by Mara Leigh
“No shit.” I frown. Unconscious and full of silver so long, no wonder I’m famished, not to mention groggy, and now that I’m standing, the room is swaying as if I’ve got sea legs. “Great talk guys, but no need to go to so much trouble next time you want to chat.”
“I do not believe that you would have come in if we’d simply asked,” Zuben snaps.
“I guess we’ll never know.” I turn toward the door. “ I’m off.”
Diederik steps in front of me. “Who said you could go?”
“Are you saying I can’t?” Time for my trump card. “Because if you are, I think we should talk to your boss.”
“I am his boss,” Zuben says behind me, and I try to hide my surprise. This guy has more power at DEFTA than I thought.
“I meant your boss, then,” I say to Zuben. “The CEO?” I smile at Diederik who’s fully aware of my relationship with the head honcho here.
“You have no right to—” Zuben says, but Diederik shakes his head, and steps away from the door.
“Zuben.” The fear in the big vampire’s voice is obvious. “I don’t think we want to bother the CEO about this.”
Zuben nods sharply. “I concur. It is premature to involve her, but this is not over. Not by a long shot. My investigation has only just begun and I have a long list of thefts with which I suspect you are involved.”
I turn slowly toward him. “With which you suspect I am involved?” I mock his tone, and then chuckle under my breath. “Well, la-di-da. When you put it so eloquently, so formally…I almost take you seriously.” I tip my head to the side. “Still. If you fellows plan to hold me, we really should check in with the boss. Not sure if Rueben knows that Octavia and I go way back.”
Sure, not all of our history is good, but it’s well known in the city that the head of this vampire syndicate was my lover for a time, and our past relationship has gotten me out of a multitude of scrapes. Typically vampire syndicates only protect their members, but Octavia’s makes an exception for me. I’m safe in this city.
“Shall we call Octavia?” I ask again. She scares the shit out of me, but I’m sure she’d set me free. Pretty sure.
Zuben’s repressed anger and frustration are reaching a boiling point—I see it simmering under his skin, hear it in his pulse. Perhaps I’ve pushed his buttons one too many times.
“Call the CEO if you must.” Zuben’s tone is clipped and sharp. Is he not afraid of Octavia? “I have twelve other thefts about which I would like to question this pirate.”
“About which…” I chuckle under my breath.
“Look,” Diederik turns toward Zuben. “With all due respect, we need solid proof before getting the CEO involved.”
“I do have proof!” Zuben’s cheeks darken again. “Or will soon. I am certain that Octavia will agree that this suspect needs to turn over his financial records…”
“Financial records?” I chuckle. “All I know about my money is that I’ve got a shit ton of it. That’s another argument for you to work under me.” I raise my eyebrows and Zuben looks away.
Diederik shrugs. “Even with proof, we can’t hold him longer than eighteen hours without going to the judiciary committee…”
Zuben blinks at the burly security head, nods sharply, and then drops his tablet to his side and turns toward me. The Egyptian’s lashes are so thick and black they look fake.
“This isn’t the end.” Zuben steps toward me, frustration still clearly bubbling inside him. “Not the end by a long shot. You are a pirate, and I will prove it, and then you will be brought to justice for your crimes.”
His clear determination makes my nerves spark, but I raise my hands in mock fear. “Oooo, so scary!”
Diederik’s been a thorn in my side for decades, but today the asshole’s last argument is my ticket out of here. With the King’s return, the local syndicates have less freedom to interpret vampiric laws without oversight. Long live the fucking King.
The door audibly clicks.
I open it and stride down the hall, push open the glass doors at its end and then wait for the elevator. This fellow Zuben is going to be a problem for me. While the King’s return means DEFTA can’t act above the law, it also means that if Zuben goes above her head to the Crown, Octavia may no longer have the power to protect me.
To get leverage, I need to find out what this Egyptian vampire knows, what he cares about, who he loves—assuming robots are capable of love. Everyone has secrets, pressure points; I’ll discover his and exploit them.
Until he lets this go, I plan to stick to the robot like glue—make his life miserable.
There is no chance in hell I will ever let myself be locked up again. I’d rather die.
No…If I’m ever locked up again, I will die.
Chapter Four
Ember
“The room looks fantastic!” Shana smiles as we survey the results of all our hard work. “Way better than I expected.”
“Thanks. I guess?” I turn to her, not sure if she meant that as a backhanded compliment.
“Seriously, Ember,” her genuine smile puts me at ease. “I’ve been to a lot of posh parties. You’ve got a real talent for this.”
“Thanks.” Pride warms my body. I did do a good job and working hard distracted me from thinking about tonight. I don’t know which scares me more, seeing Zuben again or staying out after dark.
Shana pats my arm. “Plus, you saved Sanctuary House several thousand dollars by designing the decor and setting it up yourself.”
I hope that helps Shana from urging me to go on the auction block tonight. I can’t imagine I’d fetch much, anyway. Our volunteers for the auction include prominent socialites and politicians, plus some models and local TV personalities. Even if I participated, no one would bid on me.
Or would Zuben? My body heats, considering the possibility. But I’m sure I read too much into his attention last week.
