Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

S hould she worry about the repercussions of stabbing a Circus staff member? She'd noted the blood was already coagulating when he'd hovered in the air above her. It seemed to confirm his healing properties were as decent as a vampire's. And he had mentioned that he'd "kept" Tau's slash marks on purpose.

He hadn't fed on her, though. Blood helped vampires heal faster. Did sexual energy do the same for him?

She'd figure out a way to check on him later. Not that he deserved it, but she was going to be the better person. The challenge would be finding out where his quarters were. Probably a dark hole in the ground, shared with roommates Gollum and Hannibal Lecter.

Marcellus and Clara had a yurt, too. It was the same size as Yvette's, which made sense, not just because of Marcellus's status, but for the practical amount of space his wings would need. The flaps were open, and she heard voices. Marcellus, Clara and Charlie. The healer stepped out as Ruth arrived.

The blind healer "looked" at her, her brow furrowing. "You need some chakra cleansing, my lady," she said. "And a deep tissue massage. You'll feel better. He has a contaminated energy."

"There's no privacy here," Ruth told her.

"Very little," Charlie agreed. "Too many insightful people, plus a handful like me, with intrusive reading powers. We have an agreement to keep it on the surface level, though. Only for detecting health and wellbeing issues we can resolve. Yvette has the right to dig deeper, but even she does it primarily for the Circus's interests."

Though Ruth had deduced a lot of that herself, she appreciated Charlie's friendly heads up. It also told her she'd be able to find out more about Merc if she asked the right people the right questions. "How's Clara?"

"Tired," came a weary voice from inside the tent. "But doing okay. Come on in, Ruth."

Charlie moved away as Ruth entered the yurt. A large bed was on her right. The sturdy wood frame looked capable of handling an angel. Did angels sleep? Even if they didn't, Clara did. Angels obviously also had interest in other things that could be done in a bed, another reason for overbuilding it. Vampire beds weren't spindly structures, either.

If she was dwelling on stuff like that, her body was still too worked up. Memo to self; next time, pick a fight after getting the mind shattering orgasm.

Clara was a small figure on the vast mattress, but she was propped up on pillows and looked more like herself than when last Ruth had seen her.

The yurt walls were collaged with hand painted pictures, photographs, flowers and postcards. A wardrobe probably contained Clara's colorful clothing. A coat rack next to it held Ruth's coat, a long knotty sweater, and a fedora with so many souvenir pins attached to it the black felt was barely visible. Other than that, a table and a couple of chairs, the area was clear.

"We don't keep much furniture in here," Clara said, watching Ruth take in her surroundings. "Marcellus's wingspan can clear every flat surface like a golden retriever's tail. I want him to feel this is his home away from home, so I do what I can to make it comfortable."

"Where is he? I thought I heard him."

"You did." Clara pointed toward another entrance to the yurt, the two accesses allowing a fresh breeze through the space. "He went to tell Yvette and Maddock about my latest vision. After that he'll report to Jonah. Jonah is Prime Legion Commander, which means he leads the angelic forces that protect the universe."

"So no one important. I feel like I've been blown off."

Clara's eyes warmed. "You wear the wiseass persona well."

"It's not clothing. It's an essential part of my charming personality."

"Noted. Marcellus told me to tell you to go see Gundar. He's Yvette's right-hand ringmaster and another of her second marks. We have a performance tomorrow night in Tennessee. He'll explain how the Circus security works during performances and how you'll blend, while still watching over me specifically. Marcellus and Dollar, who heads up the security team, will give you more specific guidance in the briefing with them tomorrow."

A tender smile touched Clara's lips. "He didn't leave until he heard you approaching. He's already decided he likes you being around me when he can't be, at least when I'm on my ass like this. You can take that as an encouraging sign of job security."

Ruth noted Clara was shivering. "Do you want the flaps closed?"

"No, I like the cooler air. But if you could bring me that sweater, that would be great. Your coat was wonderful, by the way."

