on a hook, apparently for him so he wouldn’t have to stride naked through the hallways to the locker area, or put his street clothes over his oily skin. He didn’t give a rat’s ass. The shirt was ruined anyway.

Madelyn drew the sable hair out of the robe’s collar, let it fall. Despite himself, Gideon couldn’t help a twinge of lingering hunger.

Now that he was free, his mind was considering the possibilities. He was the one who had come here initially. He hadn’t been lured. It was possible that she might be telling the truth, that who she spent her time with had nothing to do with his presence here. It didn’t make him any less wary, because she obviously knew who and what he was. A vampire knew of his comings and goings here, but for whatever reason, the vamp hadn’t taken advantage of it.

Nevertheless, probably proving how stupid he was, he couldn’t stop the ache in his lower belly at what he’d just denied himself. He’d get over it. It didn’t really matter, because it would have been an illusion. Right?

“What’s your name?” he demanded.

“You don’t have the right to ask me any questions. ‘Mistress’ was more than sufficient, and more than you deserved.” Her gaze could freeze tree trunks, let alone his shriveled libido. “Good-bye, Gideon. Don’t come back here. Since you are determined not to accept what you need, I hope that you at least get what you want.”

“What the hell do you think that is?”

He hadn’t meant to ask the sudden, desperate question. He expected the same smart-ass retort she’d given him earlier, about him already knowing the answer. Of course, the way he’d asked, he might also get another fuck-you look and nothing else, but she surprised him. As she glanced back over her shoulder, her face remained carefully expressionless.

“Death. While fighting the fight you have allowed to consume your soul.”

6

I
T was surreal. What had happened in the past few minutes, and what he was doing now. Maybe he was slipping, because in a similar situation he would have scooped up his things and beat it out of there, his surroundings no longer known or trusted, infected by a vampire presence. Instead, he went to the damn showers. He was covered in oil like a greased pig, and he didn’t have many clothes to his name, as he’d told her. He had to travel light, after all.

When he reached the shower area, which he was relieved to find was vacant except for himself, an Atlantis staff T-shirt had been left for him. Black and in his size, with a vellum card perched atop it with his assumed name.
Compliments of Atlantis, for Mr. Jon Smith
. Picking it up, he brought it to his nose. New T-shirt, straight-from-the-factory smell. Disgusted with himself, he balled it in his fist. Of course it wouldn’t smell like her. One of her lackeys had brought it, and why should he want her scent, anyway? She was a damn vampire groupie.

He’d run into a few of them, but they were always marked. Vampires were a secretive lot, and they usually didn’t permit anyone in their inner circle who wasn’t blood-linked to them. Despite what she said about not belonging to anyone, she was likely carrying one or two marks from the bastard.

He stepped into the shower, let the spray rain down on him. Second shower of the night. First to wash off blood, now to wash off . . . Hell, he didn’t know what to call it. Another form of damnation, maybe. His cock was pissed as hell at him, so close to the golden gate before his mind had fucked it all up. But he couldn’t stomach the idea of sliding into her, having his balls or any other part of his anatomy brushing against that mark, where
he’d
suckled her. Or fucked her. Of course, if he hadn’t smelled the evidence of male seed, he’d say it could be a female vamp. She was hard-core, and she had issues with men. That flicker in her eyes when he’d been above her had told him. She didn’t trust a male easily, if at all.

But in those few suspended moments, it was as if they both shed everything they’d built around themselves, and offered something different to each other. The people they wished they could have been, or who they’d been before everything else in their lives had happened. When he’d put his arm around her waist, and she’d brushed her lips against his, it had been just the two of them.

And an unseen vampire. With a snarl, he ducked his head under the water and resolved to get the hell out of there. It was all bullshit.

Anwyn poured herself the brandy and sat back to look at it. The swirl of amber liquid glittered in the candlelight of her retiring room. It was an old-fashioned concept, the retiring room, but she liked it. A place for a lady to go collect her thoughts, be by herself, unmolested. She lifted her gaze to the empty chair across from her as if it belonged to an unseen guest. Only in this case, the brandy was the only guest, an unwelcome one. But occasionally she needed this lesson, this reminder. She really needed it tonight.

