by Kallysten
A flash of heat spread through Grace. There couldn't possibly have been a worse time for this, but that didn't stop her from feeling an intense rush of power at the idea that the simple sight of her could make him hard.
"Stand and get dressed,” she hissed. “Now!"
Relief flooded her when he obeyed without questioning her with more than a frown. Hugo's voice rose from the hallway.
"Grace? Found something?"
He walked in behind her just as Ray was pulling on the drawstrings of his pants.
"I guess you did,” he said, his amused tone making it clear that he thought she had walked on a naked Ray. Raising his voice, he pointed at the badge hanging on his chest. “I am Hugo Tyler. This is Grace Alkins. We are Special Enforcers. Are you Keller Owens?"
Ray looked at Hugo, then his eyes came back to Grace, settling on her badge with a bemused expression.
"No. My name is Ray. Ray Evelt."
Grace felt like she had to say something to let him know where they stood. It would be easy for him to betray her, and there wasn't much she could do to stop him if he decided to.
"Are you a vampire?” she asked, meeting his eyes as calmly as she could.
His eyebrows twitched, and he came close to smiling. “How did you guess?"
"We're looking for Keller Owens,” Hugo said. “Does he live here?"
"Define live.” Ray shook his head as he walked around the bed to pick up a pack of cigarettes on the desk to Grace's left. “But if you mean does he reside here, the answer is yes. Usually. He's not here now, though.” He lit up a cigarette, took a deep drag and looked back at Grace. “Although you probably guessed that, too."
Thinking back on what he had told her the previous night, she understood what he wasn't quite saying. Owens was his Sire, the Master he had told her hadn't played with him in days.
"Do you know this woman?” Hugo continued, oblivious to the tension in the room. He pulled out the picture of MacAlair from his pocket and approached Ray, showing it to him.
Ray barely glanced at the picture before answering. “No."
Right away, Grace knew he was lying. She didn't know exactly what had clued her in, but she had heard him tell the truth before, and this wasn't it. His voice was off in some way, or maybe there was something in his eyes. She just couldn't call him on it, not with Hugo in the room. That would have raised too many questions she had no desire to answer.
"Where were you the night before last?” Hugo asked.
"At a club, two blocks from here."
Hugo put the picture away and pulled out a slim notepad. “What club is that?"
"It's called Carte Blanche."
Another flash of heat coursed through Grace when she heard him say those two words. They sounded almost indecent, coming from his lips.
"Where is your ... friend?” she asked, trying to focus again on what she was supposed to be doing.
"I don't know. He's been away for a few days."
Grace noticed that Hugo was looking around the room. She wondered what he was looking for, but couldn't bear to keep her eyes off Ray for very long.
"Do you have a picture of him?” Hugo asked when he didn't find what he was looking for.
Ray laughed. “A picture? No, I don't.” He chuckled a little more, but now he sounded bitter. “I really don't."
Curiosity devoured Grace, and it was all she could do to stop herself from asking questions that would have been fine at Carte Blanche, but that were unimaginable in Hugo's presence. She settled for something that would be helpful to their search.
"What does he look like?"
Ray tilted his head as he considered her through a cloud of smoke. “My height, short brown hair, dark eyes."
Hugo snorted. “You just described half the vampires I staked in the last thirty years."
"I'll suggest he dye his hair blue when I see him next, then,” Ray said, deadpan. “Will that help?"
"I could arrest you for impeding our investigation."
The threat did not seem to affect Ray in any way. “You're Special Enforcers, not cops. You can stake me if I kill a human, not arrest me if I don't play your games. You didn't even tell me what you want with him."
"He's a suspect in a murder,” Grace said, observing him closely for a reaction.
There was none, which only meant that he was controlling himself very tightly. She couldn't tell whether he was taken aback by the accusation or if it came as no surprise to him. She wished she could have asked, but they would have needed to be alone for that.
That was when she saw it. His left eyebrow rose, just enough for her to notice after she had been watching him so closely. She looked at his eyes, and the invitation was there to see him later, and ask if she still wanted to.
If that was what it took, she supposed she could bear to go to Carte Blanche again. It wouldn't be too much of a hardship. She nodded, and he smiled.
Chapter 7
For the rest of the day after the two Special Enforcers had left, Ray moved restlessly through the apartment, unable to focus on anything for more than a few minutes. He tried to sit at the desk and draw, but each new sketch he started was lacking in some way. In no more than five minutes, he wasted as many sheets. Lighting a cigarette, he went to sit in front of the television. Nothing grabbed his attention, and he kept going from channel to channel until he tired of it. He turned the television off again and returned to the bedroom. His eyes immediately found the cell phone on the night table where he had dropped it the previous night.
"Did he kill her?” he asked the empty room.
The silence that answered slid like ice over him.
Crushing what was left of his cigarette in an ashtray, he went to pick up the phone and sat down on the bed. His thumb poised on the preset button, he remained frozen for long minutes before realizing that he couldn't make himself call Keller.
