Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

R uth stiffened. "My lady, I'm in the company of an ambassador from Lady Lyssa. Both of them outrank me, just as you do. Are you suggesting I'm acting improperly?"

"Not at all. I meant only that our normal dinner protocols would not apply in this scenario."

The words were spoken smoothly, but it was a change in direction, driven by Ruth's reaction. A test. Ruth needed to settle down, because she'd put Merc on alert, his body language far less friendly. Which in turn did the same to Garron's.

I'm okay . I just get tense meeting with new vampires. Don't feed off my paranoia.

Merc placed his hand upon hers on the chair arm, a clear warning to Kaela. Because Merc wasn't the nurturing type, Ruth took it that way, but his thought carried enough reassurance to surprise her.

I'm here for Lady Lyssa, yes. But I'm also here for you. You don't need to be afraid of anything.

Kaela's shoulders held tension of her own. She dipped her head toward Garron, acknowledging whatever he was saying to her. The male's eyes were on the contact between Ruth and Merc, but Ruth didn't pull away. Everything she was doing was perfectly acceptable.

"Merc." Kaela turned her gaze to him. "Are you familiar with the sexual entertainments vampires offer at our mealtimes?"

"I have witnessed some at the Circus, when Lady Yvette entertains important vampire guests. They're memorable."

"I would expect so. Would that be of interest to one of your race, your incubus blood? If not, I'll ensure there are no such provocations at our meal."

Kaela's tone suggested nothing but a vampire overlord's intent to care for her guests, in a way appropriate to their respective ranks. Ruth was feeling like an idiot.

Merc's hand tightened on hers. You're cautious. There's nothing wrong with that. Would you enjoy observing the entertainments she provides?

Ruth thought of Play Night, how he'd had her watch the scenes and then had taken her to a private space to make demands of her. The memory made her vibrate with pleasure.

Kaela rose, coming around the desk and propping her hips against the front of the desk. Garron watched his Mistress carefully. Ruth was picking up something else from him now. He wasn't entirely on board with the direction Kaela was choosing.

Not unusual for a Dominant servant. A servant was normally the center of whatever sexual entertainments a vampire host and guests chose to indulge, during or after a dinner. With him already wary of Merc, he might be fighting his natural aversion to being put in a vulnerable position in front of him.

But Garron had been a servant long enough to quell such a reaction. Vampires fed on such reluctance, aroused by the chance to show the servant the depths of what their service required.

Submissive to Merc she might be, but Ruth was also a vampire. Watching Kaela top her powerful human servant, imagining how Merc could go down that road with Ruth later, when the two of them were together?

I like how you react to this idea. Tell her yes.

Is that a command?

If it was, would you defy me just to enjoy my reaction?

She could let herself have the spike of desire his response gave her. The arousal another vampire could detect didn't have an orientation attached to it. Ruth nodded.

"Thank you, my lady. You honor us."

Kaela smiled, seemingly easy again. "Would you like to have some time to yourselves before the meal? You're welcome to wander the house and grounds. The beach is beautiful this time of night. For a meal with the three of us, you can change into more comfortable clothing if you prefer. Let's be less on guard and formal, if that's possible for our kind. You're welcome to call me Kaela."

The words seemed honest. Even more perplexing, in Kaela's gaze there was a strange…vulnerability? Ruth felt a pull toward the woman, as if a hand was being offered, and all she had to do was clasp it before…what?

The thought made Ruth want to bolt for the door. She had to put effort into keeping her ass in the chair.

Ruth.

It's okay. Don't react.

Kaela had Lady Lyssa's support, but she was also an overlord. One of their jobs was identifying and punishing any breach of vampire law.

What's the concern, Ruth?

I think she knows, Merc. Knows what I am. And I don't know why she's calling it out.

Lady Lyssa sent you here to gather information. Do you think she was setting you up to expose that secret?

The idea was painful and shocking, and it didn't match what she knew of Lady Lyssa. But was her view colored by her memories of the most powerful vampire in the world bouncing Ruth on her knee?

Still, the Trad issue was far more important. Ruth couldn't see Lyssa getting sidetracked by something as insignificant as outing a weaker vampire with submission tendencies.

This was why Mal hated dealing with vampire politics. Their games give me fucking migraines.

Ruth steadied herself. Even if Kaela knew something, Ruth's behavior would confirm or deny it. She needed to pull her shit together and remember every lesson she'd learned to prepare for being in the company of vampires like this.

Plus, the Trad issue was a more important issue to her as well. Once they got past it, Clara might consider the solution that could save her life. That took priority over Ruth's crazy fears.

"Of course. Thank you," Ruth said courteously. "Though your rank doesn't require the invitation, you're welcome to call me Ruth. The ‘Lady' thing has never felt like a good fit. My father deserves a title far more, though he would be horrified if anyone gave him one."

"From the pleasure of my few meetings with your father, I would agree." Kaela's expression softened a blink before it held polite reserve, with the right touch of courtesy and warmth. "Lady Yvette mentioned you had some interest in my background, my human years? I can answer questions at dinner, if you like."

"I like history," Ruth said. "Vampires carry around a lot of it. But I don't want to stir up bad memories. It took my father a long time to share his experiences, during and after the Trail of Tears."

