Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Y vette hadn't said what Marcellus wanted, but when a Legion angel asked for a meeting, it was wise to respond. When Adan entered Yvette's tent, the male was waiting on him. And sitting. Marcellus hardly ever sat. But there he was, perched on a sturdy wooden stool, his back straight, wings brushing the ground on either side, like a dark green cloak elegantly swirled around him. His head was dipped down, as if he were in deep contemplation.

Yvette sat in the carved wooden chair she preferred. She was doing the eerie motionless vampire thing, as Kohana used to call it, with the exception of two fingers. Her wicked long nails were tapping the wood in a rhythm like uneven footsteps. Click, clock. Click, clock.

Their stillness was permeated by the powerful energies they were both capable of unleashing.

"I feel like I should back out and hope you didn't notice me. What's going on?"

Marcellus raised his head, those dark eyes with no whites focusing on Adan. "Your sister should third mark Merc."

Adan was trained for the unexpected. He could regroup fast when what was thrown at him changed radically. If an army of demons had erupted from the floor of Yvette's yurt, armed with water balloons and maniacal clown masks, he would have taken it in stride. This?

"Have you lost your fucking minds?"

When Marcellus's brows lifted, he added, "Respectfully."

Yvette's lips twitched, but she said nothing. For the moment, she was letting Marcellus take the lead.

"Guardian training plumbs the depths of the souls of its students. Uncovers everything, leaves no fault, no mistake, no weakness of character hidden. Is that not correct?"

Marcellus's tone told Adan he was being addressed by a Legion captain, one who'd fought battles against the world's enemies eons before the spark of his own existence had come into being. He reined in his emotional response, his answer appropriately formal.

"That is correct, my lord."

"So you are aware of why your sister is weaker than most vampires."

Adan froze. That knowledge had come to him after the Guardian teachers stripped away every ounce of ego or confidence, leaving nothing but a shivering soul, standing under the ice-cold surge of truth about themselves, all the potential and desolation. No chance to lie or hide.

It was the make-or-break point, where students would prefer death, if death was an option. It wasn't. Not in a school held in the Underworld itself.

"Speak it," Marcellus said.

He was a Light Guardian. No one but Divinity Itself could command him to do anything. Not even an angel. Technically. But if the command was just, that was a different matter.

"I fed off of her in the womb."

"Yes. But your mother sensed her weakening, her distress, and your father permitted her to reach out to Lady Danny, who had been a vampire twin herself. She was able to identify the danger, because she had killed her own brother, though it happened in a shared crib, rather than in their mother's body."

Silence reigned in the tent.

"Ruth didn't fight you," Yvette said quietly. "She gave you what you needed."

"I wish to God she had fought me."

"But she wouldn't. You've known all your life she has a submissive soul, a strong, steady light that serves those she loves. She will fight to her very death for them, but never against them."

"Yes." Adan turned toward the female vampire and spoke what he'd always known about Ruth, what made him both proud as hell and scared as shit for her. "Her soul is as strong as they come." His gaze shifted back to Marcellus. "Where is this going, my lord? How does it connect to her marking an incubus sociopath?"

"Your evaluation is clouded by emotion," Marcellus noted.

"This is my sister. You're damn straight."

"Adan." Yvette's tone held the reproof. "Hear him out. He has some points you will understand."

"Of course. Please continue, my lord." He sounded reasonable. Even between gritted teeth.

A glint went through Marcellus's dark gaze, but he continued. "Merc has a problem he has fought his entire life. When he did not resist it, he earned a death sentence. But when he was captured so that sentence could be carried out, it was recognized he had never had a valid chance to choose. Never had the space to do so. His father was an angel, his mother a succubus with a quarter human blood.

"A child should not have occurred, but she used black magic to make it happen, thinking she would produce offspring capable of protecting the sex demons from the retribution of the Guardians when they lost control of their impulses. She was obviously already well down that road herself. The judgment of the angel was lacking, so the angels felt the fault of his creation was theirs, and the innocent should not be punished."

A Light Guardian had an enhanced ability to see patterns, the ways puzzle pieces could fit together, in this case two beings, two souls. Adan didn't want to see it, but he did. Which he assumed was the angel's intent.

Marcellus's expression became wry. "Though innocent is not a word typically applied to Merc, it applies to the truth of his circumstances.

"We have recognized improvements in Merc's level of control over the years, but in focusing on that, the side that posed a risk to others, we did not always dedicate as much effort to healing or building up his character. Some part of that had to do with his own unwillingness to engage with others. He protected himself with a hypervigilance he assumed he had to have, with everyone as strong or stronger than himself."

"The level of self-restraint he had to exercise toward those weaker than himself, especially females," Yvette put in, "also kept him even more closed off. It was easier not to risk misunderstanding or missteps. Especially knowing it could lead to his own execution."

"Yeah. That's a hell of an obstacle to personal development," Adan said dryly.

"You have an unusual vampire-servant relationship," Yvette noted. "A vampire-Fae pairing, which at one time was illegal for both Fae and vampire, but now is not, thanks to King Tabor and Queen Rhoswen's agreement to permit it, under certain circumstances."

"Yeah. Like Catriona not being bound by human servant rules, where a high-ranking vampire can command her over my direction." Adan lifted a shoulder, "But it doesn't hurt that I'm no longer considered fully vampire. As a Light Guardian, I'm a different rank."

