4.
He lied to her. She was exhausted, that much was clear. She'd have to be to have broken down like that. He saw strength and stubbornness in her, in how she denied her need for sleep. Because of him, he realized. She was tired, and refused to take the bed. So he lied to her, feigning business to attend to and taking the desk for himself.
Only then did she take the bed and, eventually, fall into an uneasy sleep.
He didn't have business. His Vixen was not the same size or complexion as Vanessa. Also it seemed so very wrong to dress her in what Vanessa had left behind. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to see Vanessa's things at all again. He hadn't been able to bring himself to even enter her room in their suite. He would have to eventually. But for now even the thought filled him with a rage that roused the beast in his blood and that was dangerous indeed.
So instead he guarded her sleep.
Near dawn she finally fell into a deep enough sleep that he moved to the couch and managed to fall asleep himself.
He woke some time later, light streaming through the gauzy shades and his Vixen staring, those eyes large and wide on him.
"I thought vampires burned in the sun," she said aloud at last.
He slowly sat up, righted his t-shirt back down and squinted into the sunlight. "Some do. I'm not one of them."
His Vixen watched him carefully. Strangely he found himself mildly concerned about her thoughts. No. Her judgment.
"What are you thinking, Vixen?"
She considered him carefully. "I'm thinking for this to work there can be no lies between us."
He laughed.
"What are you thinking, my lord?"
"That there is no way I can tell you every truth of my long years."
"Then start one at a time. This ruse of yours? What's in it for me?"
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "I could offer you your freedom."
She gave him a look and he continued. "But that would be unfair, given the danger this puts you in. I will protect you to the best of my ability. Ferociously, as if you were..." he paused. "With every bit of my being."
"I believe that, actually."
There was that at least.
"I will care for you. I will lavish you with clothes, jewels, everything your heart desires."
She snorted.
"For the rest of your life," he added.
"However long that might be."
He couldn't help smiling. "Then what would you ask of me?"
He was prepared to give her time and space to decide, if that was what it took. But she answered right away.
"I want the man who stole my freedom and made me this," she gestured to the collar, "dead. I'm sure you can arrange that."
Arrange it? He'd gladly tear the man's head from his shoulders himself. "I can give you that."
She kicked off the covers and stood. "Then I can fight with you."
Since her hands were still wrapped he prepared food for her, stealing glances at her as she studied his apartment more closely.
"What do I need to know about vampires," she asked, finally settling at the breakfast bar and toying with a low dish of African violets.
"What do you know already?" The smell of sizzling meat filled the air.
"Very little."
"How many of your former owners were vampires?"
"Three," she answered.
He traded out the bacon and cracked eggs into the leftover grease. "Did you learn anything from them?"
"That people are cruel and make promises they never intend to keep."
Was she throwing a barb at him, or just being truthful? He let it go.
"Vampires, as I said before, are both genetic and magical. Someone without the right genes will just die, no matter how hard one tries to turn them, nor how powerful the vampire who tries to turn them. This has led to distinct families, or clans of vampires. Usually they are referred to as Houses.
"Each House typically has a group of powers or skills that the blood magic brings out in them. Resistance to sunlight runs in my line. But Lincoln, who you met last night, doesn't have that gift.
"Some gifts, again like that one, are very obvious. Others not so much. And a person may be a member of a certain family and not gain all, or even any of the family's gifts because of their human bloodline, or because of the age of the one who makes them. Older vampires make stronger vampires.
"The current vampire king on this continent is Roalf Ettington. He has been in power for over two hundred years. He has, in that time, sired three sons all of which were also his mortal descendants."
Jackson topped the eggs with salsa and shredded cheese and slid the plate over to his pet. He pulled a knife from the block and an apple from the fridge and began slicing it for her as well. He stole the first piece and smiled. She looked less amused and finally picked at the bandages on her hands as her food cooled.
"Antony was the first. He is unwaveringly loyal and lives on the west coast, maintaining his sire's control of that side of the territory. He has sired quite a few descendents who have passed the bloodline on as well.
