The Chalice (Luna Vampire Series)

by Christine Asher

  "Listen, old man, I'm not gonna..."

  "Child," he hissed, interrupting me. "I'm simply here to explain the rules. You're the one who makes the final decision. It's not complicated. Drink and live. Don't drink and die. For now, I bid you adieu. Choose wisely." And with that, the sound of his footsteps leisurely disappeared into the distance.

  Chapter 2

  I lay there, huddling in the middle of my cell. And, even though the robe provided a modicum of warmth, it neither prevented my hands from trembling nor dampened the relentless ache of my neck wound. I drifted in and out of consciousness. All the while, time passed into pitch-black obscurity. Hours might've slipped away, or possibly days. I had no clue.

  Honestly, I didn't know much about anything, well, other than darkness and absolute isolation. It felt as if I'd woken up in the middle of a horror movie, except my kidnappers weren't chopping me into pieces yet. Of course, yet's the key word here. I definitely sensed a godawful doozy headed squarely in my direction.

  To break the oppressive silence, I actually tried screaming for help a few times. Invariably, I received no answer and eventually decided it'd be better to conserve my remaining energy. I've been in a lot of sticky situations throughout my life. Still, this one was the super chocolaty, seven layer cake of 'em all.

  I found it difficult to remember my life prior to landing in this special little piece of hell. My mind was groggy, yet the harder I concentrated, the more my memories slowly came into focus. The events of Saturday night were the last things I could recall. I had a weekend gig down at the Cabaret, a strip club located on the outskirts of Topeka. And, yeah, I worked as an adult entertainer. I know, I know. Sigh.

  Most people assume that strippers are junkie sluts. In my case, that's just not true. My finances were the reason I became a dancer. And no, it wasn't because of a drug habit. You see, I inherited bucket loads of debt after my mother's passing six months ago. She had breast cancer and, despite an awesome benefits package from working her entire life as a legal secretary, the health insurance scumbags finagled their way around the greater part of her end-of-life care.

  It'd always been the two of us. We had no family to rely on, since my mom was an only child and her parents, my grandparents, died before reaching middle-age. And my sperm donor of a dad, well, he refused to pitch in a single red cent toward raising me. So, hitting him up for cash wasn't a practical option. I mean, I've never even met the loser. I know his name, but googling Peter Smith and sifting through the results to maybe find him could literally take years.

  Furthermore, I would've dropped out of college and gotten a job when my mom first grew too sick from chemo to work. But she'd put her foot down, saying that my only choice was to stay in school and earn my bachelor's degree. In the end, we compromised. I moved back in with her which helped reduce the cost of home health aides. Beyond that, the work-study money I earned from a community theater internship came in handy for food and utilities. Regardless, the rest of the expenses were still astronomical. Medications, hospital visits, hospice care, the list went on and on.

  Ultimately, my mom died a few weeks after my graduation. And, sad as I was, I figured I'd better go turn in some applications, you know, to take my mind off of everything. I searched intensively for a couple of months. However, I finally had to give in and accept the fact being a theater major wasn't very marketable in the workplace, especially in Kansas. On the other hand, I also recognized the high demand for pretty girls who were willing to prance around naked.

  And, truthfully, my job wasn't that bad. I rarely earned less than five hundred dollars per shift and men were constantly fawning over me. Plus, you gotta look on the bright side, shaking my booty was shitloads better than being a fry cook at McDonald's.

  So, that Saturday night, I strolled through the employees' side door at 7pm, right on time. I hurriedly put on a tiny g-string bikini in my favorite color, white, then applied layers upon layers of makeup. A little later, I styled my waist length hair by using a curling iron on the ends. Oh, and incidentally, I felt totally dumb for prettying myself up like a hooker. The floor managers expected it, though, some crap about playing into the illusion of perfection. Whatever.

  While I got ready, the other girls slowly trickled in. Most of them were deep into the alcohol, cocaine, or ecstasy scenes which meant I basically stuck to myself. And, seriously, I could've cared less whether we were friends or not. I kept busy enough schmoozing with customers, doing lap dances, and performing on the main stage that I didn't have time for idle chit-chat anyway.