Ruth retrieved the oversized and shapeless sweater and had Clara lean forward so she could wrap it around her shoulders. "The first time I wore this, Charlie told me I looked like I was wearing a bathmat. In addition to being our healer, she's our costume designer and dressmaker. But even if it offends her fashion sensibilities, she understands comfort clothing is as important as comfort food."

Ruth sat on the bed, her hip against Clara's thigh, under the covers. "This is taking too much out of you. Isn't it?"

Charlie's expression had been worried, but it had also held a resignation Ruth didn't like at all.

"If it keeps on like this, it will kill me," Clara said simply. "Sooner rather than later. About a year ago, Maddock found a way to block the visions. I just have to agree to try it. But I've asked him to look for a way to filter it, instead of stopping them completely."

Ruth studied her. "You don't feel you have the right to be that selfish."

"Wouldn't you feel the same? Remember what I said, how when I first got my gift, I couldn't change anything? Back then, I asked the Powers-That-Be why would they give me an ability to look ahead, if there was nothing I could do to change a bad outcome. I realize now I was going through training steps. I had to learn the lesson of what could be changed, and what couldn't. Now I can save lives. I have the gift for a reason. If it takes my life, it takes it. Your boy Albert Schweitzer says we find the divine through service, suffering and eternal gratitude."

Clara glanced toward the little book on her side table. It was an old copy, the hardback a faded salmon color, the title in silver stamped lettering. "There's a part of me that understands that, now more than I ever have." She tilted her head toward Ruth, her gaze sparking with subdued mischief. "Charlie and Marcellus found it weird that a vampire would read this book."

"I've read a lot of things. It doesn't stop me from being bloodthirsty. And who are you to talk? You have Reverence of Life stacked on top of Anne Rice's Sleeping Beauty and the Wonder Woman Golden Age Omnibus . Which has some serious female Dominant imagery and themes."

"So you've read that, too. Of course you have." Clara smiled. "Jacob loaned me that one. Having met his Mistress, I'm not surprised he has it, and not just because he's passionate about comic books. I think he wanted to remind me of my inner female power. Whereas Sleeping Beauty…" She shot Ruth a devilish look. "Marcellus likes the way it affects me when I read it."

Ruth was glad to see the smile, though she knew the need to change their focus might make it disappear. "Should I know anything about your vision today? I don't want to put you through it all over again, but does it figure into what might come after you?"

Fear flashed through Clara's gaze. When Ruth clasped the fortune teller's hand, she didn't like the weakness of her grip.

"Whatever plan I'm tapping into, the one I think is in charge turned around and looked right at me. Spoke my name." Clara paused. "His face was blurry, but he's a vampire. He's not like you and Adan, or Yvette. You all…you dress nice, enhance all those sexy vampire vibes. He doesn't care about any of that. He reminds me of a wild animal, except most wild animals don't look like a homeless dictator about to launch a genocide campaign."

A knot cinched itself in Ruth's stomach. "A Trad."

The Trads were a vampire sect that lived outside the Council structure. They inhabited remote places, preferring to embrace the savage predator in their natures. They sneered at having human servants. Humans were food. Since reproduction was as much of a concern for Trads as all vampires, females were sometimes captured, serving as blood donors while the Trads attempted to plant their seed. When that didn't happen, as it mostly didn't, the women were used for blood until they died. Which Ruth hoped didn't take long.

They'd take a female vampire if the opportunity arose to create a "pure" born vampire, one with two vampire parents. A far rarer occurrence than vampire-human servant offspring, but scientific evidence didn't seem to figure into their obsession.

"The Trads are always planning some crackpot scheme to destroy all of us who don't believe the way they do."

"Yes, but I wouldn't receive a vision about those. Unfortunately, what I get are the things with decent odds of succeeding." Clara's face tightened. "I've been given forty pieces of a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. Yvette tells me it's forty more than we would have had, but it's still frustrating. Especially when the things I see…"

She swallowed. "No matter how it started for our bad guys, by the time it gets to me, pure hate has taken over. The desire to take, kill, destroy."

She gave Ruth a look of dull despair. "Beyond the practical details, I'm sucked into the worst parts of a person's soul. The more often the visions happen, the more I get hit with that side of it."

