Enslaved By the Others (An H&W Investigations Novel)

by Jess Haines

  “Ah, yes, I remember now. This is what you fear, is it not?”

  My only answer was to increase my helpless squirming, a thin sound of pain and terror dying in my throat.

  “Well then, pet, since you’re not much impressed by pain, perhaps this will deter you.” His cool lips trailed upward, rubbing against my skin like melting ice until they brushed against my earlobe to whisper his threat. “Every time you disobey me, I will bite you. Make no mistake, the last time I did so was in haste. From now on I will make every effort to make it last. Each ... and every . . . time.”

  As those last words trailed off, he struck, his fangs piercing my skin so quickly and cleanly that all I felt was pressure, not pain. Then, whatever the hell it is in vampire saliva that makes it feel good kicked in—and this time I was writhing against his hold for a totally different, far more shameful reason.

  Unlike last time, he didn’t suck greedily at the wounds, drawing my blood as rapidly as possible. Instead, it was something infinitely worse; he used his lips and tongue to do things that had taken previous lovers both hands and a map. Every twitch of his lips sent new pulses of pleasure shooting like lightning down my spine, making me shudder in ecstasy. He took his time about it, too, never sucking hard enough to steal more than a few drops of blood at a pull.

  By the time he withdrew, I was desperately aroused and so caught up in his arms that there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

  Copper-scented breath washed over my cheek as he pressed a kiss there, even that small touch enough to set my now hypersensitive skin aflame. “Remember, pet. This. Every time.”

  Oh, I remembered. Despite the danger, despite a tiny part of me knowing exactly where I was and whom I was with, all I could think about was being pinned under Royce’s weight, the feel of him inside me, the pressure of his mouth on my throat. Max’s bite made it feel like I was there again, in that moment, enthralled by the pain and pleasure that made every cell in my body burn with need. With an intense longing to do anything—anything—to feel it again.

  Max unceremoniously dragged me over to where the statues stood in silent judgment, pressing my wrists to the wall and then shackling them over my head. He followed with my ankles, cuffed roughly two feet apart with only inches of slack. Dismally, the first thought that occurred to me was that he was doing it so that there wasn’t even the slightest chance I might rub my legs together to find some relief.

  I dangled in the chains, gasping for breath, watching him with heavily lidded eyes. I couldn’t move just yet, and the shock and need had not worn away enough for me to think of anything outside the blaze of desire.

  “Now, I will give you one more opportunity to do as I told you. Consider your options.”

  With that, he left me hanging there—in every sense of the word.

  It didn’t take me long to figure out that being stuck in chains sucks.

  The inability to scratch or rub at an itch because your arms are up over your head and you can’t shift your weight is torture. Particularly when you feel like there’s a fire burning between your legs. The knowledge that you can’t do anything about it only heightens the sensation, makes it worse, in my opinion.

  The horrible thing was coming to the conclusion that I very well would have given myself to Max if he’d made any sort of move to get me in bed. Therein lay the terrifying truth about vampires, the thing that haunted my nightmares and why I had been so very afraid of Royce. If they wanted you—really wanted you—you had no control over your body and no choice about how you felt about what they were doing.

  Once I got my breath and a semblance of strength back, I fought against the chains for a while. They didn’t give, and I was no closer to finding either freedom or relief than I’d been in Max’s arms. Twisting my wrists didn’t loosen the cuffs, and there wasn’t enough room for me to slip a hand through.

  It took a long, long time, but eventually the burning heat between my legs faded, and I was left with a fresh surge of terror as good sense returned.

  Good God. To consider—even if only for a moment—sleeping with Max Carlyle ... !

  Shame liberally dosed with the sick feeling of being trapped resulted in the unsteady but oh-so-familiar sensation of bile churning in my stomach. Crying hadn’t done me any good so far but, to be perfectly honest, it was all I was capable of doing once the hopelessness of my situation sank in.

