The head alpha of the Tri State Region, Joseph Herron, lingered after the others had left, his eyes fixated on Ingrid. "I'm looking forward to your performance in particular, Miss Hudson. The Director tells me you always satisfy your audience and this evening will be unforgettable. He charged us an exorbitant amount for the seats, but after meeting you personally, I believe I may have gotten a bargain."
Ingrid smiled shyly, fervently hoping he wouldn't think she was being coy. "I hope my performance lives up to all of your expectations, Mr. Herron.”
He circled her, a master predator in hunting mode. "I'm sure it will, Ingrid."
Ingrid’s queasy stomach faded as she watched him leave. Mr. Herron was a powerful force of nature, a mover and shaker, often in the public eye. But there was something dark about him that disturbed her down to her bones.
Before they’d left the troupe house, Mack had taken Ingrid aside to tell her The Director had insisted she give Mr. Herron some special, individual attention at the party. He was allowed to take her to his room and play with her until dawn.
Mack had tried to reassure her, telling her he and Gene would come up with some way to keep her out of the alpha’s room, but Ingrid knew she’d have to go. The real question was, could she handle a wolf as powerful as Joseph Herron, tricking him into believing he’d been satisfied the way Mack had handled Giovanni and Paulo?
This info had come as a blow, especially since she was so close to achieving her dream. The only thing that helped was having Mack and Gene’s solid support.
Unfortunately, Mack couldn’t help by morphing into her doppelganger as he had done with the vampires. He had a meeting with the Elder Fae Council, and you didn’t ever want to cancel on those kooks. Some of them were five thousand years old and as dangerous as The Director, although they’d sooner turn you into a sentient tree and throw a picnic beneath your branches, than see you executed in front of millions of viewers. The fae tended to think long-term when it came to revenge.
Ingrid would have to stick close to Gene for as long as possible, and then, when she was alone with Joseph Herron, throw the alpha a hot fantasy and sneak away. Fingers crossed.
Alan poked his head into the dressing room to give his twenty-minute warning. A few moments later, Staci gasped. "Did you feel that?" she asked.
"The power dropped.” Ingrid jumped to her feet. “C’mon. Mack must already know."
They collected the men on the way. Mack held up his hand before anyone could speak. “A block's been established, cutting off a percentage of the power."
“Why, exactly?” Diane looked as bewildered as the rest of the troupe.
Sam spoke up first, “If it’s The Director’s idea to restrict us, we’ll probably never know the reason.” Ingrid looked at Mack for confirmation, but he only shrugged.
“Tonight’s script is intricate. I need access to all the power available to me.” Diane was playing another action-heavy role.
“This is crap.” Sam was scowling, furious like the rest of them.
Mack and Ingrid exchanged glances. "Ingrid and I might be able to fix this." Mack said, excitement glittering in his eyes.
“How?” Dave’s expression was wary. “Another experiment?”
Ingrid explained. “I’ve spent a lot of time learning how to manipulate power. I think I can handle this.”
“Let her try,” Alan said.
“I’ll need your help. Grab onto each other and pull up some psycore energy. Not too much, we still have a performance. I’m going to combine it with mine and use it to unravel the block.” Psy magic worked better than axis for delicate work like untwisting a block without destroying something else. Using axis power would be like grabbing a sledgehammer to pound in a nail.
The troupe agreed, although some still looked hesitant as they held hands and focused their energy, sending it to Ingrid in a cool wash. She soaked it into her body like a sponge, harnessing what they’d shared and unweaving the simple braid-like spell. It seemed whoever had woven it hadn’t expected anyone to counter their magic, otherwise they would’ve put more effort into its construction.
And in a blink, the troupe had all the axis energy they needed to blow the minds of the wolves with a top performance. The group gathered around Ingrid, laughing and sharing hugs, and she found herself remembering what Mack had said that first night, about how the troupe would become her family if she’d let them in. Mack and Gene had certainly crossed that line, maybe Staci, Sam, and Alan, too. She’d never been so close to feeling like she’d found a home.
