Midnight Predator dos-4

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  “The assignment was to get rid of Jeshickah,” Turquoise reminded her, “not Jaguar.”

  “Jaguar’s the one running things right now,” Ravyn pointed out. “We take down Jeshickah, you don’t think he’s going to object?”

  Turquoise shook her head. “Let’s avoid picking random targets until we know what’s up, okay?”

  Ravyn shrugged dismissively, not agreeing. “Once the job’s done, suppose I can steal her car?” the hunter asked. “Lamborghini Diablo . . . that thing’s worth three hundred thousand easy, half mil maybe.”

  “Could we stick to the problem at hand?” Turquoise interrupted.

  Ravyn gave her a look as if Turquoise were mad. “It’s a nice car. Besides, it’d be fun to figure out. I hear they’re almost impossible to steal. I prefer the black, but all things considered—”

  “Ravyn.” Turquoise’s patience was at an end.

  Ravyn glared back. “You are no fun.”

  Turquoise debated strangling her detested partner, but elected to find sheets and make the top bed—Ravyn was still sitting on the bottom one—instead.

  Ravyn finally acceded, standing and following Turquoise’s example. The sleepy expression she usually wore was gone. “Let’s see if Jeshickah is really planning to run Jaguar through. If she isn’t . . . Even unpaid, I wouldn’t mind putting a knife in the creature that runs the slave trade.” For the first time, Ravyn’s voice didn’t sound tailored.

  “How’d you end up involved with the trade?”

  Ravyn shrugged. “Wrong time, wrong place, wrong life. Stumbled across a vamp with a taste for exotics.” She said the words emotionlessly, as if she were quoting.

  Exotics. It sounded like a sign that should be in a pet store, advertising parrots or rare snakes. Hearing Ravyn apply it to herself was sickening. Knowing that Ravyn’s burgundy hair and eyes made the description appropriate was worse.

  Still, condolences were out of place. There was no friendship between her and Ravyn, and likely never would be. “How’d you get out?”

  Ravyn’s smirk returned. “Friends in low places,” she explained crisply. “I made a couple deals with vampires who hated Jared to begin with. They might not have stopped Jared from taking a two-by-four to me, but at least they didn’t stop me from slamming said beam into his skull before I put a knife in him.”

  After that, Ravyn lost interest in talking except to ask for the top bed, which Turquoise gave up without much of a fight. She wouldn’t sleep well in either place.

  CHAPTER 7

  “ICAN’T BELIEVEI . . . I’m so stupid.” She took another large gulp of milk, trying to stop the tears.

  “No you’re not,” her father argued. His face still held a look of dazed shock, as it had ever since the police had woken him in his hotel room nearly eight hours ago. “Listen to me, Cathy.”

  She lifted puffy, crying eyes to her father.

  “You’re Catherine Miriam Minate,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You’re proud, and you have every right to be. And no one—no one—can take that away from you unless you let them. You’re safe now,” he assured her. “You can’t let this creep have the satisfaction of hurting you. No one can make you a victim but yourself.”

  She shook her head, remembering how dumb she had been. A strange city, a strange hotel, a strange guy . . . why had she trusted him? Even at home, she wouldn’t have let a stranger get so close, no matter how nice or cute he seemed.

  Mr. Minate stood and hugged his daughter close. She could feel his fatigue and his fear. He knew the danger was over, but was still near to panic.

  Turquoise had forgotten to consider one fact when planning their trip to Midnight: she was claustrophobic. Not terribly; she wouldn’t end up huddled, screaming, in a corner, but she hated to be stuck in one small room.

  She alternated between napping and pacing. When she slept, she dreamed, and the dreams were rarely pleasant.

  Asleep or awake, vivid memories of Lord Daryl’s manor assaulted her.

  There had been four floors to the house. The top level had held the kitchens, laundry rooms, and quarters for Lord Daryl’s numerous common slaves. Turquoise had not been allowed there, but she had explored it once while Lord Daryl had been away. He had beaten her unconscious when he had returned.

