“I drove down with Lacey, and when we got there,” Violet continued, “there were only a few men—two or three that I ever saw, plus Victor and his guards. I assumed more people would be coming, but except for three other women who arrived right after me and Lacey, no one else came. And when I realized it was just us and those men, I knew what they wanted us for.” Tears began rolling down her cheeks again, but that was the only sign of her distress as she kept talking.
“Victor did something to me, to all of us. I did . . . awful things for those men. Disgusting things. Even when I was doing them, I knew something was wrong. It was like my mind was screaming at me from somewhere, but I couldn’t make my body listen. And it went on forever, not just with one man, but with all of them.”
“Did Victor participate in—”
“Not with me,” she said quickly. “I don’t know about the others. His guards did, though. When the clients—that’s what Victor called them, like we were whores.” She swallowed hard, revulsion for the men and maybe for herself, too, written on her face. “When the clients were finished with us, Victor’s guards took over. And they wanted more than sex, or more than just sex, because they took that, too.”
“Blood?”Duncan asked, careful to keep the anger from his voice.
Violet nodded. “And the next night, it started all over again, but the men were worse than before. More violent. I thought they were going to kill us all,” she whispered. “But they only killed poor Lacey.”
Duncan’s eyes flashed immediately to Emma who sat next to a cluttered dining room table behind Violet. She met his gaze, distress in every nuance of her body. He wanted to tell her to leave, that she didn’t need to hear this, but he knew she wouldn’t go. And he wouldn’t ask her to.
“Did you see what happened to Lacey?” he asked, returning his attention to Violet and making the question sound only mildly curious.
Violet shook her head. “I was next door. But I heard them. I think . . . I heard one of the other men shout at someone else, saying they’d killed her. He said something like, ‘You’ve strangled her, you fool.’ And then the man who was with me—I’m ashamed to say I don’t know who he was—anyway, he jumped up and ran into the hallway and everyone started yelling, and then someone punched someone else and I could hear them fighting. And then one of Victor’s guards ran into my room and grabbed me.” She rubbed her arm, as if she could still feel the grip of his hand.
“He dragged me down the hall and threw me into this tiny room with all the other women and locked the door. Lacey was the only one missing. We were all naked, but there was a bed there so we grabbed the sheets and blankets. Two of the women . . . I don’t know their names. Lacey was the only one I knew from before, and none of us used our real names. I think we all knew this was something we wouldn’t want anyone to know about. Anyway, two of the women were unconscious, or at least they weren’t moving anymore. So, I and the other girl wrapped them in the blankets, figuring they needed the extra warmth, and we took the sheets. And that’s all I remember. It’s like there’s a big black spot in my brain, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t put anything in it. I woke up in a car driving back to the District. I was wearing clothes, but they weren’t even mine. One of Victor’s guards dropped me off at my apartment, handed me my purse, and that was it. I went upstairs and . . .”
Violet bent her head, hiding behind her hair as her eyes closed, her throat working as she struggled to contain her emotions. Duncan felt dirty prying into her heart and soul like this, but he couldn’t help her, couldn’t fix her any other way. And because he was trying to fix her, because he was so tuned in to what she was feeling, he knew her emotions were very much like the ones experienced by women who’d been raped. He’d felt that before, too, in other women he’d rescued over the years. It was combination of shame and guilt, of helplessness, and at the same time, pure, unadulterated rage, sometimes at themselves as much as their rapist.
“I showered,” Violet whispered. “I showered until every inch of my skin was raw from scrubbing. And then I crawled into my bed and slept. And I never really woke up.” She looked up, meeting Duncan’s gaze. “Until today.”
“I’m sorry to make you relive all of that,” Duncan said, meeting her eyes and letting his own sorrow show. “But it’s necessary. I wouldn’t ask it otherwise.”
Violet nodded. “I know. And I feel better simply knowing it was real, that I’m not losing my mind.”
“Did you know any of the men, other than Victor?”
