Blood Emerald

by Amber Anthony

  The crowd murmured.

  Rick turned to the disconcerted Dom. “What I’m seeing tonight, Derrick, is not the slow building rhythm and deft impact that gives a sweet warm-up effect.” Rick walked to the donor, trussed to the St. Andrew’s cross, her fine naked ass patiently waiting for the kiss of the flogger. Rick’s palm cupped her ass as Derrick clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, correctly flogged buttocks become very warm to the touch when a Dom has suitably brought the flesh to a blooming flush.” Rick strolled to stand close to the titian-haired donor. “My sweet, hold this for me.” Rick pressed the handle of the flogger into the donor’s handcuffed hand.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Rick led the ousted Dom to the larger St. Andrew’s cross and pushed him into the wood, hiding his own grin of satisfaction. “Drop your trousers. Assume the position.” Rick’s voice was steely.

  “Yes, Sir.” The vampire surrendered his trousers and raised his arms to be cuffed.

  Rick swaggered behind the vamp and grabbed Derrick’s dress shirt in his fist, shredding it in one move. The crowd gasped. Rick strode back to the edge of the stage, meeting each of their gazes.

  “What do you know about ‘switches’?” His fans sat silent and stunned as Rick continued, “No, switches aren’t usually Bi, they aren’t confused, and they can be real subs or Doms.”

  Rick returned within whispering distance of the redhead and removed her shackles. Whatever he said to her was inaudible to the rest of the mortals in the dungeon. He stepped back from the lovely woman. “Switches get a negative reaction from purists. But switches can choose; it just depends on the day and their own internal stimulus.”

  The tied-up vamp jerked at the sharp crack of the flogger, and Rick guessed he was ready to piss himself. The redhead’s boots breached his space with loudly ringing steps.

  “Are your safe words in place?” When his participants confirmed, Rick stepped back, allowing the audience an unobstructed view.

  All the commotion in his world had caused Rick to flip his own switch tonight. He expected Anna to be delayed, and he couldn’t be left alone with his thoughts.

  Samantha, the redheaded donor, stepped back an arm and nearly a whip’s length from the trussed-up Vampire. Artfully, she began flipping cool leather straps down Derrick’s back in a figure eight pattern. Starting at his neck, she ran the whip down his back, over his first-rate ass, and flowed down his muscled flanks to his thighs and calves. Different reactions arose from the crowd as Samantha moved in front of Derrick and dragged the flogger over his face.

  Those who knew the exhilaration of well-seasoned leather sighed in expectant satisfaction. Samantha walked into the audiences’ view and unleashed the flogger lightly and rapidly. Slap, slap, slap, up Derrick’s calves.

  “More, Slave?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Moving rhythmically, Samantha swayed as her flogger caressed Derrick’s thighs from back to side. Rick could almost feel the sting of the tails wrapping around his thighs as Samantha’s flogger popped against the side and front of Derrick’s.

  The audience on various chairs and lounges began to feed as their libidos revved. There was a universal groan as the leather popped right up between the crack of Derrick’s ass.

  Rick recalled tongues of leather reaching around hungrily, giving him that erotic bite eons ago. He drew in a sharp, unnecessary breath when Samantha grabbed Derrick’s shoulder length dark hair at the nape of his neck. She blew a kiss into his ear, then hissed an inhalation through her teeth. Derrick’s body visibly tightened.

  Rick’s desire for domination at the Gaoler vacillated. He would say in the centuries he had practiced BDSM, he was seventy percent Dominant versus thirty percent submissive. As a newcomer, he’d learned submission and he’d studied at the knees of the greatest Doms. For decades, he commanded complete dominance, followed by years of obedient submission. Had he been entirely dominant or entirely submissive, Rick admitted, he would have missed some of the finest times of his life.

  Rick drew his wandering attention back to tonight’s performance. Before he had arrived at any solid conclusion, he was shaken by silence on the stage. The ‘show’ ended with Samantha uncoupling Derrick’s wrists and ankles and leading him to the blood-red leather fainting couch to recline and feed from her neck. There was a new Dom at the Gaoler, Rick thought with amusement, and he knew it was time to be as flexible as Samantha.

