I'll Be Damned

by Erin Hayes

  Truly remarkable, and I enjoy a moment where I’m worried about nothing. No boilers. No steam engines or ships. Just a moment to relax.

  Then I spot her.

  Walking among the bustle of all the sailors and traders is a woman in a red dress. Her dark hair is pulled back, her alabaster skin smooth and creamy. There's a severe confidence about her that I can see even from here, like she's uncomfortable with her surroundings, yet she is acting like she's been here all along.

  "Would you look at that, Rob?" I murmur, nodding to her.

  Rob peers right next to me, follows my gaze, and lets out a low whistle that I am pretty sure is involuntary. "Lordy." He elbows me playfully. "These English women certainly know how to dress up."

  I lean further over the railing, frowning. "Think she's lost?" After all, she keeps looking about surreptitiously, like she's looking for someone.

  Hopefully not her husband or betrothed.

  Rob considers my question, then shakes his head. "No, I think she's right where she wants to be. She's working."

  "Are you certain?" I don't know whether that's a good or bad thing.

  He leans further out than I do and points. "She's wearing a corset that has her breasts nearly falling out. She's more made up than a reputable woman." He snickers. "Trust me, Jared. She's out looking for money."

  I frown, watching her as she avoids bumping into the sailors around her. She easily sidesteps them, confident on her footing, almost like a dancer or a performer of some sort. Her nose scrunches up in distaste at the stench of everything around her.

  If she is looking for money, she seems to almost be afraid of it. The prostitutes that I've seen who have been around the docks for any amount of time have grown immune to the scent of sweat and months at sea.

  Not this woman. She looks like she's trying to blend in, but there's something about her that demands attention. Demands taking her away from all this.

  The other sailors on the docks notice it, too. One whistles loudly. "Hey, beautiful!" he calls to her.

  She whips her head at the sound, her movements oddly reminding me of a cougar that once preyed on my family's farm back in America. Predatory. Graceful. Calculating like she's debating on whether she wants to eat him or even bother.

  Where the hell did she come from? She certainly looks like a prostitute, dresses like one, and is acting like one, but there's something...different about her that I can't put my finger on.

  She tells the man something that I can't hear from this far away, but he gives a short laugh and reaches for her. She sidesteps him easily and continues rushing forward, with that predatory gaze that I'm not sure is entirely human.

  "She's pretty light on her feet," Rob mutters appreciatively. "Makes me wonder how she'd be in bed."

  Something ugly raises its head in my chest. The thought of her in someone else's arms as he took her, and not in the way she deserves. Something tells me that she wouldn't enjoy it. Not the way she should.

  I think that's jealousy I'm feeling.

  I swallow thickly. "She shouldn't be here."

  Rob chuckles and nudges me. "Jared, lemme tell ye something. These whores—this is what they do. They’re here for our pleasure. For our entertainment. And if ye want to fuck her brains out tonight, all ye have to do is pay yer way. Like we've done in the past." He held up a few gold coins.

  "I think she'd be different," I say. "She's different."

  He blinks before letting out a loud guffaw. "Mate, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were smitten with her."

  I straighten up and clench my jaw. I can't even deny it. There's just something about her that calls me to her.

  Rob lets out a loud laugh and shakes his head. "Oh my. Jared, you've fallen hard. You know you're not supposed to fall for a whore."

  Before I can stop him, he puts his two fingers to his lips and whistles loudly, drawing her attention our way. She pauses in the middle of the walkway, her green-eyed gaze going to him, where I can see her lip curl in response to him. Rob only laughs, and she rolls her eyes in distaste.

  But then her gaze shifts, and our eyes meet.

  And I'm frozen to my spot by her beauty.

  8

  Hazel

  The docks of London are no place for a lady, especially a respectable lady from an upper-middle-class family like me. There's just so much here that feels dirty.

