Maybe if he saw her cry.
He’d caved before when he saw her cry.
Put on the full act, Tara.
“Gianni?” She sniffled.
“Nothing. You didn’t do anything different. You’re exactly what you are.” His face twisted as he made himself look at her, and Tara forced herself not to wince as he kept talking. “I just don’t want this. I don’t – I don’t want you anymore. I want someone real.”
Tara felt the comment as if he’d gutted her – because it just confirmed her as property, and it was a line she’d heard throughout her long life. Letting him see how much it hurt wouldn’t help the situation though, she had to choose a new tactic so she could stay in this house. She pushed herself up off the floor, standing gracefully as she focused on looking concerned, maintaining the pout he had once told her made him want to kiss her.
This had worked on him before, maybe it would work again.
“I understand, Gianni. You’ve found someone else - someone real?”
“Yes.” His eyes didn’t even flick towards her, and their security-detail audience was awkwardly shuffling.
“Well…” Time to gamble. Tara took a small step towards him again, her fingertips playing with a button on his coat. “She doesn’t have to know about us. We can be very discreet.” For a moment Tara imagined how much better it would be if she spent even less time with him. If she was safe and alone. He’d be distracted by this woman he thought he loved, and she could stay somewhere else. She could –
“STOP!” Gianni grabbed her wrist and gripped it hard enough to hurt, the bands activating with his command to send sparks of pain crackling up her arms.
“I don’t want to leave you!” Tara pleaded, and realized with too much regret that it was the truth. Gianni had been good to her in his own way. A new master could mean anything, a new master could mean fear and blood and pain. “Please, Gianni!”
He slapped her. Hard enough that she tasted the coppery tang of blood in her mouth and found herself crouched near the floor, the bands still vibrating against her skin with his anger. It had been almost a year since he’d hit her last, and the shock of it made her silent.
Guess the good years are over.
“Just stop it, Tara. It’s already done. I found someone else for you. They’re coming for you in the morning.” Gianni was speaking above her, but she didn’t trust her ability to control her expression, to keep the hate out of her face, so she stared at the floor.
He’d sold her.
It was already done.
She kind of wanted to throw up.
“Sebastien, take her downstairs to her cell. I don’t want to see her anymore tonight.”
An ache shot through her chest, and it made it hard to breathe even when Sebastien, one of his favorites, gently helped her stand. Gianni wasn’t even going to let her sleep in her room, because it adjoined his. Whether that was because he didn’t trust himself, or he was just ashamed of her, or himself, it didn’t matter.
She was sold. Cast out. Old news. No longer Gianni’s beautiful love.
Gianni stomped off and several of his men followed him, not even lifting their eyes to her. They had known. They had all known what he planned to do on his return. Sebastien’s hand drifted to the back of her neck where his thumb massaged a circle as he turned them and they walked away from the front door. The touch started to numb her out, making her pull her mind tighter inside her skin, away from the edges so she was detached. Her heels clicked like a metronome over the marble floors before she got to the stairs to head down to the basement.
Sebastien’s voice broke into her internal panic, cutting off the flashbacks of old masters, the fear of the infinite possibilities that awaited her. “You know, he spent all day yesterday finding someone good for you. He’s not just throwing you out.” Sebastien’s hand slid down to the small of her back as they hit the bottom of the stairs and she faced the cell she had spent the first year and a half of her time with Gianni in.
How had things gone downhill so fast?
Her music. She needed her music if she was going to keep it together – if she was going to avoid the nightmares.
Tara turned towards him, letting Sebastien’s hand slide from her lower back to rest on her waist as she gave him a slow smile. With a deep breath she made sure her voice came out sweet and steady, “I’m sure he’s just doing what’s best for me. I’m very grateful for the effort.”
“Exactly.” Sebastien mumbled as he moved his other hand to her cheek, tucking one of her curls behind her ear. She didn’t turn away from him, even though she wanted to hit him for not preventing this, wanted to grab the knife he had hidden somewhere on him and drive it through his deceiving throat. He had taken so much in his time guarding her, and he couldn’t talk Gianni out of this? Couldn’t make it so she could stay? Bastard.
As much as she wanted to hurt him, she needed her music more.
Smile, Tara.
“You know, Sebastien, if I’m going to be down here… I could really use my iPod. Think you could bring it for me?” She lifted her gaze first to his lips, then to his eyes, and she knew the way he stared at her that he had noticed.
“I’ll see what I can do.” He grinned just before someone called his name from the top of the stairs. Turning his head to check the staircase, he looked back at her hungrily. Steeling herself not to back away she prepared for him to kiss her, but the quick touch of his lips against hers stopped as soon as it started. He swung the door of the sixteen by sixteen cell open and she stepped in with no argument.
Behaving has its benefits, Tara.
“So, Sebastien, I’ll see you later?” She wrapped her fingers around the bars and leaned her forehead against them, looking at him with a small, promising smile. Another call of his name from the stairs, and when his head flipped back to her she pouted. His willpower collapsed in front of her and he nodded as he locked the cell door, mouthing the word ‘later’ as he rushed up the stairs.