I turn back to Shana. “Thanks for appreciating my work, but all I did was google a bunch of pictures and combine my favorites.” My words are modest, but I am proud of the results. Despite the hotel’s fancy address and reputation, the room wasn’t much when we started and it took tons of planning and a full day of work to set up. “Maybe I should go into the party planning business.”
“No way,” Shana says quickly, and the stab of reality bursts my pride bubble.
I shake my head. “You’re right. I plan one party and—”
“No, No.” She pats my arm. “You’d be great at it. It’s just that I’d hate to lose you.”
Pride reheats my cheeks, but then I notice that one of the centerpieces isn’t placed correctly, and I head to adjust it.
Shana follows. “Who knew my accountant had such hidden talents.” She looks at her watch. “We’d best get changed. The patrons will start arriving soon.”
“Really?” All the air sucks out of my chest as the nerves start to set in. “What time is it?” I glance around the room for a clock. My phone is with my party clothes in a closet, and absorbed in the decorating, I lost track of time.
Shana puts her hands on my shoulders. “Lamby, the sun went down over an hour ago. And look… You haven’t turned into a pumpkin.” Her warm smile offers comfort as my anxiety rises. “Relax. You’re perfectly safe.”
Easy for her to say. I chew the inside of my lower lip, trying to pump up my courage. I agreed to attend this event and I’ve got to live with the consequences. While it might be the first time in my life that I’ve been outside my own house after sundown, I am not a baby. I am no longer afraid of the dark. I’m not.
Drawing a deep breath, I survey the room one final time. This fancy, Rittenhouse Square hotel ballroom doesn’t have windows, and so if I don’t let myself think about what’s going on outside, I can ignore the fact that I’m out after dark.
Shana drags me to the ladies room and we put on our party dresses and heels. Exiting my stall first, I turn back and forth, admiring my outfit in the full-length mirror at the end of t
he room. It’s my first fancy dress and I’m still getting used to how I look.
Never going out after dark eliminates the need for outfits like this, and the red dress the saleswoman convinced me to buy, has miraculously transformed me into an entirely different person, a different species perhaps.
But I feel naked without a bra, and the thong underwear is strange and intrusive, but the saleslady was right to talk me into those choices too. The barely there underwear does improve the line of the soft, clingy fabric that’s hugging my hips and butt and skimming over my breasts.
The longer I look into the mirror, the less the reflection looks like me. Maybe that’s the key to surviving this evening—disassociation. I’m not here, my alter ego is. An alter ego who happens to be adventurous and up for fun. An alter ego who might even flirt with the stunningly hot Zuben if given a chance.
After tucking strands of dark hair behind my ears, I press my hands into my belly to calm the butterflies—more like bats—flapping their wings in there.
The door to the handicapped stall opens, and Shana steps out in a floor length gown in a bright African print that’s gorgeous on her. She digs into a big cloth shopping sack, pulls out a huge flowered cosmetic bag and plops it onto the counter. She glances toward me. “Oh, Ember!”
“What?” I ask, looking over my shoulder into the mirror, hoping I don’t have a stain on the back of the dress.
“You look amazing,” she says. “A-ma-zing. Who knew you had a body like that hidden under all the loose clothes you wear.”
I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly self-conscious. Digging into her cosmetics bag, she steps up to the mirror and applies deep purple lipstick.
“Want some?” she asks, holding the tube toward me.
I shake my head.
“You’re right.” She nods. “With your pale complexion, you need red.” She digs into the bag, extracts a dark black tube shaped like a bullet, and squints at its bottom. “Can’t read for shit these days.” She shakes her head. “But I think this is the one.”
She hands me the lipstick, and I lift the cap and slowly roll out the lip stain. It’s a very deep red—the color of blood—and goes well with my dress.
“I don’t know…” I’ve never worn make up.
“Trust me,” she says. “With your pale skin, dark hair and violet eyes, this will be per-fection.”
Leaning in close to the mirror, I paint my lips, careful to stay inside the lines, and then step back to survey my work.
“Oh!” I stare at the woman in the mirror, amazed at how the tiny bit of make up has transformed me even more than the dress did. Now, I really don’t recognize myself.
“Perfect. Told you.” Shana has a smug, but proud look on her face when I turn, and I reach out to give her the lipstick.
“You keep it, lamby. For touch ups.”
I nod and slip it into the tiny silver purse that matches the strappy high heels that I’ve practiced walking in every night since I bought them.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Great. Let’s stash our day clothes in the closet and get ready to raise some serious dough.”
I call on my alter ego to take over for the night. My alter ego is brave. She can do this.
Chapter Five
Ember
“Did you eat?” Shana asks after dinner, and I shake my head.
She frowns. “They’re holding plates for staff in the kitchen. Grab a break before the auction starts.”
I nod, but I couldn’t possibly eat. The set up was hard work, but it was nothing compared to the actual event so far. I’ve been running non-stop for three hours and adrenaline’s pumping through my bloodstream at a hurricane’s wind speed.
“Have you seen him yet?” Shana asks.
“Who?” But I know exactly who she means.
She cocks her head to the side. “Zuben, our mysterious potential benefactor.”
