by Chloe Adler
“No sir.” It’s true. It’s not him that’s tripping me up, even though he’s a complete and total stranger. A vampire, at that. Tall, broad, gorgeous and intimidating. “But I don’t want to go upstairs with you.”
He nods. I pull myself away from the banister. “All right. I’ll never insist you do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
“Thank you.”
“Ever,” he adds. “Nor will you. For me or anyone else. Is that understood?”
“Okay.” What is this, reverse psychology? “Do you still want to drink from me?”
“I don’t drink in public.” He eyes the room behind me. Men and women lay limp across the furniture, across laps and arms, their costumes in disarray, while vampires drink from them. As if punctuating the scene, a dark-haired woman spread across a velvet love seat lets out a moan more Hollywood than hot. Her male escort’s arms encircle her shoulders, pulling her limp body closer. Her head falls back, eyes closed, body shuddering—in pain, or in pleasure? Tingles shoot down my arms to the tips of my fingers.
“It’s an intimate exchange, as you can see.” Vasily’s husky voice growls next to my ear.
Yup. That it is. I shake my hands out.
“Have you had a vampire drink from you, or would I be your first?”
Without looking back at him, I mumble, “You’d be my first.”
He reaches for my hand again, stepping off the stair. “In that case, I’d like to pay you for your time and ask that you don’t let anyone else partake.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want you to be mine here, exclusively.”
“But why?”
“Because I think you’re special.”
What is he talking about? I’m not special. I’m just an ordinary human.
“I’m going to talk to Miss Cheryl, and though I don’t want to, I may have to find another donor to drink from tonight.” He pulls my hand up and turns it over, then places a single kiss on my palm. The warmth of his lips sparks a memory.
I was five and playing outside in my backyard. A flash of movement in my periphery caught my eye. A little fairy fluttered in the tree next to me, flitting from leaf to leaf. His nearly transparent body was dressed in colorful fabrics that flowed with him. I reached out a chubby finger to touch him and he startled, flying up but not away.
“You can see me?” His high-pitched and musical voice tinkled in my ears.
I giggled. “I can.”
He moved closer until he was buzzing in front of me. I kept my hand outstretched, palm up, and he landed on top of it. The heft of his body surprised me, the mere physicality of him proving I wasn’t dreaming. He weighed about as much as my friend’s hamster. I giggled, his wings dancing, the flutter like a cool ocean breeze.
“Are you a human?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. Are you a fairy?”
He nodded. “I’ve heard stories about your kind but I thought you were all hideous and mean, like ogres.”
Laughing, I shook my head. “Nope. I’m just a little girl.”
“You’re pretty.” He tucked his head down, not meeting my gaze. “Maybe if I kiss you, you’ll turn into a fairy too.”
“Kiss me!” I started to pull my hand back, but he was still standing on it. “Why would you do that?”
“Hasn’t your mom read you that fairy tale?”
“Well sure, but it was a girl who kisses a frog.”
“A frog? No, that’s not the right one.” He dropped to his knees and kissed the center of my palm, then peeked up at me. “Oh well. I tried.” He stood and brushed his palms against the colorful fabric of his flowing tunic, then leaped into the air again, hovering in front of my face.
“Wait, what’s your name?”
“Paxil. What’s yours?”
“Amaya.”
“That’s a pretty name.” Paxil’s pale cheeks flushed.
“Amaya, dinner!” Mother called from the doorway.
I turn toward her. “Mamma, look who I just met.”
My mother ran out of the house so fast she tripped on the top step and tumbled down the rest of them, landing facedown on the cement outside our back door. Bright red blood splattered on the landing, pooling around her face.
“Mamma!” I cried and ran over to her. When I looked back, Paxil was gone.
Vasily lets go of my hand, and like before, there’s a moment of loss and cold. Chilled air pools around each finger as if I’ve just plunged my hand into a bucket of ice. The dim lights in the Vectum look brighter and I bring my hand up to shield my eyes.
