His smile widened at the thought, and he blinked his headlights.
She glided toward him and opened the door, easing into the seat with a grin. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He nodded back the way she had come. “Any trouble?”
“Nope. Just a gentle reminder of who runs the show.”
Valmont chuckled, and put the car into gear. “Be sure to remind Margaurethe of that when we return.”
“I will.”
Her voice held a hint of vehemence, and he glanced at her in surprise as he pulled out onto the street.
As soon as they were away, Whiskey leaned back and sighed.
“I haven’t been out of that building for months.”
“My sympathies. I’ve never liked being caged up for long.”
He drove through downtown Portland. It was still early enough that there were plenty of pedestrians and traffic. “Anyplace in particular you want to stop?”
Whiskey gave him a speculative look. “I don’t think I have enough time to goof off. Perhaps if this expedition turns out well, I’ll be able to con Margaurethe into allowing an occasional reprieve.”
Valmont clicked his tongue in disbelief. “Highly doubtful. She’s got quite a lot invested in your well being.”
“I know. But I can’t be kept safe if I’m to lead.”
“No. You can’t. You’d be ineffectual at best.” He wondered why he continued this charade. He knew Whiskey would never be allowed to be in power, not with Nijmege slavering for her blood. Even if he came clean with Whiskey right now, Nijmege would simply find another way to attain her goals. His brow furrowed as he drove, not liking this turn of thought.
“So where are we going?”
He placed his melancholy aside. “That depends on what you want. There are several avenues we can explore, fear and lust being the most basic and easiest to obtain.”
“There are more?”
Valmont laughed. “Oh, yes. The seven deadly sins are truly a Sanguire’s menu. Avarice, anger, gluttony—all have their particular taste treats.” He pulled into the heavier traffic of a main thoroughfare. “You have to be careful with gluttony, however. The blood will taste strongly of the thing in which the Human overindulges.”
She pursed her lips as she studied him. He saw her eyes glowing in the dark, regarding him. “Why are fear and lust the easiest to get?”
“They take the least amount of effort. If you’re good at seduction in either case, you can hype a Human up to the perfect level with little effort. With the others, you need to lay a bit more groundwork.” Valmont winked at her. “Depending on your bias, it’s well worth the wait.”
“What’s your bias?”
He gave her a mocking grin. “I prefer fear. Something I picked up from your predecessor.”
When she didn’t respond, Valmont glanced at her to find her eyes distant as they stared out the windshield. Another memory?
He entertained himself with conjecture about which one. Her expression was chill as she remembered, and Valmont felt another tremor in his heart at his Ninsumgal’s reappearance. She felt so much like Elisibet at this moment. He half expected her to turn, and give him a sarcastic smile and comment.
Whiskey turned to him, her face solemn. “I don’t think I’m able to induce fear like her.”
The illusion shattered, Valmont swallowed and turned his attention to his driving. Somehow the admission made her seem far more real. “I think you can. You just need the proper motivation.”
They continued in silence, both wrapped in thoughts and memories.
Chapter Ten
Whiskey got out of the car and stared at the club. “Are you sure about this?” They had parked down the street from a small mob idling outside. Two burly people manned the door, a man and a woman, each wearing a radio headset as they kept the unlucky and, by extension, unpopular people waiting.
He grinned. “Of course. I remember you telling the priest you wanted to come here. No time like the present.”
Her heart flipped in her chest. Tribulations was to Portland what Malice was to Seattle; a Goth-style club that a number of Sanguire used for a hunting ground. She questioned her wisdom in following him inside, reaching for a legitimate argument that didn’t weaken her in his eyes. “I’m not legal age, yet. I don’t even have a fake ID.”
If anything, his smile widened. “The Ninsumgal of the European Sanguire doesn’t need identification.”
Still uncertain, she allowed him to take her arm and lead her to the establishment’s door, the name of the club splashed across the black glass in bold white letters. A handful of Gothic posers loitered to one side, all too young to get in; they smoked illegal clove cigarettes and watched the older set waiting patiently to enter the packed business. She remembered many a Friday night doing the same outside Malice. The memory warred with reality as her steps took her past the teenagers, her feet wanting to step aside from her path to take her rightful place beside them.
Valmont swept past those waiting in line, ignoring the bitter comments and snide remarks as he pushed up to the doorwoman, Whiskey at his side. The woman’s eyes glittered in the dark as she studied them. No words were spoken, but Whiskey sensed her mental touch. It felt amazingly like she was being frisked without the physical gesture, a quick pat down of her psyche to ensure...what? That she was Sanguire? Before she had opportunity to become offended, it was over. Apparently she had passed some test. The woman removed the velvet rope from the stanchion that blocked access, and allowed them through. The waiting crowd complained at the preferential treatment of the newcomers, but she promptly returned the rope to its place and glared them down.
“How many of these places are there?”
“As many as needed to support the population.” Valmont gave her a wild smile. “Even ‘vampires’ need a place to relax.”
Whiskey laughed, still apprehensive as they went inside. She wasn’t sure what she anticipated, something along the industrial lines of the Seattle club, perhaps. For all its Gothic hype, however, Tribulations failed to meet her expectations.