He should have called him. It would have been the sensible thing to do. Keller needed to know he was a suspect in a murder investigation, so that he could come back to clear his name—or stay away and safe. The trouble was, Ray didn't want Keller to stay away, and neither did he want him to come back only because of the investigation. Caught between his duty as a Childe and his pride as a lover, Ray found himself unable to act. Maybe, he told himself, after he talked to Mistress Red—Grace, the other S.E. had said her name was—he would have a better idea as to whether Keller had killed that woman.
In the middle of his worrying about what Keller might have done or not and why, the thought struck Ray without warning. He wondered whether she'd allow him to call her Grace, now that he knew her name. It certainly fit her better than Mistress Red.
He shook the idea away. Whether she allowed it or not, it wasn't up to him to ask for that privilege. In fact, it might be tricky to get information from her if he wasn't allowed to ask questions.
With a sigh, he laid down on his back. He wished he still felt the aftereffects of the scene he had played with Grace the previous night, but the pain had been completely gone when he had awoken to the uncomfortable realization that intruders had entered his lair. Still half asleep, he had thought he was dreaming when he saw her standing there, just a few feet away from him, when he hadn't been sure he would ever see her again. His surprise at realizing she was truly there had only been matched by the discovery that she was a Special Enforcer. It made sense, though, and explained the tentative questions she had been asking the previous night—as well as those she would undoubtedly ask later.
It had to be different, this time. They had to meet as equals if he could hope to ask questions of his own. It wasn't how he had imagined a second meeting would go, but a different game could be fun, too.
This was why, when Grace entered the club that night, Ray's card was turned with the red side up. Slow but loud music filled the dance area, making it impossible for him to hear her this time. Swaying gently against his dancing partner, he kept her eyes on Grace as she stepped down the staircase. She wore
tight black leather pants that molded to her ass perfectly when she turned around. With every movement, her black shirt showed the light sheen of silk. Ray watched her hand an envelope to Maxwell and receive a temporary card in return. She clipped it at her waist and accepted a drink before turning to the club. Her eyes swept the crowd; Ray could tell exactly when she noticed him. He grinned.
"Ready, sweetheart?"
Lea shivered at his murmur, and her arms closed a little tighter against him when he brushed his lips against her shoulder. Her skin, flawless ebony on every other inch of her body, was marred with several bite marks there, only one of which was Ray's.
"Always, sir,” she replied, the anticipation thick in her voice. “And ready for more if you change your mind."
"Not tonight, but thank you."
He kissed her lightly before closing his mouth over her skin and dropping his fangs as slowly as he could. Lea let out a quiet sigh that became a breathless moan when he pulled on her blood, tight and slow. Her hands clasped his back; she would have been clawing him if not for his shirt standing in the way. The scent of lust rising from her had been thick already, but it doubled suddenly, even as her desire spiked her blood with the faintest tang of sex. Ray started letting go, and her heart stuttered against his chest.
"No,” she gasped. “Not yet, just a little—"
He pulled on her skin again, hard, breaking the small capillaries around the closing wounds and raising a bruise around them that he was sure would be just a shade darker than her skin. She shuddered in his arms and relaxed, resting her cheek on his shoulder.
"Thank ... thank you, sir,” she murmured, her voice thick with pleasure.
Ray brushed his lips against the bite just to feel her body tremble one more time against his.
"You're quite welcome. Always so sweet."
She hummed lightly at the compliment, content. They continued to sway with the music amid the rest of the dancers. Some of them had noticed what was going on, Ray was sure, but it was hardly unusual at Carte Blanche. There was a rule against vampires biting humans in public areas of the club, but it wasn't enforced. As long as it remained consensual, there really wasn't anything that was frowned upon in the club.
Past the arch that separated the dance room from the sitting room next to it, Grace's eyes were ice. She had sat down on a sofa that faced the dancers, the hand that held her glass leaning on the armrest, the other one thrown on the back of the sofa. She had watched Ray bite Lea without flinching or looking away, but with each passing moment, he could see her features becoming harder. She finished her drink in one long swallow that bared her throat then placed the empty glass on the coffee table in front of her. She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again the other way. The entire time, her eyes remained on Ray. When her fingers started tapping impatiently on the armrest, he figured he had made her wait long enough.
"You should sit down,” he murmured in the shell of Lea's ear. “Munch on something. Have some juice."
"I'm fine,” she protested. “I'm used—"
"That wasn't a suggestion, Lea."
She tensed against him, then dropped her arms from his back, waiting for him to let go of her waist before she pulled away.
"Yes, sir,” she replied meekly, her eyes downcast. “I'm sorry, sir."
"Go, now. And be safe."
She looked up just long enough to press her lips to his cheek before scurrying off toward the bar. He watched her go and shook his head lightly. He'd let her do that the first time they had played; he could hardly reproach that small kiss to her now when he had said nothing the first time. Regardless, he had other plans for the moment. He looked back toward Grace and couldn't help but grin as he started toward her.
She didn't respond to his greeting when he got to her, nor did she reply when he asked if she wanted another drink. Shrugging, Ray sat down in the armchair opposite her.
"It was quite a lovely surprise to see you this morning,” he said after a few seconds. “I wouldn't have expected—"
Her head whipped to the side, and she raised her hand toward a passing waitress, ignoring Ray completely.