Mack was smiling at her, the warmth in his gaze making her wonder if he was reading her mind. They were only a few steps apart, so close. Her instincts told her to back away from this male who could destroy her with only a few words, but her feet were automatically stepping forward. Ingrid shook her head. She’d never been a coward.
Swallowing down her misgivings, Ingrid pressed herself against Mack’s firm body. Their kiss was a reconnect, a new beginning. “I’m a fool,” he whispered, pulling her close enough to get them arrested.
“I love to hear you admit I’m right,” she teased.”
Chuckling at Ingrid’s answer, Alan called places. As soon as his glorious music filled the theatre, the show took on a life of its own.
As Gene swayed and spun beside her, Ingrid’s female vampire stalked her werewolf victim with the stealthy grace natural to her fantasy species. Gene’s wolf turned, their gazes connecting and their fates sealed as they reached for each other.
Pack wolves were never allowed to mate with vampires—an automatic death sentence if discovered. The two groups were always on the verge of declaring a full out war. Only The Director, the top masters and alphas he had under his thumb, and his own demon generals kept the two races in check.
While Ingrid danced, she noticed that something was different about the quality of the power. It was much easier to manipulate, crystalline in its precision. She suddenly realized it was because the actors were still linked together. The entire acting troupe was sharing psycore energy at the same time, even without touching.
“Do you feel it?” Ingrid whispered to Gene as they began to dance more slowly. He smiled and nodded, lifting her up to slide down across his back. Mack and Alan were adding their usual boost, but what made her dancing soar and her projection solidify was the shared power of the other actors. Ingrid had wished for this so often, and tonight, unexpectedly, it was real. Whoever had set up that block had done their troupe a favor.
Gene smiled, kissing her cheek before spinning her away. "It's you, sugar. You're filtering our psy-magic. What we get back from you is stronger and easier to use."
"You're right, Ingrid's like a buffer. It's so easy now." Staci's projection of the vampire nest was incredible, the best she'd ever managed.
They whispered excitedly as they danced, some of what was said sliding through Ingrid’s mind like honey. The troupe was projecting the finest performance of their lives, and Ingrid was so proud of them all. Dancing in her vicinity, each actor’s eyes spoke of approval, acceptance, and friendship, the synergy of the connection exploding between them. Ingrid allowed her spirit to soar with exquisite abandon, flying at last.
When the show finished they huddled in their circle, drenched and almost completely spent. Their faces shone with a strength born of a communal power they’d never tasted before. The troupe instinctively knew the danger inherent in the discovery that they were at least six times stronger when they worked together. Ingrid’s mind spun with ideas as she scanned the smiling faces of her new...family. She found herself grinning foolishly back at them.
The mood was upbeat as they broke apart and walked back in their usual pairs, paying no attention to the growls and screams still generated by the werewolves in the audience. Ingrid left Gene with a quick kiss on the cheek, walking to the women’s dressing room with Staci and Diane.
The Director was there, scowling. “Who unwove the block?”
Staci and Diane gasp
ed in terror at the sight of the seven and a half foot monster. Thinking of the others, Ingrid moved quickly, standing between them and their terrifying boss. “I did. We needed the power. It was a difficult script.”
“Did it occur to you that it might have been put there for an important reason?”
Ingrid answered with a touch of attitude, too tired to put up with his shit. “If it was, Sir, then we should have been informed of the reason so we could have adjusted our energy.”
Diane had backed into a corner, trembling and weeping quietly. Staci sank into a chair, hugging herself, her complexion very pale. The Director had that effect on people the first time they met him, especially when his eyes flashed red. Like now.
He'd glided over quickly, standing only inches away from her, his breath hot on Ingrid’s face. Her stomach was knotted and queasy, but she refused to back away. “You are not afraid of me, Ingrid. Why is that?” He smelled like cigars and old blood. Her stomach rolled over, hinting that it might not be able to hold onto its contents for much longer.
