by Joey W. Hill
"Don't worry, my dear." Laurent's eyes glittered. "I'm not going to fuck you. I wouldn't dirty my cock in the pussy of a turncoat. Someone who betrayed me for all the world to see." He stroked the flat of the blade across her cheek. "What a mess you are, blood and snot all over your face. So disgusting. I can't imagine who would touch you anyway."
So he still didn't know she'd taken a full servant. Thank God. Thank God. If they could just get this done before he found out. Even if she had to go back with Laurent, Butch would protect Quinn. He'd promised.
Laurent traced the column of her neck with the knife tip, pausing at the hollow of her throat to prick the skin.
"Do you have any idea what a mess you left me? I had to come up with a plausible explanation for your absence, then find someone suitable to train as your replacement. I had a problematic few weeks."
I'm surprised you could find anyone to work for the pittance you gave me. Perhaps if you'd been more generous I'd have stayed.
Saying that aloud would only antagonize him more. She just wanted to get this over with and crawl into her cave in the basement.
"Nothing to say, Selene?"
The knife dug into one cheek. With a flick of his wrist, Laurent carved a slice to her chin. She smothered a gasp. Whatever she had to do, she wouldn't scream or beg for mercy, and not just for pride's sake. The level of control it took to do that would keep the same outbursts from reaching out and alerting Quinn.
"Nothing yet?" She flinched as he repeated the process with her other cheek before moving the knife lower. He traced her breast, making her heart race. A no screamed out in her mind. With obscene grace, he dug the blade into her flesh and opened up an arc over each breast.
"A bit more strength, and I could cut them off entirely. You'd survive, but these lovely tits wouldn't regenerate. How long would you survive without your beauty, Selene? It's one of our most powerful weapons, isn't it? Beg me not to do it. Ask my forgiveness. You know you owe me an apology."
Thank God for his short attention span. Not waiting for an answer, he let the knife drop and scored a line across the top of her cunt.
I owe you nothing, you bastard.
"I could take your clit as well. Female castration. You'd never find pleasure again. But if I ordered Mike and Claudio to fuck you instead, make you come despite your revulsion for them, your forced pleasure would be even more terrible to you."
She'd want to die. If she had to, she'd beg as he'd asked. He could do this. Take away everything, even dignity. She wasn't so sure she didn't want to die anyway. The thought of the Region Master making a decision in her favor seemed so far away. But Quinn...Quinn wasn't far away.
Hold on for Quinn.
Laurent sighed. "Still no response. Let's put a pin in that idea and move on to your actual punishment."
He nodded at the two men. "Bend her over that bar stool and hold her in place. Claudio, the cat."
She'd thought about skinning herself to avoid a permanent mark from him. Laurent could literally skin her with the cat-o'-nine Claudia gave him now, nine strands of thin plaited rope with pointed steel ends.
The flogger could be used for both pleasure and punishment. Yet as a penance, in the hands of the right person, it caused untold pain, which Laurent well knew. He'd often punished a recalcitrant lover in the back room of the club with this one.
The two men holding her dragged her to the nearest stool and forced her over it face down. Her toes barely brushed the floor, her knee still on fire, and the open wounds on her breasts stung from the pressure. Two pairs of hands tightened down on her, immobilizing her, increasing the helpless sense of horrible inevitability.
She speared a fang through her lower lip, adding one more rivulet of blood to those already on her face. Her cheeks were on fire, she could hardly breathe through her nose and her head felt as if a concrete block had smashed into it. Unable to focus her eyes, she simply closed them and called up Quinn's face. That would be her center, her anchor to help her through this. That and not letting anything through to him. She was an island, cut off from the whole world, Quinn merely a picture in her mind, not connected to the man himself.
The first blow fell on one buttock, the tiny sharp points biting into the skin. She jerked involuntarily but bit down hard again on her damaged lip to keep from crying out. The next blow came, then more, a shower of them in rapid succession, the steel tips like vicious teeth tearing into her skin. The agony spread out from waist to thighs, a continuous blanket of pain smothering her, trapping her. No escape.