“Not then. But one of them was that senator you see on the news all the time now, Grafton. My dad’s always saying how the name fits, because politicians are always on the take. I remember two others, but I don’t know their names. One was the creep with me when Lacey died. I’d know his face if I saw it, but I don’t know his name. He was kind of beat up looking, and he drank a lot. He had that smell that alcoholics get. I don’t know what it is, precisely, but I had an uncle who was an alcoholic and he always smelled that way. The man couldn’t . . .” Her face heated with embarrassment, and she looked away.
“The man couldn’t get an erection,” Duncan provided. “Is that it?”
“Yes,” Violet said, still not looking at him.
“What about the third man?”
“I don’t know his name either, but if I had to guess, I’d say he was a politician of some sort. He had that slick, captain-of-the-football-team personality. He looked like one, too. I remember wondering why a guy that good-looking would need someone like Victor to pimp for him.”
That description fit too many of the glad-handing politicians in town to be useful, but the alcoholic she’d described . . . that matched the appearance of Congressman Kerwin whom Duncan had last seen at Grafton’s fundraiser, flushed with too much alcohol and staring at Duncan like he’d seen a ghost.
“But I never saw the woman,” Violet added unexpectedly.
Duncan and Emma both stared at her. “Woman?” Duncan said, puzzled. “You mean one of the other women who were there with you?”
“No,” Violet said, shaking her head. “There was a woman there with Victor. I never did see her; I only heard her voice. She came later, at the end, after Lacey . . .” She frowned and bit the inside of her lip unhappily. “She was yelling, I mean really angry, like she was in charge or something. It surprised me, because I’d never heard anyone talk that way to Victor before.”
* * * *
They took Violet home after that. Emma drove the same SUV, with Violet in the passenger seat up front, but Duncan rode in the back this time. He didn’t say much, but Emma could feel the comfort of his presence behind her, like a banked fire on a cold night. She knew he was probably doing it for Violet’s benefit, but she enjoyed it anyway. And she wondered if he knew what it felt like when he did whatever that was. Had he ever been on the receiving end of it? Had someone taught him how to project that overwhelming sense of safety and security? Or was it instinctive, just a part of who he was?
Violet’s parents were home when they got there. The porch light was on in welcome, and Emma could see the flickering of a television screen behind the sheers on the front window.
“Will your parents be worried?” Emma asked, not knowing what Violet had told them. They had to wonder why their daughter, who’d been all but homebound for the last two weeks, would suddenly be out late at night.
Violet shook her head. “I told them I was going out with a friend. They were thrilled.”
Emma could understand that. “You want me to walk in with you, then?”
“No, it’s okay.” Violet turned in the seat and addressed Duncan. “Thank you, Duncan,” she said somberly. “I don’t know what you really did today, and I don’t care. You saved my life and that’s all that matters. To me, anyway.” She opened the door and climbed out, then stopped and looked at Emma. “I hope you find whatever you’re looking for, Emma, and I hope it brings you peace.” Then she slammed the door and ran up the stairs, moving with an ener
gy and grace that had been totally lacking a few hours earlier.
“Will she remember any of this?” Emma asked, watching as Violet disappeared into the house.
“No,” Duncan said. “She’ll wake in the morning and remember being ill, and now she’ll get better.”
Emma sighed. It was a bittersweet victory. They’d given Violet her life back, but Lacey was still gone. And her killers were still out there. But at least Violet had given them something to go on. Grafton for sure, which they’d already suspected, and the drunk who couldn’t get it up, probably Kerwin. And then there was the woman. Grafton’s wife? Or maybe Tammy Dietrich? Emma sighed. The more they learned, the more complicated everything became.
Duncan’s warm hand touched her shoulder. “Pull over, Emma.” She did so, not even questioning why. Their escort pulled in behind them, and a minute later Ari was knocking on her window. He took over the steering wheel, while Miguel claimed the passenger seat.