  The third floor had held mostly bedrooms—hers, Lord Daryl’s, and guest rooms. Lord Daryl’s studio had been on that floor, a large room in the northern side of the house. It had been the only room in the house with a window, an almost solid wall of glass, and once or twice a month, when she had been desperate for sunlight, Catherine had crept in there despite Lord Daryl’s rules. The glimpse of life beyond her slavery was always worth risking a beating.

  The second floor had held an office, a desk with drawers that were always locked, the dining room, and the library. Catherine had spent hours reading history, which was a subject on which Lord Daryl had numerous books. She ate alone. Lord Daryl’s slaves, even when serving her meals, were silent. Unless Lord Daryl spoke to her, Catherine heard no voice, no sound at all.

  The first floor had been one large, elegant ballroom, complete with grand piano, polished dance floor, and a chandelier Catherine never saw lit. Lord Daryl was possessive and paranoid, and kept her away from the rest of his kind. When he hosted parties, he invariably locked his pet away in the next room, where she would barely hear music and distant voices.

  That room, the little sitting room next to the ballroom, had been Catherine’s sanctuary. The carpet had been soft and black, and the walls had been burgundy so dark that only direct light would make the red visible. The room held a couch and matching love seat covered with black suede. A small bookshelf in the corner held photos of people Catherine did not know, and books in languages she could not read.

  Turquoise wrenched her mind away from her past. She glanced at Ravyn, who was lying on her bed and pondering the stucco ceiling, and rejected as impossible the idea of intelligent conversation. Instead, she dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups. Generally, she ran for four miles and then used weights, but this little boxy room wouldn’t allow for that.

  She did fifty on her right arm, and was up to thirty-seven on her left when someone knocked on the door.

  “It’s Eric. May I come in?”

  “Go ahead,” Ravyn called. She jumped down from her bed, commenting to Turquoise, “I’m tired just from watching you.”

  “I promised you a tour of the south wing,” Eric reminded them. “I thought you might want to eat first,” he told Ravyn. “Sound fine?”

  “Peachy,” Ravyn answered.

  Eric seemed unnerved by the bright response, but he did not comment.

  He showed them to the kitchens, where the midnight meal was being served. They ate, and Eric introduced Ravyn to the others she would be working with.

  Afterward, he briefly showed them the infirmary and the weight room. “Keeps people busy in their down time, and gives them something to do to keep healthy,” Eric explained about this last.

  “What’s through there?” Turquoise asked, pointing to a heavy oaken door in the interior wall that seemed out of place.

  “Courtyard. It’s off-limits. The door’s locked anyway,” Eric explained briskly.

  If a door is locked, you’re not welcome,Jaguar had said. Instantly, this courtyard interested Turquoise. “What’s in there?”

  Eric shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Jaguar about that. Speaking of,” he continued, changing the subject, “if you can find Jaguar sometime before you turn in, ask him if I’m allowed to bring you outside. Probably not, but that’s where I really need the most help. Otherwise, you’ll either be cleaning or bloodletting, whichever you prefer.” The boy’s tone made it clear he’d have no respect for her if she took the second choice.

  They split up. Ravyn returned to the kitchens to learn the ropes, Eric disappeared into his room, and Turquoise sought out Katie. She gave the woman her measurements, and was rewarded with the necessities o
f life: three full outfits, as well as a toothbrush, hairbrush, soap, washcloth, and two towels.

  Next, Turquoise went looking for Jaguar. If all went well, she’d find him quickly and ask about going outside. That should grant her enough free time to explore. She wanted to see the western wing, and she wanted to get into the courtyard.

  There were two locked doors in the northern wing; the shape-shifter rooms, Eric had said. The inside wall was empty—no courtyard door here. Jaguar was not in any of the sitting rooms, though she did have to skirt one room where Jeshickah was arguing with a vampire Turquoise did not recognize. The glimpse she caught as she walked by was of an attractive man of maybe twenty years, with a strong build and elegant features.

  His words caught her attention, enough that she paused just past the room. “Are you going to kill him?”