  Not to mention the loathing and disgust I felt for myself, for my weakness, for feeling even the smallest margin of desire even when I knew I couldn’t help myself. It wasn’t my fault. I knew it wasn’t.

  That didn’t make me feel any less sick and violated.

  Max was right about one thing: more than pain, holding the threat of biting me over my head if I should step out of line would keep me in a cooperative mind-set. I’d continue to hunt for means of escape, of course, but I couldn’t handle the thought of putting myself in a position to be so vulnerable with him again. For the time being, when he was watching, I’d play along with whatever twisted plans he had.

  The rest of the time, I’d be clawing at the walls hunting for a way out.

  Coming to that conclusion was great and all, but it didn’t get me out of the chains. There was no clock or view of the outside to give me any hint as to the passing of the time. Hunger and a growing pressure to use the commode brought around a new kind of panic. What if he forgot about me? How long was I going to be stuck in these chains?

  I was practically dancing in place with the effort to hold my bladder by the time Max sent someone to release me. The guy ignored my pleas and repeated requests to be shown to a bathroom. Instead, he held my arm tight enough to hurt and marched me back to the room I’d been locked in earlier—sans chair this time.

  He shoved me inside and slammed the door shut behind me, leaving me alone. Though it was humiliating, I rushed straight to the chamber pot in the corner and made use of it, praying that neither Max nor any of his henchmen would barge in at an awkward moment.

  When I was done, I noted that there was a tray set to one side of the door that held a bottle of water, some pills, and a bowl of thick soup—but no utensils. Despite feeling ill at being confined and the possibility the food might have something unsavory in it, I was ravenous, and rapidly devoured it. It was bland but filling, lacking any taint of poison or drugs that I could detect. The water was sealed so I knew it hadn’t been tampered with, but I wasn’t about to touch the pills, whatever they were.

  After a few minutes spent fruitlessly scouring the carpet in search of the staples I’d dropped, I resigned myself to waiting for Max or one of his people to return. With nothing else to do, I settled down on the bed, lying back to stare at the ceiling.

  Did Royce know Max had taken me? Before I woke up in this nuthouse, I was in California, hiding from the police and the werewolves in New York who were out for my blood. The master vampire of Los Angeles, Clyde Seabreeze, had been betrayed by his lover Fabian. It turned out Fabian was using Clyde, working with the necromancer whose zombies had been killing the vampires who looked to Clyde for protection. After conquering and assuming control of Clyde’s empire, Fabian’s first gift to his sire, Max, was—you guessed it—me.

  I missed Royce with a fierce, desperate ache. It might have taken a hell of a wake-up call for me to realize it, but even though he was a vampire, Royce was no monster. I’d heard those words, even said and thought them before, but it wasn’t until I saw what depths of corruption and betrayal Max and Fabian were capable of that I truly believed it. Compared to those two, Royce was a saint—and despite all the reasons I may have given him to be furious with me, he had remained patient and understanding in the face of my doubts.

  It had taken me a hell of a long time to face facts, but being a vampire wasn’t what made someone villainous. Like humans, they could use their power and influence for good, evil, and everything in between. It was too bad this hadn’t sunk in until I was in a situation where the knowledge didn’t do me any good, and
I had no way of telling Royce how sorry I was for ever thinking he was capable of the same evils as Max Carlyle.

  Max’s men must have left me alone for a long time. I hadn’t even noticed when I dropped off. The sound of a key rattling in the door startled me awake, a brief fright at not remembering where I was morphing into full-fledged panic as the memories of Max and my predicament came back to me. Jerking up to my feet and rubbing the sleep and dried remnants of tears out of my eyes, I stumbled back to the far corner of the room as the door opened.

  This time two unfamiliar men entered, and neither looked friendly. One had a patch covering an eye bisected by a scar that ran from his eyebrow to his jawbone. The other was built like a truck and had the look of one who would joyfully kick puppies and other small, helpless animals. The way he was eyeing me made me wonder if he slotted me into that category.