But he had. Including how his mother sacrificed her life for him. I forgot the name my mother gave me, Ruth. Don't ever let anyone take something that precious from you.

Kaela's expression had shadowed, her eyes thoughtful. "Your kindness is appreciated. There are things too painful to recount for a pleasant dinner, but so much happened then, there are plenty of other topics to explore." Her attention returned to Merc. "I'd be interested in your history as well, my lord. Whatever you are willing to share."

Merc didn't speak right away, though his gaze held hers in a lock. As the silence drew out, a slight flush tinged Kaela's cheeks and her lips tightened. "I apologize if I offended you by asking."

"You didn't. I just haven't decided. Let's see what answers dinner provides."

Merc rose and offered Ruth his hand. Bemused, she put hers in it and let him draw her to her feet. "We'll go check out the beach."

Merc took them to the nearest exit, a set of glass doors leading into a side garden. It had an iron bench and he stepped up on it, sliding an arm around Ruth's waist. It was getting easier to anticipate the liftoff and move with him. As he flew out over the cliff face, she thought it was a spectacular way to experience that view, the salt-laden ocean air lifting her hair and touching her face, his arms around her.

When he landed, he'd chosen a stretch of beach out of sight of the house. The moon had gone behind clouds, leaving the tumultuous surf a dark and heaving living thing. She wouldn't have minded if he kept flying all the way to the Mexican border, because she didn't want to address what he'd gone away from the house to handle. She was starting to feel foolish. She'd overreacted.

"I'm okay," she insisted. "I don't need coddling."

Is that why you think I've brought you here?

The silky touch of his mind voice had her startled gaze snapping to him. He stood a few feet away, his muscular body loose but not relaxed, that roaring ocean the perfect backdrop for a night creature about to pounce on its prey.

Oh. Well, that put a different spin on things. She backpedaled, anticipation building as he began to stalk, the wings at half mast, adding to his looming, powerful presence.

"With what we both know about vampire dinners, I think it would be wise if I feed well beforehand," he said conversationally. "And if your wish that I don't use other sources still stands…"

"It does." Her gaze flicked down, then up. "Like a stone erection."

His gaze gleamed. "I'm hungry, Ruth. You'll feed your Master in whatever manner I desire."

She considered that. Bent and pulled off one boot, then the other, placing them out of range of the surf. "Don't get my clothes dirty."

"That depends on you. If you submit to me without a fight, you will stay clean."

"Not a chance."

She bolted. He cut her off, and she spun away on her bare foot to lithely head for the surf, kicking up salt spray. Kaela had said they could change into more informal clothing, after all, and Ruth had brought an overnight bag with some options. Though from the perfect appearance of the California overlord, her idea of informal might be Oscar de la Renta versus Versace.

She feinted when Merc grabbed for her, keeping out of his grasp. But he used his speed, his wings for lift, to counter her moves and corral her. Him playing the game heightened her response. When he finally made contact, she twisted, trying to throw off his grip. He moved with her, vaulting through the air, carrying her with him in a somersault of limbs. When he brought her back down, he dropped her onto her feet, and flashed her a challenging grin. She answered with the same and was off again.

More hand-to-hand. She got in a kick, but he slid away from the contact and turned, obscuring her vision with the slap of a wing— ow, asshole —then he had her around the waist, feet lifted off the ground, her body back against his.

When he put her down on one knee, he pushed the blouse off her shoulders, exposing the jut of her aroused nipples through her thin bra. She struggled, but he closed a hand over her nape, holding her still as he unclasped the back. The strapless garment tumbled free, and he divested her of the shirt, belt and skirt, tossing them above the tideline so they landed near her boots. Her two daggers, concealed under the skirt, joined the pile.

To do all that, he had to let her go, so she ran again.

This time he brought her down on the wet sand, rubbing it against her nipples, pushing it into the valleys created by her rib cage. She kicked, tried to hit pressure points with her flailing arms. He yanked her hips up against his groin, that rock hard erection, and rubbed aggressively against her.

"You would deny me."

"Never. I just want to make you earn it."

A chuckle, and he pushed his fingers under her panties, sliding them into her cunt, adding the pressure of his hips behind it. As he rubbed her perineum with her thumb, his cock pressed against all his digits, carrying the promise of what he planned to thrust into her next. "You make me do nothing, vampire. It's all about what I want. Isn't it? You have no power against me."

He knew the words that would cut her loose in her own head. "Fuck you," she managed, and groaned as he captured her clit in two fingers and pinched. Then he'd released her, set her on her feet and pushed her away.

She was disheveled, aroused, panting, off balance. He stripped off shirt and slacks and placed them next to her boots and clothes before they faced off again. The roaring surf had an undercurrent, a whisper that teased her ears and rippled over her skin. The darkness held a wildness, no light on the beach. Just the two of them.

"You'll come to me now," Merc said. "Kneel before me and take my cock in your mouth. You'll serve your Master, and I'll feed off of you."

I'll protect you. You have nothing to fear, from anyone.

She stared across the few feet separating them. "No one can protect someone from everything. Like you breaking my heart."

"What I can't protect you from, you'll protect yourself from." His belief turned it into a command. "You'd figure out a way to cut my heart out if I broke yours. I might be willing to let you do it. Is it your desire to serve me, Ruth? To treat me as your Master? You've said it is. Has that changed, just because we're in an overlord's home?"