I shake my head. “Not yet.” The cloud of bats goes berserk in my belly.
Shana frowns. “If he’s a no show…” The worry on her face is clear, but she draws a deep breath and smiles. “If his answer is no, then our short term survival hinges on the live auction’s success. It’s due to start soon. Let’s focus on that. After you eat.”
“I’ll check the silent auction tables,” I tell Shana. “I’ll grab a bite after that.”
She shakes her head, feigning disapproval, but I see the opposite in her eyes. I head to the silent auction area, where dozens of patrons are chatting as they peruse the various items up for grabs.
I move the velvet rope set up to block off the backs of the tables, and then walk down the line, making sure that none of the sheets are completely filled, and checking to see whether there are any items without bids.
Mia, the fundraising manager spots me, heads over and puts her hands on her hips. “What are you doing back here?”
“Just making sure that everything’s running smoothly.”
Mia frowns. “My team and I have this.”
“Yes. Of course you do.” I let myself out from behind the tables, leaving Mia to her area of expertise.
She’s right. Technically I don’t need to be involved in the silent auction while it’s running—not even once it’s closed. My being here wasn’t in the original plans, and the staff are well set up to collect the winning bids smoothly without me, but the busier I am, the less time there is left to think about everything else.
Keeping to the shadows at the side of the room, I look for anything out of place.
“I’m sorry, sir, but this is a ticketed event.” A voice rises at the front of the room and I quickly make my way to the entrance area. Most of the patrons arrived hours ago, but a few are still trickling in, even though dinner is over.
Henry, one of our former clients who now volunteers as a mentor, is blocking the entrance. Seeing why, I’m grateful that we picked a large person like Henry to guard the door. The man he’s blocking looks dangerous.
Fear gathers inside me as I step toward the pair of men.
The gate crasher isn’t doing anything physical or intimidating, he’s smiling as he talks to Henry, and yet…everything about him reads danger: his long hair, partially tied up in a messy man bun, the well worn leather jacket that looks like it’s from another time—another place. He’s probably from New York or Montréal, somewhere way more fashionable than Philly.
I step up behind the table that Henry’s guarding and see more of the man.
His pants are leather too, a dark grey that perhaps was once black, and his boots are heavy, out of place but oddly stylish. Whether or not he has a ticket, he’s certainly not dressed for the occasion, not even close. Is there a motorcycle club gathering in another part of the hotel? Or a pirate costume party? I grin to myself.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
His head swivels toward me, his eyes flashing interest, and then a smile breaks onto his face. “I can think of many ways you could help me.”
My ankles wobble.
Light glints off his bright blue eyes, gleaming like a beacon and drawing me forward, my body reacting before my brain catches up. The beacon is more likely a warning than a welcome.
The man shifts until he’s across from me, his body projecting confidence and strength as he leans onto the table that separates our bodies. Even his hands broadcast danger. Laden with heavy rings, some gold, some silver— one has a skull—his thick, powerful fingers also sport tattoos, a series of stars and dots in a seemingly random pattern, all black against his skin.
My focus drifts behind his hands, where his thick leather pants stretch over powerful hips and thighs, molding around a very obvious bulge.
My mouth goes dry.
It’s not like I haven’t seen male genitalia—well, in photos—but this is my first time exposed to such an obvious display. I can’t look away.
“My eyes are up here,” he says.
Cheeks heating, I snap my
gaze up to find his eyes laughing, and his grin even wider than before.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, then I shake my head, realizing I’ve probably made the situation worse, all but admitting my illicit ogling.
“No worries, luv. Looking’s free.” He winks, but then his expression softens. “But my joke embarrassed you. I apologize.” He puts one of those scary looking hands over his heart.
“That’s okay.” I laugh, shocked at how quickly he’s set me at ease. “I embarrass easily.”
“I can see that.” His eyes study me intently, and I can’t figure out whether the glint I see there is kindness or mischief. Maybe both?
Stepping back from the table, he bows. “Ryker Stewart Stone, at your service.” He reaches forward toward me. “And you are?”
“I’m Ember. Ember Cross.” I reach out to shake his hand, but turning mine in his, he kisses my knuckles.
An electric shock races from his lips to settle deep between my legs. I suck in a ragged breath.
Holding my hand, he presses his lips against my skin longer than seems necessary—or proper—all the while looking up and into my eyes—even while straightening as he finally lets go.
I’m left breathless and more than a little unsettled. “What can I do for you, Mr. Stone?” I stammer.
“Ryker. Please.” He smiles. “You must call me Ryker.”
I nod.
“I live in the hotel,” he says, “and thought I spotted a friend of mine coming in here.” He looks past me into the ballroom.
“Oh?” I say. “Who is that? We can look him up—or her?—on the guest list.”
“I might have been mistaken,” he says. “But now that I’m here, your party seems festive, your cause worthy. Might as well attend.”
“He doesn’t have a ticket,” Henry interjects, and my eyes snap to the burly young man I’d forgotten was there.
“With your permission,” Ryker says bowing slightly, “I’d very much like to purchase a ticket. And of course I’ll also make a handsome donation on top of the ticket price to apologize for my tardy arrival.”