  “C’mere,” said the one with the scar, beckoning for me to come to him while the other picked up the tray.

  “No.”

  “Master says you been bit. Take yer damn vitamins, girl, and let’s go.”

  The other guy extended his thick palm, now holding the pills from the tray. I didn’t want to take them, but thoughts of Max’s potential retribution if I should disobey his henchmen had me inching closer to take them. They watched impassively while I dry-swallowed the pills, grimacing at the bitter taste. Once I’d done as ordered, the big guy went off toward the stairs with the tray while the one with the scar led me down the hall to an unlocked door. He followed me inside, standing at the door with his arms folded while I took in the strange scene before me.

  There were men and women being herded through an assembly-line process. First they were given some kind of wax treatment or had their eyebrows shaped. Then they entered a shower stall—open to the rest of the room, hoo boy—and washed up. Next they were toweled off and settled in front of a hairdresser. As their hair was trimmed, someone else gave them some kind of skin treatment; various oils or creams were rubbed onto any body part that didn’t pass inspection. That was followed by a manicure, pedicure, and some attention from a young girl wielding a tackle box full of cosmetics.

  It was like the world’s creepiest spa. What the hell was this operation?

  Once they were done, they were led out a door on the other side of the room by a guy in a suit, much like the one shoving me in the direction of the shower.

  “Stop staring and get on with it. Haven’t got all day.”

  The demand was clear—but there was no way I was getting naked in a room full of strangers. I edged away from him, shaking my head. He muttered under his breath and then reached out to grab my arm again.

  I reacted without thought. As he tugged me forward, I used the momentum to slam my heel into his instep, followed by smashing my elbow into his face. As blood spurted from his nose he cursed and let me go. As he doubled over, I took the opportunity to knee him in the jaw, sending him stumbling back.

  That earned a few curious looks from the workers and some of the people being attended to. The guards or handlers or whatever they were started moving in my direction, none looking too pleased. I didn’t bother waiting around to see if anyone else was going to try their luck at stopping me. I dashed out the door, sprinting for the stairs.

  Just my luck, as Scar-face stumbled into the hallway behind me, still clutching his spurting nose and followed by a few other men in matching suits, Max Carlyle was coming down the stairs, flanked by the dark-skinned Cajun and a handful of bodyguards. The vampire stopped in his tracks, once more clearly as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I twisted around, ran right smack into the chest of Scar-face, and suddenly found myself on my back, blood in my mouth and stars in my eyes as I blinked up at the ceiling.

  Max and the Cajun knelt down on either side of me. Max touched my lip with his thumb, then brought it to his mouth, sucking the blood off it. Throbbing pain radiated from my mouth, warm wetness sliding over my tongue and down my jaw to drip into my hair. Though rattled and woozy, all I could think about was escape. He put a hand to my stomach to keep me from rising as he addressed the other man.

  “I’m quite at a loss, Francisco. She’s infected and clearly too violent to leave with the others. I need her wits intact if she’s to be of any use. What do you suggest?”

  Francisco also touched my bloodied lip, studying me much as Max had done, though he didn’t taste what he got on his fingers.

  “A puzzling quandary, to be sure. Remarkable that she’s been shrugging off commands.” Had I? That was news to me. “Rhathos had some success, did he not? Perhaps you should explore his methods of taming her. He must have done something differently to merit her bowing to his will where she refuses to submit to yours.”

  “Shiarra.” Max stroked my cheek with his free hand, and the bottom fell out of my world when I met his eyes. “Tell me what Alec has done differently with you. Why do you obey him?”

  His voice rang so sweetly I couldn’t help but answer him, though a few times I choked on my own blood. “... cares about me ... doesn’t hurt ...”

  Max’s gaze flicked up to meet Francisco’s, and the two shared a look I couldn’t read. Reality came crashing back, along with the awareness that I was completely fucked. Francisco jerked back when I flailed, struggling to get out from under Max’s hand. The ancient vampire hissed at me to be still. Though I hated him for it, I had to obey, going rigid.