  The power exchange and all that was great. It was thrilling to be a Dom, the one in charge, to have a sub’s willing body at his command. It was equally fulfilling to be a sub, able to cede blind trust to his Dom. But, something was missing. The rigidity of the roles hindered true fluid symbiosis between partners. Neither could expose their genuine selves in the moment. Isn’t there something more? Something different? Some way for lovers to drop the roles and connect?

  Oh, bollocks! he thought with surprise. That’s vanilla sex! Preposterous! This is a subject for another day. After all, he didn’t currently have someone he would call a lover.

  * * * *

  Anna worried her bottom lip as she drove from Burbank to the club on the Miracle Mile. She hated the gut-churning anxiety that swamped her whenever she encountered Rick Hiatt. He’d always had that effect on her. Frankly, he scared the hell out of her in a forbidden, delicious kind of way. If Matt was a reluctant Dom, Rick was the real thing, and someone she wanted no part of—did she? If you’re honest, the devil on her shoulder taunted, he kinda turns you on with all that force and lust. “Not in the real world,” she countered firmly. He’s drop dead gorgeous, and the rumor is, he gives great bite. She wanted to clap her hand over that ear and silence that damn honest devil. “That is something I will never find out,” she assured herself primly. We’ll see.

  This time, when she got to the parking garage, the gate rose before she even braked. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to park on the street. She expected to see Brett, the sweet security guard who usually protected the elevators. Instead, it was the vampiress she’d always known as ‘Venus.’

  “I’m here to see Rick Hiatt.” Anna forced herself to stand straight and speak clearly and directly to her nemesis.

  “Hmmm. Yes. I see that.” Venus looked at the memo before her as if it had spoken and Anna had not. “He wants you upstairs in his office.” Venus finally deigned to glance at her and gestured with an outstretched, flat palm. “You may take elevator two.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Anna surprised herself with the dripping sarcasm in her tone. That little rebellion felt surprisingly good. That little rebellion could get you killed. Anna sighed. I guess I can only be pushed so far.

  * * * *

  Rick was seated at the nondescript receptionist’s desk when Anna’s elevator doors opened. She stopped in surprise. She would have preferred the long walk down the hall to compose herself. Instead, he was there, accomplishing everyday office tasks. Yes, he can terrify me and make photocopies, just to show me he can do it all.

  Rick sat watching her, a bemused look in his whiskey brown eyes. He lifted his arm and beckoned her in with two fingers. “I have to finish up this paperwork and then we’ll go downstairs to my place. It’s more private.” Rick drew together the stapled papers and slid them into a portfolio, “I crave privacy.”

  Anna shifted her feet uncomfortably. Whatever made her think he was interesting? Look at those shoulders. He looks like solid muscle under that expensive jacket.

  “To your playroom?” she ventured with a crack in her voice.

  A wry grin curved his mouth. “No, Cupcake. Matt has a playroom. I have a dungeon.”

  “Oh.” With a sinking heart, she stood and awaited her fate.

  * * * *

  Rick marshaled her into the Gaoler elevator that descended rapidly to the lobby level, and pressed his hand onto the glass security pad. They descended slowly to the subbasement. On the way, the temperature dropped to a slightly uncomfortable sixty degrees, the light i
nside the car changed from a fluorescent glow to red L.E.D., and the thrum of a human heartbeat seemed to vibrate right through her. A chill ran up her spine. The damn elevator got to her every time.

  Rick caught the tiny movement and inhaled a long, assessing breath, his gaze checking out her every curve.

  What did he sense when he watched her like that? Was there a part of him that knew of her secret admiration? She couldn’t forget their tussle in the car, the way his strong body felt against hers. She heard once that passion of any kind could be turned to passion of the sexual kind. Did that include anger? Is that what was happening to her? She shivered again, and Rick’s penetrating look told her he knew it was not from cold.