She shook her head.

"Then do as I order."

Her knees quivered, but they both knew what she would do. Wanted to do. As she moved toward him, she took in the breathtaking sight of his wings, the muscled chest and thighs, the erect cock. But especially his eyes, the set of his mouth, the luster the moonlight gave the brown locks of hair over his high brow.

There'd been times when Merc had held very little power over his decisions, or his life. His Dominance had always been there, but it had to be dormant, unexpressed. Controlling prey wasn't the same thing.

She expected the Circus had provided him ample visuals to learn the mechanics, but when it had the space to surface, how had he explored the natural Dominant desire that had been there for so long?

Ask the real question, Ruth.

"Am I the first you've done this with?"

"Yes," he told her. "Stay in the now, Ruth."

She came to him, but wouldn't kneel. His lip curled and he gripped her hair, using that hold to pull her to her knees and put her face against his cock. He'd pushed the shorts out of the way, so the heat and steel of it brushed her mouth, her cheek. She inhaled a musky, earth and rain scent.

"If you bite me, I'll put a fistful of sand up your stubborn backside."

"Just the sand, or does the fist come with it?"

His thumb slid into the corner of her mouth, wrenching it open, and his cock came in behind it, thrusting deep. She choked, adjusted as he'd taught her with the screw gag, and that was all it took. Her body slid into a blissful pool where there was nothing but serving her Master, a place she'd so rarely had the chance to go, she thought she'd never take the privilege for granted.

She gripped his taut thighs, her eyes closing. His energy reached for her as her arousal built. Its feathered touch slid over her skin, then down between her legs, in between her buttocks, over her throat and shoulders, against her breasts, a firm, squeezing, kneading, stroking hold that immobilized her.

Literally. She made a startled noise. She was frozen on her knees, caught in the miasma of sexual energy, unable to move. She was helpless.

Terror, bliss, wonder. They tied together in a needy knot. He took over, pumping into her mouth, feeding off her rocketing sexual arousal, tangled with the trepidation.

The fear was part of the meal, too. He'd told her that. But this wasn't the terrible fear of dying she'd experienced during the third mark, channeling his victims. This was the right kind of fear. No decision to make about giving him control, because he simply took it.

Had she thought sexual arousal had a limit or definition, that it reached a certain ceiling before it peaked? If so, she'd been wrong. With an incubus who not only had access to her body, but to her soul, fully marked, all of it his, there were no limits.

You may fight me, struggle, but you belong to me in every way.

She couldn't speak to argue, but she didn't know that she would have. I'm frightened.

It's not the wrong kind of fear. He confirmed her thoughts. That has a different taste. Yours…is better.

Her eyes could move. She found his attention upon her face. "I like that. Keep looking at me. Beautiful vampire, with her mouth full of my cock, taking care of her Master."

At least you didn't say little vampire.

His mouth twisted in that sinful grin, and he leaned down, whispered against her ear as he nipped it, teased the shell with his tongue. "Little vampire. Sweet, bite-sized morsel I will devour, over and over and over."

His power feathered against her labia, a targeted stroke that vibrated through the rest of her cunt. When mewls were humming in her throat, tiny pleas, he built the reaction, an ever-climbing spiral of response that targeted erogenous zones until the throbbing reactions spread out, collided and consumed all of her.

She moaned his name against his cock, another plea. He drove in harder, and she choked, then steadied. He was telling her to keep her mind on her job, even as he took her apart in every other way.

The more helpless and crazy she became, the more she recognized how bound she was. He would take her as high as he desired. His sharp gaze pierced her heart like that barbed hook in the dark place in his soul, a spear through her torso. All the contrasts, the resistance and yearning together, were unbearable.

But she had to bear it. Because that was his will.

Yes. I would hear you call me Master in a sweet, female voice, all your armor and warrior nature stripped away. I want the little girl deep inside, Ruth. The woman, the maiden, the Goddess. I want them all to belong to me.

His gaze flickered, as if he'd tapped into something deeper in himself than he'd expected, but he grasped it, took ownership of it, the way he did her.

From her side, she knew this lay at the heart of him, the part that had an answer in her, no matter how crazy such a bond could be, no matter what destructive path it could take them down.

Or maybe it wouldn't be destructive at all.

The climax arrived like the weight of the entire ocean, crashing through her. It kept coming and coming and coming, over and through her body, pushing her under, holding her down. But it stopped short of letting her go over that final peak, where full bliss awaited. He had her on a tether, holding her back, denying her that fulfillment.

Her moan became strangled screams. He put his fingers under her chin, stroked her working throat. Then he tipped his head back and released, fluids flooding her mouth, thigh muscles rock hard and flexing under her fingertips. Though she couldn't move, she savored the sensation of his skin brushing against them. Every touch, every friction was up to him. She was surrounded by all of it, and her strength was flagging, her body caught in a vise of need and want, but it didn't matter. He held her up.

He continued to feed from her, measured portions that wouldn't drain her but made it clear she provided him what he needed. She was his sustenance.

When he withdrew from her mouth, she was shuddering. He put his lips against hers and gave her a gift, the ability to move her mouth over his, the way she had over his cock. The gift made her sob.