"Is Catriona stronger than you?"

"Before I became a Light Guardian? It was a fairly even match at times." He remembered some of those times with sensual pleasure. "Honestly, she could kick my ass with her dryad stuff."

"But you are her Master. She wanted to surrender to you."

"Yes. She's a born submissive."

Like Ruth. He was starting to figure out where this was going, even if he wasn't sure he liked it. "The vampire-servant relationship is linear Dom-sub. Merc isn't going to be topped by anyone."

"No. We wouldn't expect that," Yvette said. "The point is the precedent for an expanded definition of the vampire-servant relationship, in a situation where the "servant" isn't human. It doesn't come with the same biases that still pervade our world on the vampire-human servant relationship."

"That the acceptable level of affection a vampire should feel for their human servant excludes true romantic feelings, because the human is inferior, and the vampire holds all the power?" Adan shook his head, thinking of his parents. "Even though, when they pursue those feelings, it expands their understanding, and things change for the better, for both vampire and servant. No matter what our law says on it."

Yvette sighed. "The law they have been trying to change for over a decade, while they endlessly tweak and massage a new one, which is just an excuse for one side trying to give it more protections and the other to weaken or scrap it all together."

"Politics," Adan said grimly. He nodded to Marcellus, patiently listening to the sidebar on vampire issues. "So okay, I get your point, that there's a window that could allow a marking to happen between Merc and Ruth. You still haven't said why you think it should."

"Because he's strong enough to protect her," Marcellus said bluntly. "And the vampire world has no power over him. Just as it has no power over your and Catriona's relationship, except what you are willing to give it."

"He's also strong enough to destroy her."

"No matter what unsettling vibes he puts out, Merc has learned to control his impulses." Yvette met Adan's gaze. "It's impossible to miss, when we are directed to look at it. We've had no incident of concern for years. I believe I overreacted to his sparring match with Ruth based on the past, not the present. But that is because of what we just discussed. He's never been viewed as part of the Circus; more as a model inmate. One who chafes at the restriction. Understands it, while resenting it, while remaining isolated, untrusted. Friendless, because he resists any bonds."

"And you want my sister to be the guinea pig relationship to let him out of the cell?"

"No." Marcellus met his gaze. "I'm saying the cell became unnecessary some time ago. I want you to trust what we are saying, that what they are becoming to one another makes this potentially the best next step for both of them."

"So at what point do I or Merc get to be part of this monumental decision that impacts us both?"

Adan turned toward the archway. Ruth stood there, with an expression he recognized. She was pissed. She also looked…wan.

He came to her. "What happened?"

"Nothing I didn't ask to have happen. And don't change the subject. You shouldn't be making decisions without me." She pushed past him, sending Yvette a courteous but stiff nod. "Thanks for having Gundar come get me."

Yvette gave Marcellus and his arched brow an even look. "She should have input into this. So should Merc, but the first level of discussion belongs here. She must agree. If she does, you'll broach it with him, I'm sure, but I believe you would agree the final say will be between the two of them."

Despite Ruth's raised hackles, Adan directed her to a chair and pushed her into it. "Be mad while sitting," he told her. "So you don't fall down."

She gave him an annoyed look, but complied, an encouraging sign her anger wasn't full blown. He saw no evidence of wounds, though those might have healed, depending on their severity and when they occurred.

"She asked Merc to feed from her. Fully," Yvette noted. "After an attack by two vampires in town. Nothing outside the bounds of our world's typical power plays. But Merc intervened."

At Ruth's annoyed look, Yvette pinned her with a stow-it-or-else look. "This is a conversation that requires your brother's full focus. No point in having his attention divided, trying to figure out what is going on."

"Ruth, what the hell…"

"I am fine ," she repeated. "And he gave me blood of his own free will before I asked him to feed from me. His blood is about three times as potent as human blood." She paused, met her brother's gaze. "Adan, it accelerates my healing ability and improves my energy."

The surprise of that revelation stopped him mid-tirade. Marcellus turned things back to the subject at hand. "While Merc has already embraced the control he needs to keep his demon blood yoked and channeled for the right purposes, when Ruth started spending time with him, she showed him another reason to live that life. To protect and be worthy of a woman who matters to him."

Ruth's expression went still. This was news to her. Adan saw the feelings for Merc were there, but Marcellus had given her more information, a perspective Merc hadn't put out there yet. At least not that baldly. If Merc was dealing with the confusion of falling in love with a female, Adan grudgingly acknowledged it tended to stifle and eradicate communication skills, regardless of species.

Damn Light Guardian training, which helped him see patterns that served the greater good. Thanks to it, Adan might be feeling less opposed to the idea, but only if he got to the bottom of the two most important points. Ruth had her own question first, though.

"Why does the servant choice of a low-ranking vampire matter to the owner of the Circus and an angel?" she asked.

"Because Clara has dreamed of you two being bound," Marcellus said.

Ruth's eyes widened. "It was a dream, not necessarily a vision," the sorceress explained. "Which means the free will of the parties involved and changing variables can alter the picture. But it turned our thoughts in that direction, which led to a consideration of how it might benefit you both, if you chose to go down that road."

