"No." I had my reasons, and one of them was that it was too painful to think about my past.
"I realize you think I can't separate what happens at the club with what we have," he changed tactics, his dark eyes begging me to understand.
"I don't expect you to. I'm just a convenience. You can find plenty of women who'll do anything you want them to. Who'll let you do anything you want to them. Remember the girl from Singapore?" I wanted my hands to stop shaking as I sipped my wine.
"I should never have said that to you," he muttered, frowning.
"Well, you did. Call her up. Give her a job. Make her your fuck buddy." I was very close to tears again, after spending much of the night before either crying, shaking or both. I'd gotten very little sleep, I knew that much.
"Bree, baby, it's this way," Hank began. "People who want to be in the community are in the community—I told you that. The community is close-knit and what they do is almost religious in its essence, at times. It's consensual, never forget that. It isn't oppression, like so many think—it's just people who want to play and experience each other in a different way. It comes down to choice and consent. I told you what I wanted the first time we had sex. You agreed. You also said you didn't want pain. Baby, you'll never get that from me. Sure, I might try to talk you into something different now and then, but if you say no, then that's the end of it. Part of my job is to listen carefully to my partner and not upset her or make her uncomfortable. If you're worried about abusers—in the community, we sort of police ourselves and those wannabes who only want to dabble or injure somebody, well, we usually find them quickly. I know it doesn't sound logical, but there's trust, respect and often affection or love between the dominants and their submissives. Hell, some of them are married and have kids. The dominants don't have a desire to harm, abuse, or generally treat the sub as something less, like you might think. The subs want or need what they receive. Everything is discussed ahead of time and agreed to."
"Hank, a part of me sort of understands that. Or at least I want to understand it," I wiped a hand over my face. Part of my waking hours the night before had involved searching the Internet and reading books, although most of them left me shaking and tearful again.
How happy was I that I hadn't read the girl who was getting flogged? I could have read her and then my past, which interpreted what she was receiving as pain, would war with what I'd actually be reading from her, which was likely pleasure. I felt my brain might be ready to explode, just from my own personal paradox. All I knew, and would always know, is that Hank's lifestyle could never be for me. I would likely lose my mind over it, if I tried. Therefore, Hank and I had no future. He'd played his hand, but the cards I held were from a different game.
"I hear we're called vanilla," I muttered, refusing to look at him.
"You can't take that as derogatory."
"How should I take it?" My hand still shook as I lifted my wineglass and drank.
"As what it should be—somebody's way of differentiating. Perhaps not the best choice of labels, but it's far better than calling it normal, and calling the community not normal or unnatural—it's neither. The community is normal, for a small percentage of the population."
"Hank, I'm trying to understand that. It's just that I can't be part of that percentage. Believe me, it's not really a choice on my part. I have reasons, and those reasons I will never discuss with anyone." I wasn't looking at him again—I was afraid to. "How many women do you think are in it because they want love from the other party?" I had to know. "Do they ever get that? Love, that is? Do they ever get gentleness or consideration? Hugs or kisses, even?" The fact that he'd never kissed me still stung. I understood it better, now, but that didn't take the hurt away.
"Quite a lot do, although some dominants or Masters refuse to fall in love with their subs or slaves. It interferes with the relationship, in their opinion." Well, there it was. The reason for everything. A refusal to fall in love. That was my cue to make an exit. I rose unsteadily. "Good-bye, Hank," I said, pulling my purse strap over a shoulder with trembling hands. "Have a nice life."
He didn't try to stop me, and I went to mist the moment I reached the door. Thankfully, a foggy, San Francisco night covered my exit nicely.
* * *
"Where the fuck did she go?" Hank knocked on Jayson's car window. Jayson had parked on the street; Hank said Bree would try to run. Jayson's assignment was to distract her long enough for Hank to show up—he had to pay the tab, after all.
"She never came out the door. Not that I saw," Jayson climbed out of the car and raked fingers through thick, blond hair.