  They were discharged into the hallway of dungeons, adorned with crimson leather wallpaper and thick ebony carpet. Here again, the lights were muted, meant to mimic flickering carriage lanterns. Matt’s playroom was a few paces to the right—how she longed for its safe familiarity. Instead, Rick led her a few silent paces to the left—his personal space. When he pressed his hand to the security panel, the door swung slowly open, and left Anna with no illusions. This was no playroom. ‘Dungeon’ described it perfectly. Flippancy drained right out of her, as if an artery was opened.

  Rick gestured her toward a highly carved and polished wooden chair. “Be seated,” he instructed briskly, and sat himself in a similar piece.

  Anna’s body recoiled at the hard, flat surface of the square chair. Awkwardly, she settled back against the carving of a raven posed rampant over a battlefield. She settled along the throne’s arms only to realize her hands rested atop ominous claws holding masked faces of agony and ecstasy. Her hands flew back to her lap with a hitch in her breath. It was all positively medieval.

  Her gaze swept the room, noting a St. Andrew’s cross, several different sized spanking benches, and polished cases of assorted sex toys, whips and belts. Across the room sat an outrageously oversized canopied bed. None of these fixtures consoled Anna. Nervous, knowing Rick could hear her run-away heart beat and scent her tension, she chose to say nothing and kept her eyes cast firmly on the floor.

  He let her squirm for what felt like an hour before he spoke. “Let’s return to last night’s subject.”

  Anna jumped. “About why I wanted to talk to Matt?”

  “Yes.”

  “About vampire slayers.”

  He nodded regally.

  “I know they’re real,” she insisted, a little defensively.

  “I know they’re real,” he agreed.

  “No, I mean, now, today, there are vampire slayers. Or, at least, vamp hunters.” Worry now overrode her nerves.

  “Where are they?” His tone was so intense that she retreated into the back of the uncomfortable chair.

  “He was at the theatre tonight.”

  “Van Helsing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Address me properly,” he snapped.

  Anna stuttered. “I…I mean, yes, Sir.” Damn it! I know better than that! “His name is Carl Sterling, Sir.”

  He nodded an acknowledgement. “How do you know he’s a vampire hunter?”

  Anna babbled out the information. “The party I went to, Sir, I went to the bathroom, I wasn’t feeling well, the place put me on edge. So I went into the bathroom, and I overheard him. He was discussing his family, bragging about coming from a long line of vampire hunters.”

  “Could he have been just poppin’ off? Drunk talk?”

  “Well, maybe, but he talked about his grandfather’s murder. His throat was bitten out.” She slid her hand to her own throat. “And…and I thought…”

  “You thought it was a vampire?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The room took on a definite chill. Anna half-suppressed a shiver.

  Rick weighed her words judiciously. “Just because his grandfather was killed by a vamp doesn’t mean Sterling is a vampire slayer.”

  “I…I don’t know. It was everything he said, and it was nothing in particular.”

  “Explain.”

  “Yes, Sir. The party was at his house. The décor is crazy, eclectic, with all sorts of antiquities.” She moaned in frustration as she tried to describe her impressions.

  “Antiquities? Explain.”

  “Sir, he has a lot of silver.”

  “What do you mean by a lot?”

  “He has a wall of silver weaponry…”

  “Why do you think they’re silver?”

  Anna squirmed on the torturous chair. Rick, on the other hand, seemed born to it, perfectly relaxed. “The party kinda migrated into the ‘vampire’ room, and he took a knife off the wall, and he was playing with it.” Anna’s eyes closed as if to see the scene again. “He was roleplaying back and forth. The minute he put the knife on this girl’s breast, you know, acting like he was torturing her, she started screaming…”

  “Could it have been any other white metal?”

  Anna shook her head. “Sterling said, ‘If she were a real vamp, she’d be screaming, because this is real silver.’ And he held the knife up for everyone to see.”

  “You don’t think he’s a bit of a braggart?”

  “Well, yeah, I do, but I’m not sure he’s bragging about this.” She shrugged and thought for a moment. “I know how I can be sure.”

  “Go on.”