“You stay here for now, sweet one. I’ll pay the proprietor for your full time. Promise me you won’t let another vampire drink from you tonight. Yes?”
I blink at him until the lights mellow once more.
“I’ll be back tomorrow night with some friends who I know will want to meet you.”
Seven Hundred . . . and Fifty?
After Vasily leaves me to find Miss Cheryl, I look for a quiet spot to wait. Since Vasily is paying me for the night, I assume Miss Cheryl will tell me to go home early, but until then, the last thing I want is to make small talk with a vampire I don’t have to feed.
Off the parlor on the main floor, I find a window seat overlooking the side of the house and the property’s small, but ornate garden. Where the hell is Jules? I’d text her but Miss Cheryl doesn’t allow the employees to keep their phones on them while they’re working.
The wind forces its way through the branches of the poplar tree closest to the window, the leaves’ soft rustling a sound no one else seems to notice. I’ve been sitting here a while now. I guess Vasily left after talking to Miss Cheryl—without saying goodbye to me. I raise my chin. No matter, he owes me nothing.
“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing,” a nasal voice hisses.
A short, stocky man sidles up beside me and I have to bite back a scream. He’s not hideous. Some might even call him handsome, but those eyes are menacing, hiding something dark and deep. I’m not keen on learning their secrets.
I look away. His rough hand shoots out, grabbing my shoulder and hauling me to my feet.
“I was speaking to you, girl. You’re not paid to ignore your customers.”
Even though I’m practically dangling in the air, I grit my teeth and narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not for sale.”
His laughter is snide. “If you weren’t for sale, you wouldn’t be sitting here. Everyone here is for sale. Name your price.” A tight smile spreads over his thin lips. “I’ll pay more for the extra.”
“What extra?”
He drops me and I have to reach for the wall to keep from falling to the red-carpeted floor.
“Cute,” he snarls. “Come with me.”
He turns to go but I don’t follow.
“I don’t like to ask twice, girl.” His back is still to me.
I set my jaw and don’t move. “And I said I’m not interested.”
In a split second, I’m slung over the brute’s shoulder and at the top of the staircase. Beating on his back and screaming does no good. He carries me into a room with a bed and flings me down on top of it. Hard.
Scurrying backwards like a crab, I perch at the head of the bed while he stands at the foot, chuckling.
“If you don’t name your price, I’ll assume you’re seven fifty like the other girls,” he sneers.
“Seven hundred and fifty dollars?”
He makes a disgusting sound in the back of his throat and taps his nose with a finger.
That’s a lot of money, I can only imagine what it’s for. Miss Cheryl said I wasn’t even to go upstairs. Is this what happens up here? Donors put out to make extra cash?
Though my stomach flips over at the idea, I can’t help but think about the extra money. Most donors charge fifty for a drink or a hundred and fifty if the vamp wants their fill, since that’ll be their only patron for the night. Right now, especially right now, seven hundred and fifty is a significant amount of money. I barely
made eighty a day at the diner.
When I don’t answer, he raises his dark brows. “So that’s your game? You pretend to be innocent and sweet in order to gouge pathetic, desperate vampires. Shame on you.” He waggles a fat finger in front of me. “A thousand then, but only because I’m feeling like a party.”
My head whips from side to side. I have no idea about the particulars of what he’s offering me money to do, but it’s no doubt sexual in nature. No way in hell.
He reaches into the pocket of his slacks and pulls out his wallet, which is almost as large as he is. He pulls out a fistful of hundred-dollar bills, then wags them in front of me before walking over to a wooden bureau and placing them down with a thwack.
“Get undressed. Slowly. While I watch.” His voice grates over my crawling skin, a thin sheen of sweat budding from my pores.
“No way.” I jerk back, but there’s nowhere to go. My back is already crammed against the headboard.
“Oh, you like it rough? You want me to take what I want? I’m good with that too.” He’s on me in a second, holding me down on the bed. My arms flail as I let loose a high-pitched scream.