  Jeshickah paused to consider the other vampire’s question. “Jaguar is trying my patience, but he’s too valuable to put down so quickly.” She sighed. “I’ll give him a few days; maybe he just needs a reminder of his place. If he still hasn’t come to heel, I can take Midnight back from him.”

  “He might fight you on it,” the other vampire pointed out. “However it happened, Jaguar has picked up a fair amount of independence since Midnight burned.”

  “And then who will you back?” The vampiress sounded unconcerned.

  “The only person I would rather put a knife in than Jaguar is you.” The comment was made as if the knowledge was well known and unimportant. “But if it comes down to a fair fight, you’ll win. Who’s the human?”

  The change in topic startled Turquoise, and she felt a chill as she realized the question was about her.

  “Jaguar’s new toy. Girl, come in here.”

  Turquoise obeyed, knowing delay would be painful; she forced herself to recall all of Nathaniel’s suggestions, as her excuses came quickly to her tongue.

  “Yes, milady?” Eric had used that title without being hit; hopefully she could do the same.

  Ow. Her right knee struck the floor hard as Jeshickah’s companion kicked it out from under her, inelegantly but effectively forcing her to kneel.

  “She suit your fancy, Gabriel?” Jeshickah asked.

  So both of the vampires Nathaniel warned Turquoise about were in the same room, while she was alone and unarmed. Fate had a twisted sense of humor.

  But Gabriel just replied, “She’s more Jaguar’s taste than mine.” This was not a fun conversation; Turquoise’s fingers ached to be wrapped around a knife. Her leg was starting to go to sleep below the knee. “What are you up to?”

  The question was addressed to Turquoise. “I’m sorry for interrupting, sir. I was told to speak to Jaguar, but I don’t know where he is.” The building wasn’t that large; she would have found him eventually. But so long as she was playing the part of a dumb slave, she might as well take advantage of its excuses.

  Gabriel looked to Jeshickah. “How long has he had her?”

  “A few hours.”

  Without warning, Gabriel dragged Turquoise to her feet; she had to check her desire to slam an elbow into his gut and wrench her arm out of his bruising grip. “The guard on the western wing will direct you to your master. In the future, I suggest you remember to refer to him as such.”

  He released her. Turquoise resisted both the urge to rub the new bruise on her arm, and the desire to turn about and slug him in the jaw. She left their presence quickly, trying to rid herself of the creeping feeling that she was lucky to still be walking.

  A raven shape-shifter blocked the door to the western wing. She shifted into human form as Turquoise approached.

  “You have business here?” the girl asked.

  She recalled Gabriel’s “suggestion” bitterly as she spoke. “I’m looking for Master Jaguar. I’m supposed to—”

  Her explanation was cut off as the girl pushed open the door. “Jaguar’s study is the third door on the right. If he’s not there, you can wait.”

  Excellent. Apparently, Jaguar’s lax rules extended to his guards, who were allowed to send people into his rooms. Turquoise looked forward to the possibility of snooping.

  She knocked lightly, and was disappointed to hear Jaguar’s smooth voice call out, “Come in.”

  As she entered the room, Jaguar pushed away from the desk where he had been working and stretched. “Audra, nice to see you. You want something?”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she apologized, speaking softly and dropping her gaze. The unfamiliar name did not sound strange to her. Outside Bruja, she changed her name with each assignment. She had no fondness for any particular combination of syllables; Audra was as good as Turquoise or any other.

  Jaguar shook his head, looking vaguely amused. “Submissiveness does not become you. Don’t worry. I would much rather talk with you than do paperwork.” He frowned suddenly. “What happened to your wrist?”

  A glance revealed red marks where Gabriel’s grip had held her. She flexed the wrist, but it was only bruised, nothing more. “One of your guests corrected my misuse of your name,” she answered. “It was my mistake.”

  “I take it your old master wasn’t overly fond of titles?”

  Honestly, she answered, “Only his.” Lord Daryl had not expected her to speak of others of his kind at all. Referring to another vampire as “master” or “milord” in front of Lord Daryl would get her beaten, as if she was acknowledging ownership by another as opposed to him.