Her scream became raw as he put his thumb against her clit, two fingers sliding inside her to stroke the upper wall behind it, that explosive and responsive point within.

He let the tether go, just enough.

Come now, Ruth.

The Goddess must have created the stars in the wheeling dark sky during a climax like this. Ruth lost time and sense of anything but the pounding sensations, his touch, his scent, his closeness, and all those showers of light against the insides of her eyelids. When she was done, she was hanging limp in his arms, her upper body bent over one, head pressed to his biceps as he stroked the curve of her spine with the other. His lips were against her hair.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Very good girl. You've pleased me, Ruth. You've done well. I have you."

Her body was still not under her own control. He'd released her from the spellcraft, yes, but she had no bones or muscles.

She felt his smile against her hair. They're still there. You are just relying on me for now, giving your body a moment because you can. Thank you for the meal.

"Will it keep you from sucking the life out of Lady Kaela, Garron, and the household staff?"

"I believe so."

When she was able to tip her head back, reach up to touch his face, his eye twitched, just a little, as her hand rested on his cheek. "It's still new to me, a woman's willing touch," he said. "Uncompelled."

"Is that part of my appeal?"

"It's part of it, yes. There are other parts."

He carried her back to their clothes. After they donned them, he circled her to brush off any sand. Amused, she did the same. He gave her a sidelong glance.

"I don't think there was that much sand on the back of my slacks."

She shot him an impish smile, but then had a serious question to ask. "You said my fear has a different taste. Is it a substitute, for what it used to be?"

"You mean, am I settling for it, rather than having the kind I really want?" At her cautious nod, he considered. "When I was younger, their fear added…flavoring. But now, I don't feel like…I don't miss it the same way."

He seemed as if he was figuring his way through his own answer, and when he met her gaze, a wry smile tilted up one side of his mouth in an appealing way. "So, no. I'm not settling."

He glanced up the cliff, toward Kaela's home. "I could use a drink, and Lady Kaela has a well-stocked bar."

He didn't want to dwell in the past, not after having an experience that was all the right things. She understood that. "Well, she said to make ourselves at home. I've never seen you drink."

"Alcohol doesn't affect my blood, any more than it does a vampire's. Though your father didn't offer me any."

"It has a bad history with Native Americans, and a good number of his human staff are from the tribes. He prohibits it on the island. Only time I've ever seen it in his hand is when he shared a Guinness with my mother at Lord Marshall's." She smiled at the memory, his horrified expression at the thick texture and strong taste, her mother's laughter.

"So what does he like to drink?"

"Duh. Blood."

"Smartass." He took her hand, and they strolled along the beach.

"We're not walking the whole way, right? I'm not putting my pretty boots through two miles of scratchy sand. I worked hard for them."

"Your father pays you for your work?"

"When I'm working for him, I'm staff, so yeah." She paused to lift a foot in front of her, admiring the stitched embroidery. "But these were a birthday gift. Etsi asked what I wanted. I paid for half. Etsi and Sgidoda paid the other."

At his curious look, she raised a brow. "What?"

"Except for Cai, my experience has been limited to more highly placed vampires. And he steals what he needs. I've never thought about there being working class vampires."

"Plenty of us are, especially the made ones under a century old. Becoming a vampire doesn't include a kit with a manual and a billionaire's bank account. Though it would be really nice if the Council would arrange for that."

"You should speak to Lyssa about it."

"Yeah," she said dryly. "I'll get right on that. But seriously, most vampires who see the north side of two or three hundred years have accumulated wealth for themselves, if they have any brains or ambition at all. Sometimes by legal means, sometimes not. Most pay lip service to human laws and have no problem using their strength, speed and compulsion abilities to get them ahead in the material gain department."

"Like Cai."

"Eh." She shook her head. "He's a little different. He could care less for material gain. He just steals the basic supplies and clothes he needs to get along, so he doesn't have to be pinned down by a job and a paycheck."

She thought of what Kaela had mentioned, Cai's beginnings among the Trads. Though he despised them, one thing he'd kept from their culture was his indifference to possessions.

With the exception of his servant Rand. Cai was very possessive about his wolf shifter. And the feeling was mutual.

Seeing that in her head, Merc nodded his agreement. "Their bond is strong. But as far as those who do accumulate wealth in such ways, your father didn't choose that path."

"No. He crossed those lines when he was younger, because he had a crap beginning, both as a human and as a vampire, but either because of that or in spite of it, his moral compass steadied. When we were kids, if we took advantage of staff members, he came down on us like a ton of bricks."

"Give me an example. Involving you."

She made a face. "I have so many better examples involving Adan."

"I prefer the ones where you are punished."

"Of course you do. Perv." She punched him in the side, a blow he took without flinching, though his eyes flashed in pleasurable warning. "When I was much younger, I overpowered and took a knife from Pearce, one of the staff members. I wanted it."

"You do like your blades. How did your father react?"

The memory brought a little shiver. "Da never punished us in a violent way, but his expression when we were in trouble made us certain he had a dungeon hidden on the island, set up for torturing his offspring.