"The second is Cole, who after a hundred years of playing the part lost all interest in playing the game of vampire politics. The king makes many excuses and exceptions for him. Largely, though, he doesn't get very involved in any politics unless it's to get people to leave him out of it. His two children play all the vampire social games for him, which satisfies the king's desire for supplication from his children. "
Jackson paused. "Roalf's third son is much more of a problem.
"About eighty years ago, by all accounts, he went quite mad. The king hid it for a while. However one night Deacon escaped whatever nannies Roalf had on him and took it upon himself to slaughter the entire line of the king's known mortal family. Men, women, children. In three nights he tried his absolute best to completely end the Ettington line."
Vixen peeled some of the bandage away and eyed the food. She picked up a fork. "What happened to him?"
Jackson plucked another apple from his stock. "We don't know. As far as I can tell, no one knows. Could be that he was killed. Could be that he was chained up in some dungeon, rotting. As fairy tales would say; 'And he was never seen in the kingdom again'."
"Where do you think he is?" She measured his words, then began eating. She had to be starving. He admired her self control.
"I don't like to guess. I prefer facts."
She accepted this with a nod and gestured around them. "So everyone has to come here?"
"At least every decade. But the king sometimes requests one's presence at court."
"So it is like a court. An evil, Regency court of vampires," she said. "When I was a teen my second owner kept all kinds of trashy books around for the pets to read. Dime store stuff, corset rippers, scifi adventures, mysteries. Not fine literature, but I read them. We all did."
"Did you enjoy them?"
"Very much."
"Then it didn't matter if they were fine literature, they did their job. Can you please tell me more about your former owners?"
She smiled, a very chilling smile that he found himself liking quite a bit. "Would you like to kill them as well?"
He smiled back. "Perhaps. Coffee?"
She shook her head. "Well, that one, the second vampire, he was a collector. He owned at least a dozen of us. I don't know that I ever met him. I was only there two weeks until a pack of werewolves took his territory."
"What about the first one?"
She looked away from him. "He was a vampire. I was thirteen. He owned me for three years. That's all I'd like to say about him."
He wanted very badly to push. Vanessa hadn't been this kind of pet. She'd been well bred, educated, and... there were things about the role that very much appealed to her. He doubted Vixen would ever choose the same path.
"Of course. You share what you wish, as long as it is the truth, and it won't endanger my life." He paused. "Or your own."
She appeared to think this over. "The werewolves kept me for a time. I didn't play well in a pack setting. They traded me for breeders."
Not uncommon. Shifter women had a very hard time carrying babies to term due to the violence of the shift. They bypassed it by using humans as breeders. But most packs had no desire to spend energy convincing, controlling, or coercing anyone to carry children for them. It wasn't difficult to find willing surrogates, given some of the packs' wealth, and, erm, the attractiveness of many shifters.
"Then?"
"I was bought by a gorgon."
A gorgon? That was interesting. She noticed his subtle shift of posture.
"It was decidedly less interesting than it sounds. She felt she was rescuing us from corruption and servitude. She was unusually nice. She taught us all a lot and took care of us. And one day she vanished. And that was that."
"I'm sorry."
She shrugged. That bothered him.
"I didn't want to be a pet after that. I..."she trailed off. Then shifted away from whatever line of thinking she'd been sharing. He made a point to remember it, so perhaps he could come back to it later.
"Then come the werewolves. And I ran."
"You said three vampires. Two werewolves, a gorgon, and three vampires."
"You," she said.
It hurt him, the way she said it. And he knew that's how she meant it. No matter how he cared for her, or protected her, he owned her too.
She stood. "So what do we need to do to prepare me for this coming out dinner?"
She tried to smile, and it killed him a little inside.
***
There wasn't enough time or sleep in the world to prepare her for her official entry into the vampire court. So instead Ruby settled for the traditional battlements of women.
Jackson summoned a pair of vampire handmaidens, with wheeled carts and cases, who quickly set up in the apartment living room. They peeled the bandages from her hands, which truly appeared healed, then got to work shaping and painting her nails. Then came the pedicure and they offered waxes for her legs, but ended up using little electric shavers instead. They offered a book of wigs styles to look at, but she refused. Let the vampires see that she was a mongrel, not a pampered purebred, she thought. They attacked her with two boxes of various cosmetics until, when they held up mirrors, she barely recognized herself.