  Jaguar shook his head. “Please, sit down.” He motioned to one of the free chairs as he collapsed back into his own. Turquoise took a seat, though she could not begin to relax as easily as Jaguar did. “Did you come to keep me company, or do you have a question?”

  “I spoke to Eric about getting an assignment,” she explained, grateful to change the subject. “He wanted me to ask you if I could work outside, since he needs the most help there.”

  Jaguar paused, and his gaze flickered down her form. “Jeshickah knows you aren’t broken. She’ll feel the need to correct that error much more quickly if you’re working outside. You don’t want to encourage her to do that,” he recommended. “What other jobs does Eric have?”

  “He said cleaning or bleeding.”

  “Neither of which sounds very fun for you,” Jaguar offered.

  Turquoise did not argue with him, even though he was more than half wrong. There were humans who chased after vampires all their lives, addicted to the sweet, intoxicating rush of having their blood drawn. It could be very pleasant, if the vampire wanted it to be.

  Perhaps that was why it frightened some hunters so much. It took effort to live, to fight for one’s life and one’s pride. It was too tempting to simply relax and let the blood flow. Too tempting to let yourself slip up in a fight.

  Turquoise shook the thoughts from her mind. She had no desire to die, and she certainly had no desire to become some vampire’s pet bleeder. She only had to look at the scars on her arms to remind her why.

  Like all hunters, she hated putting herself in the prey’s position, but unlike most, she did not mind letting a little blood if doing so was an occupational necessity. A bleeder in Midnight would be closer to the vampires than any other human.

  “I was a bleeder before Nathaniel bought me,” Turquoise explained, modifying the truth as necessary. Lord Daryl had taken her blood occasionally, but he had owned a score of other slaves for such practical matters. She had been more like a lapdog in his manor, ornamental but essentially ineffective.

  Jaguar looked surprised. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”

  Turquoise reminded herself that he was a professional, and decided to keep the lies to a minimum. “My first master wasn’t much in the way of a trainer, but he did teach me not to fight his orders. After that . . .” She shrugged. “It isn’t unpleasant, and it’s a lot better than some of the alternatives.” Turquoise had seen slaves whose sole purpose was as beating posts to their masters’ rage. She knew many who would argue, but she would rather feel
teeth at her throat than a fist in her gut any day.

  “If you want into that group, go ahead,” Jaguar answered, either taking Turquoise’s story for the truth or not caring about the lie. “Most of them take the sunrise meal for supper, sleep most of the day, and do as they want at night. Your only other chore is to stay healthy.” He continued, “Several of my kind already reside in Midnight, and Jeshickah and Gabriel have both been threatening to move in. Theron doesn’t like titles—he generally doesn’t want to be addressed by humans at all, so that shouldn’t be a problem—but any of the others will hit you if you forget one. If you run across Daryl, tread lightly; his temper is unpredictable.” Turquoise was very proud of herself—she kept breathing, kept standing, and kept her expression the same, even hearing that name. “Avoid Gabriel unless you’re fond of pain. You aren’t, correct?” he asked worriedly.

  She rubbed absently at her wrist as she shook her head. “I never have been.”

  “There are a few others who come and go, so don’t be surprised if one of them pulls you aside. I’ll tell the guards on the west wing not to challenge you.” Jaguar paused, and she could see indecision on his face before he said, “You can go if you want to.”

  It was not a command, and she wondered why he was offering the permission. He had already made it clear that she could speak freely, and she assumed asking to leave was within the realm of what she could say.

  Absently, she brushed back some of the hair from her face, and she saw as Jaguar’s eyes followed how the long strands slid across her throat. Though his dark skin did not show pallor as clearly as Lord Daryl’s had, Turquoise could tell Jaguar had not fed yet, and she recognized the hungry look in his black eyes.

  Testing, she stood, the movement appearing reluctant. “I’ll leave you to your work if you’d like.”

  He answered the way she had expected him to. Not raising his gaze from her throat, he said, “Come here.” Though the words were an order, the tone left room for argument.