"If Merc fully embraces his angel side, he will be yet another warrior on the side of the Goddess," Marcellus noted. "While you, Ruth, will be protected and able to live your life fully. That is a separate matter from your relationship. If you two end up not wishing to be together, I do not foresee Merc turning his back on his protection for you. Ever. Even if it is ultimately in the service of honor and friendship, instead of love."

Her expression held mixed emotions at that evaluation. She was already pretty gone over the guy. Adan would have classified it as infatuation, except he knew his sister. She didn't give her affections lightly.

"But you said it was a dream. Not a prophetic vision that can impact our races. So it could be a glimpse of a possible future that has no particular significance beyond Clara's interest in and friendship with me."

"Correct," Marcellus said. "But I have learned, with Clara, small matters can figure into bigger ones. She would not have shared it with me otherwise."

"It's a vision, not a manual," Yvette said.

"It doesn't matter. The bigger stuff doesn't matter." Adan shook his head. "There's only one thing that does."

Dropping to a knee in front of Ruth, he met her gaze. Those dark eyes, the set mouth. The strength and resilience. The beauty. His twin, who'd done her best to hold up her parents when Fate had thrown him outside their reach. Even as that uncertainty had torn her up inside. Under those circumstances, the twin bond became a shredder, planted inside the internal organs and turned on high.

His hand was on hers, holding tight. "If he agreed to be your third mark, if that would work, for whatever your relationship is, is that something you want? Do you want him? Yeah, you're scrawny compared to most vampires," he added, "but you're a shining light. You have the right to love, to live. That's what's important in the cosmic scheme of things. That helps the fabric of the universe in ways you can't imagine. I promise. It's not just romantic bullshit."

"Scrawny," she said at length. But her eyes were full of the same emotions he was feeling.

He smiled. "Scrawny as an underfed chicken."

"You're a dickhead."

"Yeah. But all that said, if you do want him, and he gives you the chance to live a freer, longer and happier life, then that's what you can count on me supporting. Because I need you to be in this world, Ruth."

His voice faltered, surprising him as much as her. "I nearly killed you before you could be born, beloved twin," he murmured. "One half of my soul. I wouldn't be whole without you."

She disengaged her hands immediately, leaning forward to put them on his face. It was in moments like this she almost looked older than him, that concern and love so much like their mother's. "Mum and Da think you don't know."

"They don't know you know, either."

A half chuckle answered him. "Sounds like we need to have a family discussion."

She put her forehead against his, and he felt her love pour into him. It was as he'd said. She'd do anything needed to serve and care for those she loved. Including being the warrior he knew she was. No matter how often her ass got kicked. It didn't matter that the gods hadn't been smart enough to give her the physical strength to match her force of will; that wasn't going to slow her down.

Her example, being willing to fight when the odds were so against her, could inspire those of them who did have the power to put it in the service of the right thing. He needed to tell her that sometime.

A pointedly cleared throat, and Adan drew back, rising to stand at Ruth's side. "Apologies, my lady, my lord," he said.

"No apology needed," Yvette's expression looked just a tad softer than usual. At least for a blink, then the miracle was gone. "It appears we've reached the point we need to reach. We just need to know her answer. Do you want him, Ruth?"

"Yes," Ruth said. "But we haven't known one another that long."

"I've seen third markings happen within several days of a vampire and human's first encounter, and last for three hundred years without incident."

"I've also heard about the ones that are huge mistakes," Ruth returned. "The vampire kills the servant, rather than risk the embarrassment of asking for a chemical separation. I don't see that as an issue for us, but the mortality link is. If the vampire dies, the third marked servant dies. I don't want to…it's not likely I'll be the vampire that breaks our race's records on longevity."

"Don't underestimate yourself," Adan said, pushing down the pang her matter-of-factness gave him. "You're mean as a mad snake and twice as determined."

Marcellus shook his head. "His angel blood will override the mortality bond. You can rest easy on that."

"All right." Ruth sent Adan a faint smile for his snake comment. "But if the marking works the way it normally does, will his angel or demon side have a dangerous reaction to what I could do to him?"

At Marcellus's curious look, Yvette explained. "The third mark is a soul binding that permits the vampire to take over the servant's soul. Nowhere to hide any feeling or thought, even the ones out of conscious reach of the human himself. If the vampire so desires, she can use that access to break that human's mind and spirit."

"Even if it's not likely that I'd have the ability to break his mind and spirit," Ruth said, "there's the question of how his soul will react to that kind of invasion. Could it unleash the side of him that left a trail of bodies when he was younger? Or what happened when the hallucinogen was released from the Trad? Unlike most vampires with their servants, I won't be able to control or contain that kind of reaction."

"You have spent a lifetime learning not to rely on brute strength to accomplish things," Marcellus said. "And I believe serving and protecting you will be more effective than any punitive bindings that could be put upon him. But your point is well noted. I will check with the Thrones and Memory Keepers in Zebul, our sixth heaven, to be sure, before we proceed."

He paused. "Earlier today, Merc and I had a discussion. I told him I believe it is his angel side that now forms his core. Except under extreme circumstances that would tax most of us, it will continue to do so."

His gaze met Ruth's. "In short, he will hold the upper hand with you in the ways that matter."

