Release: Davlova: Book One (3 page)

“And the blue ones?”

“They’ll keep you calm.” She blinked as if to hold back tears. “Trust me. It will make it easier. But only one at a time. They’re strong. Two will leave you barely conscious. More than three, and you might not wake up.”

The idea of taking such a strong sedative scared me. At the time I hadn’t wanted it, but now I did. I left the white ones and dry-swallowed one of the others. I watched out the window and waited for the pill to take effect.

The lower city may have been filled with dirt and squalor, but not here. The houses were built of shining white stone, bigger than Anzhéla’s theatre, bigger than Talia’s whorehouse, bigger than any inn. Gardens lined the walks. Stoops were lit by bright white lights—not gas-powered, but electric. Even that was forbidden to the lowborn in the trenches.

Finally, the carriage pulled down an alley, although not the sort of alley I was familiar with. Not the kind full of refuse and waste. This was a cobbled walk, made for tidy house servants, well-fed horses and well-used slaves. I was taken through a gate, and then the carriage stopped. The driver came around and opened the carriage door.

And for the second time that night, I went like somebody’s dirty little secret through a back door.

The first thing I noticed upon entering the house was the light—not the sputtering, yellow light of candles or gas lamps, but the unwavering white glow of electricity. The walls were unstained by soot. Everything felt cleaner, and yet the brightness made my eyes water.

I was met by a short, grey-haired man whose clothes marked him as either a servant or a well-dressed slave. He surveyed me up and down with eyes that betrayed nothing, then led me without a word down a hallway, up some stairs, through a door, down another hallway, up more stairs...

The house was a maze. I couldn’t have found my way back to the door without help. Thick carpet muffled our steps, and music floated to me from some seemingly distant room. Ornate mirrors and gigantic portraits covered the walls, but the butler moved fast and I had to hurry to keep up. Finally, he admitted me into a bedchamber. I was surprised when he stepped in behind me and shut the door, his motions furtive and twitchy.

Whatever he was about to do, I knew without asking it was forbidden.

“Nobody here has names,” he said. “If you want to work for him, remember that.”

Then he was gone.

I looked around, studying my surroundings. The room was lit by bright electric overhead lamps, but was otherwise sparsely furnished. A giant, four-poster bed filled one corner. A small cabinet sat next to it. In the other corner, a single upholstered armchair rested in front of a barred and locked window. A doorway in the opposite wall led to a bathroom. I played with the faucets, simply because I could. Most buildings in the trenches had running water, but only one temperature. Here, the red knob shot steaming hot water into my waiting hands.

The pill was beginning to take effect. My heart stopped racing. My hands stopped shaking. My senses became comfortably muffled. I took the other pills out and used my hand to cup water into my mouth to swallow them.

I went back into the bedchamber to wait. I was afraid to touch the bed. It looked immaculately clean and ornate, topped with silk pillows and a fur coverlet. I worried my hands would dirty it until I remembered that I was cleaner than I’d ever been. I tested the mattress. I tangled my fingers into the thick fur of the blanket. It was coarser than it looked. I lay down on my back and looked up at the ceiling. I found myself staring back down from mirrored tiles. The ridiculous brocade cape was spread out beneath me. The white silk shirt made my skin look golden. My heavily lined green eyes seemed to glow.

Inside my pants, the pills were doing their thing. It was strange to feel myself rising, and yet to feel no arousal. I watched myself in the mirror. The bulge was easy to discern under the purple fabric of my pants. I reached down and touched it, noting the languid smoothness of my motions. I rubbed my erection through my pants and was pleased to note that it still felt good.

It felt damn good.

I wrapped my hand around it. Not stroking. Just holding. I closed my eyes.

I was starting to hope this might be fun.

A deep voice woke me from my dream. “And here’s my whore.”

The man—both my client and my mark—stood between me and the door. He was tall. Broad but lean.

“Stand up.”

I did. Even with the pills in my system, my heart began to race. My palms started to sweat. My ridiculous erection made a wobbly tent of my pants. I didn’t dare meet his eyes. I stared at a spot on wall over his left shoulder.

“What’s your name?”

I almost said it, but then I remember the butler’s words. I swallowed hard and said, “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

He chuckled. “Very good, little whore. Either you’re very smart, or somebody in my house tipped you off.”

I didn’t want him to think I was intelligent. I’d learned long ago that it’s always good to let the mark think he’s the smarter man. But I didn’t want to get the butler in trouble either. “Neither,” I said. “It was my mistress.”

A grunt. I wasn’t sure if it was disgust or approval.

“Look at me.”

I did. He was several inches taller than I was. I guessed his age at near fifty, although he was still trim and fit. He had slate grey hair, slicked back from his temples, and the spidery blue tattoos of the pureborn on his right cheek.

“Do you know me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“My name is Donato. Do you know who I am?”

My heart skipped a beat. Yes, I knew him, not on sight but by name. Donato was the city’s jury, judge and executioner. Anybody arrested or rounded up in the raids faced this man. He decided who walked free, who went to the prison camps, and who faced the gallows. It was said he took his morning tea while watching the executions from his balcony. I felt my bile rise. “By reputation only,” I said. And what a reputation it was. This was not a man to be crossed.

“Good. Of course, in this room, I expect to be addressed as ‘sir’ or ‘master.’ Is that clear?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

He smiled at me. It wasn’t a nice smile. He looked eerily like a hawk, and I definitely felt like a mouse. The tattoos of aristocracy on his face were in an ancient language few could read. They were harsh and jagged. Ominous. I concentrated on calming my nerves.

He reached out and touched my erection through my pants. He brushed his finger up my length. I couldn’t decide if it was erotic or not, if what I felt was discomfort or pleasure, but it made my breath catch in my throat.