"First the bathroom, now this," Hank growled. "How the hell is she getting away?"
"This is fucked up," Jayson huffed. "You know she has to go home eventually, though. This running away thing has got to stop. Look, I can drive you to her house—get in."
Hank slid onto Jayson's passenger seat while Jayson slipped behind the wheel and started the Mercedes.
* * *
"You've never met your mother," Rabis observed as Ashe sat on the bench beside his grandfather. "She's on Le-Ath Veronis, with the others."
"I know. Lissa is taking care of them for now."
"She's aging."
"I know that, Grandfather."
"Will you not meet with her, at least?"
"Grandfather, I have parents. Granted they're not speaking at the moment, but they have plenty of time to rectify that."
"I know. Your vampire father should have been truthful about the compulsion from the beginning. Things are worse, now, since your mother found out years later and recalled that she'd almost become engaged to a virtual stranger as a result," Rabis sighed.
"I can't talk sense into either of them," Ashe shook his head. "Do you have any idea how long it will be before Kalia comes back to herself?"
"None," Rabis shifted uncomfortably. "I know what you're going to ask next," he added.
"Who was he—my biological father?"
"A strong shapeshifter. Powerful. Royalty. He and your mother—she was never the same after his death."
"She was Queen, wasn't she—before Friesianna took over?"
"Yes. Friesianna had Diamond and his brothers kill your father. They almost killed your mother, too."
"Then I no longer regret any part of their deaths," Ashe drew his sleeve back and examined the square gold medallions circling his left arm. When he'd killed Friesianna's jewel sentinels and the Dark King's destroyers, their power talismans had come to him, unwanted and unbidden.
Resting above those medallions lay the Bright Queen's crown, as if fused to his skin. On the right upper arm lay the Dark King's crown. If they were ever away from him, they could destroy planets if they touched. Only one of the Mighty might hold their power at bay so closely together.
"When you rebuild the race, Grandchild, you will need help. The Mighty who holds the power to Change What Was must rejoin those crowns and make them one again."
"The shining woman," Ashe leaned his head against the side of Rabis' small cottage. Rabis' bench sat right outside his front door, in a small clearing of fruit trees. "Grandfather?" Ashe's eyes were closed, his face turned toward the afternoon sunlight filtering through the leaves of gishi fruit trees.
"What is it, child?"
"If I bring my biological mother here, you'll need a bigger house."
Rabis chuckled.
* * *
Breanne's Journal
"I thought Mr. Rome wasn't coming." I'd barely made it home before they arrived—I'd made a stop at a liquor store. Jayson and Hank had ensured that I was drinking more than I ever had in my life. It hadn't improved matters, either, but I didn't know of any other way to get to sleep. Too much crowded my mind, lately, and Hank Bell was at the center of that constantly whirling vortex.
I'd barely misted inside the kitchen when Jayson, using a key he apparently kept to my house, let himself in the door. Both stood in my kitchen, staring at me.
"Bree, I just wanted to make sure you were safe," Hank's brows drew together in a frown as he watched me pour a glass of wine.
"Sure you did. So you asked asshat Rome to break into my house to do it." I gulped wine and almost choked.
"Baby, if you'd tell me what's wrong," he began, his dark eyes troubled and his mouth tugging into a worried grimace.
"Everything is wrong," I snapped back. "Every fucking thing is wrong." I flung my glass of wine against the kitchen wall, shattering the fragile crystal. "I should have known something was off. Fuck buddy? Really, Hank? Have Jayson drive you back to your club and find one of those women who wants what you offer. Hell, find one for him, too. Make sure she has giant boobs, 'cause that's what he wants." I lifted the wine bottle. It joined the wineglass, splintering against the wall and splashing wine and shards of glass everywhere. "Every fucking time I find somebody I like, something happens." I whirled on both of them. "Get out. Get out now, or I swear to God I won't be responsible for what happens next."
Jayson stared at Hank in alarm when my cellphone rang. I jerked it from my purse and answered.