Had Marcellus intended the provocative message resting in that statement? While it sent prickles of anticipation through her, she did her best to conceal them. Adan noticed, though, shooting her a sidelong look that made her want to poke him in the side.

"If I discover no obstacles to the marking," Marcellus said, shifting the focus, "including Merc's consent to it, then we can also monitor the process."

Ruth's reaction to that was immediate, but her brother spoke before she could. "No."

It surprised the angel, as did Yvette's emphatic agreement. "The third marking is a sacred act, my lord," the sorceress explained. "Very intimate, a coming together between the vampire and servant. While I have the same concerns about things that could go ‘awry,' I think we let that call be Ruth and Merc's. Merc can speak in your mind, can he not?"

Marcellus nodded, and the sorceress continued. "Perhaps when it is about to be done, he can let you know so you can be alert, from a distance, where it won't disrupt the process."

Marcellus looked toward Ruth. "If the marking does set off something in the demon side, I might not be able to get to you in time to prevent harm."

Ruth glanced at Adan. He was letting it be her call. "I'm going to trust in what's behind the marking to get us through it."

Marcellus's gaze showed interest in her response. "Very well. I will speak to him of it."

"Shouldn't that be my call as well?" she said.

"No." Marcellus knew how to play dirty. He met her gaze with an expression that had her fighting not to do the gaze lowering thing, because he went right for the Master-sub vibe. "As you yourself pointed out, he has the right to make his own decision. Since you say you desire the marking, it is his call to bring it up with you. Correct?"

Yeah, yeah, whatever. She ignored Adan's and Yvette's amused looks. Damn Doms. So she was pushy and tried to top sometime. But how Marcellus realized that, besides the obvious qualities in her personality…she had to voice the suspicion. "Did he tell you that I pushed him to do the feeding thing? My lord." She softened the demanding tone with the grudging addition of the title.

"He did not." Marcellus's dark gaze gleamed. "Merc has a formidable will. But if you did ‘push' him to do the feeding, even if he capitulated for his own reasons, you might end up facing an interesting discussion about that as well."

Shortly after that equally provocative statement, the conversation reached a natural end. It turned to portal and fault line matters between her brother and Yvette. A few minutes into it, the Circus owner dismissed Ruth with a subtle gesture.

As she exited the tent, Marcellus's point stayed with her. Facing the possibility of that "discussion" created an unsettling, not entirely awful feeling in her.

She'd told Merc she didn't mind a fight. With his blood and the homeless man's helping her, it wouldn't be too long before she'd have the strength to give him a fair one.

For the next several days, she didn't get the chance to make that decision. Or hear how the third mark discussion had gone between Merc and Marcellus, though she did receive confirmation through Charlie that the Thrones and Keepers didn't have any concerns.

She was busy doing security, this time in Alabama. Marcellus and Dollar made sure she was strong enough to work that first night—she was, though she was glad for her bed at dawn, and the bubble bath in healing oils Charlie blissfully arranged for her.

Both were lonely, though. What would it be like to share them with Merc? Be twined around him in slippery soap, then later in the bed, sheets pulled over their bodies, naked, still a little damp from having each other ten different ways before dawn claimed her. How would water affect his wings? Would he fluff them out like a stately heron? Or beat them powerfully in the air, sending water droplets everywhere? The thought gave her a smile, even as all of her thoughts made her ache for his touch.

When Merc did see her, even at a distance, his gaze lingered, telling her she was in his mind. His reasons for keeping away might be his own, but she didn't feel ignored. Those brief looks could warm her for several hours. He didn't speak in her head, but she remembered what he'd said about "feeling" her state of mind.

Occasionally, she instructed herself to discard the whole third mark discussion. In her weakened state, after the euphoria of him feeding on her, all sorts of things that had seemed possible seemed illogical and ridiculous. If he didn't bring it up, she wouldn't.

Wherever she and Merc were taking this thing between them, the vampire shit didn't have to be part of it. He wasn't in that world, and it was far better that he wasn't. He had issues of his own to deal with, without taking that on.

It wasn't as easy to discard Clara's "dream," especially when Yvette and Marcellus had felt it was important enough to discuss the possibility. When Ruth had gone to bed at dawn, after that meeting, Adan's question stuck with her.

She hadn't thought about taking a third marked servant, because she feared a servant would know she wasn't a Dominant. Plus, a servant, by nature, wanted to serve. It wouldn't have been fair. Ruth knew what being denied that outlet felt like. She also wasn't ready to make herself vulnerable to a human that way. When it came to mortals, she had zero submissive inclinations.

Lord Brian could separate marked servants and vampires, usually without complications when the bond didn't exceed a certain time period. If the servant was returning to the human world, their mind was wiped of the years they had spent in the vampire one. But it wasn't foolproof. If Ruth's submissive orientation was known, the only way to ensure that info was expunged would be to kill the servant. An act that was still tacitly okay in the vampire world, and left to the vampire's discretion, but Ruth wasn't geared that way.

Long and short, she put all of it away. Whether intended or not, Marcellus had given her an instruction that relieved her of the burden of it, because Merc didn't seem inclined to initiate the discussion.

To counter her frustration with his elusiveness—an entirely different issue—in her off time, she hung out with Clara, Charlie and other females. Usually in Charlie's tent, a female haven where the furniture was mostly cushions, which could be moved around to accommodate the racks of costumes and her sewing tables. They played dress-up, painted toenails and exchanged fashion tips.