Then he moved to the backs of her thighs. He was an expert with the weapon, each steel tip biting into a new spot. When he went to her back, he didn't miss a single square inch, whipping her from neck to waist.
At some point, no one could resist such agony. When she couldn't hold back the screams, Laurent had one of the vampires force a dirty bar rag into her mouth, cramming it in there such that it was in the back of her throat, making her gag, gasp for breath she knew rationally she didn't have to take. Her lungs fought for it anyway, increasing the sense of panic.
Mike and Ernesto increased their grip, pushing her harder into the leather of the stool. The blows came in a measured rhythm, not too fast, not too slow, but timed to elicit maximum suffering. She was sure she was a bloody mess by now but the searing heat that bloomed from every inch of her skin was so intense she couldn't care.
She tried to count the blows, focus on the numbers as a way to get through it, but they came too fast and too viciously. She finally managed to retreat into herself, blocking out the surroundings, Laurent, his men and the vicious blows of the cat. She was so deep in her head, the excruciating agony so unrelenting, she barely realized when the application of the specially designed flogger had ceased.
"Let her go."
She slid backward onto the floor and landed hard. Naked, beaten and bloody. She heard the scrape of Laurent's shoes, then a foot--Laurent's, she was sure--kicked her damaged knee again, following it up with a kick in her ribs. She screamed against the cloth they hadn't pulled free. Her tongue and mouth were dried out, parched.
"This is only a taste of what you'll be getting." His voice was laced with venom. "When the Region Masters send you back to me, I'll chain you in my penthouse, keep you on display like a freak show, until I'm sure my entire territory has seen you and knows the price of betrayal. I'll let you starve for blood for a decade before I kill you."
More sounds of shoes, four sets of feet moving away, followed by the closing of the door.
He was gone. It was done.
Selene lay crumpled in a heap for a long time, not believing it, expecting him to come back and start all over, one of his little mind games to break her completely. But a clock was ticking in her mind, competing with that, telling her she had to somehow find the strength to move. She wasn't going to die from this. She was going to heal. She just needed blood. Quinn would eventually come home, when Laurent was well away from here.
Tears spilled over her bloody face from even the slightest move. She moaned in agony as she made it to her hands and knees, her thigh tightening to hold the one knee up as much as possible, like a dog limping. Though one eye was swollen shut, she could make out where the scraps of her clothing were and crawled to get them. Since she woke up next to them, she realized the effort had made her black out. Panic gripped her until she saw the clock on the wall and realized only twenty minutes had passed. She just hoped in unconsciousness she hadn't let anything get through to Quinn. Unless it was blasted open by something like Laurent's active torture session, opening her mind was usually a voluntary act, like having to pull open a door. So it should be okay.
Trying to push through the excruciating pain, she managed to wrap the tattered dress around her. Gripping her ruined underwear, she worked her way to her feet by grabbing onto the rail along the bar and maneuvering around it. Behind the bar, she found a pencil and scribbled a note for Manuel on a paper napkin. Her blood smeared it, making her curse, cry w
ith frustration. She hadn't the strength to leave another note, so she hoped he'd simply think it was a wine stain from the bar, even though she was usually meticulously neat.
Manuel had keys. He'd open the door and take care of business.
Quinn was going to lose it when he saw her, but she couldn't control that. She was at the end of what she could control. The most important thing was Laurent was now out of his reach, and Quinn's focus would have to be on caring for her. She needed to feed from him if she were to heal properly and in a timely manner. Every part of her wanted to reach out to him now. For sustenance to heal but also for his arms, his strength, his comfort. Maybe she was still more human woman than vampire after all. That wasn't a good thing in her world, but here by herself, she could allow herself the weakness of wanting the man she loved to comfort her, to make the terrors gripping her inside calm.
Limping so badly she could barely walk, she maneuvered her way to the old storeroom. She got the door pulled closed and locked behind her, but the stairs were beyond her. She fell when she attempted the first one. She woke at the base. Using her last ounce of strength, she pulled herself back past the kegs and supplies to the small back room. Turning the lock on the door, she fell onto the cot mattress and managed to get the blanket over her shaking body, in too much agony to clean herself up.