  “He’ll be out of town for three weeks. He asked me to take care of his dog. I moved into a place not far from him. He gave me the alarm codes; I can disarm the security system. You can see it for yourself.”

  “I believe I will. When does he leave?”

  “Day after tomorrow.” She raised her gaze to look into his eyes, and was surprised to find warm concern. She stared, mesmerized, for half a second, and then finished lamely, “What do you think?”

  “I think you could use a beverage.” Rick stood abruptly. “Why don’t we go to the bar?”

  Drink with you? I’m not sure I can swallow. “Thank you, Sir. Do you think this will help?”

  “We’ll see. Thank you for bringing it to me.” Then he smiled. I’ll bet he thinks that’s the panty-dropper smile. She’d never seen him smile before. It kind of is.

  * * * *

  Anna tugged on his hand in hesitation when they reached the door of the bar. Nothing about it had changed. It still bore the substantial dark wood, padded bar stools, and frosted glass that screamed Irish Pub. She was sure all the personalities were the same. “Do you think this is a good idea, Sir?”

  Rick chuckled. “You worried about my rep, Cupcake?”

  “Um…” Anna blinked and shook her head, but she couldn’t help remembering the cruel comments that circulated about Matt when they’d been feeder/donor.

  “Let’s risk it.” He winked charmingly.

  Anna couldn’t miss the stares of the occupants. Rick preceded her at the door and held out his hand to draw her inside. She was gratified by his gentlemanly gesture, and knew it signaled to the whole club that she had new status in his eyes. Apparently, she was no longer persona non grata.

  “Let’s get the booth in the back,” Rick suggested.

  What could she say? No, I prefer it out here so I can watch everyone gawk at us, especially that bitch, Tina? Revenge was sweet, and watching the bar patrons trying to pick their chins off the floor was sweeter, but she’d rather spend some time alone with Rick. That admission shocked her. She never thought of Hiatt as someone she enjoyed hanging with.

  “Jameson Black Barrel and B negative, Bobby,” he instructed the bartender on the way to their table. “How about you, Anna?”

  “Uh, I’m driving, Sir, and with everything that’s going on, I think maybe a Coke.”

  Rick nodded appreciatively. “Very wise. A Coke for the lady, please. We’ll be in the back.”

  Rick caught her hand and zigzagged between small, round tables in the bar’s dim light. While the patrons got their drink on post-bite, they spied on Rick’s fluid movements. Every patron in the bar hushed and turned to watch them go, and th
en immediately broke out in a hubbub of comment. Behind him, taking tiny steps, Anna’s curves caught someone’s shoulder—it was Tina. The bleached blonde took an exaggerated look at her, casting silent shade behind Rick’s back. She dropped her sneer and returned her attentions to the male donor beside her.

  Anna giggled. Rick raised an inquiring brow and turned to survey the room. The other guests instantaneously turned their attentions to their own drinks.

  “The pastime around here isn’t sex—it’s gossip.” Rick shook his head. He gestured toward the padded round booth, and didn’t seat himself until she seemed comfortably settled.

  * * * *

  Rick pressed against the padded seat back and appreciated the lass before him. The crimson leather of the booth cast an uncommon glow on Anna. She was a pearl within a tufted jewel box. Rick’s voice nearly caught. “So, tell me about yourself, Anna.” He tilted his head toward her. “You say you live in Laurel Canyon?”

  “Uhum. I mean, yes, Sir,” she stuttered self-consciously. Bobby set the drinks before them. “It’s a little far from work, but I have a couple of different routes to get there, depending on the traffic, and since I can’t afford to live in Beverly Hills…”

  Rick laughed easily. “Few people can. I guess it’s closer than Pasadena. You work at the museum across the street?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Helen.”

  “The coordinator of mortal donors, of course,” she said, hiding a blush behind her hair. “For a second there, I wondered if vampires could read minds.”

  He chuckled again, perversely enjoying her awkwardness. To tell the truth, he was tired of smooth, polished subs who glided through their interactions. They were boring. This girl was off-the-cuff, honest, refreshing, but so nervous in his presence she could barely maintain eye contact. He disciplined himself back to follow the conversation.