As soon as he was out of sight she turned around and dropped her head against the bars.
“Dammit,” she groaned and knocked her head back against the bars again.
Everything had been so perfect. Gianni trusted her not to betray him, he hadn’t hurt her in a year, he was even taking her out and about, letting her go escorted on shopping trips. Emilio, his head of security, had even taken her dancing, and to the opera, and the symphony. Gianni’s bed had been such a small price to pay for the freedom he had given her. Who knew what this new master would be like? Would he be like Gianni? Just lonely, too busy for a real relationship? Someone who wanted something pretty to come home to and show off when it was needed?
Or would he be one of the bad ones?
Old memories threatened to surface and she clamped them down.
Tara pushed away from the bars and crossed the rugs that overlaid the concrete floor to sit on the twin bed. A puff of dust came up around her and she watched the particles float in the fluorescent light. The last time she’d been in here was two years ago when Gianni had a family party at his home and she, who was too difficult to explain, was hidden down here for a week. As she leaned down to pry off the Manolo Blahniks her eyes caught the pile of magazines at the edge of the bed. They were still sitting there from that time.
“Well, Tara, what are you going to do now?” She muttered once her feet were free of the beautiful, dark toned torture devices. Her gaze wandered over the enclosed space in the corner that she knew had a toilet, a mirror over a tiny sink, and a standing shower behind its door. The shelves of the bookshelves along the other wall of bars were empty. Everything she’d kept in here at the beginning was now in her room upstairs – which was no longer her room, apparently. She didn’t care about any of the possessions, but she wanted her music. It kept her sane. Snagging the top issue of Vogue she flopped back on the twin bed, more dust flying up around her as she flipped to an article and started reading.
Sparkling motes of dust caught the light
, dancing around her like faerie lights – but there was no magic in this place other than the curse that kept her there. This life with Gianni had only been beautiful on the surface – underneath it was hollow and empty. It wasn’t a love story. This was just survival, and as always… Tara would do whatever she had to in order to survive.
It had been almost two hours since Sebastien had brought her to the basement at Gianni’s behest and she was humming to herself – Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor, her mind supplying the string instruments, when she heard the sound of heavy boots on the stairs. Sitting up she dropped the magazine to the floor and quickly adjusted her hair and clothes.
It wouldn’t help much if she looked like a mess.
A swipe under each eye to check her make-up and she positioned herself at the bars just as Sebastien made an appearance at the bottom of the steps. He came to a halt and a slow, cocky grin came over his face as he held up a black rectangle of technological wonder and joy – her iPod.
“Sebastien!” Tara made sure her voice was achingly sweet as he came to the bars of her cell and she reached for it, but he pulled it back. Her stomach dropped but she kept the playful smile on her face. “Come on, let me have it.”
“You want it?” Sebastien’s eyes were moving over her, and she chewed on her lower lip as his brown eyes came back to her face. She had known she’d have to pay for the favor, but the music was worth it, and this was nothing new when it came to Sebastien.
“Yes.” She spoke quietly and he was through the door to her cell in an instant. Reaching her hand out for the iPod that held 160GB of her lifeblood, he kept it out of her reach and instead pulled her mouth to his. It felt like she’d swallowed a handful of ice cubes, but she reminded herself to kiss him back, to wrap her arms around his neck – to be perfect.
“I don’t know why he’d ever give you up, if I had anywhere near the money it would take to buy you, I would have. And I’d never let you go.” Sebastien’s hands were moving down her sides as he moved her backwards, and she saw him carefully lay her iPod on the table before her legs hit the bed. He leaned her back and everywhere his touch moved she felt cold, a comfortable numbness taking over her body that let her be the fantasy he wanted her to be.
“I believe you.” Her voice sounded sultry, but it was like it was coming from someone else’s mouth.
Smile, Tara.
“What do you think of him selling you?” Sebastian pushed his hand into the loose curls of her hair and pulled it sharply, but she managed to turn the hiss of pain into a breathy laugh, turning her head towards his hand to place a kiss on his wrist and ease his grip.
He must be angry about Gianni’s decision.
Sebastien held her hair tight as she searched for the answer he wanted, the right answer. The one that would make him happy.
“I’d rather stay here.” She pouted and lifted her eyes back to his. Eye contact was important when you wanted to look like you were telling the truth, averting your eyes was a sign of a lie. Too much eye contact gave away a lie too. Either way, it wasn’t really a lie. Leaving meant going into the unknown and this master, Gianni, had rarely been violent, and had lavished her with gifts and comforts. Not something she’d voluntarily leave, no matter how much he treated her like a shiny object.
Sebastien’s grip on her hair loosened, and his eyes softened as he leaned down to kiss her neck. “I wish you could stay too.” Her skin felt so cold that she wanted to shiver, but she fought the urge. Everywhere he touched she mentally pulled away until her mind was nothing more than a pale fog, filling her body up, carefully suspended so it never touched the surface. “Maybe I can get a job with your new master? And we can be together?”