Tonight was special, however. When Ruth arrived, her hair had been in the tight knot she employed to keep it out of her way for her job. Charlie had immediately taken it down and started working on Ruth's look for the evening.

It was the Circus's "Play Night."

Since last night had been the final performance in Alabama, they'd shut down the Circus and moved it back into the in-between portal location, with even more speed and efficiency than usual. Everyone liked Play Night.

Charlie braided Ruth's hair, threading it with ribbons and flowers. She'd done a lot of that this week, because the Circus had performed with a Renaissance Faire theme, flavored with medieval legends and lore. The audience had roared its approval of the dramatic George and the Dragon fight in the center ring. Fortunately, the combatants finished on a respectful bow with one another, rather than the dragon being skewered, or George being eaten.

Caleb had played George, having the strength to handle the grappling moments with Tragar, and the unexpected speed and grace to avoid the strike of the lethal tail or grasp of a taloned claw. So impressive was their coordination, Caleb appeared as if he were barely escaping those dire fates.

"Are we sure Caleb's fully human?" she asked Clara.

"Yes. Just an incredibly strong one. Maybe he has giant blood. You know, one of the ancient, long-gone races."

Clara's perky optimism tonight was the real thing, not a costume she'd had to reach for. The recent lack of visions was giving her back some strength. She was painting Charlie's toenails as the blind woman worked on Ruth's hair. "I'm so glad you're going with us, Ruth," she added.

"I'm a vampire. Our internal GPS identifies any kink event within twenty-five miles of our current location, and we show up, invited or not. So will Marcellus and Maddock be there?" Ruth half closed her eyes as Charlie worked on her hair. She loved having it brushed and stroked. Would Merc ever do such a thing?

"Not Marcellus. Not his scene. I like to go watch, and he's okay with that. Long as I look and don't touch. He comes to me afterwards, though." Clara chuckled, delicately applying the soft pink polish. "So I don't have to worry about finding an outlet for all that sexual energy."

"Or he doesn't have to worry about you finding one," Charlie put in with a smile.

"Maddock?" Ruth asked.

"Sometimes, when he's in the area, but not this time. His work has him traveling a great deal." Longing and loneliness crossed Charlie's face, and Clara paused to grip her shin, a reassuring caress.

"I don't want anyone but him," Charlie said. "But it can be difficult, to want someone so much and only get to see them a few days at a time, with too long absences in between."

"Would Yvette let you travel with him?" Ruth asked.

Clara looked up with an expression that made her regret asking the question, but Charlie answered in a normal tone.

"It's difficult, with my gifts. They have to be managed in an environment like this, to keep them from overwhelming me. Maddock could probably work out some kind of buffering if we were together elsewhere, but I wouldn't want his energy to be divided, because he often works in dangerous situations."

She sighed. "So maybe it will always be this way. But I know our love will only grow stronger. That's the balance. The gift with the sacrifice. He's good about visiting me in my dreams. I feel his touch there often. And his words. Sometimes I think he holds me in my sleep, from wherever he is. I wake with the sense of his arms around me. He's a complicated man, but his love for me is simple and deep. When I can start my day with that feeling around me, I know it's as it should be. All will be well, no matter what we face."

Clara had paused, listening the way Ruth was. Charlie was lost in the strength of her feelings. Ruth was so used to proving herself capable of handling things, but could she trust Merc with her feelings like that? If she simply reached out, tried to find him because she needed his company, would he respond? Merely because she wanted to spend time with him?

She didn't expect she'd ever stop fighting and challenging. But there was room for caring and romance, right? Was he capable of it?

Charlie gestured around her. "My life is amazing. At one time, I thought it was hell on earth, thinking I'd never make sense out of it, make sense out of who and what I am. But I ended up here, with Yvette and a family, and then Maddock…"

Clara dipped a knowing look toward Ruth. "Back to Schweitzer again. Life's true joy is only found through suffering. We have to live and learn a lot of hard things to understand that." Changing the tone, she shot Ruth a mischievous glance. "Will you play tonight?"

"Probably not. I'm more of a watcher." The Circus might be a "safe" place, where the troupe would never reveal one another's secrets, but it was too ingrained in her, to hide that part of herself. There was only one reason she might consider doing otherwise. "Does Merc…attend?"

"Never. Which to be honest, has been a relief. It would be hard to relax, knowing he was strolling around a place saturated with sexual energy." Clara made a conciliatory gesture. "No offense. I know Marcellus says he's doing better, but that vibe he puts out…it's not that I doubt Marcellus, but it's like Merc wants us to stay scared. It's mixed messages, and I err on the side of caution."

"He does attend," Charlie corrected. "He watches from where no one can see him. I've felt him."

"You've never told me that," Clara said.

"He never ventures into the rings, and after a time, he leaves. I was respecting his privacy, while helping you and other women who are uncomfortable with him feel safe in that space."

Ruth imagined feeling Merc's hidden presence as she wandered through the play sessions, watching and reacting, at least internally, to what she was seeing. Her response to that was much different than what Clara was expressing.

She touched the flowers and ribbons in her hair. Even if she defaulted to "play it safe" mode, she was ready to immerse herself in the scenes, populated by beautiful bodies and the intensity of the power exchanges, the Dominance and submission. Her body was fairly humming.