  The smells assault me from left and right, and it's everything I can do not to cover my mouth and nose to protect me from it. There are too many unwashed bodies here. There's also the smell of rot and death, and I wonder if there are vampires here who have claimed these docks for their own. I make a mental note to hunt here more regularly.

  This place is dirty, diseased, and deplorable in every fashion.

  Yet that is exactly where I head to in order to find a man who will help me.

  Someone who is from another country. Someone who would return home none the wiser. Someone who wouldn't mind fathering a child during their stay in London.

  I've heard tales of the sailors who come to London. Men from all reaches of the world. To survive life on the high seas, they must be strong enough to weather deplorable conditions and strenuous work. They are roguish, tough, and with questionable morals.

  And, to my benefit, they have been starved from female contact for months. I know why the ladies of the night hang around the docks, and I know that they get their best clientele there. Sailors have money. Sailors want to have fun.

  And I'm about to give a man the time of his life in exchange for his seed.

  I try to hide my shiver at the thought of one of these men with their hands on my body.

  This is why you are here, Hazel. It is just for one night. If even a full night. I tell myself that I am prepared for this, that I am strong enough to lock this time away in my brain. I'm here for a purpose, and I must not lose sight of that.

  I just hadn't expected everyone to look so...rotten.

  One such sailor whistles after me as I try to avoid bumping into the crowd around me. A prostitute would look up and flirt with the sailor. That is how she would get companions, anyway.

  So I look up to find the source of the whistle and see an old man waving at me from a ship. He lets out another holler, but I can't fight my snarl as I try to imagine his body over mine. Sweating, thrusting, grunting.

  No, I can't do it. Not with him. There is no amount of money or guarantee of a child that would make me have sex with him.

  Some prostitute I am.

  I make to turn away, but my eyes latch onto the younger man at his side. He is a sailor, but it appears that the grit and soot that is on his skin doesn't go as deep as it does for his friend. His eyes are a bright blue, and his hair is cropped short. A mustache and a little dusting of hair on his face round him out.

  I take quick stock of the rest of him. Beneath his clothes, I can tell that he has a muscular body. Strong, well-built, like he’s used to hard labor on the ships. Not too old and not too young.

  If I am to find a sailor to share my bed with tonight, I probably won't be able to find anyone better than him. There are far worse options here, as I'm reminded of when someone bumps into me.

  His gaze is locked onto me as well, like he cannot look away. Maybe I can use that to my advantage.

  So I do what any lady of the night would do. I stride up closer to the ship, putting a more slithering gait to my steps as I approach him. I lean forward, making sure that he has an unobstructed view of my cleavage and blow him a kiss.

  "You look lonely, guv'nor," I drawl, putting a fake accent to my voice and making sure that I ooze sex. "Might I warm ye bed tonight?"

  The man's companion laughs and claps him on the back. "Jared, I think she's interested in ye, mate!"

  The younger sailor—Jared, if I am to base it on this conversation—glares at his friend before straightening his jacket. For a moment, I think he's going to punch the older man, but that doesn't happen. Instead, Jared looks embarrassed
.

  It's almost endearing.

  An unspoken conversation passes between the two men, and I wonder, for a moment, what is transpiring, but Jared turns back to me.

  "What's your name?" he calls out to me.

  I blink, not realizing that I would need an alias for tonight. I imagine prostitutes don't give out their real names, and I don't want there to be any way for this man to trace tonight back to me. So I say the first one that comes to mind.

  "Catherine."

  Shit. What a way to sully my sister's name. Bile rises in the back of my throat at the thought. But I manage to keep my grin steady. "What do they call you, sir? Is it Jared?"

  He leans forward on the railing, as if debating what to tell me. Finally, he nods. "Jared Etheridge."

  I grin at him. "Ye sound American. Just in town for a wee while?"

  "Just until the ship is up and running again." He thrusts his thumb behind to indicate the whole ship.