"Breanne?" Bill Jennings was on the line.
"What do you need?" I began walking toward the door. Hank was behind me—I could hear his footsteps.
"Bree, we've got problems here with missing girls. I don't know whether you heard anything about those girls who were killed in San Francisco, but it looks like the killer moved here. I could use that special talent you have, I think."
"When?" I was ready to go—just to get away from Hank and Jayson.
"As soon as you can pack a bag. I have an agent on the ground there, waiting at the airport. He'll escort you."
"I can get there in forty minutes," I said.
"He'll be waiting. Seems our cellphones don't work in the sewer systems here, for some reason," Bill added. He wanted my mindspeech. Well, he could have it and just about anything else he wanted. It was likely the same Sirenali had set off this killer, and I couldn't tell Bill that I'd already killed one murdering vampire in San Francisco. I ended the call the moment Hank's hands gripped my shoulders.
"I have to go," I moved away from Hank's grasp.
"Mercy Crossings?" Hank's dark eyes were unreadable when I turned to face him.
"Something like that." I shoved the cellphone back in my purse. "Somebody's waiting at the airport. I have to fly to D.C. tonight."
"Baby, I think you're too upset to go anywhere," Hank pointed out.
"I'm no longer willing to listen to you," I said. "I have to pack a bag. Please leave."
"What if we don't let you go?" Jayson drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. If he'd known, maybe he wouldn't have done it. Maybe. Well, other women might let him do that, and maybe it was because he'd let them go if they used a safe word. No safe word had ever been provided for me, and therein lay the difference.
I didn't want to mist away in front of them, so I did the next-best thing. Turning and snatching my purse off the kitchen counter, I ran like hell for the door. There's no way any human can catch a running vampire. I had the door slammed in their faces before they could think about reacting.
Chapter 8
"What the hell just happened?" Jayson dangled the handcuffs from his fingers as he stared at the closed front door.
"Rome, show up at the gym tomorrow," Hank growled. "I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget."
* * *
"Willem, I have an errand for you," Ildevar Wyyld stared through the window of his study. He knew, just as well as Willem did, that Gaelar N'Seith lay in that direction. Ildevar had only met briefly with Kaldill Schaff a handful of times, yet Kaldill had offered the services of his best seer—Willem Drifft.
"What is it, Deonus?" Willem lifted an eyebrow in curiosity.
"Willem, it is time for us to admit that neither of us knows what tomorrow may bring. I know you've understood who your mates are—for a very long time. You have merely refused to meet with them out of loyalty to me. I ask that you go to them. Let them make you happy—even if it is for a short while."
"Deonus, I do not wish to leave you unguarded," Willem began.
"Willem," Ildevar turned to the elf, "You saw what came to save my worthless skin last time. That was neither requested nor deserved. Had I a lover waiting, I would certainly take the opportunity to go to her. You must take what is offered now, before it is too late."
"But I may be gone for weeks, getting to know them," Willem's forehead creased with worry.
"Then take weeks. You can fold in and out of NorthStar, can you not? I trust you can still read the Telling Winds at times."
"They are not completely unreliable," Willem studied the boots he wore. "Deonus, I am not comfortable with this."
"Then I order you to go to them. The Elf King told you to obey me, did he not?"
"Yes." Willem's voice was so soft Ildevar almost didn’t hear it. "He also told me to keep you as safe as I could."
"I will be safe or not. Go. Meet your intendeds. I wish to see you happy."
"Yes, Deonus." Willem bowed deeply to Ildevar Wyyld and folded away.
* * *
Breanne's Journal
Bill looked tired. Actually, he was exhausted; I'd lowered my shield to check. Still, he was waiting at the airport when the military jet I'd been transported on arrived in D.C.
"Bill, you should be in bed," I said softly as he settled beside me in the back of a government-owned limo.
"I'll go just as soon as I get you to a hotel. You'll have a guard assigned, too."