Picking up the glass in a decisive movement, she brought it to her lips, tipped it. The liquid burned, but she swallowed hard and fast, taking in the smell, the memory. She was gagging by the last swallow, but she managed it, slamming the heavy crystal down and coughing.

You did not consume me. I consumed you, turned you into one of my strengths. I consumed my enemy, consumed his power.

She’d resisted the desire to have the shower footage sent to her room so she could watch him bathe, see his angry movements, the frustration that fueled every inch of his enticing, powerful body, the furious blue eyes. What had happened between them, in the Queen’s Chamber bathing area, had been unexpected. But when he’d surrendered to her, to whatever she would do to him, something in her heart had bled. She’d surrendered as well. It had been too long since she’d allowed herself that.

When he wouldn’t open his eyes after she removed the blindfold, just reached out for her, touched her with trembling hands capable of such deadly force, she’d heard the click of connection. A bond had formed, too unmistakable to deny.

The empty part of her she wanted Daegan to fill, but knew he could not, had been drawn to Gideon Green, as if she were poised on the fulcrum of a scale. Somehow she’d believed the secret to Gideon held that balance. As if confirming her intuition, Gideon hadn’t known what he wanted, and then, in that split second, he had. He’d wanted her, what she could offer, not just inside these walls, but more. That need had curled around her, drawn her close into his almost-tender but demanding embrace, making her do what she never did: kiss a client with stunning intimacy and such emotion she was still shaking inside.

But in the end, it didn’t matter what his soul had whispered to her. He’d seen Daegan’s marks, and that fragile reality had been destroyed by a much more brutal one. No matter what it was about Gideon that had called to her, apparently the Powers That Be had allowed her only one moment of it.

She was a disciplined woman. Though her soul was wounded from the near miss, she wasn’t going to get mired down in it. She’d been wrong. She’d file Gideon Green in the place in her mind she kept all pleasurable puzzles. Would Daegan be glad her obsession was over? He’d been odd about this one, seemingly almost as fascinated with Gideon as she was. It was a mystery, but then, so much about Daegan was.

“Anwyn?” Her earpiece beeped and she heard Leona, the front desk hostess. “Sorry to bother you, but there’s a group of gentlemen asking to see someone named Daegan Rei. I told them there’s no one on staff by that name, and we don’t release client names, but they’ve asked to talk to the owner. They’re being very insistent.”

Alarm bells went off in her head. Only she and James knew Daegan’s name, and what he was. It was another reason she was glad she’d blocked audio and visual on Gideon before he began to talk about vampires. Occasionally others might see Daegan coming and going, but they were told he was a particular friend of Anwyn’s, and no further questions were to be asked. In the type of establishment she ran, such discretion was a job requirement.

“Is Jon Smith still in the showers?”

“Yes.”

“Has he made any calls?”

“No.”

Of course not. How would he know Daegan by name, anyhow? Her stomach tightened. “Is James up front already?”

“Yes.”

“Advise him of our visitors and tell him I’ll be there shortly to deal with them.”

The only one looking for Daegan would be another vampire. Taking a deep breath, she shoved the glass away from her and opened her office closet. She couldn’t go up front in a robe. She wished she had time for a full shower, but in truth, she found herself reluctant to wash Gideon’s scent from her skin just yet.

When she returned to the front area, she had her hair twisted up, and wore black slacks and a satin red and gold dragon-patterned tunic, a sexy but austere look she hoped would serve its purpose.

There were three of them. Even before she reached the private foyer where the front hostess had brought them to sit and wait, she knew they were trouble. The one in charge put her radar into red-alert mode. Short-cropped copper hair, dark brown eyes and a drawn, skeletal look to his face reminded her of a handsome rock star living way too hard. His two companions could have been his drummer and guitarist, for they bore the same gaunt look and burning eyes, their passions an unhealthy hunger for them or whomever they met. They looked barely legal to be in here, but with vampires, she knew the apparent age didn’t mean anything.