"He told me to pack an overnight bag. Next night, we flew to Tennessee, to the Farida Sanctuary where our friends Nerida and Miah live. It's an artist's commune, but also a sanctuary for domestic abuse victims."

"Nerida and Miah are vampires?"

"Yes. Turned as children, too young, so they're forever trapped, physically, in that age. It's the safest place for them, and where they can have as full a life as possible. Mal won protection for them from the Council. William and Matthew, who live with Lord Marshall, the Florida overlord, have the same protection. My mother brought all of them to the island back in the 1950s," she added. "It's how she and my father met. Because of his skill in rehabilitating predators, it was hoped he could figure out how to help them adapt and survive. He did."

She returned to her story. "At the sanctuary, Da had the director show us around and tell us about the people staying there." Her lips tightened as she remembered the stories she'd heard. The scars and haunted eyes of those who'd escaped abusive situations.

"When Sgidoda and I were alone, he scoffed. ‘This is a useless place,' he said. ‘Why give them sanctuary? If they're less powerful, they should have no rights. Correct? The more powerful should be allowed to diminish them, beat them. Kill them. Steal from them."

At Merc's expression, she nodded. "Yeah. Da knows how to make a point. His disappointment is the propulsion that drives it into your heart like a wooden stake."

What you did to Pearce had no purpose but to serve your own selfishness and darker impulses. In a vampire, in any situation where you hold the greater power, you must always stay aware of that. Because just as important as the results of your actions, how it impacts the one you have harmed, is what it does to yourself. Corruption and darkness can take over a soul.

Just when she thought she couldn't bear the look on her father's face any longer, it had softened enough to remind her he loved her, even as the sternness stayed in place. You'll meet those stronger than you in life, Ruth. Just as Pearce did with you. Someone who can treat you as abominably as these people have been treated. When they don't, when they respect you, you'll understand that's not only a gift they're bestowing, but a right they are acknowledging."

Merc's expression was thoughtful. "It's an interesting philosophy. He lives in a world that often believes and acts on brutal principles, particularly toward those weaker."

"Yes," she said slowly. "He knew what I would face. Not that day, but on another, he told me the most important thing to do if I get overwhelmed by someone stronger."

Merc faced her, his expression inscrutable. "What was that?"

She rested her hand on his forearm, her grip for both of them. "Hold onto yourself, who you are. If they end up taking your life, you meet their eyes at that last moment, and show them they've only taken what they can. Not what's important."

"Your father is an interesting male."

"He lives close to nature, and he knows it can be cruel and unfair. Even the animals he helps can have those qualities. He taught us to weigh our actions, always think about why we're exercising our power and strength over another."

It took her mind back to her discussion with her mother, about vampires and servants, and the contradiction there. Though she could never see her father crossing that line with her mother, Elisa had made it clear that many vampires didn't feel that way.

Merc touched her shoulder, pulling her back from that conflicting mix of thoughts. "What are my motives, exercising my power and strength over you?"

She quivered. "I think we both understand it, without having to explain it. Which is all the better, because I'm not sure there are words for it."

He slid his arms under her, lifted her. "I like this outfit. You look lovely in it."

At her look, he arched a brow. "Have I said something wrong?"

"No. I'm just…courtship hasn't really been our thing."

"I don't believe that's true. I've been courting you all along. We've just been doing it in a more violent fashion. But you do like romantic gestures, at least when we're alone."

"Don't let anyone know. Particularly Adan. I'll never live it down."

Merc flashed her his no-promises smile, with the sexy touch of demon to it, and they were in the air. When they landed, they came through the door into the living area, where the bar was located.

As Merc moved behind it and scanned the options, she slid onto a stool and watched him, bemused. He pulled two bottles off of the well-stocked shelves, rummaged through the mini fridge and retrieved a bucket of ice, a bottle of sparkling rose wine, and a small tub of raspberries.

"Did you moonlight as a bartender? I know you can cloak your wings, but how do you keep them from knocking glassware off the shelves?"

"There are different cloaking methods. One simply hides the wings. The other dissipates them materially, so that if you passed your hand behind me, you would feel a sense of energy, but not actual matter. Right now, they're not cloaked for you, but no one else can see them, and I have made them immaterial."

He showed her, sweeping his wing across a shelf. The feathers passed through the glass like a ghost wing. "Cool," she said. "And I like that ‘cloaking for thee and not for me' thing. Can you do that at the Circus, on performance nights? I would prefer to be able to see them all the time."

"I'll try to remember. If I don't have more pressing matters than spoiling you."

She shot him a rude gesture, but he caught her wrist and kissed the tip of the finger with heated lips. She shifted on the bar stool. "Can you still feel them when they're…not material to others?"

"Yes. I have to act and move as if they are not there. It takes practice."

The bottles he'd chosen were Chambord and chocolate liqueur. He put one of the crystal glasses on the bar, added the liqueur and the Chambord, and removed the smaller knife from its hidden scabbard to make a shallow cut on his forearm.

In the aftermath of the violent climax, she'd forgotten her need to feed, but he hadn't. Hunger surged through her, but she stayed still as he positioned his wrist over the glass, the heel of his hand resting on the lip. The blood trickled into the glass, mingling with the two alcohols.

"You've fed your Master," he said. "I'll feed you now."