Maybe that was good. Maybe tonight she could play the part of a vampire pet and hold all her feelings deep inside. Where they couldn't be used against her.
When they were gone Jackson presented a dress from the witch shop. He dressed her like a doll, like she might break if she did something herself. After all Phineas had said her hands would look fine, but the real healing inside would take longer. The dress was a high waisted, sapphire silken material that fell like a waterfall around her. It managed to look stylish, but also obscure her thin shape. It fell to her ankles, occasionally brushing the silver sandals he put on her feet.
She understood far too well how one could get used to this kind of treatment. Addicted even. That was a path best avoided, no matter how pretty the trappings--or how soft the touch.
Jackson, too, seemed to be composing into a different form of himself as he prepared. They matched, his shirt the same color blue and the same soft material. Despite it not matching he wore ruby and white gold cufflinks to match her collar. Being visibly united was more important than being perfect. Good to know.
She'd played parts in vampire games before. Never one quite this...high. But she took several deep breaths and reminded herself that if she could survive peeing in the corner of a cage and living in a tree, she could manage this.
Then Ruby found herself again padding across ludicrously plush carpet through the halls of the vampire den. There was a maze inside these walls. She tried to memorize the path they took, but there was too much sensory input to take it in all at once. There was barely any space between gleaming wood accents and the gold leaf panels and art.
She watched the marble statues go by, a rearing horse, a lifelike potted plant, rendered in milk white, a pair of lovers stealing a kiss in the corner. The latter was next to velvet upholstered chairs separated by a small table playing host to a Tiffany glass lamp. On the opposite side of the hall an abstract expressionist piece stretched from floor to ceiling and at least eight feet long.
Disgusting wealth, Ruby thought. That was the only thing that made sense.
They approached the more public areas of the manor, evident by more people moving about with them. The noise was the give away. Vampires could be silent when they wanted to be. People here wanted to be seen and heard. They did so love the sound of their own voices.
The sound of laughter spilled out as they rounded a corner, followed by a feminine squeal and more laughter. The pre-event entertainment presented itself to them. A woman was fighting a vampire, but clearly not for her life, or even out of fear. In the wide flair of the walls around them clusters of audience watched the leather collared woman dance away from a fanged monster chasing her. Her gauzy dress swirled around her as if she was dancing with it. The light of the hall shone through the material, revealing the shape of her body as she moved. The woman stopped swirling and began a jog.
The vampire blurred into a streak of movement and easily caught her. She laughed and pulled away again. He let her slip to the edge of his grasp, almost get away, then yanked her back and buried his face in her neck.
When he straightened up a smear of red marred her skin. Ruby's stomach rolled a bit.
"Jackson!" a male voice called out.
Her escort looked around then guided her to a seat tucked beside a large planter with a fake plant and a miniature waterfall. "Wait here. I won't be far."
Once he was several steps away, but still within sight Ruby huffed to herself. He'd told her to sit and stay.
"I like your collar," a voice behind her said, startling her because she hadn't heard anyone approach. She had better situational awareness than this, she told herself, looking toward the girl who'd creeped up on her.
"I like how colorful it is. And your dress too." She appeared to be about twelve or thirteen, wearing a gorgeous white dress with a wide gray sash dividing her chest and shoulders visually from the rest of her. Crystals had been sewn into the skirt, like rain falling from the gray and pooling around her feet, catching the light whenever she moved.
"Oh. Thank you. Your dress is amazing." Ruby didn't see a collar, but the girl also didn't have the perfect, china doll complexion of a vampire. Or the cocky body language of a creature that didn't fear mortality.
"Are you new?" the girl asked.
"Um." What was she supposed to say? Well this was just a child, right? "Yes. I'm with Jackson."
Ruby pointed over to where Jackson stood, speaking intensely with a blond man in an all black suit.
"Oh, good." The girl's smile widened. "I like Sir Jackson. He wears many different colors. You would think that vampires would be more bold. But," she gestured, "they all just keep wearing black."
Ruby laughed. "What's your favorite color?"
"Just one? I don't know. It depends on my mood. I like bright colors, like blue and green, and red. Not pastels or fluorescent."
