by Alex Owens
I didn’t correct him, but I did find it puzzling that Clive had let everyone think that I’d been her slayer, when in fact he’d done the deed himself. Had Clive been trying to garner me a bit of street cred in the vampire world, or was he just keeping the blame off of himself?
“Well, it’s good to meet you. Clive speaks very highly of you.” I said.
Honestly, it was the first time I’d ever heard the name Weston; it made me realize that I knew next-to-nothing about Clive’s personal or professional life. When we talked, which wasn’t very often, it was about mostly about me and my problems. I realized that I hadn’t been a very good listener, at the least. That made me sad, especially when put into the context of whatever you called the pseudo-relationship that Clive and I shared.
“Claire!” boomed Clive’s voice from across the room. “That will be all, Weston.”
Weston did sort of a half-bow and wordlessly excused himself. So formal, I thought.
“Clive.” I stood and turned to face him as he crossed the expanse to greet me. Damn. That man knew how to make an entrance. He strode towards me like a Viking warrior, while adjusting his cufflinks like Mr. Grey. My insides turned to mush.
He stopped in front of me and took my hands in his, before bringing them up to his lips. He kissed the back of my hands softly and smiled. “You look ravishing, as always.”
I forced back a chuckle. Clive was acting so formal, so proper, that I fought the urge to curtsey before him. It must be this place making him so uptight or maybe the Clive that I knew didn’t exist outside of my own home. I didn’t like that thought at all.
Before I could come up with some sort of response, Clive said, “Come on, I’ll give you the nickel tour.”
From there it was a whirlwind of hallways, doors, and a little bit of grandstanding. That was understandable of course. It would have been weirder had Clive tried to downplay the extent of his kingdom. But that did make it any less surreal. After we’d walked what seemed like miles of taupe carpet and polished travertine tiles, we ended up at the opposite side of the structure. At least, I think so. Who knew, really? We may have just walked a big circle, so convoluted was the floor plan.
We stopped at the end of the hall, where one door had the focus and was flanked by a door on either side. Clive pointed to the door on the left.
“And this is the room you can use if you’d like... it’s across the hall from my own.” Clive gestured to the opposite doorway, looking downright uncomfortable. It was kind of amusing to watch.
“That is,” he started, “unless...”
“Unless?” I was torn between fucking with him and wondering if we even had the kind of relationship that warranted sharing a bedroom, if only for a few days. On the other hand, staying in my own room would make things even more awkward, with a quick tumble in the sheets and then off to separate spaces. Wham, bam, and all that. The few times he’d been down to visit me had always been day trips; we’d yet to cross this bridge.
I guess it came down to what I wanted from him. Platonic fuckery or something that more closely resembled a relationship? Hell, I’d been there less than an hour and I’d already reached a stumbling block. Perfect.
“I guess I can just bunk with you, if that’s all right? I’d planned on spending most of my time in your bed anyway, if I’m being honest.” If my circulation was better, I’d have been blushing.
Clive brightened. “Good, that’s settled then.”
I slipped into my own mind for a second, back to the beginning of our sorted affair. I couldn’t wrap by brain around how different our relationship was from how I’d expected it to be. I’d assumed that I’d spend eternity trying to tear out Clive’s throat, not trying to tear him out of his clothes.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Clive turned to face me dead on and looked at me warily.
“I was just thinking how absurd all of this is.” I said, twirling my fingers through my hair.
“My house?” He looked taken aback.
“No dummy, but if you call this place a house, I bet you call your Tesla just a car, right?”
“Touché.” Clive chuckled. “Then what are you talking about?”
“You, me, hooking up like teenagers. When I first met you I couldn’t stand you, and I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual.”
He considered that for a moment, before shaking his head.
“How I felt had nothing to do with you personally. I was angry at Bette for turning someone against their will, and without painting a realistic portrait of our lives first. She took away your free will. Truth be told, I’m still pissed about that. Maybe even more so now that I’ve gotten to know you better,” he said.
“I hadn’t thought about it that way. But now that I am, it does seem a little out of character for what I know of Bette. She doesn’t make a habit out of doing things like that does she?”
“No, not in all the years I’ve known her. I keep thinking that she must have had a good reason, but it hasn’t come to me yet. Perhaps she was instantly smitten with you and wanted to have you around forever?” He looked particularly cross thinking along those lines.
“I doubt that. I haven’t even spoken to her since Orlando. You, on the other hand, seem to have benefited the most from her lapse in judgement.” I leaned forward and placed a smoldering kiss on Clive’s lips.
He responded by pressing his body onto mine, with all of his hard planes and muscles fitting perfectly against my curves.
He pulled away abruptly. “So you didn’t like me at first, huh?”
“Hell no, you were an arrogant ass-hat. A bit of a bully and just scary-mean.”
“Well, what you say may be true, but I can assure you that was no act. I wanted you to fully see and understand, fear even, the new world you were waking up into. Don’t have any illusions about this everlasting life, Claire. It’s a dark, dangerous place to call home. That’s a heavy burden to bear when you are a Mother as well.”