She'd lifted her hand to her temple and was massaging it, a firm pressure with thumb and forefinger, as if she could push those thoughts out. Ruth stroked her forearm. "That's all I need to know. No more. Give yourself a break."

Over the past few years, rumors and incidents suggested the Trads were getting more organized. The group that boasted of being off the grid, rejecting the Council's "pretense" of "acting like humans," might be using the same tactics for their own purposes. Shocker. Mal said hypocrisy was always in the arsenal of those who wanted to justify hurting or taking from someone else.

The Council balanced the vampire need for hierarchy imposed by power, with efforts to preserve the race. They didn't pretend vampires were anything different from what they were. Which meant Lady Lyssa, the Council, Region Masters and overlords weren't shy about using brutal methods, if they felt they were necessary.

Vampires not in the upper echelons, like Ruth or Mal, might debate whether the decisions made were right or wrong. However, most agreed that, as long as Lady Lyssa was in charge, her hand firmly on Council's tiller, the vampire race would be well served.

All that aside, Clara's current visions offered further explanation for why Ruth had been selected for this job. Though she wasn't the strongest vampire, she had vampire instincts, and could detect the presence of another one.

Because she planned to prove her usefulness, she'd been ready to accept the distasteful idea that she'd been offered this job as a favor to her father. A patronizing act to give her something "important" to do, while having more opportunity to be out in the world, in a place she'd be mostly protected.

She should have had more faith in her father. And her brother, since she had no doubt he'd had a hand in this.

Clara's visions had far-reaching, dangerous implications. A vampire world run by Trads would be a human bloodbath, with the even worse ramification of making the human world at large aware of the existence of vampires. Humans would use their superior weaponry to detect and exterminate vampires. Something the Trads had always absurdly refused to acknowledge, treating humans as if they had the brains of a McDonald's Big Mac.

On the flip side, that made it hard for Ruth to imagine them coming up with a plan that had far-reaching consequences, but she didn't doubt the chilling proof Clara had provided.

The fortune teller's eyes were drooping. "I'm going to get some sleep now. Don't forget to see Gundar before you settle into your quarters. Oh, Marcellus said to tell you it was okay for me to have another kiss. You have a really sweet kiss. Gentle even. Not like I'd expect a vampire's kiss to be. Would it be okay to ask for another?"

The sleepy hazel gaze was hopeful, impossible to deny. Ruth leaned in and cupped her nape, feeling the slim bones under her hand. Mal had told her the trust of a human, like the trust of the animals on their preserve, was a special gift. Particularly when both were aware of how easily a vampire could kill them.

Ruth put her lips on Clara's. There was a sweetness to her mouth too. Literally, a touch of chocolate mixed with vanilla, coconut, and cayenne pepper. Clara petted Ruth's hair, her upper arm, then gripped as Ruth deepened the kiss just enough to give the girl a bolstering shot of lust. When she drew back, Clara's eyes were laughing.

"A good reminder you're not tame. Just like Merc. Tell me something about him. Like a bedtime story."

"I just met him," Ruth answered, puzzled.

"Yeah. But you two had an after-fight meeting. Or after-fight fight."

"Grapevine moves fast around here."

"Faster than shit through a goose on a triple dose of laxative."

"And you're nosy," Ruth added, suppressing a smile.

"It's one of my most endearing traits. Tell me something about Merc I don't know."

"His scent. Do you recognize it?"

"I may be cute as a Pomeranian, but I don't have a dog's sense of smell."

Ruth chuckled. "It has a spice to it. Like wandering into an opium den. It's floral, but earthy too. You know how when you're aroused, what might seem like a bad smell when you're not aroused—heat, sweat, sex—is like perfume, drawing you in? It's like that all the time with him. Even when it's not turned on, so to speak."

Clara digested the words, but her eyes were almost closed. She was drifting off.

"He took me flying," Ruth said softly. That opened the eyes a wider crack.

"Really? He does that with the kids during the Promenade."

"What's the Promenade?"