With Clara's enthusiastic input and Charlie's expert opinions, they shifted to a discussion of Ruth's outfit choice for the night. Charlie had helped her put it together, and it was in Ruth's quarters, concealed in a garment bag. Based on what Charlie had suggested, Ruth had a feeling the healer knew her hopes for the evening.

"I'll meet you outside the Big Top in thirty minutes." Ruth directed that to Clara as she rose, because Charlie had informed them she needed to drop in later. "If that gives you enough time."

"Oh yeah. I'm ready to go." Clara wore one of her colorful dresses with intricate embroidery and tiny mirrors worked into the bodice. A wide belt and soft boots enhanced the skirt that swished around her calves. "Without my man there, I'm not trying to get anyone to salivate over me. Unlike one hot and sexy female vampire."

"I don't have to try," Ruth informed her, and departed with catcalls and chuckles following her.

She grabbed a quick shot of blood from the kitchen tent and headed for her quarters. She was passing between two storage tents when hands settled on her shoulders. Merc's wings closed over her. The feathers had an electrical energy that created tiny bursts of sensation wherever they made contact with her flesh.

She stored up so much anticipation for his touch, experiencing it often felt like the first time. The thought jolted her further.

"You have one rule to remember tonight." When Merc spoke against her ear, his voice just added to the impact. "Tell me what it is."

"Nice to see you. Hope you've had a good week." She rubbed her hips against him. "I wouldn't presume to know. You tell me."

"No one touches you. No Master, no Mistress."

"If you're there, it won't be a problem."

His warning growl didn't stop her from reaching back to caress his hip. He gripped her wrist, pulling her arm high up against her back. Discomfort bolted through the joint. Unless she wanted it to get worse, she better not move. He slid his hand down her front, into her jeans, cupping her sex. No hesitation or warning, but none was needed. When she arched against him with a hiss and he pushed fingers into her, her cunt had gone slick and wet in the mere seconds it had taken for him to detain her.

"Do you seek to be bound to me, Ruth? Never be rid of me, your Master into eternity? That's what your third mark does, doesn't it?"

Her eyes closed. All her rationales about letting it go, pretending it had never been suggested, vanished. It was back in her mind, large and possible and not absurd at all. But it wasn't her nature to make things easy. "It makes me your Mistress."

She taunted him with words they both knew she didn't want to be true. He called her on it. The electric energy sparked from his fingertips, his thumb, exploring her labia and clit. She shuddered against his body, everything inside trembling, her body damp and aching. Tight. When she tilted her head up, she saw him draw in her response, nostrils flaring. A rumble came from his chest. "Keep challenging me, little vampire. I want to punish you. Make you beg for mercy."

She tried to hit him for the little vampire bullshit, but her free arm had no coordination. Which was what happened when a climax as strong as Caleb's grip seized her.

"Oh...God…" The reaction was entirely his design, his pace, pulled from her before any part of her could brace against it. She screamed against his palm, dampened it with her tongue, scored it with her fangs. He worked her through the orgasm, but when it ebbed, he wasn't done. He manipulated that energy and the angle of his touch on her sex, his stroke, the pace, until another gripped her.

His diabolical patience, as if he had all night to do this, only enhanced the torture. When he at last allowed her to be done, she was limp in his hold, his voice in her ear.

"You know who your Master is, Ruth. You already carry my mark. Keep fighting me. It will give me more opportunities to prove it."

It took forty-five minutes to get dressed and meet Clara. Ten minutes to unscramble her brain, and the rest to make sure if he was going to lurk, she was going to give him an eyeful. His threat lingered on her skin, in her mind, like his touch. She wanted both back, up close and personal, and was happy to challenge him to get it. The disappearing act was getting damned old.

When she rejoined Clara, the fortune teller's eyes widened. "Wow. I'm torn between saying something like ‘you're almost wearing that dress' and ‘you're wearing the hell out of that dress.' Charlie knows her stuff."

"You had key input as well."

The neckline of the dark red dress was low and draped. Creative underwear pushed her small curves up and together to make that view 3D, rather than a flat glimpse of her sternum. The skirt had a tight tulip bulb fit, a split up the left leg to the waistline. What was beneath—and what wasn't, since panties weren't possible—was tantalizingly hinted at by a trio of glittering beaded straps across her upper thigh. A choker with the same sparkling embellishment had a strap that ran vertically down her sternum, between her curves, to disappear under the lowest part of the draped neckline. It attached to the band that cinched in the waist. She'd paired the dress with high heels.

Though she had loved the flowers and ribbons, she took them all out, so her black hair was loose and flowing, giving her a wilder, more sexually dangerous look.

The dress was an invitation any Dom would recognize, if he didn't know she was a vampire and a top herself. Supposedly.

Merc knew better.

As she and Clara moved toward the Big Top, he was all she could think about. However, once stepping inside, she found other astounding distractions.

Angled mirrors hung over the rings, slender rectangles that turned with the air currents. They reflected light and slices of what was going on below. Other mirrors were anchored panels on the ground inside the rings, creating informal divisions between stations and groups of players.

The pixie Fae flitted everywhere, like fireflies on a summer night. A flock landed on the back of a bound sub, digging their tiny nails into his flesh before lifting off, right before a whip strike from his Mistress.

