Dark Xanadu Book One

by Sindra van Yssel

  “Tell them you’ll call them again in an hour, and to call the police if you don’t,” he told her. Her eyes must have given away how startled she was at the mention of the police, because he added. “I’ll keep you safe. But you don’t know that. Having a friend ready to call the police doesn’t mean that you’re in danger—it means you’re taking the precautions you need to stay safe.”

  She nodded slowly. She’d call her younger sister, Valerie. She hadn’t thought of her at first, because Valerie lived up in Massachusetts, but Valerie wouldn’t freak out. She hoped. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed, her other hand still holding the two cards. It was a little cold still, not cold enough to wear a jacket if she was spending most of her time inside, but too cold to stand out for long without one. Her black dress left her lower legs and her shoulders bare. It would be even colder in Massachusetts. Come on, Valerie, pick up the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Val, it’s me, Angela.”

  “Hey, sis! How’re you doing?”

  “Fine, I think.” It was definitely too cold to be standing outside with her shoulders bare. She had a coat in her car. “I called to ask a favor.”

  Valerie chuckled. “Well, that’s a switch, anyway. What is it?”

  “I’ve met this man, and he’s opening a club, and I’m going to go see it. The thing is, I don’t really know him, and the nightclub isn’t open yet, so…”

  “Is he good looking?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Angela gave Valerie a description, trying to ignore the fact that Kent could hear her half of the phone conversation. Still, safety was the point of calling, and she’d be safer if Val had a description to give to the police. Heck, she was safer if Kent knew she had given a description. She finished with the address of the club, and Kent’s name. She didn’t figure the California address from his license would be that helpful.

  “So what’s the favor?”

  “If I don’t call back in an hour—9:15—call the police and tell them I’m missing.”

  There was silence on the other end. “Okay, Angela,” Valerie said at last. “Do you have reason to believe this guy is trouble? Because if you do, I don’t want you going off with him at all.”

  “None at all,” Angela assured her sister. “I hardly know him. You’re not going to believe this, but I picked him up in a bar.”

  Valerie laughed. “You’re right, I don’t believe it. But I can barely wrap my head around the idea that he might have picked you up in a bar. Don’t get so carried away you don’t call me back, because I will call the police if you’re not right on time.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Hey, I think you’ve looked out for me a time or two. Maybe a hundred. Happy to return the favor.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too, sis. Be safe.”

  Angela clicked the phone closed, and turned to Kent. “Done.”

  Kent nodded approvingly. “Good. Giving a description of me was a good idea.” He tilted his head in the direction of the shops along the main drag. “My car is parked on one of the side streets. I’ll give you a lift.”

  His car turned out to be a black Lexus sedan that shined as if it was new. It must have set him back a pretty penny. “What do you do?”

  He chuckled as he opened the passenger side door and held it open for her. “I ran a home security business in California. I got the attention of a national firm, and they bought me out. Now, I run a nightclub.”

  “Sweet,” said Angela, sliding in.

  “You’re very brave,” he remarked as he got in the car. The engine purred to life as he twisted the key into the ignition.

  Why a compliment from this man she barely knew made her heart melt, she didn’t know. Her head worked on what he said. “How so?”

  “Going off with a man you’re attracted to, but facing up to the fact that isn’t entirely safe. Lots of women would ignore the danger. Others wouldn’t risk it. But to look your fantasies straight in the eye and do what you actually need to do to make them safe enough to explore, that’s bravery.”

  “So you’re my fantasy, now, are you?” she asked. Morgan apparently thought of himself that way, but she thought this man was different. He’d said it calmly, though, without bluster. And he wasn’t all wrong—he was drop dead gorgeous, and from the sounds of it, rich.

  He chuckled. “I didn’t mean it so specifically. But you do have a fantasy of breaking out of your normal routine and living a little more on the edge. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been waiting for that Morgan fellow. I rather doubt you’re uptight. Just cautious.”