"The Circus aftershow. The audience is allowed to come into the rings and talk to the players. Merc will take kids for short flights under the Big Top. After seeing him do it for years, it shouldn't still surprise me, but it always does. It's like the key to his better side, but no one can find that key outside of the Promenade. You can't hold onto it."

"Does Marcellus take the children for flights, too?"

"Yes, when he's here. I get to see it sometimes, but I work the midway and we're supposed to be at our stations for the blow off. That's when the guests exit the show and get engaged by the criers to check out the sideshows and souvenirs, if they didn't have time to do it on the way in. Or get a candied apple or bag of popcorn…for the road."

The last words were a mumble. Clara's head had sunk into the pillow. Ruth sat with her until she confirmed the fortune teller was sleeping easily, without pain. Then she brushed a kiss over the girl's forehead, adjusting the blankets before rising.

Clara refusing to back away from the torment and brutality she was witnessing in her visions, despite the fatal toll it was taking on her body and spirit? Marcellus's devotion to a "mere" mortal was making a whole hell of a lot more sense. Ruth was half in love with her already, and she'd known her less than a day.

When she turned, she already knew Marcellus was in the doorway. He said nothing, his gaze on Clara. His wings were pulled in so Ruth could get by him. Though his dark eyes were unreadable, it didn't matter. She could feel his anguish.

She touched his arm. The praises to the Goddess rippled with mild electric current under her fingertips. He glanced her way.

She would do everything she could not to let Clara down. When she let him see that in her expression, she was glad to see he understood, responding with a brief nod.

She left him reluctantly. Learning from a passing bearded lady in a satin dress and combat boots that Gundar was in the Big Top, she headed in that direction. As she strode toward it, she noted Charlie sitting at one of the picnic tables set randomly throughout the campground. The rough surface had been covered by a thick tablecloth, and she'd spread a shimmering length of fabric over it. From watching her mother make clothes, Ruth knew she was pinning and marking a pattern.

"Dressmaker and healer," Ruth remarked, stopping beside her. "Why do I expect that's only two of many jobs you do?"

"When you serve a vampire who's the Mistress of the Circus, you do whatever is required. My lady." Charlie spoke amiably, but she also started to straighten from her task to give Ruth her full attention.

She may have been raised in far more informal circumstances, but Ruth knew what the healer was doing. "It's Ruth," she said. "And while I'm here, treat me like other Circus employees. Unless we're around the stodgy vampires who get their knickers in a twist about it, you don't have to do the vampire-servant protocol thing."

"Thank you, my lady. Ruth." The second marked servant returned her attention to the fabric, feeling her way along the edge. "Cai tells me the same, when he is here."

Ruth propped a hip on an unoccupied corner of the table. She could see Gundar in the entryway to the Big Top, talking to six roustabouts in tool belts. She had a moment to kill. "Cai, as in the vampire who pisses off stodgy vampires, but hasn't been staked the way he deserves because he has the sexiest lupine servant in the world?"

Charlie smiled. "Yes, that Cai. You might get to see him and Rand while you're here. They don't perform with us anymore, but they stop in, as good friends and family will."

"They've been to our sanctuary quite a few times." The acid-tongued loner vampire preferred the wild spaces more than settled, urban ones. As a wolf shifter, his servant Rand's preferences walked the same lines. Though Rand appeared more amiable than his Master, if the moment called for it, he could be formidable and intimidating as hell. Whether in wolf or human form.

They'd let Ruth run with them, allowing her to test herself against their speed and strength. He might be edgy, but Cai was never cruel to her.

Not the way she could tell Merc wanted to be. Or struggled against, depending on whose story you believed.

"My father is keenly interested in the wolf shifters. Beyond his island family—blood born and acquired—he's always preferred the company of four-footed species."

"Sensible. The animals we have here are usually far easier to get along with than the humanlike races. That includes the dragons. If they exterminate you in a puff of flame, you know exactly why."

"No psychological analysis required?"

"None. Oh, I've left several shirts in your quarters. For performances, the security team wears black slacks or jeans, and a black golf shirt with the Circus logo in red embroidery on the pocket." Charlie paused. "I'm glad you're here, Ruth. Clara seems to like you."