"More like jewel tones?" Ruby offered.
"Yes!" The girl grinned again. "Jewel tones. What about you?"
"I like just about any shade of blue. Except navy. Navy is boring. It's like almost black. But it chickened out on its way getting there."
The girl laughed like she did so often. Ruby felt off balance with the weirdness of a child, who was not a vampire, so calm and happy, in the middle of all these creatures. "What's your name," Ruby asked.
"Amber," the girl whispered, "But most people call me Angel. I'm Sir Christopher's pet."
Ruby's stomach rolled. A child pet? And her face, her smile, a happy girl.
"What's your name?" Amber asked.
"Ruby, but most people call me Vixen." Amber's eyes lit up. They shared a secret and the girl was pleased with that. Ruby smiled a little. Amber and Ruby, who both loved colors and shared secret names. "Does Sir Christopher treat you well?"
"Oh yes, very well. He reads to me a lot and lets me read all I want to myself. He has the most wonderful books. And he bought me this dress." She swirled, letting the skirt billow out around her.
That was good at least. "It is a lovely dress."
"Vixen?"
Ruby looked up at the sound of Jackson's voice. He looked at her curiously. "Who were you talking to?"
The girl had vanished the moment she looked away. Perhaps, being so young, she wasn't supposed to be here?
"Another pet. Amber," Ruby answered. "She was just here."
Jackson shrugged and offered her an arm. "Are you ready?"
No, but she was going to do it anyway. She took his arm and stood. Into the fire, she told herself. Though an actual fire might be preferable.
The door to the dining hall was a grand arch set into the brick of the hall. Of course. This whole place reminded her of the period books from her previous life. Were the people here so ancient, or were they just pretending to be? They walked, arm in arm, into a large room. The far wall was all windows, opening out to a patio twice as large as the hall. The scent of the night, and night blooming flowers wafted in mixing with food smells.
Three long tables lined the space between the door and the windows, and a raised dais sat at the head of the room. A fourth table, smaller, sat on the dais, perpendicular to the others in the room.
The hall buzzed with chatter. Some of it stopped when they entered. The eyes of the monsters felt like a physical weight on her as she walked. So many. Only Jackson's arm in hers kept her moving forward, down between the tables. Where was their place in this court, she wondered.
Laughter spilled out around her. Not at her, she realized and they moved step by step deeper into the tables. Some people stood, some sat in chairs, some on the table itself, between giant platters of meat, bread, vegetables, and fruit. There was enough food on each table to feed a decent sized army, and it was like decoration, a show of wealth for these creatures that didn't need this kind of food to survive.
Rage built up in Ruby and she tried to choke it back. Her grip on Jackson tightened and he seemed to notice. Each step became a march, forcing herself through the anger.
She didn't want his touch, his guidance. She wanted her rage. She wanted to be able to turn to look at all the creatures at her back and let her rage itself set them aflame. She wanted to scream at them, and let her fury burn them to ashes, like it tried to burn her. Her hand shook and her vampire paused. She had to fight it back. Her anger couldn't actually set them aflame. They would just stand there and laugh at her impotent rage. She dug her nails into the palm of her left hand so her vampire didn't notice it. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to hurt.
They moved. He led her down the line, then to the side. Then, bringing up another stab of panic in Ruby's chest, he led her to the stairs, then up onto the dais. They were in a room of vampire royalty and he was all but climbing to the throne.
"Who are you," Ruby hissed at him, hoping only he heard.
"It's complicated, " Jackson said. He came to a stop not far from the center seat and pulled one out for her with a little bow. Ruby imagined that all the eyes were on her. Her skin crawled. She sat, digging her nails in harder. Phineas was right, there was pain. She needed it to be bigger than anything else in the room.
It wasn't enough.
To Jackson's left another vampire lord sat. He was wickedly handsome and fully aware of how the room watched them. His dark hair had a carelessly unkempt look that was probably created with loads of gel. His cheekbones and jawline could make a movie star weep. And his eyes, icy blue, didn't need vampire powers to compel people. He wore black, black trousers, a black button down, and a black vest with gold brocade threading. Ruby caught her breath. Vampires and their black. So boring. The pressure eased some.