Ice went in next, and he splashed the wine over it, filling the glass and adding the raspberries, speared on a long toothpick. He slid the drink across to her. "This is called a Bachelor Rose. It's an older drink. Yvette had Gundar make it for her one night. She has a fondness for them."

Ruth inhaled the scent before she sipped. Her eyes brightened with appreciation. "The different tastes don't overpower one another. They mix the right way." His blood also gave it the richness and fortification she needed.

He removed an import beer from the fridge, twisting off the top and taking a swallow from the bottle. "Too girly for you?" She gestured with her drink.

"Too sweet. I like some bitterness and bite."

She smiled against the glass's rim. "Explaining your attraction to prickly female vampires. Did Yvette have Gundar make one of these for you?"

"No. I saw him do it. From a distance."

She tapped his hand, braced on the bar. "I think it's time to let more people at the Circus get to know you."

"There's a benefit to being on the outside."

"Less expectations of good behavior."

"Perhaps." He gave her that wicked smile, but she could tell he was thinking about what she said. Considering it.

"I would prefer it if…Medusa's snakes didn't dislike me. They try to bite me when I get too close to her."

"If she feels she can trust you, I'm betting that will change."

"I see you found the bar."

At Garron's comment, Ruth turned and lifted a glass. "He made me a Bachelor Rose. Do you want one?"

Though a slight smile touched the servant's lips, the watchfulness was still there. Probably because as soon as they'd detected him approaching, that Merc danger feeling had increased.

It's a general broadcast, so you can worry less about the political machinations of vampires.

His explanation was surprising. She'd simply assigned it to irrepressible testosterone surges.

I will take the drink away from you.

Turning her face away from Garron, she stuck out her tongue and earned another lovely shiver from the look on Merc's face.

Garron declined the drink politely. "Thank you. Dinner is ready, if you want to follow me."

As Ruth slipped off the stool, drink in hand, and followed Garron toward the dining room, her mind went to what was to come. Especially as her gaze lingered on the tense set of the male's broad shoulders.

Normally the only negative she had toward vampire social gatherings involved the effort to mask the direction of her interests during the sexual play. Other than that, she enjoyed the creativity and intense vibes as much as any other fanged attendee.

But thanks to her discussion with Merc, her mind once again went to Elisa, and how she and Mal handled those vampire social gatherings where Mal's rank meant he would have to subject his servant to other vampires' creative sexual games upon demand.

Whenever that topic had been broached, Elisa's response seemed rote, but truthful. "I'm pleased to serve however my Master desires." She'd add something to the effect of, "However is needed to have our life together."

Two pieces of a puzzle that went together, but seemed like a forced fit. Her mother never spoke further on it, and if the issue was pressed, Mal would intervene in the conversation, changing the topic.

But Ruth and Adan weren't blind. Before the required overlord and Region Master formal gatherings, Mal was perilously short-tempered, and Elisa would get really quiet or painfully perky.

The vampire-human servant relationship was never simple. She glanced at Merc. Case in point.

They weren't eating in the formal dining room. Garron led them to the cliff-embedded level, which held more than guest quarters. There was a luxurious private dungeon playroom.

Candles were arranged on iron stands and wall sconces. They threw flickering natural light on the room's main attractions. A dark red cushioned spanking bench, outfitted with silver and black restraints. A versatile St. Andrews cross. Plus a throne chair, forced orgasm tower, and a wall of toys and restraints.

A table for six had been set up, angled toward a grid of TV screens, covering the wall like the bank of windows in Kaela's office. The screens showed the beach and cliffs from outside cameras.

There were equally pleasant views inside the room. Two household servants knelt at opposite ends of the dungeon, waiting. A male and a female, naked except for collars on their throats and cuffs on their wrists and ankles. The female straddled a saddle outfitted with a vibrating phallus, her cunt wet with arousal. The male was on all fours, a fucking machine slowly moving in and out of his backside. Both servants were doing their best to remain still, Ruth assumed as they'd been commanded to do.

Another machine was in front of the male, thrusting its phallus into his mouth at the same pace as the one behind him. The female had been gagged with a rubber cock, held in place with straps around her head. The two people were blindfolded and wore muffling headphones, so they could only feel the pleasure and not know what was coming next. Or hear what their audience was discussing.

Knowing what was expected, and not finding it an unpleasant task, Ruth wandered around each servant, enjoying the full view. She detected nothing but helpless pleasure and a devoted desire to serve their Mistress. Both household servants were second marked.

Merc stood behind one of the six chairs around the table, his attention fixed upon Ruth, upon the third mark link that thrummed with information coming from her. His incubus energy responded, twining around her like it had on the beach. While this time it left her the ability to move, its velvet hold cuffed her wrists, her waist, her legs, tendrils spiraling under her skirt. As those bonds tightened and stroked, she stopped, closing her eyes. The sensation circled her throat, caressing her jaw and cheeks. Her ears.

Merc. Don't go overboard. I can't resist you. I need to be a certain way here.

Then ask for that consideration from me. You do not command me, Ruth.

She had naturally rebellious instincts, but he wasn't in a lenient mood. Her briefest hesitation to consider resistance had immediate repercussions. Those tendrils climbed two inches higher, brushing her already spasming cunt. He was more than capable of leaving her writhing on the floor, moaning.