She forced herself to meet his shining red eyes. "I'd be an idiot not to be afraid, sir, but I was trained in the institute to put my fear and pain in a box and do what has to be done. Was the performance unsatisfactory? If so, I take full responsibility.”
He smirked in his alien way. “The performance was extraordinary. I believed I was raping you myself, and when you were ripped apart, your screams made me hard again. I came twice.” He raked large, thick fingers through her hair, fisting them, yanking her face closer to his. She gasped from the sharp pain. Icy fingers of power pierced Ingrid’s skin and snaked through her body, attempting to probe her mind with his vile touch. But her shields were carbyne strong, keeping The Director out of her head, enraging him further.
Mack entered the room. “Sir, she had my permission to take out the block. You should be angry with me, not Ingrid.”
The creature answered without turning around. “If you speak again, your troupe will be disposed of. Take the other females out of the room.”
“Do it, Mack,” Ingrid pleaded. Staci and Diane were a mess and needed help. He and Gene helped them up and took them into the hallway.
The Director tightened his grip on Ingrid’s hair. Her eyes teared. "Look at me," he whispered hoarsely.
Somehow, she found the courage.
“I have special plans for you, and I expect you to follow them if you want your troupe to survive. I will skin Gene alive in front of you. I will burn Mack slowly, finger by finger, and make you watch. Do you understand?”
Ingrid could barely nod.
“Tomorrow night, at the party, you will spend time with Joseph Herron. Quality time. Private time. You will fuck him, or blow him, or let him beat you bloody. Anything and everything he wants. You will stay with him until dawn. He has strict instructions not to do any permanent damage. The only thing you will not do is project a fantasy. For that privilege, he would have to pay quite a bit more.”
Despite the danger she was in, Ingrid burned with anger, speaking through gritted teeth. “I’m—not—a—whore.”
“A whore and a slave: my property to share as I please. Joseph Herron has asked to borrow you for the night, and I have agreed. If I discover you were not one hundred percent cooperative with the alpha, you will be retired from the troupe and will take on the duty of becoming my personal whore, an experience you will find brutal and demeaning. Am I being clear?”
“Ye…yes.” Ingrid was trembling now, unable to hold herself steady. The pain in her scalp was giving her a pounding headache.
“I have afforded you every chance. Your projecting skills are without equal, but your behavior has interfered with my business, costing me time and a great deal of money. Replacing the Atlanta troupe along with the theatre you burned down was an expense I should not have incurred.” He ripped at Ingrid’s dance outfit, exposing one breast. “So far, your actions have cost me money. Anything worse and you will be the headliner in my next execution.”
The icy tone of his voice numbed Ingrid to all sensations except fear. It threatened to shatter the small shred of hope she’d clung to with broken, bleeding nails. She knew this sick bastard and what he was capable of. If she attempted to use her mind to strike out in anger, he would crush her.
But, oh, how Ingrid wanted to burn him as she had those sorcerers in Atlanta. It wouldn’t affect him in the slightest, because he was a creature created of fire and could probably withstand the hottest of infernos. How ironic that her greatest weapon was her enemy’s as well.
She took stock of her situation. Her energy was low because she’d just finished an extremely difficult performance, leaving her vulnerable to his assault. She locked away the furious nova exploding in her gut and allowed her fear to run its course. It’s what he wanted to see: her terror, her weakness, and vulnerability. He would feel powerful and in control and she might live through this encounter. One angry word or gesture on her part, and she would be ash.
“Ingrid, I expect an answer.” He yanked on her hair again, tearing some out, then moved his other hand to her exposed breast, and began to squeeze.
Ingrid teared up from the pain, adding a stronger tremor to her voice. “I understand, Director, and I’ll do whatever the alpha requires of me. I apologize for destroying the block without your permission. I won’t disappoint you in the future.” She allowed some tears to fall, some of them real.