“Get the fuck off me!” I scratch down his face with both hands, and he roars, wrenching my arms back.
“You will pay for that.” His eyes flash red and he slaps me hard, across my face.
The door flies open and hits the wall.
“You heard the lady,” says Vasily. His voice, smooth like honey, calms my racing heart.
“You’ve claimed this one?” the vampire holding me down says without moving.
“She’s no one’s property. Hands off, Gregory. Now. You know how serious I can be.”
Gregory lets go of me and is gone from the room in a flash. Damn that extraordinary vampire speed.
Vasily approaches, holding his hands out in front of him. “Are you all right, Amaya?” His dark eyes are kind. Probing and worried.
All I can manage is a head nod.
“Damn Cheryl for firing all the security here,” he mumbles to himself.
“There was security?” My voice shakes.
“May I sit down next to you?” So polite.
I incline my head toward the spot next to me. He sits, folding his hands in his lap. “What was that? What happens in these rooms?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
The walls suddenly seem so close, even though the room is large. Are they moving inward? I shuffle closer to Vasily, as if he’s made of steel and can stop the universe’s contraction. My breath comes out in tight gasps.
“Shhh.” He reaches for me but stays his hand before it can touch me. “You’re hyperventilating. Can you focus on my voice? Do as I say?”
“I . . . think so.” I bite the inside of my cheek, the taste of metal flowing over my tongue.
“Put your head down between your knees and breathe slowly. Concentrate on your breath.”
I do as he commands.
“That’s it, breathe in. Now out. Long breaths. Don’t hold them.”
After several moments, the spider webs at the edge of my vision clear away. I sit up, hands on my knees, and look at him. Something wet streaks down my cheek. A tear? I don’t cry. Nor am I someone who needs rescuing. And yet tonight, I did.
“I’m afraid.” I worry my hands in my lap. “Gregory . . .”
“I’m here,” he whispers. “To protect you from the monsters.”
But isn’t Vasily one of them?
I’m so lost in the comfort of Vasily’s voice, his penetrating gaze, that I don’t register the knock on the door at first, not until it gets insistent.
“Who is it?” I call out, refusing to budge from my safe zone.
“Bitch, the fuck you doing in there? It’s only your first night.” Jules’s voice rings through the thick wooden door.
I leap toward the door and trip over myself, windmilling forward with a screech.
“That’s it, I’m coming in.” She slams the door open with the words, “No one hurts my bestie.” And I knock the both of us right into the hallway.
“What the fuck, Ama? Are you okay?” Her face is red underneath me. I’m sure I’ve knocked her breath out, but all she thinks about is me.
“I’m fine. Sorry I fell on you.” I manage a ghost of a smile as I pull up and tumble off her.
She props herself up on her elbows and takes a few breaths. “If it’d been anyone else . . .” She cocks her head at me and raises a brow.
Even though I’ve always fancied myself Storm from the X-Men, at this moment, I appreciate everything about tiny Jules and her wall of attitude.
I stand up and help her to her feet as Vasily comes to the door.
She puffs herself up to her full four feet, ten inches. “If you hurt my friend, I will kill you.”
Nice. And beyond embarrassing. I’m about to explain when Vasily puts up a hand.
“I expect no less.” He bows with another one of his courtly flourishes. “My name is Vasily, and though I wish I could stay, I must take my leave.”
Jules narrows her eyes at him and then looks at me. I quickly shake my head, trying to tell her without words that not only did nothing lecherous happen but that he didn’t hurt me in any way.
She tucks her chin toward her chest, indicating either she can read my mind or . . . she can read my mind.
“Can I trust you to keep an eye on your friend for the remainder of her shift?” He pointedly stares Jules down.
“Sure, sure,” she waves her hand, “no problem, but why?”
“I’m going to take care of the reason right now.” He walks past Jules, then stops and stares into my eyes without blinking.
I shake my pigtails out and tug down the short skirt, looking anywhere but at his face.