"I like her, too. Everyone seems worried about her."

"Yes." Charlie's face reflected the added concern of a healer. "Seeing what she is seeing is traumatic, mentally and physically. Her gift has imposed an isolation upon her, no matter that she's surrounded by friends and those who would protect her. She's extraordinary, but we can all see she's reaching the end of what she can endure." Charlie's lips tightened. "She has accepted the inevitability of her death."

Ruth rejected that kind of thinking. She expected she wasn't the only one. "How does Marcellus feel about that?"

"He'll fight for her, even if his greatest opponent is Clara herself," Charlie confirmed. "However, because he loves her so deeply, if her pain becomes more than she can bear, and he cannot bear it for her, he won't hold her just to keep her with him."

"Makes sense. He's an angel. He can just visit her in a different neighborhood, right?"

Charlie's eyes filled with sadness. "It doesn't work that way. He'd see her again, but it would be a long, long time before it happened. The part of heaven where the Legion angels dwell is not where souls go to await reincarnation. When she assumes mortal form again, there are rules against him approaching her unless the Fates decree it. It interferes with her path to ultimate enlightenment, when she can be with him forever."

"That's bullshit. And even if it's not, it sucks."

"Yes, it does." Charlie cocked her head. "I assume she told you about Maddock's solution?"

"Yeah. And that she's not going to take it."

"They could force her, but self-determination is the one abiding rule here." Charlie gave her a look. "Much like for a vampire's second or third marked servant. One key choice is ours."

"To belong to the vampire or not." Ruth nodded.

After that all the choices belonged to the vampire. The dressmaker's behavior toward Yvette had already confirmed that she found the Circus owner a fair Mistress. Charlie was content with the binding.

Clara had said that Charlie and Maddock had a relationship, but most vampire masters or mistresses were open to that for permanent second marks, servants the vampire had no intention of taking to the soul-binding level of the third mark. If servants pursued such relationships, they were almost always with another marked servant, or someone vetted to have knowledge of vampire existence.

Even for a third mark, it was possible, because most vampires had the "approved" kind of relationship with their servants. Her father's reaction to that would be far different. As she suspected Lyssa's would be with Jacob. Nothing about the queen said she had any intention of sharing her servant's affections.

Gundar had finished his meet with the roustabouts. As Ruth bade Charlie good-bye and headed for the Big Top, she knew she'd find plenty to keep her engaged here.

Merc flitted through her mind, no help for it. Could she safely act on the insta-sexual attraction, let it burn out and move on? On such occasions in the past, she'd stifled her yearning for submission, never giving it enough room to determine if her reaction to a dominant male was an opportunity to exercise it. Too dangerous.

Merc was something different, though.

Gundar was the dwarf smithy she'd seen earlier. Aside from the muscled, compact body, he had coal-dark eyes set deep in a brick-strong face, and handsome, thick sandy hair. He provided her so much information about the security detail, she thought she should have brought a way to make notes. He assured her it would all be reviewed again at the briefing, but when she asked where she could find Merc, his reassuring demeanor vanished. When he gave her a hard look, she realized something she'd suspected but hadn't pinned down before that moment. He was a Dom himself.

Yvette's two primary second marks were a submissive healer and a Dominant smithy and ringmaster. More stories to learn, more mysteries to solve.

"Don't go looking for him by yourself, my lady." His voice had a gravel-rough authority that didn't brook argument. She had to remind herself he was just a human. As far as she could tell.

"Just Ruth."

His brow arched. "You're a born vampire."

"Just Ruth," she repeated.

She suspected he might have issued a stronger warning, as much as his status as a second mark allowed, but they were interrupted by a maintenance worker needing his input. So she gave him a cordial nod, and went in search of someone more willing to answer her question.

Buzz, a cook in the kitchen tent, drew the short straw. The male with frizzy blond hair pulled back in a ponytail had a lined, fifty-something face, brown eyes and tats on his arms and throat that suggested he'd once been in a gang or done prison time. Or both. He looked wary of her question, but at least he didn't warn her like Gundar had. He also didn't know where to find Merc.