The only dark thing about the place was the floor, black as night, stained and polished concrete that reflected the overhead lighting. As Valmont paid the cover to a Human male just inside the door, she scanned the oversize room. Past a large seating area was a dance floor. The music was comparable to what normally played in the youth club she used to frequent, though the beat was more sedate. A number of people writhed together, oblivious of watching eyes. Curtains lined the wall behind the dancers, and she wondered if a stage lurked there. She stepped further into the room, locating two bars, one on the wall beside her and the other opposite, both built of pine. Brass footrests gleamed against the black floor. Several occupied tables were scattered around the room. What little she saw of the walls was white. Tapestries and drapes of varying colors and designs blanketed most of them.
Whiskey glanced to her left and frowned.
“What do you think?”
She glanced at Valmont beside her. “Is there another business here? I thought this building was bigger.” She jabbed her thumb at the decorated wall to her left.
He chuckled into her ear. “Not exactly.” Guiding her forward by the elbow, he reached one of the tapestries, and brushed it aside. A dimly lit corridor hid behind it, several doors sprouting from the hallway. A thin man sat on a chair, watching them. “Not everyone here is Sanguire. And most of the Humans who do come here aren’t aware of us.”
“So this affords a bit of privacy for those intimate moments.”
Whiskey was impressed. Malice hadn’t boasted a back room.
“Yes.” Valmont acknowledged the doorman, and twitched the tapestry back into place.
She turned back to the crowded room, a grin on her face.
Simply being away from The Davis Group lightened her heart despite her unease; it had been too long since her last outing.
She could almost forget who and what she was. Scanning the room, she caught hi
nts of reflective irises like hers, and realized the fragility of the illusion. With a conscious effort, she refused to allow the awareness to interrupt her excitement. As the music thumped, she began to sway with the beat.
“Would you like to dance?”
Whiskey chuckled and turned to Valmont. “I dance alone.”
He laughed, conceding the point. “Then perhaps we can get something to drink, and see what’s on the menu.”
She readily followed him to one of the bars, aware of many eyes watching her. Gentle brushes against her mind indicated the number of Sanguire present, and that they were curious about her. She lightly rebuffed their advances. If she announced herself now, what would happen? How many of the Sanguire here would decide to tear her apart? No one must have realized who she was, not yet. She felt a trickle of fear down her spine. Cocking her head, she stared at Valmont’s back as he ordered drinks. It would be easy for him to put out the word of who accompanied him. The likelihood of her being torn limb from limb before she could get three steps was high. He turned toward her, a glass in each hand, hazel eyes dancing in pleasure.
“What’s on the menu?”
Her tone washed away the amusement. Valmont’s brow wrinkled once and cleared. “What do you mean?”
“I’m just clarifying what’s on the menu. We both know the danger here. Do I give you my trust, or do I leave now?” She doubted she could even get to the door if she chose the second option.
“Whiskey.” Valmont’s jaw twitched as he ground his teeth.
Setting the drinks back on the bar, he stepped closer to her. His voice low, so as not to be overheard by others of their kind, he said, “If that was my aim, we wouldn’t be here now.”
“Remember what I told you at our first meeting.” Her words whispered between them. “Don’t let your guard down. The second I think you’re holding back or are a danger to me and mine, I’ll gut you quicker than anything.”
“I remember.” With a subtle gesture, he bared his throat. “I brought you here because it’s the easiest hunting ground. If you wish to try something different, we leave.”
She studied him, weighed his words against her memories.
After months of verbal sparring and joking, she had nearly forgotten how dangerous he was, and that Margaurethe had every reason to distrust him. Whiskey didn’t know which made her angrier—that she had wanted his smooth words to lull her, or that she was slapped in the face by this need to be suspicious of his motives. Her memories of Valmont and Elisibet fueled a camaraderie that didn’t exist with her current self. She was here because she felt a yearning for something she had never had.
But he told the truth. She saw it. He was a powerful Sanguire man, no doubt older than three quarters of those in this room.
Yet he lifted his chin to her before them all with no concern for his reputation. Whiskey had no idea if anyone here knew his name or history. Would they be surprised that the great Sublugal Sañar Valmont capitulated to a youngling? She glanced around the immediate area, catching the interested gaze of several people. Father Castillo had once said that gossip was a mainstay of the Sanguire. Those with long lives clung to even the smallest thing to remain entertained. Perhaps they would think Valmont had an apprentice, for why else would he be showing her how to hunt? Or did some make the connection of her strength and her appearance? Not every Sanguire here was European, but those that were had to have seen Elisibet’s official portraits. Too late now. The damage is done. “We’ll stay.”
He stared at her a moment before nodding. She thought she saw a flicker of sadness before he turned back to the bar and retrieved their drinks. Handing a glass to her, Valmont displayed the usual devilish quirk to his lips. He seemed to have already forgotten the incident, and a stab of pain pierced Whiskey as she wondered about the damage she had exacted upon him with her sudden suspicions.
Valmont guided her to a table. The three Sanguire seated there looked up at the interruption as he smiled, revealing his fangs. Deciding he wasn’t one to pursue for an apology over his atrocious manners, they vacated their chairs and moved off.
