by Joey W. Hill
She was a businesswoman, through and through. Earlier in the week, there’d been an editorial in the paper titled, “Jezebel has felt God’s wrath.” Wolf had been amused to see the sword-sharp gleam in Anwyn’s gaze as she read it.
“I’m sending that jackass a bouquet of roses, with a thank you card signed by Jezebel,” she decided.
Her tone on the radio stations had been confident and intimate at once. Despite the inevitable attempts by commentators to make adolescent jokes about sex clubs, she’d kept them on topic, elevating the dialogue to portray Club Atlantis as what it was. A sexy, glittery place of fantasy for mature adults interested in exploring the dynamics of the Dominant and submissive orientation. A safe, healthy way to embrace one’s sexual power, on either side of the coin.
When Wolf had first come to Atlantis, he remembered considering a dalliance with Anwyn, some enjoyable bedroom gymnastics, no strings attached. In the vampire world, sex was right up there with enjoying a bite of a dessert. No commitment, pure pleasure, and the right hint of danger between predators to make it appealing to them both.
Gideon’s presence hadn’t deterred him. He’d considered ways they could involve her servant. Then Wolf learned that Anwyn had a different kind of bond going on, not just with Gideon, and that idea floated away. Particularly when she reinforced it with the same approach she’d used with the radio stations. Southern feminine charm combined with a steel core, to send the clear but friendly message. Not interested.
Wolf had respected it, and respected the hell out of her. As far as the message she’d sent to whoever had attacked Atlantis, he was in full agreement. He was a willing and deadly part of the army to enforce it.
A vampire hunter tried anything, now or in the future, he’d regret making Atlantis a target.
The lights dimmed, the spotlights sweeping the crowd, and everyone settled. At least until “Show Me How You Burlesque” started up. As the crowd whistled and cheered, the staff members participating in the musical number started flouncing through the crowd, jumping on the tables as others took the stage in a colorful burst of blazing energy.
Cheers turned into whoops of appreciation and stamps of feet as those on the stage drew back to reveal Anwyn, coming forth in a blue-green dress of sequins that flashed with the lights. The dress stopped high on the thigh to accommodate her boots. She had a single tail, lit up from the handle to the flicker at the end with tiny lights. She cracked it around her. When three muscular male subs dressed in nothing but leather shorts and glistening oil fell to their knees at her feet, she propped a boot on one broad shoulder. As she made an adjustment to it, she gave the cheering crowd a wink, blew them a kiss.
Wolf’s lips curved as she took the hand of one of the subs who rose to his feet, escorting her to the back of the stage. Once there, her hand slipped from his and she tossed a look at the crowd over her bare shoulder.
A total, “we are open, and screw you assholes” look.
As she disappeared behind the curtain, the dance number took back over. It followed the Cher movie closely, and the volunteers with dance experience Elle had recruited from the staff and membership executed it impressively well. Ella had called in a favor with a friend and submissive who performed with an Atlanta dance troupe. The girl had given the volunteers pointers to bring the number up to par.
When “Show Me How To Burlesque” finished, Anwyn came out with everyone and took a bow. As she was handed a mic, she put a finger to her lips, a soft smile on her face while people settled back into their chairs.
“I am so glad you are all here,” she said. Emotion and gratitude saturated every word, her expression, nothing more needed. No long speeches. She swept her gaze all around, and opened her arms. She pulled the mic away from her mouth because she didn’t need it for the fierce declaration that followed. “We are all here.”
The audience went wild, back on their feet, whistling and whooping their support. Then she settled them down again, that same finger to her curved lips. “Now, let’s take it down into the quiet dark, where the things we love live and thrive…let’s remember what we’re about in the heart of Atlantis.”
The club abruptly went dark, except for a moving spotlight that drifted here and there. After a bated pause, haunting string music came over the speakers, the volume drifting up and down, like a poignant wind moving through the crowd, quieting them. Then the music died away and a single voice sang the first notes of the song a cappella. They echoed through the now almost silent room.