Well, shit. Somehow we’d travelled down into depressing territory. I didn’t want to think of Quinn and my multitude of failures as her mother. That was the whole reason I’d come to visit Clive—for the distraction.
“In case you haven’t figured it out Mister,” I licked my lips just enough to widen Clive’s pupils. “Dark and dirty seem to be in my wheel-house.”
“That they are. I’ll admit, you have surprised me since the day we met.” Clive put his arm around me and we continued down the hall. He pointed out relevant rooms that I might need to be able to find again on my own—the kitchen that housed three restaurant grade refrigerators stocked with bagged blood at all times, the library (oh my god, the books he’d collected... now I had a second reason to call him the Beast) and the security hub with all its monitors and live camera feeds from around the premises.
“What’s with all of the security?” I asked, a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of it.
“Well, it may look like overkill. But I can assure you, it’s necessary. There are many that would like to come and take my place at the top of the food chain.”
“Gee, cryptic much?” I frowned and he laughed.
“For all intents and purposes, I am the Vampire President of the United States. The V-POTUS. No matter what I do, someone is always complaining. Someone else always thinks they could do better. Someone always disagrees with my decisions. Would you recommend that the human President walk around without his security?”
I felt my face form a scowl. “So what you’re telling me is that it is dangerous to be here and that at any moment a horde of dissident vampires could come tearing in here and de-throne you?”
“No, Claire. We may be undead, but Vampires are typically more civilized than that. After all, we’ve been playing the politics game long before this land became a country in its own right.”
I relaxed slightly, but still I felt a bit like Alice landing on the other side of the rabbit hole. Wait, was I dating the Vampire-POTUS? That was just too weird on so many
levels. I was hardly Jackie O; more like Marilyn Monroe, ever since Orlando happened to me, anyway.
“Shall we?” Clive escorted me back out into the main hallway to continue the tour.
“So, should I call you Your Highness or something?” I joked.
“Shut up,” he elbowed me playfully.
“Speaking of politics,” Clive started. “How would you feel about doing a little side work for me every now and again?”
I turned to look at him. Oh, he was serious.
“Depends on what you mean by work,” I said.
He paused in front of an enormous set of double doors. “The banquet hall, where we’ll host the dinner tomorrow night.”
He turned back to me. “Nothing too taxing. You have a unique skill set, and one that I could find useful on occasion. Perhaps reading my business associates, or using your powers of influence for good. Stuff like that.”
He made it sound so simple. I’d be willing to bet it would be anything but. “Dangerous?”
“Not really,” he replied.
I frowned. “Why not, don’t you think I can handle myself?”
“Before I give you an answer, let’s see what we’re working with. Why don’t you go get changed into something more comfortable and meet me at the entrance to the North Hall in, say, fifteen minutes?”
Chapter Seven
As I rounded the corner to what I hoped was the North Hall, I heard him before I saw him—Clive, laughing his fine ass off.
“What’s so damned funny, Bloodsucker?” I crossed my arms in front of me and tapped my foot. It was a classic pissed-off-woman pose, and one that I did extremely well.
He was bent over, hands on his knees, practically crying. He looked up at me, laughed again and gestured in my direction, “What’s all this?”
“My outfit? You told me to dress comfortably.” I was missing something, obviously.
I looked down at myself. I sported an oversized black Metallica t-shirt that I’d picked up at a concert eons ago. I’d cut the neck out so that the shirt hung off one shoulder and exposed the strap of my Pink sports bra. Below that was a pair of gray sweatpants that had seen better days, and I’d finished off the look with my favorite fuzzy owl slippers.
Okay, so he had a point. I was maybe slightly past comfortable town and approaching hot-mess land rapidly. But that didn’t mean I had to take his shit.
“What’s the matter? Afraid someone will see you slumming with a big-chested homeless woman and get the wrong idea?” I snarked.
He righted himself and came towards me, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Not at all...”
I resisted the urge to run. He’d never done anything that gentle before, certainly not kissed me sweetly. Inside, I was freaking out. Outside, I was ticked off.
He didn’t seem to notice. “Not at all... when I told you to change into something more comfortable I assumed, well... at any rate you may find that it is somewhat difficult to fight dressed like that.”
“Fight?” I repeated. From tender kisses to kicking my ass in two-point-two seconds. Geesh, and I thought I was moody. I had nothing on him.
He started walking down the long, brightly lit corridor. I hurried to fall in line with him, still thoroughly confused.
“Yes. We need to see what kind of fighter you are. I need to know what kind of jobs you can handle. Come, in here.” Clive pushed through the huge iron double-doors, spread his arms out and turned to face me, “This is where we work out.”
I laughed. “Work out? Last time I checked obesity isn’t a major problem for us, you know. Liquid diet and all.”
“Always the smart ass.” He chucked me on the shoulder with a closed fist. All in good fun, but still I stumbled backwards a few steps.
“That is why we train,” he continued. “Not to get into shape, but to keep a sharp fighting edge. Instincts and brute strength will only carry you so far.”
Clive held me by both arms and looked me square in the eyes. His face was a mask of seriousness when he said, “In the world of Vamps, every one of us is deadly, but some are more deadly than others. Understood?”