  Just as I finished primping, the deejay's sultry voice boomed over the loudspeaker. "The next sexy honey taking it all off is Carrie Lynn. That's right boys, all nude, all the time! She's up after this song."

  Now, since my real name's Luna Lynn Miller, you might be wondering why he called me Carrie Lynn. To put it bluntly, it's not safe for dancers to reveal their true identities. Some of the clientele can be a bit shady, to say the least, and I wouldn't want to snag a stalker. I picked my stage name because it sounded wholesome and midwestern, an ideal match for my girl next door persona.

  "It's that time," I commented offhandedly to the rest of my coworkers, before proceeding to the rear of the dressing room and the stage's entrance. "I'll catch you guys later, gotta go make a bunch of money!"

  Several of the girls replied automatically with a "be joinin' ya shortly" or a "good luck". And, as I heard the familiar tune of Cherry Pie by Warrant start to play, I stepped through the beaded opening. I ensured that my hips swayed seductively as I leisurely sauntered down the center of the stage.

  When I arrived at the pole, I grasped it with both hands. Although, I didn't do anything fancy. I simply twirled around and smiled. I'd only been a dancer for three months and hadn't taken too well to all the pole trick stuff. One of the other dancers tried to show me a few moves but I just kept falling on my ass. Maybe someday, right? Actually, probably not with my sucky coordination. I'm a realist.

  Regardless, I'd shed my bikini top and g-string by the time William, one of my regulars, approached the stage. He stopped by to see me on Saturdays, typically arriving at the beginning of my shift and staying until the bar closed at 2am. Accordingly, my mood instantly soared, his arrival indicating that my night was gonna be a breeze. I'd assuredly go home with upwards of eight hundred dollars in my pocket and, well, lap dancing for him turned me on. A stark contrast to my other clients.

  William wasn't even from the same gene pool as the short, fat, and bald crowd. He had a full head of black hair that stretched long past his shoulders, a mouthwateringly ripped body, and stood every bit of six feet tall. Moreover, he couldn't have been a day older than thirty-five. Frankly, I didn't understand why he frequented strip clubs in the first place. I mean, bagging chicks should've been easy for the guy.

  A devilish grin covered his face as he called out to me from the edge of the stage. "Hey, honey, how's your night going?"

  Immediately, I dropped to my knees and crawled the several feet in his direction, emanating a slinky kitty cat. "Better now that you're here," I swooned, surveying him with genuine interest. "Are we gonna meet in the VIP room like usual?"

  "Oh, absolutely." He paused for a moment, casually removing a fifty from his billfold. "Here, this'll get us started."

  "You always take such good care of me, William!" I gushed, beaming from ear to ear while he gently slid the cash beneath my garter belt.

  Alluringly, he licked his bottom lip. "How could I not? Come on, have you ever looked in the mirror? You're freakin' gorgeous."

  In response, I felt my cheeks grow hot which was pretty damn stupid, if you think about it. I worked in a strip club for god's sake. Hundreds of guys hit on me on a daily basis, you'd assume I'd get used to it. "Um, uh..."

  "No need to feel uncomfortable. It was merely an observation," he interjected. Then, without giving me a second to respond, he winked and strode away.

  I watched his departure through hungry eyes, notic
ing he wore his standard black tailored suit with a white shirt and a red tie. The outfit complemented his build flawlessly and made him irresistibly handsome. What a man!

  The instant my set finished, I rushed to the VIP room. I was pleased with William's choice of a love seat in the darkest corner and eagerly flopped down, ready for a break after my irritatingly aerobic routine. I also jumped at the chance to discard my horrid stilettos onto the floor. Talk about blisters, jeesh.

  Still trying to catch my breath, I peeked over at him and batted my lashes. "Missed you."

  He chuckled, allowing a toothy grin to show off his pearly whites. "Same here. I wish I had the time to visit you more often. Regrettably, I can only break away from my duties one day a week."