“Sweet love, sweet love. Trapped in your love.”
The first words in another Burlesque soundtrack song. “Bound to You.” It couldn’t be more perfect for a BDSM club, but that wasn’t what had Wolf riveted.
That voice, rich and sultry, full and strong, belonged to his Ella.
The spotlight drifted to the back of the stage, gave the crowd a hint of her in the shadows, then left her. Now they heard the tap of her shoes across the wood floor, as she moved toward the front. Was it crazy that he felt a weird sort of pride, knowing it was his second mark giving her better eyesight in the dark? With a third mark, she would hardly have any problem at all doing that.
Shut up and watch the show, he admonished himself. Or rather, watch the fucking crowd to ensure there were no threats.
Three spotlights came together, revealing her to the audience. And then he forgot everything but her.
When he’d looked at her colorless image with Lonnie, he’d barely recognized her. Now he had the same unsettling experience, only in an entirely different direction.
He’d been born in the 1940s, too young to appreciate the vintage pinup girls painted on the noses of planes. However, as an adolescent, he’d seen the calendars in his uncle’s garage, tucked in the back office. He was vividly reminded of those pictures now, the creamy skin and full glossed lips of women with the sex appeal of sirens.
Ella was dressed in white satin that molded and draped to accentuate every luscious curve in the most appealing way possible. It was a torch singer dress, cradling her high breasts and creating deep cleavage, while it bared her shoulders, coaxing the fingers and mouth to touch, taste.
She wrapped her fingers around the microphone in that slow fan of movement that looked like she was caressing it. The haunting strains of the song started again, and this time she attached the words to the yearning tune.
I’ve found a man I can trust…
Bound to you…
Terrified to love for the first time…
Bound to you…
Her thick hair had been straightened, and reflected the stage light like a raven’s wing. It framed her visage, one dark shining lock falling close to an eye that was heavily mascaraed, bringing out the color. The natural color. She wasn’t wearing contacts. All the rest, it was a costume, one she wore damn well, but he knew like a punch to the gut that the missing contacts were a message to him. He was seeing her real eyes, the real window to the soul, as she uttered the notes of the song with poignant need, powerful strength, yearning softness. The way the notes needed to be sung.
Look at me, he thought, and he’d never been so damn pleased to be able to speak in her mind. Command her attention.
Her gaze shifted right to him, telling him she’d known where he was in the shadows, and she hit a higher note.
Please don’t tear us apart…
Another line to hit him in the gut.
The curtain had been pulled back, revealing a wide screen. Behind it, a woman was on her knees, reaching up and offering her arms to a male who was artistically and gracefully binding her in rope. The two of them twisted and turned together in a dance as elaborate as a tango and waltz mixed together. As Ella sang each lyric, revisited the chorus, their movements heightened the emotional strength of the song, if that was possible.
At the end of it, there was a brief hush, the audience realizing they’d just witnessed something so fucking real that it deserved a moment of respectful silence.
Ella kep
t her eyes on Wolf. Her mind had that curious emptiness she did when she had emotions so strong that she didn’t want them to take her over, make her lose perspective, make the moment more than it was.
He wanted her to say the words. Goddamn it, he did, needed to hear them, and he had no right. No right at all. So he said what he could. With every fervent feeling in his heart.
Thank you.
Ella dipped her head, purportedly to the sudden burst of enthusiastic applause. Her eyes cleared as she reluctantly pulled herself out of the trance she’d created. When she surreptitiously touched her face, she was wiping away tears. He knew it, and so did the crowd. It only made her performance all the more powerful.
She drew their attention away from that, lifting her hand toward the back. The screen was taken away by discreet stagehands at the very moment the submissive was suspended in the air to spin, showing her naked, arched and posed body.
Des was a renowned rope artist, known throughout the national D/s community. Julie was his submissive. The couple was visiting from North Carolina, where Julie ran an erotic theater. Another favor called in. Wolf was beginning to think Ella had friends everywhere, something that didn’t surprise him in the least.