Tragar was here, sitting in a stately upright position just outside a ring. Near him, a Master stood beside a woman bound on a metal table, her face and neck covered with a wet towel. When the male stood back and glanced at the dragon, a courteous request, flame swept over the woman, shot from the dragon's maw. Her skin was glistening as if coated with oil, some type of alcohol buffer, Ruth assumed.

Her Master moved swiftly, dousing her with a wet blanket, but the fire bottom's ecstatic cry reached Ruth's sharp ears, even over the music pounding through the speakers, a sultry mix with lots of bass and drums. She suspected it had been put together by the Circus composers who did all the score work for the performances.

Unlike most circuses, where fire was of paramount concern, Yvette had fire protection spells on the tent, so no flame could misbehave.

"Ever seen fire play like that ?" Clara asked.

"Never." Ruth shot her a grin.

The knife throwing wheel was in use. The Circus's knife performer was a woman, a Mistress who looked pleased with her current "volunteer." It was Caleb, wearing only a tight pair of black shorts. His presence there worried Ruth a little. He was far heavier than Zanath's usual assistant, Tink, who stood to the right of the wheel. The slim, pretty male was rubbing his cock through his tights as Caleb's eyes clung to the motion.

With the wheel rotating, would Zanath be able to accommodate the assumed change in timing from his weight?

Ruth and Clara slid to one of the audience seats to watch. Other people stood closer to the scene, inside the ring, but they had a decent view here.

As each knife thunked into the board around him, Ruth noted Caleb's body quivered in response. His erection strained against the shorts as Tink moved toward the wheel and locked it in place. While Caleb's dark eyes followed his every move, the man stripped off his tights. Putting his foot on Caleb's thigh, a hand to his shoulder, Tink climbed him. Then he turned over and grasped the hilts of the embedded knives so his elbows were bent on the outside of Caleb's hips. Though he was slim, Tink's fitness was evident, his biceps and thighs flexing. The assistant spread his legs in an impressive split and rubbed his cock and testicles against Caleb's face until Caleb's lips parted. Then Tink angled himself to push in between them.

As Caleb sucked, Tink brought his legs back up and hooked his ankles on the top of the wheel so he could pull down Caleb's shorts and return the favor.

The Mistress picked up a remote and started the wheel turning at a moderate pace. She threw another dozen knives, outlining their bodies without once hitting flesh, though she came close enough Ruth thought they felt the burn of the metal.

"I love Play Night," Clara murmured.

When Zanath issued a command, her assistant gracefully removed his cock from Caleb's mouth. Executing a backbend off the wheel, he returned to a standing position, removed the knives, and offered one to his Mistress. She approached Caleb and drew the flat of the blade over his bared cock, still slick from Tink's mouth. She leaned in to bite his nipple, play her tongue over it. His fists clenched, his sizeable organ convulsing.

He groaned when she cut the surface skin layer in a diagonal line over his ridged abdomen muscles. Blood trickled down to the waistband of the shorts. Tink had left the front folded down below his cock. When Zanath cupped his erection, the hilt of the knife pressed against his shaft. Caleb pushed into the pain and earned a slap that left a handprint on his face. He snapped at the blow, cursed her.

Tink moved in and kissed him with lots of tongue, lowering his hand to work Caleb's shaft until he was groaning again. Then Tink moved back so his Mistress could do some more throwing. Caleb looked perilously near release, but even with all the physical pleasure he was experiencing, Ruth could tell he was keeping that volcano contained. Separate.

"Why won't he play with a Master?" Ruth asked.

"Caleb won't say, and no one pushes him. However, if I had to guess, and I don't think this is my romantic side talking, I think he had one in his old life. He remains loyal to him, even though they're not together."

"What kind of idiot Master would let him get away?"

"Maybe he didn't. Maybe it was Caleb's decision."

"Right. I forgot. In your world, humans who bind themselves to a Master or Mistress are given that annoying ability to walk away."

Clara offered her an amused look. "Yeah. Forced servitude is such a better idea."

"See? I knew you were civilized." Ruth nudged her. On the trapezes, a female submissive bound in silks was being swung between two Doms, a man and a woman. When the Mistress wrapped a single tail around the silks, holding the sub in one dangling spot, the Master used another whip to lash at exposed skin. Their captive danced in the silken bindings, crying out.

When the single tail was jerked loose, she swung back toward the Master, who caught the tail of the silks between her thighs, and hauled her up so her legs were over his shoulders. Her body arched over space, arms still bound as the Master put a hungry mouth between her legs. His eyes lifted to the Mistress, who swung lazily, sitting on the bar of her trapeze. Her top was at her waist as she taunted him with large breasts, toying with pierced nipples.

"Let's see what's happening at the left ring," Clara said.

Karl, Nikolai and Sarita were here, only it was Karl's turn to be tormented. While the two men were Masters, Nikolai topped both. Karl stood on one hand, his legs spread shoulder width apart above him. As Sarita strapped a cock cage on him at Nikolai's direction, that arm trembled. It increased as Nikolai put a lubricated phallus into his ass.

When Sarita was done with the cock cage, Nikolai closed her hand over the dildo, showing her the pace at which he wanted her to slide it in and out of Karl's ass. Then he applied a violet wand to the thin metal bars of the cock cage.