“That would be wonderful.” The words come out of her mouth on reflex, but her mind wasn’t fully conscious of the decision to say them. She was somewhere outside of herself as his hands slid that jewel-colored blue top out of the way, and her body went on autopilot. With the ease of centuries of practice she slipped away, and even though the iPod wasn’t on she let herself be distracted by music. Plucking notes from the ether and assigning them to instruments as she built a cacophony in her head to drown out every physical sensation that tried to filter through.
His mouth, warm and wet on her breasts. His hands searching her skin for some secret he believed in. Soft sounds slipping from her lips, her hands reaching for him like she was supposed to. The weight of her own body as she slid to her knees to cup his balls and take him into her mouth, pleading mentally that this would be enough. That this pleasure would be all he wanted.
It wasn’t.
Sebastien wanted to taste her as well, and he was fumbling, average in his skill, but the steady, lilting thrum of pleasure of his tongue still wound its way into the music in her head. Then he was on top of her, kissing her so she could taste the tang of herself on his tongue. Another moment, another bar of music in her head, and he thrust deep. Crescendo. Tense strings, belting high notes like mezzo sopranos, and then the crash as she cried out, wrapping her empty arms around him to pull him to her like a real girl would. Pressing blank kisses to his cheeks as his groans echoed his own release as he came inside her.
The weight of his body pressed her down, and the music slowed – mellow and dark. She could imagine the conductor’s hands subtly twitching to keep the plucking bass notes lingering. The audience waiting for what was next – but Tara had no answers for her imaginary audience, because she couldn’t even answer herself.
“Tara?” Sebastien’s voice was soft.
Too numb. Too numb to respond.
She turned the music down in her head, and Tara realized with a bit of internal pride that she’d maintained the smile. That was good, it had taken centuries to be capable of that, but then why did Sebastien’s brown eyes look pained?
“Hmm?” She tilted her head to the side to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling his boots on and tying them with quick jerks of the laces.
“I’m really going to try and get a job with him.” His eyes were sincere, but she still wasn’t fully present. Too detached to really react so she had a bit of trouble even processing what he’d said. Everything she did for the moment was just a show, like a sunset reflected on water – pretty, but intangible, with not a hint of what was really happening beneath the surface.
“I’m glad.” Her voice stayed sweet, exactly how Sebastien liked her to sound. Maybe if he went with her he’d protect her if it was a bad master. That would be nice. Sitting up she slid her jewel blue shirt back on and wished he’d thought to bring her a change of clothes too, but she wouldn’t ask for it. Asking for anything so frivolous would be stupid – she didn’t want to pay the price for them. She could wear the same clothes.
He pointed at the iPod on the table. “I hope it’s charged, I didn’t grab the cable.” Of course he didn’t. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning to say goodbye. For now anyway.” Clutching his jacket he moved slowly out of the cell and locked the door, his eyes meeting hers through the bars.
“Thank you, Sebastien.” She smiled as he paused, shaking his head before he turned away. His feet thumped up the stairs at a steady rhythm, leaving her in the quiet of the room.
As she stared at the black iPod reality snapped back hard and fast, the fog of her mind reconnecting with her body like a car crash.
She almost didn’t make it into the tiny room in the corner to throw up.
Gianni had sold her. There would be a new master soon.
Her empty stomach tried to retch again. And again. And again.
Someone new. New rules. New rules she would probably break before she even knew them.
When she was finally done the mirror above the sink showed how messy her hair was and she made it as neat as possible before rinsing her mouth, wiping off her thighs, and returning to the bed. She threw the dust covered comforter onto the floor, lay on the sheet, plugged the white headphones into her ears, and flipped it to shuffle.
Classical, then rap, then
electronica, then rock. Round and round. She floated away on the music and reminded herself that it didn’t matter, she didn’t care. The same mantra that had helped her through two thousand years alone.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I’m fine.
Chapter Three
Milan, Italy
Stepping out of the Milan Linate Airport, Alaric kept his sunglasses and a knit cap on as he scanned the lanes designated for car service and found what he had requested waiting for him. A nero black on black Maserati GranTurismo, all shiny and new. With his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder he walked over and couldn’t help but smile when the young salesman stumbled through the details on the ride after he’d given him his false ID. Alaric already knew it all, knew what he – well, his client – had paid for, but he let the guy do his job.
“Thanks.” Alaric smiled and gave the guy a fifty euro note, which the guy stuttered over his thanks for. As he was sliding into the driver’s seat he took the key and signed his alias’ signature on the dotted line, and then Alaric realized the kid was probably his age. Twenty-two or twenty-three. And they were in totally different places in life. One delivering the car, and the other driving it.
The kid was probably happier though.
Shutting the door he turned the engine over and it roared like a big cat. At least that could bring an authentic smile to his face. People standing on the sidewalk lifted their heads and watched as he pulled away, the smooth acceleration humming through the body of the car as he merged into the traffic.
If someone had asked him ten years ago where he’d be, he would have said he’d still be in London, still in East Sussex, working some crap job just like his worthless father. He definitely wouldn’t have guessed he’d be wearing clothes worth more than a month’s salary to his family back then, or driving a car worth as much as a house, on his way to a luxury hotel known for its discretion and lack of cameras.
Nope, this kind of life had never been in the cards for him. Not before Luca.
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