The crowd gasped at the sight with pleasure. The next act would be Des’s, where he’d untie and rebind Julie in another mesmerizing display of rope suspension. After that, there’d be a wax and fire show, complete with a closing dance number that would bring the show to an end. All while keeping everyone focused on the sexual possibilities, in the D/s framework the club provided.
But Wolf was still captured by the previous act, and he didn’t think he was the only one. Ella had immediately stepped out of the way, giving the limelight to Des and Julie. While they deserved it, he thought the crowd had wanted to give Ella more of her due.
He didn’t doubt she would have gotten a standing ovation, but this wasn’t about that for her. It was all about creating a mood, a feeling. Just as she’d told him, for her, the reward was seeing people get wrapped up in it, carried away from whatever cares they had. If pleasure, bliss and imagination could capture them all so strongly in this moment, then how strong a hold could the bad things have on them, really?
He wanted her. God damn, he wanted her.
It was going so well. Ella couldn’t be more pleased, though it took her a while to come out of the near subspace she’d somehow achieved, staring into Wolf’s eyes during the song. Every note had been for him, every word.
Now the final number was drawing to a close. Chantal would step in and transition the attendees to the normal club activities. Ella had been told the show was her job tonight and she didn’t have to work as staff when it was over, but she preferred to do that. She didn’t want to be idle, and Wolf was going to be busy throughout the evening. However, with him here, she couldn’t even think of subbing for someone, even as a staff member.
If she held onto that feeling, it could be problematic, particularly for her future income, but she’d be okay. She’d power through it. It was just the lingering effects of that song, and the connection she’d felt with him during it, the emotions that hung there between them.
She changed clothes, put on a knit skirt, sneakers and the baby-doll Club Atlantis tee that clung to her curves and gave her some nice cleavage. She’d help wait tables, pick up some tips and leads on future sessions.
Her mind was busy with that, trying so hard not to think of anything else, that she ran right into a pair of men as she emerged onto the main floor. Not a brushing glance, either. Instead, it was a full body smack and stumble that made her reach out and grab for the man she’d hit the most forcefully, in the event she’d unbalanced him. Unlikely, since he was built like an oak.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir,” she said. “Are you all right? I apologize. I wasn’t watching where I was going at all.”
“No, you weren’t.”
The austere formality in the voice was touched with a reassuring dry humor, but that tone definitely said Dom. A quick glance revealed a male who looked as if he were in his forties. Silver was threaded through thick chestnut-colored hair. His gray eyes had some creased lines around them, which only added to his attractiveness.
But there was another component to that appeal, one she was starting to recognize. Oh holy crap. Vampire. Lord Richard.
“My apologies, my lord,” she said quietly. And in the same breath, remembered she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this visitor.
Lord Richard’s gaze swept her thoroughly. The flicker in his gaze, the flare of his nostrils, said it might not be just the address that had given her away.
“Forgiven. Though others may not be as fortunate. Anwyn didn’t advise me there was a marked servant here, other than Gideon and Holliman.”
Her heart jumped. Shit, she really wished she’d asked Gideon more questions. But she did know how to comport herself around a Dom. Going with instinct, she knelt, lowering her eyes.
“Who is your master, child?” Richard asked, and his tone said she better not hesitate or lie. She wondered if she should have said “Anwyn,” but in the next breath she knew honesty was best. Richard would have figured it out, and Ella’s lie would have put Anwyn and Wolf in bigger trouble.
“Wolf, sir.”
“Wolf?”
“Yes. Wolf.” That came from the other male, the one she hadn’t yet looked toward. “My apologies, my lord. I may have been aware peripherally of this situation. Allan mentioned that Ella was second marked by Wolf, when he was injured from the bombing. Since she belongs to the club and is under Anwyn’s direct supervision, it was deemed acceptable for her to continue on as a second mark here, even when Wolf proceeds with making me his full servant. Ella is part of this environment already.”