Grumbling all the way, Emma climbed into the backseat with Duncan, but consoled herself by snuggling up close to him. Duncan put his arm around her and gave her a warm kiss that made her hope Ari made Indy 500 time on the drive back to the house. But he was quiet after that, leaving Emma to her own thoughts. Towns and neighborhoods flashed by outside. Ari was driving much faster than she would have dared, especially since a light rain had begun to fall. Apparently he didn’t worry about being pulled over for speeding. Could a vampire talk his way out of a ticket if he did get pulled over? Or maybe they had some sort of diplomatic immunity? And were girlfriends included? That could come in handy.
They arrived back in the District with hours to spare before sunrise. Ari pulled in behind the house, maneuvering around construction equipment and piles of supplies, gleaming wetly in the headlights. Emma scrambled down from the SUV, frowning at the abundance of construction-related materiel. She knew there were more people, more vampires actually, working on the house than what she saw. She’d seen evidence of the remodeling and sometimes heard them shouting back and forth. But this seemed like an awful lot of stuff. Duncan joined her, his gaze raking over the house and back to her. He smiled, then put a hand low on her back.
“Let’s get inside before it starts raining again,” he said, and started walking toward the kitchen door. “Ask Alaric to leave an update for me, please, Miguel,” he called without looking. “And tell him I’ll meet him tomorrow night.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You must be tired,” Duncan said at her ear.
“Not that tired. Besides, you did all the work,” she murmured back to him.
“Did I? Perhaps.”
Emma frowned, but didn’t say anything else until they had reached Duncan’s suite and closed the bedroom door behind them.
She unbuttoned her blouse and stepped out of her heels, watching him covertly, admiring the graceful way he moved, even when it was something so prosaic as taking off his jacket and stripping away his sweater. Although, granted, there was nothing prosaic about Duncan’s bare chest. Or his back, either. He was all smooth muscle, long lean stretches of it that came together over broad shoulders and powerful arms. Unable to stop herself, she slipped out of her blouse and crossed the room to him. All of her senses seemed suddenly more concentrated, as if being this close to Duncan brought everything into hyperawareness. The thick carpet was like silk beneath her stockinged feet, her hair almost unbearably warm on her bare shoulders, and the satin of her bra an exquisite torment over her breasts.
Duncan turned and watched her come toward him, his body perfectly still in a way that was his alone, his eyes glowing a soft bronze in the dim light. He held out a hand when she drew close enough. She placed her fingers in his, feeling the slight roughness of his skin as he closed his hand and drew her into his embrace, circling her waist with his arm and bending his head enough to touch his lips to hers.
“Emma,” he said softly. Just that. Just her name, like a promise.
Emma stroked her hand down his face. “What Victor did,” she told him quietly, guessing at the source of his discontent from this evening. “That’s not you. You know that, right?”
“Of course,” he said too quickly.
“But you still feel guilty.”
He sighed. “Victor was one of ours. We should have known what was going on and stopped it.”
“You did stop it,” she reminded him. “And now he’s dead.” She held his gaze. “Victor really is dead, isn’t he?”
Duncan studied her for a long moment, as if deciding whether to trust her. Emma held her breath, not only because she wanted Victor to be dead, but more importantly, because she desperately needed Duncan to trust her enough to tell her the truth.
“He’s really dead,” Duncan said flatly. He met her gaze for a moment, then tugged her against his chest. Emma wrapped her arms around him, her eyes filling with tears of relief.
“I want you to move your things in here, into this room,” Duncan said softly. “From the other bedroom.”
“I don’t have that much here, it’s—”
“It doesn’t matter. This is your room now.”
Emma rubbed her fingers up and down his spine absently. Was it simply that Duncan was used to giving orders? Or maybe it was that vampire possessiveness he’d warned her about? And did she really care? After all, it wasn’t like she was moving in lock, stock and barrel. He wasn’t even asking her to do that. It was only a few changes of clothes. She’d done as much with boyfriends in the past, when they’d each kept a few things at each other’s apartment. So why did this time feel different? Stupid question, Emma, she scolded herself. It was different because this time she was in love with the guy. And she had no idea how he felt about her. Oh, sure, he lusted after her, and, yeah, he was possessive as hell. But was that love?