Please.

The sensation eased, enough to maintain a reasonable outward decorum, but making her have to work for it. An intentional balance, she was sure. His expression of satisfaction confirmed it.

While it goaded her fight instincts, she couldn't deny the flood of exhilaration. She was in an overlord's dining room, being commanded. Mastered. With no one knowing, no one the wiser. Under Merc's command, control and protection. He wasn't asking her to be less than the fighter she was.

The thrill of it was far too dangerous.

She turned toward Kaela. The overlord stood at the head of the table, slim, manicured hands resting on the wooden arch of the chair back. Her golden eyes glinted. The table's centerpiece was a spiral of iron holding a dozen candles. It rested in a bed of seashells and interesting coral pieces.

"You offer an optimal setting for dinner, my lady. Kaela."

The woman inclined her head. "I'm delighted to hear that. And to know you are enjoying it."

She gestured to them to take a seat, and Garron stepped forward to pull out his lady's chair. As she sat down, Kaela overlapped his hand, her fingers caressing his larger ones. Her gaze rested on the two servants, drinking in their sensual distress. When she dropped her hand down to caress Garron's hip, his upper thigh, his covered hers, giving it a hard squeeze.

Ruth studied the gesture, the intertwined fingers, until Kaela took her hand away.

Merc had settled on a cushioned bench next to Ruth's chair. "Though you might prefer to keep your wings cloaked," Kaela said, "I thought you might appreciate that seating option, my lord."

"I do. Thank you."

"Garron and the household staff deserve the credit," she added. "They tend to anticipate my needs."

"The sign of well-trained and devoted servants," Merc noted. "Yvette has two in the Circus who know what she wants, almost before she has the thought. She has the same ability toward them. Anticipatory behavior isn't limited to one side or the other."

Ruth blinked. Her normally brusque companion had discovered a diplomat's double-edged tongue. Merc, what are you doing?

He didn't respond. His gaze had met Garron's. The look between the two males held a variety of things. Speculation. Readiness. Aggression. Things Garron would never show toward a visiting vampire.

"Is there a problem with my servant, my lord?" Kaela asked in a neutral tone.

"If there was, would you dismiss him from our presence?" Though the question startled Ruth, Merc's tone held only a mild curiosity.

"It depends on the reason. You're guests, and though I will show you hospitality, I expect courtesy in return." Kaela's expression was frosty.

"There's no problem, my lady. My apologies. You and Ruth were going to speak of history."

"Will you speak of your own?"

"No," Merc said. "I'll listen."

The servants brought in the first course, a pomegranate salad with pecans, goat cheese and pear tidbits. Merc's was served on a medium-sized plate with a gold rim. The two vampires had a much smaller portion, in a condiment dish with the same embellishment. A small pumpkin muffin was placed on top. Merc had a trio of them arranged along the curve of his plate.

After a weighted pause, Kaela directed her attention to Ruth. "What would you like to know?"

Since Merc only seemed interested in his salad, Ruth grabbed for the redirect. "Can you tell me about your life during the Civil War period?"

"Of course. My husband and I had a modest farm that covered our needs, if we worked the land and watched our funds. Like most Southerners, we weren't wealthy plantation owners."

As Kaela painted the setting for her past life, it helped ease some of the tension Merc and Garron's behavior had caused. Though the overlord glanced toward Merc often, including him in the conversation, she didn't ask questions about angels. Even if, like anyone else, she was rabidly curious. Fortunately, the setting provided useful distractions.

Having dinner in an environment saturated with sexual promise was the norm for vampires. When the two servants reached climax, the conversation was paused to enjoy, to watch the struggle, the helpless convulsions of their toned and lovely bodies.

As they were still twitching, now with the discomfort that came from the continued, relentless friction of the vibrating toys on flesh made overly sensitive from the release, Garron went to the male servant. He removed the ear protection and spoke in a hard voice. "Your Mistress didn't give you permission to come. Did she?"

"No. Forgive me, my lady." The words were muffled, because Garron had stopped the front machine's movement but left the phallus partially in the male's mouth. The servant had long blond hair, pulled into a queue so the contortions of his face couldn't be hidden, or how his lips were stretched by the girth of the toy.

Garron moved to the wall and returned with a quirt. When he landed the first blow on the blond's buttock, the male curved in on himself, his breath sucking in.

"You'll ask for the pain, not shrink from it."

Garron's command had a snap like Yvette's single tail. It yanked Ruth's attention from the servant to the male in control of him. At his Mistress's order, she reminded herself. Don't lose focus.

Kaela might be watching the display with erotic absorption, her fingers caressing the stem of her wineglass, but Ruth was sure she was monitoring her guests' enjoyment. On the next blow, the male complied, lifting his hips to reach for the blow. Asking for more.

Merc was a statue on the outside. But he was hip deep in Ruth's mind.

She was doing as she always did at such things. Staring at the display, visibly enjoying it the way she was supposed to be doing, while inside she imagined the roles reversed. Only this time she had someone to share it with. She was imagining herself on all fours, serving Merc's cock like she had on the beach, as the fucking machine brought her to climax.

She felt the brush of his power inside her, an intimate caress, and barely controlled the tremble.