  “My friends set me up with him. He’s supposed to be God’s gift to women, from what they all say.”

  “Could be. If so, I think someone has clued him in, because he seemed to share that opinion.”

  Angela laughed. “You think maybe? So what about you? Are you God’s gift to women?”

  “Well, put like that, in the singular, there can be only one, so if it’s Morgan, I guess I’m out of the running.” He smiled, and then got serious and shook his head. “I don’t think I’m right for most women, not at all. Some few, perhaps.”

  “We few, we happy few,” murmured Angela.

  “Henry the Fifth?”

  Angela smiled. “Yes. You’d be amazed at how many women like tall handsome men who happen to be rich and cultured.”

  “I’m flattered. But there’s rather more to me than that. Here we are.” He turned right, down a side street, and then quickly right again into a parking lot with two cars in it, although it probably had space for fifty. Where College Park had been alive at eight, this area was dead, the businesses mostly closed at this hour, except for a corner gas station.

  “It looks like a warehouse,” Angela said doubtfully.

  “It was a warehouse. And it will keep looking like one. We don’t want people wandering in off the streets.” He got out of the car, and walked around at her side to get the door for her.

  “Wouldn’t people wandering in off the streets be good for business?” she asked as she got out of the car.

  “No.”

  The little hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. There was something he was hinting at, but not quite saying. He walked toward the small black door at the back of the warehouse, obviously expecting her to follow, and his confidence compelled her forward.

  The inside was very different from the plain, slightly rundown exterior. The main room was huge, bare girders holding up the forty foot ceiling bearing witness to the warehouse past, but the shining hardwood floor brightened the place up considerably. There were couches in little nooks here and there, and two long carts full of stacking chairs and tables, all shiny and new looking.

  There were two other people there. One, a pretty, curvaceous redhead in jeans and a turtleneck sweater, had a handful of laminated sheets of paper, and she was posting signs around the large interior of the warehouse. The other was a man dressed in black jeans and a muscle shirt, with plenty of muscles to show off. His hair was cut short like a marine’s, and he had a tool box next to him; he was tightening bolts on a black X made of wood that would have been taller than he was if it hadn’t been propped at a slant. X for Xanadu, Angela supposed.

  “Nice,” said Angela.

  “It’s coming along. We’ve got some equipment on order, and we’re hoping it will arrive before we open next Friday, or we’ll have some disappointed members.” She was aware of him studying her face, trying to gauge her reaction.

  The word “members” where she’d expected “customers” surprised her. But he had said it was a private club. “Hopefully they’ll be understanding.”

  Kent nodded. “Hopefully they won’t have to be. Brennan over there is making sure they have something to do.”

  Brennan had glanced over when Kent had entered, and now looked their way again. “Hey boss,” he said. “Who’s the pretty lady?”

  “Under my protection today, Brennan. This is Angela. I met her at that bar
Charles sent me to but that bartender friend of his never showed. Angela, this is Brennan, one of my assistant managers.”

  Brennan stood and nodded, walking over and offering a hand. Angela shook it. “Pleased to meet you,” they both said at once.

  “And this is Genna, our web mistress and social queen.”

  Genna shook her hand as well. “Pleased to meet you, Angela,” the red head said warmly. “You’re in the scene?”

  “Scene? What scene?”

  “Ah,” Genna replied. “Kent will show you around, then, but if he gives you any trouble, come to me.” She winked.

  Angela nodded, not sure what to make of the whole conversation. The wink hadn’t enlightened her any.

  A phone rang in an office off the main room, the sound muffled by the intervening wall. “I’ll get that,” Brennan said, taking off. A curved sword hung over the office door, sheathed. An idiosyncratic decoration, thought Angela. Genna headed off to post her signs.

  “This place used to be the storage facility for an office supply chain,” Kent told her. “Brennan and I completely redid the floor; he’s a carpenter in his day job, so the fact that it looks good is entirely him. Charles, who isn’t here, did most of the repainting of the walls.”