"So he doesn't bunk in a communal tent, or have his own wagon?" she asked.

"No one really knows where he goes when he's not here." She heard a hint of Australia in his voice. "Except maybe Marcellus and Lady Yvette."

"No one's really curious," another cook put in, a lean black man with a gold front tooth and bristling moustache containing patches of gray. He laid a pan of brownies on the counter. Similar tattoos and comfortable body language suggested he and the blond man were friends with history. "They're just glad not to deal with him."

"Does he cause that much trouble?"

"Not so much as he did when he first came," Buzz admitted. "But he never stops looking at you like I look at a cut of meat."

"How he wants to cook it, and what recipe it'll work best in." The black man elbowed him with a half grin. Then he sobered as he looked Ruth over. "No offense, just some advice, ma'am, but…"

"Don't go looking for him by myself. Got it. Thanks."

Ruth moved off. As she did, she heard Buzz chide the other man in a low voice. He must not realize how acute vampire hearing was. "Cree, she's a fucking vampire, mate. Don't try to tell her what to do."

"She's not Lady Yvette. Merc is trouble she shouldn't try to handle on her own. She seems like a nice girl."

A nice girl. She'd never been called that before.

She spoke to one clown and two roustabouts. They didn't know, either, but she helped the roustabouts move some crates into storage. They seemed glad for the help, so as she moved through the campground, she took other opportunities to assist, introduce herself and chat. Getting the lay of the land and learning the people would be useful to her job. Recognizing who belonged, who didn't. Noticing what was out of place.

She didn't downplay her vampire side, though, knowing some healthy fear would gain her quick compliance to her direction when her job required it.

She catalogued further questions to ask Marcellus, Gundar, or Dollar, who she expected she'd meet tomorrow, if he wasn't sharing her quarters.

At the sanctuary, she'd worked hard to prove herself an asset. With their strong work ethic, her parents had taught her the value of honest labor and pulling her weight early.

"The Council, Region Masters and overlords get a lot of attention," Kohana had told her and Adan when they were in their teens and understandably thinking of what that glamorous world would be like. "But most vampires aren't that. They have to figure out how to earn a living, find a place where they can meet their blood needs and not attract attention. Enjoy their lives and find value in it.

"Doesn't matter what race you are, pretty much all of them are set up like that. It's not a bad thing, because it's a balance. But I can promise you that your father has been far more content being what he is, doing what he does, than playing games of vampire politics, power and intrigue."

His gaze had slid between the two of them. "Wherever life takes you, you'll be your father's offspring. And your mother's. You'll learn that's not just a good thing; it's the best thing you've got going for you."

She'd reached the forest on the western edge of the Circus's campground, a much thicker and deeper terrain than the small patches of trees around the lake. This was like the mountain lion habitat on the preserve, where the barely marked paths were created by the animals who lived and hunted there.

When she discovered a similar faint trail, it was marked by hoofprints. Ruth detected an equine scent, mixed with human male, but muskier, heavier. The Circus had horses, but Clara said they also had unicorns and centaurs.

It had to be a centaur. She'd love to tell her father she'd met one and give him all the details. As she'd told Charlie, Mal was keenly interested in animal behavior, habitat, hunting skills and instincts.

"Nerds," her mother had murmured to her, during one of Adan's too rare but precious visits. "They're both nerds."

Her brother and Mal had been discussing magical theory, mixed with ecology and science. Ruth had closed her eyes, as the male voices overlapped, separated, lifted and fell, modulated by humor, intrigue, serious insights.

She'd been sitting next to her mother, working at her loom. The comfortable clack, clack, clack had been a fitting background for the conversation, Elisa's foot working the pedal while her hands moved the shuttle. The world was all good, as long as the four of them could hold the fabric of it taut between them.

A shift to her left, and shadows flitted through the forest, the light clomp of hooves reaching her ears. Because a vampire's scent was more earth-based, the forest was the environment in which she could most easily blend. So she approached the hoof owners without detection. As they materialized, she felt a thrill.