"Another fruit cocktail,” she asked, her voice cold as winter. “And the child will have a glass of warm milk."
The waitress threw Ray a startled look before hurrying away. This had definitely not been part of his plans.
"Listen,” he started, more calmly than he felt capable of, “there's no need—"
"If you insist on acting like a child,” she interrupted him again, “I will treat you as one."
That was all she said, but her piercing gaze flickered down for a second, settling on Ray's card, before coming back up to look straight at him. Her left eyebrow rose expectantly even as her fingers resumed their impatient dance on the armrest. Ray found himself struggling not to squirm beneath that cold stare.
"I didn't mean—"
"You do realize you're only making things worse for yourself, don't you?"
It was the complete certainty in her voice that decided him. She had no intention to treat him as an equal. If he was honest with himself, deep down, he had known she wouldn't—and he might even have been disappointed if she had, the same way he had been disappointed when Keller had accepted insubordination from him.
Resigned and a little aroused, he stood and reached for the card at his belt, flipping it over in an instant. He started sitting back down, but she stopped him with a terse command.
"Go wash your mouth."
The urge to roll his eyes at her was almost too strong to resist. He gave her a little bow before turning away and walking over to the restrooms. The hunter green tiles, darker walls and black doors enclosing five stalls, the bright lights above him and the square mirrors over the three porcelain sinks were all new to him. He had, of course, never needed to use the facilities. He glared into the mirror when he stepped in front of the sink. It had been eight years, but he still wasn't getting used to his lack of reflection. Keller said that, in time, he'd get used to everything, but it was sometimes difficult to believe.
Head down, he watched water run from the gleaming faucet, his hands clutching the sides of the sink. Slowly, his irritation abated and his thoughts calmed down. He couldn't begrudge Mistress Red for acting like a Dominant; it was who and what she was, after all. Cupping his hands beneath the flowing water, he leaned in to rinse his mouth, as she had demanded.
When he walked out of the bathroom, he kept his eyes lowered and returned to Mistress Red. His state of mind now matched the color of his card perfectly, which was probably what she had hoped to achieve when she had sent him away. Rather than sitting down across from her as before, he slid to his knees by her feet, his wrists crossing at the small of his back. On the table next to him, a tall, clear glass waited. The smell of warm milk tickled his nose, reminding him unpleasantly that she was upset with him. He would have apologized, but that would have meant talking without permission. He figured he had disappointed her enough for one night.
"Let's make something clear,” she said after a few seconds. “That little display on the dance floor was meant for me, wasn't it?"
Ray kept his eyes on the tip of her right boot, just inches from him on the carpeted floor. “Yes, Mistress Red."
"Your ... friend consented to it?"
The disgust was thick in her voice now. She had barely bated an eyelash the previous night when discovering he was a vampire, and he had thought she either did not care or was a vampire groupie. Now, though, he could easily believe that she was in fact a Special Enforcer. Ray felt like explaining himself, and claiming he had never taken a drop of blood that hadn't been offered to him. She hadn't asked, however, and so he bit back what he wanted to say, and simply answered her question.
"She did, Mistress."
She grumbled under her breath, something about stupid children making her job more difficult than it needed to be. The remark clearly wasn't meant for his ears, or Ray would have pointed out that Lea was probably a few y
ears older than she was.
She ran her hand through his hair, like she had the night before, and tugged until he was looking up.
"What was the point of that show, exactly?” she asked after a few moments of scrutinizing his face.
Ray's throat felt dry, suddenly. “I ... I just..."
"Speak up."
He raised his voice and tried not to stutter. “I wanted to show you I'm not powerless."
She appeared perplexed by his answer. “What gave you the impression that I see you as powerless?"
That she even had to ask when he was kneeling at her feet threatened to make Ray laugh uncontrollably. “I submit to you,” he pointed out, trying to keep his tone as neutral as he could.
"And that makes you powerless?” she insisted. “How? I thought yesterday proved that you got exactly what you wanted. If anything, I didn't."
Ray opened his mouth, ready to explain it to her since she couldn't grasp something so basic, but he quickly found out that he didn't know how to explain. His mind echoed with Keller's voice and words reminding him, every night, in a hundred different ways, that he was powerless in front of his Sire, that he had been turned to serve him, and obey him in all things. Something deep inside him, in the same place where the urge to bite and feed from a warm, living throat hid, had vindicated those words, made him see the truth of them. This same ‘something’ that he called his demon in the privacy of his own mind now merely pointed out that all he had to do was stand up, flip his card over and return to the dance floor. Nothing forced him to stay where he was, nothing obliged him to play with anyone, as a submissive or as a Dominant. He was on his knees because he wanted to be. He wasn't powerless; he was simply deciding—and there was nothing simple about this decision now that he thought about it—to lay his power and free will at her feet for the time being.
"Ray?” she chided him. “I asked you a question."
"I don't know how to answer, Mistress Red. Maybe I was wrong."
She seemed to search his face for a few seconds. Whatever she found, it had to be enough because she finally let go of his hair and nodded lightly. Ray returned to his contemplation of her boot, more shaken by his own little discovery than he would have liked to admit.