  She hadn’t really noticed the walls, but looking around, she realized that was because they were a simple off white, and clean. Kent responded to her thoughts as if she’d spoken them aloud. “Believe me, the difference is noticeable, if you’d seen the old walls. They were puce to begin with, I think, and they got dirtier from there. I don’t think they cleaned or repainted them in a decade.”

  “So why Dark Xanadu?”

  “Ah. Coleridge. ‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree.’ It’s really the only part of the poem that fits, I suppose, but it’s one of my favorites. We offer a flight from the ordinary, into a world of the senses. Once we’re open, we’ll have parties every Friday night.” He chuckled. “Sorry, I sound like an advertisement.”

  Angela smiled. “It’s an enticing advertisement. And why ‘dark’?”

  “Have you ever—”

  Brennan’s voice interrupted from the office doorway. “I think you better take this phone call, boss.”

  Kent frowned at Brennan. “Could you quit calling me that?”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Brennan grinned back.

  Kent shrugged. “Sorry, Angela. I’ll be right back.”

  Angela nodded. “No problem.”

  She looked around her as Kent strode off to take the phone call. Large square posts helped support the roof of the warehouse, and on each of these Genna had posted a white sign with some kind of list on it. Having nothing else to do, she went over and took a look.

  Don’t overdo on Alcohol. No illegal drugs whatsoever. Don’t engage in edge play unless you know what you’re doing, and don’t ever do anything that could harm a bystander.

  Remember: Safe, Sane, and Consensual.

  Don’t interrupt other people’s scenes. Watch, but watch quietly.

  Obey the Dungeon Monitors at all times. They are there for your safety.

  No blood play or water sports.

  The club safe word is “Albatross.” If this word is used, all participants in that scene must stop immediately. The Dungeon Monitors will enforce this.

  Failure to obey the club rules may result in your being requested to leave the premises, or termination of your membership.

  Angela blinked. Dungeon Monitors? Safe words? Dark Xanadu was a BDSM club. She looked over at the giant X that Brennan was assembling, and noticed for the first time the thick O-rings that hung from metal plates attached to each extension. For a moment she imagined what it would be like to be bound, naked and helpless, stretched into position against the black wood. A man—Kent—would be there, his hands roaming her body, his touch alternately pinching and soothing. Her core ached in response, and her insides turned liquid.

  Then he really was right there, next to her, his hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him. For a moment she couldn’t turn her eyes away. She didn’t have to wonder whether this man was one who preferred submission or dominance.

  “You like what you see.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. She bet he could smell her arousal, sense her excitement.

  Slowly, she shook her head. “I’d like to go home now.”

  He said nothing for a moment. “Are you sure?”

  She wasn’t sure at all. But she forced herself to nod. “I’m sure.”

  He smiled, slightly. She could tell he saw through her. He opened his mouth, and she knew if she let him speak he’d tell her what she really wanted. She’d surrender to him, whether it made sense with a man she’d just met or not. There was only one way to stop him and to stop herself.

  “Albatross,” she said.

  She watched as his jaw set, and then he nodded. “Come. I’ll take you back to your car.” He turned and walked out the door, not looking behind him even once. She followed.

  Chapter Two

  Kent stood outside his office and watched the activity at Dark Xanadu. Everything was running smoothly. More than fifty people filled the club, a good mix of men and women, Doms and subs. The sounds of floggers hitting flesh, of low moans and frantic breathing, were music to his ears. The first week, there had been a few rough spots, and they’d had to terminate the memberships of a few people who didn’t understand what safe, sane, and consensual BDSM was all about, but it was ordinary stuff. Humans. Not vampires.