  I do the calculations in my head. To be honest, the situation sounds perfect. A foreigner who's here for a short time. A man who would be none the wiser that he fathered a child with the woman he thought was a prostitute back in London.

  A queer sort of thrill runs through my body, a mix of fear and anticipation. Anticipation in that I have found the perfect candidate. Fear in what he would be doing to me.

  I bite back the swell of emotions and give him my most flirtatious grin. "Would ye like for me to show ye 'round? A han'some man like ye shouldn't be alone tonight."

  I can almost see him considering my offer, and I wonder, briefly, if I had put enough rouge on my lips for me to look enticing enough to a traveler. Maybe I should have pushed the neckline of my corset down far enough for him to see more of what I’m offering. No man would be able to say no to that, right?

  Finally, he nods and straightens up. "I'll be right down."

  Shit, it really worked.

  He disappears from sight, along with his friend, who lets out a wild whoop. I can hear what he's saying to Jared, giving him advice on everything he should do to me tonight.

  I blink rapidly, to get rid of my tears. I hadn't expected the swell of emotions that would rise when I finally found the man who could possibly be the father of my future child. There's a mixture of relief and fear that is swirling inside me. Do I want to do this? Do I want to put my reputation and family name on the line in order to continue my duties, to curse my unborn child to my fate?

  You are the Harker, I tell myself. And it's that thought that I grab and hold close to my heart. I am Hazel Harker, the younger sister of Catherine Harker, the protector of the innocent from the vermin of the dark. I've killed hundreds of vampires in my time. I've held my family together, even when it was bursting apart at the seams after my sister and mother died. I've had vampires beg me to spare their lives. And I've given them no quarter. I've faced the darkness and my fears. I've dealt with things that would drive a lesser person mad.

  I can follow through with this task. It's something that everyone has done—everyone is a product of sex.

  I tell myself this, but there's still this hollow feeling in my gut as I wait for Jared to join me here. It feels as though I've given up on my dreams. That I'd never find a love or happiness in my life.

  You're doing this because you don't want to leave behind a grieving widower with a child.

  No, I'm just going to leave behind a bastard orphan who will be trained in the art of killing vampires. And somehow, that's both better and worse.

  I press my hands flat to my stomach, calling upon every trick I have to keep my breathing steady. I can do this. I must do this.

  Because I am Hazel Harker and I do not falter.

  9

  Hazel

  "Hello."

  I blink and look up as Jared joins my side. He's taller than I thought he'd be, standing nearly a head over me, and I'm not a short woman. He had changed his jacket, and I think he had even washed his face clear of oil and swept his hair to the side. Like he cares about his appearance to me.

  I give him my brightest smile, using that last thought to warm me up from the inside out. "Hullo," I say, hoping that I'm as striking to him as he is to me in this moment. Then I remember my place, that I'm meant to be a prostitute, and I try to match their flirtations and their movements. "Yer a bit taller than I ‘spected."

  "My pa was a tall man"

  He doesn't smell as awful as the rest of the sailors around me. Sure, it seems like he hasn't washed since leaving America, but his scent is a mixture of sea salt and his own musk, which I don't find as repulsive as the other men I have to choose from.

  I can do this.

  "Is yer root in proportion to the rest of yer body?" I move forward, putting myself up nearly against the heat of him as I place my hand on his trousers, right where his manhood is already hard. I can tell that it's sizeable, larger than my previous experience with a man's cock. His breath catches in his throat, and I use that moment to cover up my own shock.

  "Where should we go?" he asks, his voice strangled.

  For a moment, I wonder if he has enough experience with prostitutes to expect me to take him back to a brothel—which won't do. But I have a place in mind that will work if he lets me guide him that way.

  "There's some lodgings a short ways away." I give him what I hope is a seductive wink. "I hear the beds're soft and the baths're warm."

  It's also a hotel for common folk, those who are less wealthy than my family. There, I have less of a chance of running into anyone who would recognize me. And after tonight, I don't plan on going back there any time soon.