James stood at the door, his posture seemingly casual, but she knew he’d already sensed they might have a problem. The three sat in the provided chairs, facing one another. When she was still ten feet from the doorway, their heads came up, eerily in sync, and swiveled toward her. Anwyn’s gut knotted, but she forced herself to calm. Like all predators, vampires and men smelled fear on a woman as quickly as they scented arousal. When she reached the door, her security head glanced at her, his mouth grim.

“Thank you, James,” she said. “You may go now.”

His look of surprise was quickly replaced by something else. “I should stay, Miss Naime.”

“No, you shouldn’t. I don’t require any assistance with this.”
James, please, please listen to me.
She needed her head of security alive. “I’ll call you if I need you.” She tapped her earpiece, gave him another nod.

He glanced at their three “guests,” then back at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “All right, then. I’ll be close.” His expression said he’d want to talk about a few things that had happened this evening. While he was her employee, he’d been with her long enough to earn the right to worry and fuss if she took risks. But right now, she needed his obedience. Fortunately, as he took his leave, it helped her own nerves. Now it was just her and them, no innocent bystanders.

Fixing on a smile, she turned and faced the copper-haired one. “Mr. Barnabus? You were seeking a guest here?” She didn’t extend a hand as she might to most guests. She wasn’t intending for them to get a grip on her in any way, and vampires could be like wild dogs if meat was dangled in front of them. Easily distracted from their objective.

“Daegan Rei owns this place.” His sibilant lisp ran a chill up her spine.

“I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. I own this place. And there are no previous owners. I created Atlantis.”

Barnabus gave her a once-over, and his nostrils flared. “You got vamp smell on you. You’re his. Where is he?”

“Excuse me?” She raised a brow. “Mr. Barnabus, you may not be aware of what kind of club this is. I’m not sure what you mean by ‘vamp,’ but if you’re implying I’m some kind of prostitute, we run a legal BDSM club here. I’m one of the practicing Dommes. If you . . . smell someone . . . perhaps it was one of the clients I tended tonight? While I’m not at liberty to provide member information, I can tell you I don’t recognize that name. Aliases are often used.”

He stared at her. That empty expression chilled her further. When he took a step forward, she stood her ground, forced everything trembling inside to stay inside. The brandy helped, a fiery source of courage. “He’s not here,” Barnabus repeated.

“No.” She held his gaze. “No one by that name is here.”

“Pity,” he said at last. “I guess I’ll figure out another way to get a message to him.”

Before she could blink, he was touching her face, his finger sliding along her cheekbone, others coiling in her hair. Not his fingers; his friends’. They’d closed around her left and right sides faster than she could follow, and their hunger was a repulsive, overpowering heat.

“Gentlemen,” she said, knowing her pulse rate was increasing in a perilous way. It took enormous effort to keep her voice steady. She had to slow her words down to accomplish it, and she still cracked over a few syllables, mentally cursing her lack of composure. “As I said, I am not a prostitute. If you are interested in the club’s services, you may return to the front desk and we will take your membership application. Review takes several days, however, while we run a background check.”

During which time, she would do everything possible to keep them from coming back into her club. Making her movements firm, decisive, a dismissal not a retreat, she stepped backward. She backed into another solid male.

Glancing up, she saw Gideon stood behind her, his gaze fixed on the three vamps. He had the look of a warrior focused on one single objective. His hands settled on her hips, steadying her. Vaguely, she noted his hair was still damp, unruly because he’d carelessly slicked it back with his fingers, and he wore the staff T-shirt she’d provided.

Notwithstanding the abrupt and disappointing end to their session together, pride and anger couldn’t suppress the knee-weakening relief. Or the foolish spike of response ricocheting through her woman’s body at the sight of him here, championing her, all tough leather and denim and sharp blue eyes. Of course, fear almost instantly laced the reaction, because she didn’t want him to come to harm, either. Daegan had told her not many vampires actually knew Gideon Green’s face, only his reputation, but it might be a matter of minutes before he changed that.