  He’d told Angela that his security business had been bought out, and that was true. He’d had offers for years. What made him decide to finally take one and leave wasn’t the quality of that particular offer, it was how nicely timed it was. He wondered if the vampire who’d told him to leave was behind it. She’d talked to him once more before he left, feeding him little bits of information. She might be lying, but he suspected she’d be happier misleading than telling an outright lie.

  And so far it was going well. The club was up and running, and everyone was having a fun time. A policeman had been through earlier that night, verified that no prostitution was taking place and that only adults were allowed in, and had left after giving Kent a thumbs up. He had better things to do than to hassle a bunch of kinky adults.

  “Brennan and I can handle things, Kent,” Charles told him. “There are a couple subs looking for Doms, and one of them is awful cute. See the blonde?”

  He did see the blonde. She was standing against a wall, wearing a black leather skirt and a black lace basque. She was a trifle underfed for his tastes, but he agreed with Charles that she was cute. Shy, too. Most of the people who came to the club were couples who were there to play with their regular partners. Keeping the balance good with the singles was part of the challenge, and there would always be a few wallflowers who’d stand across the room from each other waiting for the other person to make the first move. Why a woman would want a wallflower Dom was beyond him, but some experienced Doms got used to women coming to them, and the inexperienced ones could be plain bashful.

  Without intending to, he compared the woman to Angela. Angela had more generous curves, and when she smiled she had made his heart jump. There was none of that with this woman.

  He wasn’t going to go on pining for Angela forever. She’d made it very clear that she wasn’t interested, even though his every instinct as a Dom told him that she was interested—and was probably submissive. When she’d used the club safe word, though, he’d felt honor bound to drive her back to her car and wish her goodnight, and that was the last he’d seen of her. The last he would see of her, most likely. None of that changed the fact that the blonde, who he’d have happily shown the ropes both figuratively and literally if he’d met her a few weeks ago, wasn’t doing it for him now.

  He hadn’t even picked Angela up in the bar in the first place because of any great attraction, he told himself. Part of him knew he was lying, but he managed to hold on to his train of thought. He woul
d have happily left her to the guy she’d arranged to meet—Morgan—but for one fact. Morgan hadn’t been breathing. Most vampires weren’t murderers, from what Slyvannia had said. That didn’t mean that he was going to let one that might be scoop its prey from right under him. When Morgan had tried to use his glamour to seduce Angela, he had projected his chi back to stop it, leaving Angela free to make his own choices. The rest of that evening had flowed from there, at least until it had come to a crashing stop. But Angela was all he’d been thinking about since then—he couldn’t do a thing about natural attraction.

  “You go ahead, Charles, if you think she’s cute.”

  Charles shook his head and walked away, but he didn’t go straight to talk to the blonde waif in the leather skirt. Instead he went to talk to Genna, who was already in a conversation with a couple club members. Kent watched him as he waited for Genna to finish, and then turned away. He was better off keeping alert for anything to go wrong in the club, and he wasn’t worried about Charles and Genna. If Charles wasn’t going to have a go at the blonde himself, then Genna would at least talk to her and try to make some introductions.

  He spotted a man he regarded as the club’s most likely troublemaker, a dark-haired younger man who leaned against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. He was one of those Doms who sat back and waited for the subs to come to him. His name was Gerald. A couple of members had told Kent that they knew Gerald from play parties and didn’t like him, but of course, being unlikable wasn’t grounds for being kicked out of the club.

  Kent had struck up a conversation with him the first night Dark Xanadu was open, and he had to say he didn’t much care for Gerald either. They ended up talking about single-tail whips, a subject on which Gerald seemed to think he was an expert. He wasn’t. Kent ended up giving him a short but necessary lecture on safety, and at the end of the conversation he was pretty sure the dislike was mutual. He wasn’t going to bounce a guy for disliking him, either. Most Doms could be pretty prickly, and they didn’t always get along with each other. Gerald merited monitoring, but at least he was human. He wasn’t going to get into any trouble as long as he was leaning against the wall, though, so Kent continued to scan the club.