He pushes a card into my palm. “If for any reason you feel unsafe, you call or text immediately. Any time, day or night. Understood?”
I square my shoulders and offer a curt nod. As if.
“Hey.” His breath snags. “If you need me to stay, I will.”
“No.” The word pops out like a shot.
Jules crosses to my side and throws her arm around me. “I’ve got her.”
He offers her a thin smile and then passes another card to her. I expect her to scoff and toss it, but she puts it in the front pocket of— Wait. What the hell is she wearing?
“Thanks, knight. I’ll take it from here.” She waves him off and to my surprise he actually leaves, walking down the stairs at normal human speed. Trying not to spook me, no doubt.
Jules removes her arm from my shoulder and turns to me. “What the hell was all that about?”
I shake my head. “You nailed it. Some prick tried to force me to”—I wave my hand toward the room—“you know, and I fucking needed rescuing. Vasily was my knight in shining armor.”
“Oh shit, Ama, I’m so sorry.” She weaves her arm around me again, but I shrug it off.
“Nah, I’m fine. Really.” I toss my head.
“I can smell that bullshit all the way downstairs, bitch.”
“Whatever.”
Jules snatches my arm. “This pisses me the fuck off. I wish Janice hadn’t left Ichor to Cheryl. She’s running this place into the ground. Janice never expected girls to turn tricks for extra money.”
“Wait, w-what?” I stammer. “You said this place was awesome. And you’ve only been working here for four months. How would you know about working under Janice?”
My friend’s face reddens, which is something I’ve never seen before, but she swishes toward the stairwell without answering my questions. “I’m going to find out what they’re doing about that rapist.”
I jump to my feet. “Wait, I’ll come with you.”
“Damn straight you will. I am not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the night.”
I stiffen. “I can take care of myself. Vasily was just being over—”
She spins around so fast her short black-and-fuchsia pixie cut sways with th
e movement. Growling, she flicks the longer front bits out of her eyes. “This has nothing to do with him. You were attacked at a job I talked you into taking. Does Gregory treat other donors this way? He needs to be permanently banned, and you need an escort.”
I bristle.
“For tonight at least.”
I tower over Jules, yet she is a force to be reckoned with even on a good day. She drags me down the long staircase by my wrist, and I have to jog to keep up. Her palpable anger parts the sea of people in the parlor.
“Cheryl,” she yells as soon as we get to the back end of the house. Why does Jules call her Cheryl when none of the other donors do? The proprietress appears from a doorway.
“What are you going on about, girl?” she huffs, looking down at my friend.
“You know perfectly well what.” Jules lets go of my arm and takes one menacing step forward, her front hip jutting out, her hands on her hips, her torso leaning into Miss Cheryl’s space. On anyone else, such a theatrical pose would be comical, but on her, it’s downright terrifying. She explained to me once that it was both a defensive and offensive stance. I just took her word for it.
“Vasily has already spoken to me about Gregory.”
Jules does her signature finger tap on her hips. “And?”
“He won’t be allowed back.”
“Good, because if I see him again—”
“You won’t.” Miss Cheryl’s voice is sharp and her brusque tone says the matter is closed.
“Can we leave now?” Jules shifts her stance to the less aggressive version, torso head-on, arms down at her sides.
“If you two expect to get paid, you’ll have to finish out your shifts.”
Jules peeks at a clock on the wall. “Mine’s done in an hour.”
“Amaya has another four. You can leave at the end of yours, Jules, but she will have to stay if she wants to collect her salary.”
What the hell? Suddenly the Jules-and-Cheryl show has lost its appeal. “But Vasily already paid me for the night!” I blurt.
“You expect her to let a vampire drink from her after what happened? She’s the victim here,” Jules chimes in.
“Of course not.” Miss Cheryl flicks away our objections like a wad of lint left on one of the velveteen sofas. Her long, dainty nails are painted a sickly mauve. “Vasily may have paid not to have anyone touch her, but we’re short window decorations, and since Amaya is new here. I need her to be seen.”