She couldn't reach out to him, she couldn't. But eventually he would come. She held on to that thought like the promise of salvation, moaned with pain and prayed for oblivion. Eventually it came. When the blackness enfolded her, she sank in to it.
Chapter Fifteen
Quinn stepped out of the shower, dried himself off and picked up his razor for a quick shave. The trip had been very successful, the bull all it was advertised to be. Dinner last night had been nice too, with old friends from the rodeo circuit. He had no desire to go back to it, certainly not with the present changes in his life. But he liked the gossip as well as the next man. He only wished Selene could have been with him so he could show her off. Let people know about the magic that had come into Quinn Pedraza's life. During dinner, he'd imagined her sitting next to him, that slim, proprietary hand of hers sliding along his thigh as he kept his arm stretched along the back of her chair. As he turned his head, nuzzled her hair... Christ, he had it bad.
Tomorrow the bull would arrive at the ranch, so as soon as he'd landed on his property, Quinn had radioed Johnny and they'd spent the afternoon preparing for the delivery. The foreman knew exactly how much area to fence off and how big a stall they needed when the brute was inside. The ranch would be breeding a whole new strain of cattle from that big son-of-a-bitch.
A quick bite of dinner after that and he'd headed for the shower, anxious to see Selene.
He studied himself as he shaved, noting the restlessness that plagued him for so long had disappeared from his eyes. Buying the ranch and the bar had only partially assuaged it. It had taken Selene, with her ability to connect with him on so many levels, to help him understand who he really was and feel comfortable in life. The crazy thing was how quick it had happened, but she'd implied sometimes it could be that way for a human meant to be a vampire's servant.
He thought of Sam Red Elk, who'd said he'd find his life intertwined with "the otherworld". He'd guided Quinn out of the troubled, lost teen he'd been in a loud, violent household, yes, but if the old man hadn't opened his mind to the impossible, would Quinn have been able to accept Selene and what she was? He had no idea, but he figured he owed the old shaman, big time. He was glad that the After Hours had been her chosen stop on the highway.
Last night before he dropped off to sleep, he'd tried headtalking with her, but got no response. Twice. It made him a bit uneasy, but the bar had been extremely busy. He assumed she was swamped with work and couldn't take the time to chat. Chat! What a word for it. During the day he knew she was sleeping, but when he tried her again before he jumped into the shower he still got no response. He halfway convinced himself she was punishing him in fun for leaving her overnight. Making him all the more eager to see her. He grinned at the thought. Could be a vampire thing, but that was definitely a woman thing as well. And a Mistress thing. Anticipation coiled in him at the thought.
Okay, he'd see her in person soon enough. That was better.
As he reached for the watch he'd placed on the counter his gaze fell on that bite-shaped mark on his wrist, the brand of the third mark. It was his talisman, his comfort icon. He touched it often during the day while he worked, rubbing his thumb over it or brushing it with the tip of his forefinger. Every contact reinforced his connection with his incredible vampire. His Mistress.
How did I get so goddamn lucky?
When he looked at the watch he realized it was after seven o'clock. Selene would have the bar open for the evening and everything humming along with her usual efficiency. His plan had been to get there before she opened and catch a few minutes alone with her, but getting ready for the new bull had taken much longer than he expected. His cock reminded him how long it had been since he'd seen her.
Oh yeah, a whole twenty-four hours. I'm getting to be a greedy son of a bitch.
Maybe he'd put on those shiny briefs she insisted on bringing back from Butch's. Haul her upstairs and give her a surprise.
I can't wait to see you.
He frowned when there was no answer forthcoming. Fun was fun, but usually she'd respond to something like that. She liked it when he reached out during the early opening hours. She'd said it was her way of keeping tabs on him. Making sure he'd survived his work day and wasn't overdoing, spending all that energy she intended to drain throughout the night. The grin the thought would normally inspire couldn't quite make it to his lips.
Mistress? Where are you? I miss you.
Still no answer.