“You don’t sound grateful, Ingrid.” He squeezed harder.
“Thank you for giving me this opportunity.” She was panting now, trying to keep from screaming.
"Tell me what you are, Ingrid." He pushed his body closer, grinding his erection into her stomach. He was hung like a freakin' rhino, not surprising for a creature of his size.
"I’m the ingénue of the Hudson River Troupe."
"And what else?"
The Director’s hand tightened when she didn’t respond. Sobbing for real, she whispered hoarsely over the excruciating pain. "A whore."
"Yes. You started so young. I will be checking in with Joseph on Sunday morning.” He kissed the top of her head, turning a caring act into a vile one. “Now, thank me and I’ll be on my way.”
“Yes, sir.” She cried out after the last, brutal caress. “Thank you.”
Pushing Ingrid roughly away, he left the room, the rest of her troupe giving him a wide birth as he passed. Ingrid landed on her hands and knees where she remained perfectly still until she knew for certain that he’d gone. She couldn’t stand or speak. All that was left was to curl up and wait for the trembling to stop.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Gene elbowed his way past Mack, wrapping his arms around Ingrid’s shaking body and pulling her against him. She clutched at his shirt, shivering from the adrenalin overload. The other cast members continued to mill around, uncertain and frightened.
Mack wanted to rip Gene away from Ingrid and take his place, kissing her tears away, carrying her to some kind of safety, but he knew now there was no safety, no security for any troupe member. He’d probably known for a long time, choosing to turn a blind eye to the darker aspects of his job.
As long as Gene’s attentions remained brotherly, he’d allow Gene to care for Ingrid so he could do his job. The rest of the troupe needed him now. Like sheep on a hillside, they were gathered together in the hallway, the acting couples clutching each other in fear.
He spoke in a calming voice, a voice he’d been trained to use when dealing with unruly audience members or fans. He made it gentle, soothing. “Please get your things and head back to the house in the larger limo. Leave the other for us. I know this was upsetting on many levels, but tonight you need to rest and eat and care for each other. Gene and I will make sure Ingrid’s all right. We’ll meet tomorrow morning at eleven, and discuss what happened then.” When he’d finished, he sent out a strong wash of axis power, cooling it to reduce the heat of their anger and quiet their fears.
Pale faces nodded and dispersed,
following orders as they’d been trained. None of the others had met The Director except for Alan, when he’d been lined up in a group of new assistant production managers being assigned to various troupes. Alan still told the story of how he’d almost wet himself when someone had spoken out of turn, and The Director’s eyes had morphed into red coals in response. That particular APM had not been hired. In fact, no one knew exactly what had happened to him.
Alan immediately snapped into action, getting the others back to their rooms and calling the limo drivers to pull up at the back. Mack was grateful for his help.
Sam lingered and asked, “How many are there? Archdemons, I mean.”
“Four. The Director has one brother and two sisters. They’ve taken over most of the larger countries. The sisters are much more destructive than the others.” Mack chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Ironically, the steal brought New York City one of the more reasonable archdemons.”
“But what can we do?” Sam asked.
He didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up regarding escape, since no concrete plans had been made. “We survive.”
Staci appeared, holding her bag and Sam’s. “What about Ingrid? Did you hear what he told her? That wolf is going to rape and beat her. He expects her to take it without complaint.”
“Like you did?” Mack asked, quietly.
Mack’s question had Sam pulling Staci against his body, sheltering his long-time lover. “That was uncalled for,” Sam growled.
“Every actor was once an ingénue. Males and females are abused on a regular basis, aren’t they?”
“What’s your point? That she should accept her fate because it’s her job? I thought better of you, Mack.”
“My point is that unless we do something, it’s going to continue to happen—possibly get worse. The more violent supes are bored and antsy these days, at least the ones I’ve observed.” Mack remarked, his fingers beating a wild rhythm against his thigh.
Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 Page 20