"Would you care to administer Embla's punishment, Ruth?" Kaela yanked her out of her head, nodding to the female servant, then gesturing to the wall of toys. "Choose whatever you prefer."

It wasn't a request. Ruth knew it wasn't. At such events, it never was.

"I think it's your servant who should receive the punishment," Merc commented. "He doesn't act like a servant. I expect you have to put him in his place fairly often. Is that how he got the scars?"

Ruth expected her stunned look matched Kaela's, though the overlord exercised the same credible effort to bring it under control.

"Unless I don't have the right to make my own requests for our mutual enjoyment, as your vampire guests do," Merc added. "He is yours to command. Isn't he?"

Kaela's face was smooth as glass. "Yes. He is."

Garron stepped forward. "Stop fucking with her head," he said. "Or I will cut your goddamn wings off. Even if I can't see them."

Ruth was speechless. Merc held the other man's gaze for a long moment, then shifted his attention to Kaela, who kept that brittle glass expression.

If you don't tell me what's going on, Ruth said, I may help him.

Give it a moment to play out.

"Vampires only detect sexual desire," Merc said conversationally. "Not the shape of it. For an incubus, desire is a detailed language, specific to our prey."

"That must give your meals a great deal of variety," Kaela said coolly. Garron had resumed his place behind her. His anger hadn't abated, but he seemed to be following his Mistress's direction again.

"Dismiss the other two," Merc said. "The sexual desire in this room is sufficient to serve us. Agreed?"

Since she had no idea what the hell was happening, Ruth chose a neutral poker face. Garron and Kaela were sharing a silent moment, a conversation Ruth would have given a lot to hear, but they were both accomplished at masking the tone of that discussion.

Merc reached out a hand and laid it on hers, tapping her fingers, giving them idle strokes. A cue to wait. To be patient. Not one of her award-winning traits, but his sidelong glance gave it the punch she needed. Making it an order.

Garron at last moved. He freed the two servants, helping them to their feet, but kept the blindfold and ear protection in place. The servers assisted them from the room, since they were understandably wobbly.

They returned with dessert. Tiny cheesecakes drizzled with chocolate, caramel, fruit and nuts. Kaela explained they were made locally, and discussed culinary offerings in the Monterey area. Though she behaved as if nothing untoward had happened, Ruth noted a broken glass look in the overlord's eyes.

After the servers left, Garron moved to the doors. He locked the deadbolt and punched a code into a keypad. Ruth was aware of a low-level buzzing. Some kind of forcefield outside the door, adding to the security of the entry?

Also a noise buffer. No one knows what's going on in this room until it is deactivated.

Should we get ready to fight our way out of here?

No. Everything is fine. Merc's eyes followed Garron back to his spot behind Kaela.

Kaela nudged the plate toward Ruth. "Have the one with nuts and chocolate. It's excellent."

Ruth transferred it to her dessert plate, another gold-rimmed piece, a saucer with thin scalloped edges. "I expect you had to learn as a child what a made vampire learns as an adult," the overlord noted. "How to handle something delicately, so it won't break from a normal vampire touch."

"My mother didn't let us touch glass until we were in our teens, for just that reason."

Merc took a cheesecake bite with a pineapple caramel drizzle. It was topped with a dark cherry. As her angel incubus put it in his mouth, the flavor spread across her own tongue, giving her a start. She hadn't known he could do that.

Merc still had Ruth's hand. He stroked her wrist, the individual fingers, as he watched her experience the taste. Then his focus moved back toward Kaela.

Crap. He was about to start doing…whatever he was doing…again.

"It's an interesting challenge, having a human servant who's a Dominant. But you're stronger than him. Faster. He can't top you. Unless you want that."

Garron laid a hand on Kaela's shoulder. She was staring into space, as if her mind was churning with so many thoughts, she couldn't be present in the room.

"My lord." Garron's voice was dry ice cold. "I'll ask one more time, with respect, that you stop with the games."

Merc dipped his head at Kaela. "You first."

Kaela's head tilted left, then down. She reached up and stroked her servant's fingers. When her gaze lifted to meet Ruth's, with relief, Ruth saw she was fully present. Fully herself again, even if there seemed to be a different quality to that.

"It's difficult to watch someone struggle with the same thing you do yourself, and not offer them a line of connection," the overlord said in a calm voice. "Everyone's life is a mix of lies and truth. It's how we live, survive and find happiness."

Ruth's mind froze. She wanted to deny what she was hearing, stop it from happening. But Merc wouldn't let it.

"I expect," Merc mused, "if a servant is a Master, service-oriented in a very special way, he can be what his vampire needs him to be, when she is being what the vampire world expects her to be."

His gaze lifted to Garron. "Submitting to his vampire at the right moments, if that's what's needed to protect and care for her—to be her Master—that's what he'll do."

Garron leaned over his lady and murmured to her. She shook her head and he straightened. With another glance at Ruth, she rose.

As she moved to an open stretch of the large Persian carpet, Garron turned to watch her. A few heartbeats of silent communication, and she nodded. An answer to him, and perhaps to herself as well.

In her elegant heels and fashionable dress—Ruth had been right about what Kaela considered informal—the powerful California overlord sank to her knees, clasped her hands behind her straight back and bowed her head.

Waiting for her Master's command.