Whiskey forced a light tone. “Rank has its privileges?”
“And they are many and varied.” Valmont slid a chair out for her.She grinned and sat. He had chosen well. Their acquisition put them right on the edge of the dance floor. From here, she watched the people gyrating to music, smelled the rich aroma of Human sweat and desire. The odors ignited her hunger. She caught herself licking her lips, anticipating the coming meal. As she watched, she began to note the disparities between Human and Sanguire. Before she had Turned, she had been oblivious to the existence of her people. She had been drawn to Castillo when they had met with no idea why, and knew no others. Since her Níri Kurám, she had been mostly sequestered away for her safety, the aborted assassination attempt by Rufus Barrett giving credence to the threat against her life. Surrounded by Sanguire security ever since, her only Human contact had been people who worked for her and the kizarusi brought to feed her.
The differences were subtle, hardly noticeable to someone not looking for them. The Humans, of which there were many, acted as they always did in this sort of atmosphere. They focused on drinking, dancing and having a good time. Their short lives necessitated a certain level of franticness to their actions, as if they subconsciously knew they could die any day and wanted the most possible experience before that happened. Their mode of dress ranged from Euro trash to historical garb as they pretentiously attempted to express vampiric personas, completely unaware of the Sanguire among them.
Whiskey’s people, on the other hand, had hundreds of years on their hands, and it showed. They moved fluidly and at a more decorous pace. Their voices were low, and their gestures smooth as they conversed, flirted and seduced their Human prey. When they danced, it was for themselves; when they made eye contact, it was to pass hidden messages to their friends; when they focused on a Human, it was only partly an elegant hunt for food.
The idea of a Human/Sanguire pairing came to Whiskey’s mind again. She saw that at least here such a relationship would be impossible. Her people saw Humans as prey, nothing more.
This was a hunting ground. Was it biological predisposition for a Sanguire to feel superior to Humans, the natural predator’s viewpoint? Or did this supremacy come about from years of indoctrination into Sanguire society?
“What do you think so far?”
Her reverie interrupted, Whiskey glanced at Valmont.
“Interesting.” She didn’t elaborate, dubious of his reaction to her musings. She made a promise to herself to speak to Father Castillo.
His radical opinion of Humans as more than a food source made him the most likely with whom to discuss such things. “What now?”
“Now we find a likely target. Any suggestions?”
Whiskey scanned the dance floor, noting there were more Humans than Sanguire. “Not really. You know what you like and how to attain it. I leave the decision to you.”
Valmont glanced over the offerings, humming in thought.
“What about...her?”
She followed his gaze to a young woman standing alone near the stage. White blond hair piled haphazardly on her head, the effect made her look adorable rather than sloppy. Her round face was pale, her full lips painted dark red. She wore a dress that seemed more tatters than cloth. Despite her apparent youth she seemed hardened, jaded. “Looks good.”
He grinned and stood, leaving the table. Whiskey sat back to watch. Approaching the woman he introduced himself, made small talk, and flirted outrageously with her. It was nothing that Whiskey hadn’t done on many occasions throughout her adolescence. As time passed, he cajoled the woman out onto the dance floor. At first distant, he pressed her until they were wrapped about each other. He spoke into her ear, causing her to laugh. Finishing her drink, Whiskey ordered another from a wandering barmaid. She frowned in vague disappointment. She had thought Valmont would act differently. He had said his bias was fear, not lust
; she was curious how he instilled fear in his prey.
As she looked around the room, however, she noted seductions everywhere. Apparently lust was the easiest to attain.
“Jack.”
She looked up at a smiling Valmont, the Human woman held closely to his side. It took a moment for her to realize he was talking to her, and another to understand that Jack referred to the brand of whiskey she preferred. Answering his smile with one of her own, she cocked her head.
“This is Misty.”
“Hi.” The woman licked her lips as her eyes wandered over Whiskey. “Val says you like to watch.”
Whiskey saw a burble of humor in Valmont’s eyes. She took up her cue. “I do. Are you offering?”
“Could be.” Misty ran her hand up Valmont’s shirt, and caressed his neck. “It’d be cool to have someone like you watching. Maybe you could join the fun.”
Her eyes flickered to Valmont, finding a raised eyebrow and questioning look. “I’m game.”
“Good. I know just the place.” He winked at Whiskey. “Come on.”As expected, he led them to one of the tapestries, brushing it aside to reveal a dimly lit corridor. Misty acted surprised by its existence, and commented that she would have to come here more often. The hall guard nodded them toward an open door, and turned away as Valmont pulled Misty into the room. Whiskey followed, quietly closing the door behind her.
“Lock it.”
Whiskey was taken aback by his sudden rough tone. She fumbled the two locks into place, hearing the click of metal and a gasp of surprise from Misty before she turned around. She hadn’t gotten a clear look at the room upon entering. She saw it was a small dungeon, the concrete walls decorated with various restraint devices. She inhaled deeply, receiving a rush from the aroma of indistinct blood that permeated the air. Valmont already had his prey bound, her hands manacled together behind her.
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