Promptly scolded, I shut my mouth, nodded and let him lead me around the vast training room. The core of it was at least as big as a major league baseball field, though octagonal in shape, and was capped by a way-up-there domed ceiling. Stadium spotlights peppered the circumference of it. The floor had a hard rubber-like surface, wall to wall, with a central open area in the middle and smaller areas for specialized combat around the perimeter.
Weapons, enough for an army, lined the walls in efficient groupings. Battle axes, bull-whips, spears, medieval weapons beside next-gen ones, bamboo staffs, and so very much more—most I didn’t even have a name for yet.
Tucked into a niche on the left side of the arena was a self-contained room, encased in what I assumed to be shatter-proof glass. Two long tables flanked the doorway and boasted an impressive assortment of knives. From short blades and daggers to wicked looking steel that had more curves than I did.
“Why do I need to know all these things? I’m a damned weapon all by myself.”
“You can’t always use your particular skills though. There are times when a body needs to be found and it can’t look like something otherworldly got a hold of it. Sometimes a death need to be squarely within the logic of human understanding. Then you’ll need a knife, or a gun, and at least a little bit of knowledge to use one properly.”
I didn’t say anything, but I thought of the red-bearded serial killer I drained a few days back. I had thought at the time that leaving his body to be found in the house, so his crimes would be discovered, would be a good thing. For the most part it had worked out as planned, but I didn’t count on the M.E. opening an investigation into his death, since the corpse landed on her table devoid of blood, but without any obvious wounds. My bad.
“Plus,” he continued. “If your opponent is another Vampire than you will need something more than your teeth, because they’ll have them too. You always want to have access to one more armament than your opponent. Remember that.”
I followed Clive over to a dark corner just past the knife-throwing room. The shadows were almost thick enough to taste there, and before I knew it Clive had lifted me by the arms and thrown me into the black abyss. I twisted in mid-air and landed on my feet with a thud.
Looking up to him from the bottom of what appeared to be a hand-dug well, I tried to conceal the panic in my voice with bravado. “What the hell, Clive?”
“It puts the lotion on its skin...” he said with zero inflection in his voice.
My panic rose to the surface in a surge of adrenaline.
“I jest,” he said, relaxing his face into an easy smile. “Nice feline reflexes, by the way. Half of the baby vamps I’ve tossed down there have landed on their asses before they even realize what I’ve done.”
I didn’t respond, not sure what I was supposed to say to that, or what in the hell I was doing at the bottom of a dark, damp hole in the ground.
“Now, flex those preternatural muscles of yours and see if you can climb your way out of there.” Clive stepped back from edge, so that I could no longer see him.
So help me Goddess, I thought, if he’s getting a damn garden hose, I’ll gut him like a fish.
With no better option, I scooted closer to the wall, reached up and grabbed a handful of hard clay earth. I could feel the claw marks from the Vamps before me, and that only motivated me to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. Fear of being buried alive, tight spaces and the dark—Clive had hit the trifecta with his first test.
Rock climbing without the rocks, I learned, takes a decent amount of upper body strength plus a healthy dose of speediness. Thankfully I had both, and pulled myself out of the hole before the dry clay had a chance to crumble and fall back in on me.
Once I’d heaved myself up over the edge and back on solid ground again, I spied Clive several feet away next to a long wooden bench.
He’d unbuttoned his lavender dress shirt while waiting on me. That, he carefully removed and hung on a wall hook nearby. Next he unbuckled his belted slacks, slipped them down around his ankles and stepped out of them. He made quite a fine sight, standing there with his broad back to me, in nothing but his shape-hugging dark jockey shorts.
Muscular thighs, tight, squeezable buns, strong back and wide shoulders. Day-um.
Maybe he was hoping for a little sexy time to make up for chunking me into the pit? If so, my crotch was about ready to shout out a little hell yeah even if the rest of me was slower on the uptake.
I surveyed my own appearance. I still looked homeless, but much dirtier from the climb. I’d scraped my elbow at some point and my hair fell limply over my shoulders. Well, crap.
“Are you ready for knives, or do you want to try a little sparring first?” Clive turned to face me and my gaze landed on the sizable lump in the front of his jockeys.
I gulped audibly. “Uh, knives?”
“Yes, but don’t worry. You can heal from almost anything, remember?”
I nodded and struggled to come up with a response. Blades or fists? Blood or bruises?
Neither, if I was honest. I decided to go full-on pervert instead. Deflection is my super power, don’t you know.
“I figured with the strip tease and all, we’d skip right to the hard stuff. After all, it’s been a few weeks since you’ve been down to see me.”
An emotion somewhere between guilt and embarrassment flickered across his face. It had come and gone so quickly that if he hadn’t been standing there purposefully stone-faced right after, I might have assumed I’d imagined it.
Right.
I felt like a stupid teenage girl all over again. Just because it had been a few weeks since I’d been properly fucked, didn’t mean that he’d been up here, surrounded by fanged groupies but pathetically having to chuck his own wood. Silly me, assuming things again.
“Hand to hand combat,” I growled. “But first, let me even things out a bit.”