“Hmm. We’ll still discuss it later tonight, Haru. While marking doesn’t require my approval, leaving a marked servant without clear ownership is a situation I prefer to be aware of.”
“Of course, my lord. I’m sure Allan expected to discuss it with you while you’re here. He was more than willing to vouch for the girl. Said she is very service-oriented and loyal. Docile. Physically and emotionally incapable of topping.”
How would Allan feel about her loyal foot planted halfway up his backside? But she set that aside, her mind rolling over the words, revisiting them, paring them down into bite-sized pieces. It didn’t help them go down any better.
Lord Richard had turned away, dismissing her, as a waitress asked him about a drink order. Now Ella could lift her gaze and see who had spoken to Lord Richard.
The Club Atlantis Dommes had a “Top-the-Alpha Tea and Whiskey” party once a month. They gathered in the Club Atlantis social room, put on one of the subscription services, and chose popular TV series with a plethora of alpha male characters to choose from. In between tea or liquor libations that volunteer submissives like Ella helped serve, they’d come up with entertaining and colorful descriptions of how they’d top every alpha-presented male in the cast. They each had their favorites.
When Ella met Haru’s eyes, she was reminded of Ian Anthony Dale’s character in the reprised Hawaii Five-O. Dark and slanted piercing eyes, strong chin and cheekbones, a confident and relaxed demeanor. His masculine, smooth tone had been a visual match for the rest of him. His suit looked expensive and fit his lean, strong body well.
He’d said he was a servant, but there was an alpha vibe there. Gideon was living proof the combination could exist, though no one would claim Gideon was the natural submissive that Ella was. Yet she suspected both he and Haru could top a fellow submissive, if the scene called for it.
Not her. Incapable of topping. She didn’t disagree; she just would have preferred it put differently. He hadn’t said it with disrespect; more of a dry wit, suggesting it wasn’t considered a shortcoming at all. Yet she still felt as if he’d suggested she was a pet who didn’t have the brain cells to think beyond her submission to her Master.
Noting Lord Richard’s distraction, th
e male nodded to her, offered her a hand to help her up. “Haru,” he said, introducing himself formally. “I’ve heard good things about you.”
“Not that I could tell.” She ignored his hand, and rose in one graceful lift, tightening her core. It helped her focus the swirl of emotions inside her. Thank you, Wolf had said. In a way that meant so many things. She didn’t doubt his sincerity, but this was a face punch reminder of what he wouldn’t give her.
She understood that; she did. It was open and above board between them. Her feelings were hers to express as she chose, without obligation or demand from his.
Even so, she couldn’t help the way this felt. Like she was a pawn on a chess board among a species she couldn’t begin to understand. She’d been pulled into the game by accident, hadn’t she? That explosion.
Yet when Wolf had commanded her, speaking in her mind, saying Look at me, it was as if he’d really wanted her to look at him, see all of him, in a way he hadn’t suggested before.
Haru’s expression showed a flash of surprise, then caution. “No offense intended, Ella,” he said, low. “Allan said you understood how things were between you and Wolf. That you knew you weren’t part of the considerations for his full servant.”
“Of course. Excuse me.”
She skirted around him, ignoring his perplexed, slightly alarmed expression. She made a getaway before Lord Richard could engage her again. Her immediate game plan was to get to the locker room and do a fierce and fast meditation, to get her head right, to contain the dangerous waves of temper roiling in her gut. It was that song, that damn song, the connection she’d felt to Wolf, all of it. Meditate. She needed to meditate. Her temper was something she couldn’t let loose like a normal person. It had to be channeled.
Then she saw Allan.
Allan was dressed in sweats, and headed toward the fitness room. She plowed through the crowds after him, for once not paying attention to anyone who called her name. Other words were filling her mind, pushing at the limits of her throbbing skull. You weren’t part of the considerations.