He also wore a deliciously curvy, exotic-looking woman on his lap. The chair between he and Jackson sat empty. Her tawny skin was set off by the heavy gold chains she wore, one on each ankle, multiple on each wrist, and thinner one around her bare waist. She wore a collar as well, also gold with a fat teardrop-shaped sapphire centered at her throat. A delicate gold chain leash connected her to the vampire's wrist. She wore a bikini top, not like the thin pieces of swimsuit material, but a heavier piece, like a belly dancer. It was coal black. Ruby smiled. Her skirt was purple so dark it was almost black with gold embroidery that matched the vampire's vest. One bare foot--her nails dark pink--kicked out as she leaned back in her vampire's lap.
The vampire beamed over at them. "Jackson, who is this lovely new beast you're brought us? She looks positively scandalized." The vampire made a point to catch her gaze.
Ruby tried to give him an unimpressed look. Jackson gave her a little squeeze under the table. Above it he looked unamused by their antics.
"Adrian," he said with a nod. "You'll have to excuse her for being unused to your foolishness."
Adrian laughed loud enough to turn heads. His pet curled up against his chest. Adrian smiled at Ruby over his pet's shoulder. His eyes promised things and his fangs slid down, pressing against his lips. "Relax, love. Enjoy yourself a little."
Ruby looked away before he pierced his pet's skin, but she heard the woman's happy moan just fine.
From their perch at the head table the room was chaos. Vampires fed--on food and people--and chattered. Occasionally the din was broken by laughter, or a scream. At the far table two vampires shared a single woman, who still held a pitcher of wine in her hand. As Ruby watched the woman reached out her arm. A third vampire took the wine carafe from her and then bit into her wrist.
Ruby looked away, her stomach churning.
Jackson leaned into her, as if kissing her and whispered. "Don't fret, my pet. I don't share."
"I'm not a performer, lord," Ruby bit out.
"Noted," he answered.
***
He hadn't so much lied to her as not told her the whole truth. Still, he felt surprisingly guilty as they sat at the feast and he felt her quiver in her chair.
The collar the witches sold him, that his Vixen now wore, was enchanted, connected to him by a simple white gold ring he wore on the middle finger of his left hand. It allowed him to sense where she was and her general mood. Her well being, he'd asked of them.
He'd expected the occasional stab of fear. He expected more of it than he'd sensed. What had been transfixing him was her rage. Had she been the vampire and the room full of mortals they'd soon be meeting their ends. His little Vixen restrained a monster of rage within her starved body, which she held in check with her own pain.
Dear gods he wanted to tear the room apart with her.
He twisted the ring on his finger as if he could tune her emotions to something more productive. "You should try to eat something," he told her. "The food is always very good."
And leave the monster parts to me, he added silently.
He despised his time at court. There was no resting, little pleasure to be had, despite the lavishness of everything. Court was nothing but a series of hoops and the dogs, like him, jumped for the king's pleasure. The whole time the king and his loyals watched for any sign of discontent or disloyalty. Or they tried to manufacture disloyalty for excitement.
The only thing these monsters loved more than a bloodbath was the gleeful destruction of their own kind.
Jackson schooled himself into a pleasantly neutral facade. He also tried to eat a bit, in the hopes he could convince Vixen to do the same. Food curbed the bloodlust. So did alcohol, but that also skewed the senses. He couldn't have that. But he found himself unable to stomach the meats, artisan bread, or exotic fruits. Or the antics of Adrian and his exhibitionist pet beside him. Sometimes they were a distraction. Not tonight.
Jackson shifted restlessly in his seat. It was well past the diner start time, and still the head chair remained empty. But, as always, this was a hoop, so he sat and waited.
The far door to the balcony over the dais opened. A man entered, Harlan, Ettington's right hand man. The room went silent, as if on some invisible command. They were well trained dogs.
"His Lord Ettington regrets that business keeps him away from his great family tonight. He desires you to eat, enjoy yourselves, and take full advantage of his gracious hospitality."
Harlan bowed and left the way he entered. Jackson dug his nails into his fist to choke down the swear trying to climb out.