  Max gestured ahead to the room where Scar-face had earlier taken me. “The facilities, as I mentioned, are excellent. Take advantage as you please, and do let me know if you need anything else. I’ll join you when I have a moment.”

  Francisco inclined his head and smiled genially. “Take your time, Euphron. I am in no rush.”

  Max scooped me up in his arms and, leaving Francisco and his guards behind, took the stairs. When he reached the security door at the top, he made me close my eyes before he worked the keypad. Only after the door was open, sliding on oiled rollers into a recessed alcove in the wall, was I allowed to look around.

  The place was huge. The white marble floors veined with gold reflected the lights of half a dozen chandeliers above our heads, shining with rich opulence on the museum-quality furniture and artwork hanging on the walls. The brief glimpse I got of the prison I was leaving behind was of a section of the wall that slid back into place, silent and seamless, behind us. I couldn’t even tell where the mechanism was to get inside, but did my best to take note of the details of the room so I could find it again. He’d designed the perfect camouflage to hide his stash of human captives.

  Max’s footsteps echoed softly as he carried me through the place, each room bigger and more magnificent than the last. It was like a weird cross between a swanky hotel and a museum. We passed an indoor pool, sparkling fountains, statuary, exotic birds in gilded cages, and uniformed maids and butlers who bowed and turned their eyes away when we passed.

  Good to know wealth could buy blind eyes and silence about human trafficking to match the furniture.

  Only when we reached a wide marble staircase leading upward did I think to shut my mouth. Judging by my stay thus far and all the carefully averted eyes, I didn’t think calling for help to any of the people working here was going to do me much good.

  We passed a few closed doors before we reached the end of the hallway. The double doors swung open to reveal a room far more magnificent than the others. The place practically glowed with all the gilding. Intricate designs were inlaid into every surface and along the edges of the white lacquered furniture. The bed was the centerpiece; large enough for an army platoon, with gauzy white curtains that concealed the pillows and blankets that looked soft and fluffy enough to shame the clouds. Despite the color scheme, there was nothing feminine about it. The artwork was too dark, and the way everything came together was cold and somber; no amount of ornamentation could cover that up. Which made this Max’s bedroom, I presumed.

  The vampire carried me past the bed, glancing down as a shudder passe
d through me. He soon turned his attention back to the task at hand, taking me to a small painting at the far end of the room. I vaguely recognized the piece of bathing and lounging women as something by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, though I didn’t know the name of the painting off the top of my head. I had seen a print of it somewhere before—maybe at one of those funky galleries Sara liked to drag me to.

  Max swung it away from the wall to reveal a hidden panel, keyed in a code, then pressed his palm to a scanner; a more high-tech security device than the one used to keep the people downstairs locked away.

  Great. My plans for never getting out of here were coming together swimmingly.

  A whole section of the wall slid away to reveal a secret passage. I would never have guessed the damned thing was there if Max hadn’t revealed it. He lugged me inside, and I was not surprised to see a room similar to—but smaller than—his own on the other side. Instead of one giant bed, there were several smaller ones.

  Unlike the rooms downstairs, this place opened up off a few others, including a large bathroom, a library, and—unbelievable—outside. Weak sunlight was visible through the far door, and I was bordering on desperate to break the chains of his will to make my way out there.

  “Here, now,” he said, his voice low and soothing in a way far too reminiscent of Royce’s for my peace of mind, “perhaps you’ll do better here. If you behave, you may stay. If you don’t, back downstairs you go. Understand?”

  All I could manage was a feeble nod. He smiled, the hint of fang in it sending my heart rate skyrocketing.

  “Good. Go wash up and get some rest. I’ll check on you later. We’re going to have a talk tonight, you and I.”

  He set me down on the edge of a sofa. It was even softer than it looked, and I sank down into the cushions, unable to rise immediately. Max left the room, and a low murmur of chatter started up.