Centaurs. Three of them. Children, two boys and one girl.

If they'd been human, she'd estimate their ages at eight or nine years old. They had bows and arrows, and were practicing with a target they'd hung from a tree branch. The girl and one boy were damn good, consistently hitting the X they'd marked. The third was having more difficulties, but one arm wasn't as long as the other, the fingers curled and inflexible. A birth defect or old injury?

No one had discussed centaur protocol with her yet, but since they were part of the Circus, she assumed she shouldn't be hiding. They weren't wild animals she'd startle if she made her presence known. She liked being around children. Some of the married second marks on the island had children, so she'd enjoyed having them as playmates. After Mal taught her and Adan how not to break them.

She moved forward, purposefully making noise. When the girl turned and saw her, Ruth nodded. "Hello."

In a blink, all three had their bows up and aimed in her direction. The boy with the deformed arm lost his grip on the string and the arrow released.

She leaped out of its way, though the tip grazed her neck before the collar of her coat deflected the arrow's trajectory. It spun away and embedded itself in a tree.

"I come in peace." She lifted both hands. "I'm new to the Circus. I work with security."

Was that translation spell working? She sure as hell hoped so, because the ground was vibrating. She spun to see several more centaurs coming toward her, vaulting over foliage and dodging around the trees.

Not children. Three fully grown males, with enraged gazes, showing pure hostility and aggression. Shit.

She dodged behind the nearest sturdy tree with a half-baked plan to call out her intentions and defuse the situation. Only they weren't slowing down to hear it. One of them had a much bigger bow, and he was drawing it, the lethal arrow tip gleaming. As she bolted, the arrow whizzed past her. If she hadn't run, she would have been hit.

Her coat snagged on the dense foliage so she left it behind. The centaurs were making angry whistling noises, like an enraged stallion protecting his herd. She'd seriously fucked up. She needed to get the hell out of here, make it back to camp and figure out how to fix her gaffe.

Except more centaurs were coming out of the woods to her right. Another flight of arrows streaked by her as she changed direction, again just in time. Wooden arrows. If one of them hit her in the chest, she'd be done.

Staked over a misunderstanding. Shit. Great.

She'd treated the centaur children like kids on a playground, and she knew better. Many species were rabidly protective of their young.

Being way-the-fuck bigger, at least the male centaurs had to navigate the forest accordingly. Though this wasn't her home ground, she knew forest terrain as well as they did. She should be able to use her vampire speed to slip away.

Nope. Reinforcements had arrived, and they worked together, keeping her hemmed in. The only way she'd break through their line was by going on the offensive, and she wasn't going to do harm if she could avoid it.

The universal message of surrender wasn't going to register before she was trampled, but maybe it would prevail against the arrows. She dropped to her knees and held up her hands, appealing for mercy before she became a pin cushion.

A weight hit her in the back, driving her to her stomach. Her chin bounced off the leaf-packed earth. While her instincts screamed at her to fight for her life, logic prevailed long enough to recognize what had shoved her down so forcefully, and it didn't have flesh-cutting, trampling hooves.

Merc. He closed his wings around her body, his feathers brushing her skin. A dubious but still appreciated shield. Were his wings arrow proof? She didn't want him hurt, either.

Guttural snorts and angry, piercing squeals surrounded them, along with the vibration of hooves. Merc snarled back, punctuating it with a hiss that would have sent most cats at the preserve scrambling.

When he spoke, his words became understandable mid-sentence. The translation spell must have glitches. Or maybe adrenaline blocked the spell's effectiveness, so that she had to calm her rapidly beating heart to let it penetrate.

"She's a new hire. Yeah, we should have told her before she wandered around, but she didn't know, Pholos. She's no threat. Look at her."

"Get off of her and we will."

"Not until you lower the fucking bows."

Some other time, she'd argue with the no threat shit, but occasionally she was smart enough to know when to hold her tongue. The edge to Merc's voice, the tension in his upper body, pressed over hers, his knees planted outside of her thighs, said things weren't close to okay.

She would have tried apologizing or explaining now, but the hard squeeze from his hand on her shoulder told her that she needed to be silent.