Ruth was impressed by Karl's one-armed balance under such duress, though he did start to plead with his Master for the right to put a second hand down. Nikolai took his time with that permission, but granted it at last. When both arms were shaking, Nikolai and Sarita attached chains to Karl's ankles, drawing the slack up so his weight was partially carried by the chains. Sarita stayed close, her hands on her bound Master, stroking him. Her face was suffused with sweet concern for her Master's suffering, at the hands of the one who topped them both.

Had Adan and Catriona ever strolled through Play Night? Ruth expected they had, probably for voyeurism purposes.

A vampire liked showing that a servant was his, and what she would do for him. That inclination was part of why D/s play with servants was so popular at vampire gatherings. But with vampires being insatiably curious about testing limits of pain and endurance, Adan likely played the Light Guardian and Fae card and kept them out of the most extreme stuff. Her brother struck her as more private and protective with his Fae servant than he'd been with the second marked human servants they'd shared with William and Matthew.

Lightning flashed across the upper reaches of the Big Top, as did a drifting and luminous cloud of light, imitating an aurora borealis. When done during performances, attendees would attribute it to visual effects, and some of it was. Here inside the portal realm, it was the manipulation of energy, done by the same troupe members who handled the electric visuals.

She saw an example of it with another Master using a wand. He was applying a comb attachment over the nipple and testicle area of his bound sub. However, the crackling power to fuel the wand came through his hand, not from batteries or an outlet.

Same for another electrical play quartet. A Mistress had three subs on their knees in front of her. She held out a wand fitted with a two-headed metal dildo. At her order, two of her subs faced one another, each one taking a phallus in their mouths until they were close enough for their lips to touch. As the electricity passed through the toy, their lips and faces quivered, their bodies jerking. They were naked, their wrists tied behind their backs, but she brought them together so chests and genitalia were pressed together. Her assistant began to run what looked like steel cable around them.

The Mistress turned to the third kneeling sub. A bit pressed down his tongue. The straps holding it, also conductive metal, were strapped around his jaw and head. When she touched the bit with current, the sub jerked against his bonds, his eyes streaming with tears. Yet his body language begged for more.

"Most electrical play is done below the waist," Clara murmured. "Heart and brain issues. But here, when people have different abilities, or magical protections are in place, everyone can be more adventurous."

Clara's information was intended to ease human-related concerns, but vampire play could get way more dangerous than this. Third marks were far more resilient.

The creases of Ruth's palms were moist. It was second nature, staying aware of her reactions to such scenes, reshaping her body language so that any vampire watching would interpret them as an attitude of vampire dominance, arousal at seeing humans topped.

Ruth drank in the heady intensity, feeling it in the places she usually kept walled off. Here at the Circus, could she dare reveal her true feelings, show what really fascinated her about the scenes?

She'd keep thinking about it. Tonight wasn't the night to take that risk. There were plenty of things Ruth did impulsively. This wasn't one of them. But Great Father and Mother, she was aching.

She blamed that on Merc. He had eroded her resistance. Which didn't mean she didn't want him right here, right now, so he could keep grinding it down.

They moved to a suspension scene. A flexible Asian Indian woman was tied so her back was bowed in a U-shape, her arms bound securely to her sides. The rope Dom had used green and black rope and attached a line of fringe beneath it. He'd turned her into a human caterpillar. Her hair was tied in two high ponytails, giving her antenna. A rope over her forehead kept her head raised to show the henna tattoo around her neck and sparkling studs along the shells of her ears. Her Master rotated her on a hook to display her to an appreciative audience.

A sharp clap pulled Ruth's attention to another couple. The Dom was applying a paddle to the reddened bare ass of the female he had stretched over one of the balls the clowns used to roll across the ring for their acts.

The woman was one of those clowns, but she didn't wear her colorful silks and bright blue wig tonight. Her face was painted, but differently. Her cheekbones were sharp slashes, her mouth a pursed bow. A track of golden stars followed one cheek bone, outlined her eye socket, then arched over her brow.

She wore only an upper body harness and collar, her pussy and breasts exposed. Her nipple clamps were threaded with a thin rope her top had taken through her collar and three D-links in the back of the harness. Because of that, she had to keep her upper body lifted and balanced on the ball, or the pull against the nipples would become painful.

As the paddle hit her buttocks, she jerked, a strangled shriek coming from her, but she stayed in the arched position. Which Ruth knew only spiked the arousal. The dampness in her own palms became slicker.

The Big Top was a dungeon tonight, populated by athletic, flexible people capable of turning every scene into an erotic art performance. Stills could be captured on film, put in a gallery and cherished by those who understood how to interpret them. Ruth would slip into such a gallery, past closing, and walk past each one. Alone but safe to gaze her fill, fantasize about feeling the way each of those submissives did. Serving their Masters and Mistresses.

She'd known what Merc meant about his unsated hunger, even as she understood the key differences. If he didn't control his desires, he would kill. If she released hers, the only one that would die would be her—emotionally at first, and then physically, because she wouldn't accept being treated as someone's slave.

She inhaled the scent of the woman's desire. Her body twitched every time the paddle hit, her sex contracting between her tightening thighs.

"Do you want to play?" asked an unfamiliar male voice.