"I should be fine," I pointed out.
"I want to make sure," Bill covered a yawn.
"See, you could be asleep right now and somebody else could have picked me up."
"Breanne, I can't explain it, but I want you to be safe."
"I think that's the nicest thing any man has ever said to me," I leaned my head against the back of my seat and closed my eyes. I'd just walked away from Hank—for good. Tears threatened again and I forced them back. I'd never wanted to cry so much in so short a time in all my life.
* * *
Hank knew Jayson's Krav Maga instructor was silently watching as he handed Jayson a beating. Hank was an expert in Krav Maga, as well as most other fighting disciplines. Jayson had interfered with Breanne while Hank was attempting to approach her, and he knew better.
Hank realized that he should have remembered Jayson's penchant for always having handcuffs nearby—either on his person, in his car or at his office. He liked his subs to come to his office after hours at times—the playtime helped him wind down. For six months, Hank had been training Jayson to be a Master, after Jayson approached him about it.
"I think you cracked a rib," Jayson snapped, throwing a series of vicious jabs at Hank. Hank blocked them easily.
"Think you don't deserve it?" Hank landed a blow to Jayson's stomach, sending him to his knees, the wind knocked out of him. Hank stepped back.
"Try calling her?" Jayson wheezed before coughing.
"Six times. Her phone's turned off."
"I know I'll get another cracked rib, but why don't you just find somebody else?"
"Because I don't want somebody else."
"She's never gonna be a willing sub or slave," Jayson struggled to his feet.
"I don't want that from her."
"Man, half the time I don't understand you," Jayson complained, frowning at Hank.
"That's not true," Hank grumbled, pulling a towel from a nearby pile provided by the gym and wiping his face with it. "You don't understand me at all."
* * *
Breanne's Journal
"We're having coffee with the boss," my inscrutable guard announced after knocking on my door at eight, Eastern Standard. Three hours in time difference and a sleepless night made me feel like an incontestable train wreck. Sadly, according to the mirror, anyway, I didn't look much better than that, either.
Bill's office was located in Arlington, not far from my hotel. Eve
n with traffic, it took less than fifteen minutes to get there, so I didn't have time to close my eyes and hope for a rejuvenating miracle to visit my face.
"Breanne, didn't you sleep well?" Bill leaned in to whisper when I was ushered into his office. He'd risen like a gentleman and taken my hand when I walked in. My guard closed the door behind us, and I was grateful.
"It happens sometimes," I brushed off his concern.
"Sit down, somebody will bring coffee," he sighed and walked around the desk to slide onto his chair. I sat on one of his guest chairs and took in the room. The office was spacious enough, but Bill didn't have many personal things inside it.
"We found two bodies after a hard rain washed them out of a drain that empties into the Anacostia River," Bill sighed, pushing a photograph in my direction. "We think there may be more, but we haven't searched the whole section," he added.
I learned from Bill that if enough rain fell, the combined sewer overflow would be funneled into the Anacostia River, the Potomac River, Rock Creek or other, tributary waters. If it were another vampire, he may not have counted on the weather washing bodies over a dam built into the sewer, which held typical sanitary waste water back.
If the water levels rose high enough, they washed over that dam to flow into a river or other outlet. It kept area basements, streets and businesses from flooding, although it presented a hazard in that untreated water went right into the area creeks and rivers. Parts of D.C.'s sewer system were definitely outdated.
"We're going to the outfall today, where the bodies showed up," Bill said as an assistant set a cup of coffee on his desk. A second cup, followed by a small bowl filled with sugar and sweetener packets plus small containers of cream and stir sticks was placed on Bill's desk within my reach.
Dumping cream and sugar into my cup, I listened while Bill explained that a victim's clothing had snagged on a fallen branch outside the outfall, and that's where she'd been found. The other body had washed on through and was discovered a quarter mile away.
"You think there was only one stash of bodies, like San Francisco?" I asked, sipping my coffee.
Blood Trouble Page 11