And show complete submission.

Ironically, not as difficult for her to pull off as it would have been for most vampires.

The shifting of the heavy hooves was settling, and the squeals weren't happening as often. The agitated snorts continued, but more as an expression of annoyance. The sound reminded her of bulls. Some of the lore about centaurs suggested it originated from men who fought battles on bulls.

"We will speak of this transgression to Yvette." The male she assumed was Pholos spoke. His voice could have competed with the rumble of a diesel engine. "It should not have happened."

"Maybe. But you could also ask someone who they are before you try to kill them. Fucking hell, man. She's a skinny vampire girl less than a hundred years old. Get a grip."

Ruth choked on a very inappropriate laugh, fueled by a little hysteria. A little while ago she'd been congratulating herself on how well she was adapting to her security job. Then she'd stumbled into a situation where she needed protection. Great confidence builder.

She didn't think the laugh had escaped, but the shudder as she contained it seemed to have an effect.

Pholos's voice was gruff, but held a more mollified note. "Get off her, Merc. She is safe. Lift your head, girl."

Ruth didn't play damsel-in-distress unless it made it easier to get close to an enemy. But when Merc rose and lifted her to her feet, he kept her against him, her shoulder blades brushing his chest. His hand went back to her shoulder. The strategic pressure of his thumb against the base of her throat told her she'd better capitulate with grace, so she didn't get them both shot. It was also damn distracting, but it had life-threatening competition.

If they showed their age the way humans did, Pholos looked in his forties. His hair was shaved on the sides, enhancing the horse's mane look of the thick line of it down the middle of his skull to his nape, where it narrowed into a line of silken hair that ended at his lower back. That was where his upper torso expanded into the horse's body, bearing a glossy black coat.

His hooves were silver tipped and sparked against roots and rocks as he shifted. Black tattoos on the bare sides of his skull and arms matched what was painted on his flanks. His tail was braided with ribbon and feathers. Having grown up well versed in Native American and Irish history, she recognized a tribal clan culture when she saw it.

She glanced up at Merc to make sure it was okay to speak. Though his gaze remained watchful on Pholos and his men, he gave her a slight nod.

Taking a measured half step forward, she executed a respectful half bow toward the centaur leader. "I apologize. I meant the children no harm. I was admiring their aim."

While still well-shielded from Ruth, the trio peered at her from around powerful hindquarters. Her gaze landed on the one with the deformed arm. "Your stationary target practice might need work, but your aim at a moving one is sound. I had to use speed to avoid your arrow, and it still made contact." She directed the boy's attention to her neck. The graze was healing, but the bloodstain proved her words weren't empty praise.

Pholos glanced at the youth, whose initial surprise at the compliment was quelled before the elder's severe gaze. But when Pholos returned his attention to Ruth, the other boy and girl nudged their companion with hidden smirks. Kids were kids.

"Your name." Pholos issued it as an order.

"Ruth," she responded, with another slight bow.

"Learn our ways so you do not come to harm at our hands," Pholos said. "You are lucky you are female. We would have killed a male without hesitation. Welcome to the Circus."

Sexism had saved her life. She could accept that.

Pholos issued a short command, and the centaurs wheeled as one unit. Within an impressively short span of time, they'd disappeared, taking the children with them. The only evidence of their presence was the foliage crushed by their intimidating advance, and their horse-human scent. Ruth let out a breath and turned to speak to Merc.

She was alone.

Seriously?

It was his fault she'd wanted him to hang around longer. She still had that surplus of sexual energy he'd stirred up in her earlier, and since he'd landed on her like a wheelbarrow of bricks, she'd registered the imprint of every muscle group, his pelvis and cock pushed against her tense ass. And then there was the sensual clasp of his wings around her.

Yep, even under the threat of imminent death, her sex drive kept ticking like a Timex. Too bad a couple arrows hadn't hit him. Nothing fatal. Just a shot or two lodged in his excellent ass.

Yes, it was a petty reaction. He had saved her life. But a sexually frustrated vampire could be a cranky vampire.