His gut twisted in a double knot. She would never block him unless she thought his being with her would bring him into danger. Had that sick fuck Laurent shown up while he was away and taken out his anger on her? No, Dix had told him Butch would give her a heads-up before he called Laurent. But suddenly Quinn wondered if something had happened, the timetable accelerated. What would she do if that happened? She'd try to protect him. Goddamn it. He was an idiot. What the hell had he been thinking? He'd been so caught up in that fucking bull, pretending his life was like it always was, predictable ups and downs, the only dangers out there those that came with working a ranch...
He wiped his face quickly and had just grabbed the briefs and his jeans when his cell phone rang. The readout said After Hours. He stabbed the Talk button.
"Selene?"
"No, boss, it's me." Manuel's voice. "I think you'd better get down here."
Quinn's entire body froze, a terrible foreboding slicing through him. "What's up? Where's Selene?" He could hear voices in the background, the sounds of the early evening crowd.
"Uh, that's it, boss. I was a little late getting here and the place wasn't even open yet. We had folks at the door pounding to get in."
"Not open?" Bad. Very bad. "Where's Selene?" Quinn's tone was sharper this time.
"She left me a note on a bar napkin that says she's sick and we should handle the business tonight. Maria's here but I think I should call Carol to come in too. That okay?"
Quinn squeezed the phone so hard he was afraid it might crack. Sick? Vampires don't get sick. It's that bastard. I just know it.
"It's just not like her, boss. I thought I should call you. We're kind of worried."
Not alone in that. Quinn yanked his jeans on one-handed over his bare skin and reached for a shirt. "You did the right thing. Call Carol and put Maria behind the bar. I'm on my way."
He shoved sockless feet into his boots, grabbed his keys and wallet and was in his truck in less than two minutes. Whatever's happening, I'm on the way, Mistress. It's okay. I'm coming.
He hoped she was hearing the message. And that she was where he suspected she'd go if she was in distress. If she wasn't there, he wasn't sure where he'd look. He'd go
out of his mind.
He broke every speed limit getting to After Hours, pulling into the parking lot so fast his truck skidded sideways. Yanking out the keys, he ran across the lot and went in through the back entrance. He half hoped to see her in her office, but it was dark. He barreled toward the bar, barely managing to check himself in time to get under control. If this was as bad as he expected, Selene didn't need a maniac tending to her. Or alerting the others to what she was.
Carol spotted him as soon as he walked in and hurried over, carrying a tray full of empties.
"I don't know what's up, Quinn, but I think something's bad wrong with Selene. She never misses a night." She saw it in his face too, he was sure. Still, he put a hand on her arm in reassurance.
"You guys keep the place running. I'll go check on her. I'll take care of it." He hoped to Christ he could.
She wouldn't be in the upstairs apartment. She'd want the darkest place she could find. The converted storeroom at the back of the cellar.
The staff kept the cellar door locked except when pulling out supplies, but he had his keys. As he slipped the key into the lock and pushed it open, he concentrated, seeing if he could feel her in any way. She'd said that was a servant's skill that time would hone, until he'd be able to feel her nearby or in his mind before she said a word. Maybe he didn't have the skill yet, but he didn't feel her in any way. That worried him even more.
As he locked the door behind him, he noticed the bulb mounted to the right of the stairs had been broken, shards of glass on the top stair. The damn thing had always been in too low of a position, easy to hit with an armload of boxes. As he descended, he was thankful for those third mark senses that kept him from having to wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He could make out the outline of the shelving and kegs like they were cast in pre-dawn light, a mostly dark-gray room.
He wasn't grateful for the smell of blood those enhanced senses brought him. At the bottom of the stairs, he found a small lump of clothing. Lifting it in his hands, he discovered bloodstained fabric, torn panties and bra. Her delicate, lacy things, worn to please him and please herself. His gut twisted like a vise. Spattered blood lay beyond them with her shoes, dropped along that chilling path. If such a blood trail was here, it should have been upstairs too, but the aged wood floor had been stained by so many spilled drinks and drunken brawls--before Selene came--it would have blended.