She sighed. Duncan heard her, obviously. He could hear a pin drop at twenty paces, but more significantly, he understood the emotion behind her sigh.
“You’re mine, Emma,” he said softly, but in a voice that brooked no argument. “I want that clear. As long as you’re in this house, as long as we’re together, you’re mine. And no one else’s.”
Emma leaned back enough to see his face. “That goes both ways, vampire. I don’t share either.”
A slow grin spread over Duncan’s face, and he drawled, “I’ve barely enough strength for you, Emmaline.”
Emma laughed softly, letting him distract her. “Oh, you’ll manage somehow,” she murmured, then reached behind his head and tugged the leather tie off his hair.
“I keep losing those,” he complained.
“You have an entire drawer full of them,” she scoffed, threading her fingers through his hair. “Don’t be such a girl.”
Duncan’s brow arched in disbelief. “Girl?”
“Um, well, it’s just a—” She shrieked in surprise as he spun her around and threw her on the bed. In a flash, he had her bent over the edge, her skirt up around her waist, her panties on the floor. Emma started laughing, but then groaned as his cock pushed past her tender folds and deep into the hungry wet depths of her sex. She hissed in pleasure at how good he felt, how completely he stretched her open and filled her as he began pumping in and out of her with long, graceful strokes. He unclasped her bra and ran a long-fingered hand up her bare spine and she arched her back languorously, opening herself even more to his invasion. He leaned forward over her back and brushed her hair aside as he nuzzled her neck.
“Let this be a lesson to you,” he whispered flush against her ear. She groaned again as her vulnerable position let him go deeper than he’d ever gone before. He stopped moving abruptly, still buried inside her, nothing but the slightest flex of his hips slipping fractionally back and forth as he held her motionless. “This, my darling Emmaline, is a cock filling your sweet little pussy. My cock.”
Emma giggled. “Okay, I—”
“And do girls have cocks?” he interrupted. “No, they don’t.”
Emma rolled her hips gently a
gainst his, loving the smooth glide of his thickness inside her.
“I don’t think you’re taking this lesson seriously,” Duncan scolded. Emma yelped a surprised laugh as he slapped her ass smartly and began fucking her in earnest. She closed her eyes and went with it, loving the scrape of the velvet comforter against her hard nipples, the heated friction of his shaft, the zing of blissful sensation as he held onto her hip with one hand while the other reached around to toy with her clit. He bent over her again, his chest to her back, and she felt the warm caress of his tongue along the side of her neck. She shivered expectantly, and everything below her waist began thrumming with eager anticipation. The smooth, firm surface of his fangs brushed against her neck and she shuddered, her heart filling her throat and making it hard to breathe. But who needed to breathe? She only needed Duncan.
His fangs slipped almost painlessly into the taut skin of her neck, puncturing her vein like the pinch of a needle, quickly forgotten in the rush of exquisite pleasure that roared through her blood. The velvet beneath her breasts became a warm, seductive caress against her swollen nipples, clenching her abdomen and making her pussy shiver in anticipation. Without warning, she exploded in a climax that convulsed every muscle in her body, even as Duncan continued to pound into her, his hips grinding against her ass as he held her open to him. Somewhere in all of that, she was aware of the soft pull of his fangs against her vein, of his deep growl as she bucked beneath him, and then his head lifted and, with a roar of release, he filled her with the hot wash of his climax.
Emma no longer felt like laughing. Actually, she might have laughed with sheer joy if she’d been able to feel any part of her body, but she was so completely satiated, she couldn’t feel anything at all. Duncan’s cock flexed inside her, and she moaned as her clit sparked an answer. Okay, so not every part of her was numb, after all.
She felt the warm drizzle of blood slide down her neck a moment before Duncan gave her a sensuous lick and belatedly sealed the twin puncture wounds. He kissed them afterwards, murmuring a quiet apology, but Emma didn’t care. She loved the way he came, loved the feel of his cock pumping inside her, loved that he was so lost in his climax that he forgot to lick the wounds closed. What was a trickle of blood compared to that?
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