  "I can't remember, um, didn't you tell me something about running an internet company or was it sales?" I felt sorta idiotic for blanking out on his occupation. Although, with the amount of customers I entertained, I couldn't fault myself too much.

  "I guess one might call it an internet company, albeit slightly more on the hardware side." When I simply returned his gaze with a blank stare, he nodded and launched into a more in-depth explanation. "My partners and I run secure servers at our facility outside of town. We cache data for banks, lawyers, and essentially anyone else across the United States who happens to require high security storage."

  "Interesting." In truth, I wasn't even remotely curious. But whatever. Watching him talk was enjoyable, no matter the topic.

  "On the contrary, it's quite boring. I'm more interested in you. Tell me, has your week gone well?"

  "It's been okay." I hesitated, glancing down at my hands. "Well, other than Thursday night. A real prick came in."

  His expression turned cold. "Did he harm you?"

  "No, not really. He just got a little rough when I lap danced for him out on the floor. You know how guys aren't supposed to touch us while we give dances out there, right? Well, he did a lot more than touch. He tried to put his hand down my crotch! And, of course, I backed up at the same time as he groped me which led to my g-string getting ripped clean off."

  "Were you injured?" he asked, anxiously glancing over my body.

  "Don't worry, I'm fine. The bouncers kicked the creep to the curb and banned him from reentering the club."

  "You shouldn't be working in this place. It's far too dangerous. What if the guy had a knife or another type of weapon?"

  I rolled my eyes. Customers and their moronic savior complexes. "Are you gonna pay my bills? I've got lots of 'em and, if you're offering..."

  "I would if that were an option," he grumbled, grabbing my hand. "You're special, very special. I realize you can't possibly comprehend what I'm saying. Nevertheless, you must be careful."

  I glared at him. "You're not gonna keep trying to make me feel bad about my job are you? 'Cause, really, I just don't need it tonight."

  "No, I've said enough." He shifted restlessly in his seat and smoothed a few wrinkles from his pants. "How about a dance?"

  "Sure!" I bubbled. Twenty dollars a song could change a girl's attitude in a flash.

  So, without uttering another word to ruin the mood, I stood and removed my bikini top. At first, I stayed about a foot in front of him, writhing sensually along with the beat until his lips were tightened into a hungry line. Then I straddled his lap, leaving the thin strip of my g-string and the soft fabric of his pants as our only separation.

  I wiggled slowly and deliberately, his hardness a fervid acknowledgment of my technique. Every once in a while, I'd slide forward and hover my breasts several millimeters above his face. Teasing, tantalizing, and creating the facade of irreproachable lust.

  William kept me performing, like that, non-stop throughout most of the evening. He always treated me with the utmost respect, a far cry from the majority of my other clients, and never got handsy or attempted a sneak lick of my nipple. Now, that's not to say I'd oppose him testing the boundaries. I mean, if there ever was a guy who I'd let break the rules, it'd be him. Sigh.

  As usual, our night ended with the sexual tension on high and my pockets stacked full of cash. I wasted no time in returning to the dressing room, looking forward to a long soak in my bathtub at home. After which, I dressed in my street clothes, a jeans, t-shirt, and winter jacket combo, then headed out the door. And, since club policy insisted on dancers being protected in the parking lot, a bouncer accompanied me to my beat up old mitsubishi.

  Hitting the road, I blasted a techno song to keep myself alert for the thirty minute commute. And, although the drive totally annoyed me, relocating to the city meant I'd need to sell my mom's house. She'd left it to me in her will, paid for free and clear. True, my life would've been a whole hell of a lot easier if I'd have sold the damn thing to pay off her debts. But I couldn't force myself to part with it. So, this was my life in a nutshell. I spent countless hours driving to and from a disgraceful job in order to pay medical bills that didn't even save my mom's life. The American dream.

  Blinking a couple times, I cleared my head of negative thoughts while I pulled into my driveway. Much the same as any other day, I parked my car and hopped out, not bothering to check my surroundings. In a small town like Lyndon, there wasn't the slightest reason to be paranoid. Muggers and rapists weren't lurking in the shadows. Boy, was I a fool!