  But I don't tell him this. I just bat my eyes and hope he takes my hint.

  He watches me intently before giving me a nod. He holds his arm out for me to slip mine through. "Lead the way."

  I try to take him away as quickly as possible from the docks. What I find during that time is that even though I appear to be a lady of the night who has a client, that doesn't stop the other sailors from trying to get their hands on me. No, if anything, it just makes it worse. To these sailors, it only confirms that my engagement is of the business sort.

  "Hey, lady," a man with rotten breath says in my ear as he grabs me from behind. He gives my breasts a painful squeeze before I can even react—more shocked by the experience than anything. I bring my hand back to slap him across the face—and with my anger so sharp in my mouth at the moment, I'm not holding my strength back, so I'd probably concuss him, but Jared comes to my rescue.

  He grabs the man by the collar and roughly hauls him away from me. "Don't you dare touch her!"

  I'm taken aback by the vehemence in his voice, how he's willing to be at odds with this other man in my defense.

  The sailor gives him a grin, showing that he only has three teeth. "Hey, guv'nor. I just thought she was willing to suck off my cock, too."

  I hide my shudder at the thought.

  Jared surprises me again and punches the man, decking him across the jaw. Not bad. The sailor pinwheels back into the crowd, who catches him with uproarious laughter. Jared stands between the man and me, huffing in anger. "Touch her again, and I'll kill you," he promises him.

  The crowd makes catcalls and teases both Jared and the other sailor—but they give us wide berth now. They're afraid of Jared.

  I swallow back the lump in my throat, making the decision that we need to get out of here as soon as possible. I tuck my arm with his. "Come on," I whisper. "He's not worth it."

  Jared glances back at me, his eyebrows pinched together in confusion, and I realize that in my shock, I had dropped my fake accent.

  Shit.

  "It's just a lil further," I drawl, sliding back into my less-educated self.

  To keep from saying anything else, I just lead him by the arm as quickly as possible to the small hotel that borders on the Thames. I'd passed by it many times during my hunts, and I know that there are a great many prostitutes that bring their clientele here. My overnight stay with an Amer
ican wouldn't be out of the norm for them to see.

  Jared pauses outside of the establishment, frowning up at the sign. "'The Fuzzy Duckling?'"

  "You can read?" I ask, momentarily dropping my accent again. I had believed that he wouldn't know how to read, being a sailor.

  He glances down at me. "My mother was a school mistress until she met my pa. She taught me to read before she died when I was thirteen."

  I avert my eyes in respect. "I'm sorry. I lost me mum when I was fifteen."

  What the hell am I doing? Showing him sympathy and talking to him about my mother? I am going to tell my family that all Harkers need more theatrical training, because I am not very good at this. Then again, most of the training was focused on Catherine, since I was considered a replacement should she ever pass.

  Jared gives me a pained grin. "Life is hard, isn't it?"

  I meet his eyes and nod. "Yes. I find it best to live one day at a time."

  He watches me for a long moment before smiling softly. "Me too." He looks down at our linked arms. "How did you...get into this line of work?"

  I startle. "I beg yer pardon?" Do clients even ask those kinds of questions?

  "Sorry, I just mean..." He licks his lips. "You don't seem like other...ladies in your profession."

  "I..." My voice trails off, because I don't have an answer for that. “Hard times,” I finally say. “Better to use what the Lord gave me than to let it go to waste.” As I say it, I realize the truth in it.

  I see it then. Pity in his eyes, like we’re connecting on a deeper level than just a professional one.

  I need to get this done before I get too emotionally invested or lose my nerve. "Come on."

  We head up the steps to The Fuzzy Duckling, an establishment which doubles as both a pub and a hotel. The proprietor at the front gives me a lewd smile as Jared pays for board for one night. I count backward from one hundred to calm myself, because I would bash his head in otherwise. I have to keep my thoughts on the task at hand.