  I'd made it halfway up the stone steps of my sidewalk, before noticing movement in the periphery of my vision. Instinctively, I turned in its direction and that's when I saw William standing a mere ten feet away. My blood instantly ran cold. Regardless of his hotness or respectfulness, he was a customer. And customers shouldn't be lurking by dancers' houses in the middle of the night. Shit, shit, shit!

  "It's going to be alright, Luna," he reassured with an obliging smile. "Trust me, I have to do this for your protection."

  "How'd you find out my real name?" I squeaked, rapidly becoming aware of the dark implications our surprise encounter entailed. "And why, why are you at my house?"

  His lack of a response and my own flood of adrenaline, spurred me to action. In nothing flat, I screamed bloody murder from the top of my lungs and bolted. My feet pounded hard against the dead grass and dried leaves of my front yard. However, my best efforts aside, I didn't get far. All of a sudden, my legs collapsed beneath me and everything went black. And, of course, you know the rest. I woke up in cement hell.

  Chapter 3

  I lay there, curled into a ball on the hard concrete. And, although the robe covered my body, I still felt exposed. Exposed and afraid. My heart raced as thoughts of future druggings, rapes, and countless death scenarios flooded my mind. Not knowing what else to do, I huddled in on myself and allowed the tears to flow.

  In spite of everything, the core of my resolve stood firmly against ingesting even the smallest sip from the chalice. The stuff had to be poison or a date rape drug. Regardless, I absolutely refused to play along with some crazy person's definition of fun. Seriously, what the hell? Why'd William and the old man kidnap me? And why was drinking that crap my only way out of this place? None of it made a bit of sense. Sigh.

  Well, to look on the bright side, at least my neck had finally stopped bleeding. Don't ask me how, though. I mean, I basically passed out and woke up later with a scab. Oh, and my body wasn't shaking any more either. But don't get too excited. It was all I could do to keep myself a couple degrees above freezing. Plus, the dull ache of my wounds constantly lingered at the forefront of my awareness.

  And then there was time, well, or the lack thereof. You see, it no longer existed in my wonderful slice of paradise. My kidnappers didn't provide me with a clock or the faintest glimmer of sunlight. Consequently, the whole experience was extremely bizarre. It kinda resembled a twisted version of a sensory deprivation chamber. Needless to say, it totally sucked.

  Beyond all that, I was thirsty. Really thirsty. It felt way worse than if I would've hiked hundreds of miles in the desert without water. A thick layer of dried spit coated the inside of my mouth and, to
get relief, I actually licked a few of the tears from my face. Even so, their salty flavor brought on pangs of nausea.

  The strength of my craving forced me to contemplate taking a small amount of liquid from the chalice, not to swallow, only to relieve the dryness by swishing it in my mouth. I never did, but I considered it as an option there for awhile. I know, I know. I shouldn't have flirted with disaster. That damn chalice. The bane of my existence. It sat in the corner a mere five feet away, taunting me.

  Without warning, I heard a faint whooshing sound. Shortly thereafter, a guy called down to me from above. "Hey, trouble, you awake?"

  In a flash, I recognized that it wasn't William or the old man and I knew this might be my lucky break. I also ascertained that he had to be talking to me. It's not like anybody else was within earshot.

  "Yeah, I'm up," I sniffled. "Well, until I pass out again, that is." Then I released a pitifully gut wrenching sob. In that moment of desperation, I had no shame. If I needed to use my remaining energy to pray upon his sympathy, I'd do it. I didn't care how weak it made me look.

  "I'm here to help," he soothed, effortlessly radiating compassion. "That said, you must understand that I cannot facilitate your escape. It's dangerous enough for me to be here speaking with you. And, besides, we're far past the point of no return anyway."

  "Please! You have to help me get to a hospital!" I squeaked, prior to discharging series of snot-filled sobs. After sufficiently hamming it up, I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and regained a fragment of composure. "I'll die if I stay here. Don't you see that?"