“Another hint from your mistress?” he asked.

Do I say yes? Or do I pretend he had actually inspired my arousal?

“It doesn’t matter,” Donato said, before I could formulate an answer. He grabbed my silk shirt and tore it open. He brushed his fingers up my chest. “I expect you to enjoy whatever I do to you. I don’t care what you have to do to make that happen—I don’t care if you take their drugs, or if you actually get off, or if you only pretend. But one way or another, I want to be convinced. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

He pinched my nipple hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. “Did you misunderstand my orders as to how you are to address me?”

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’re forgiven. This time.” He pinched again, not quite as hard as before, but hard enough. I moaned, remembering as I did that this should look like pleasure to him, even if it wasn’t. I closed my eyes and tipped my head backward, trying to concentrate on the warm pressure in my groin. I remembered how it felt to lie on the bed and see myself in the mirrors. When he pinched the other side, my moan of pleasure was only halfway pretend.

“Good,” he said. “My little whore learns fast.” He let go of me. “Take off your clothes.”

They were the nicest clothes I’d ever had on my body, even if the shirt was now torn. I placed them carefully on the chair before turning back to him, naked and vulnerable, uncomfortably aware of my cock sticking straight out from my groin like a battering ram.

“I liked the cloak,” he said. “Put it back on.”

I obeyed. When I turned to face him again, I could tell he liked what he saw. I didn’t like the man much, but seeing the naked lust in his eyes as he admired me made me feel powerful.

“You are an awfully pretty whore,” In two quick strides, he crossed the room and grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling hard. “Get down on your knees.”

I did. It wasn’t as if I had a choice. Once I was there, he used my hair to twist my head back, forcing me to look up at him.

With his right hand, he touched the bulge in his pants. “Take it out.”

My hands shook. I fought back tears. My cock was still hard, but only because of the pills.

His pants were ornate, with overlapping folds of fabric and laces instead of buttons and zippers. I fumbled at the ties, and finally pulled open his fly. His cock bobbed out, thick and hard, his foreskin beaded with moisture. I must have done it too slowly, because he grabbed it with his right hand. He pulled my hair harder, tipping my head back so far, I feared my neck would break. He put the tip of his cock against my lips. I tasted the salt of his cum.

He smelled good. I had to give him that. He at least smelled clean.

“Now, pretty little whore. Show me how much you like making me come.”

And I did. I sucked him as though my life depended on it because I could almost believe it was true. I moaned. I used my hands. I looked up into his eyes as often as I dared, frightened at the stark blue ink on his face, doing my best to look like a high-class whore who got off on his job and not some guttersnipe marking a flat. In the end, I even started to enjoy it. He was big and masculine, and had I not known how cruel he could be, I might have found him attractive. He could have continued to be rough while I did the job, but he wasn’t. He held my head, but he let me work. He gave himself up to the pleasure of being serviced.

“What a good little whore,” he moaned as I sucked him. “Pretty, dirty little whore.”

He didn’t come though. Just as I sensed he was about to climax, he pushed me away. He dragged me to the bed by my hair. He shoved me forward onto my hands and knees and took me from behind. It wasn’t quite pleasure, and it wasn’t quite pain. I rode the fog of the whore’s first pill, somewhere just outside and to the right of my body, until he finished. He pushed me off the bed onto the floor. I couldn’t stop shaking. I wondered if it was over, or if we were only getting started.

He fisted his withering cock as he looked down on me, huddled on the floor, trying to hide my drug-induced erection under the brocade cloak. He tossed a gold coin onto the floor in front of me. Not the first gold coin I’d ever seen, but the first one I’d ever earned.

“You’ve done well,” he said. “Now get the fuck out.”

***

The carriage was waiting for me. I climbed into it, my feelings a jumble. I couldn’t decide if I was humiliated or proud. My ass hurt, but my erection chafed against my pants. I clutched the gold coin in my hand, huddled back into the soft seat of the carriage and bit back a sob.

The driver took me to Talia’s. Through the back door once again. I was met by a tall, regal black woman who had to be close to sixty. She put her arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the stairs. “Well done. He’s already requested to see you again tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? I thought about how it felt to be on my knees in front of him, and I shuddered. This time, the sob made it halfway out of my throat before I managed to swallow it. I made a strangled, choking sound.

“Hush, baby,” she soothed. “Talia takes care of her girls.” She laughed. “And my boys, too.”

So, she was Talia. I should have known, but I’d never met her before. She turned me into a tiny room. A bed waited in the corner—narrow, but clean. She sat me down on it. The gold coin was gently pried from my hand to disappear I knew not where.

“Doesn’t look like he beat you,” she said, more to herself than to me. “Did he hurt you?”

Had he? I managed to shake my head. I couldn’t stop trembling. I wrapped my arms around my body. My teeth began to chatter.

Talia looked pointedly at my groin. I couldn’t even manage to be embarrassed at my ever-lasting erection. “Did Tawny give you il?”

“Th-the what?

“Ildenaaf? The drug to keep you hard.”

“Sh-sh-she g-gave me something.”

She put her hand on my knee. She couldn’t quite keep the amusement from shining through her concern. “How many?”

My teeth were chattering harder. “A few,” I managed to say.

She chuckled and shook her head. “Well, that certainly isn’t helping you now. You like girls at all? For sex, I mean?”

I shook my head.

“Then I’ll send you Lalo. Hold tight.”

I didn’t know who Lalo was. I didn’t care. I curled up on the cot, trembling so violently the metal frame of the bed rattled against the wall. I drifted in some kind of fevered state. At some point, I became aware of a man standing over me. He helped me sit up and handed me a cup of something warm.

“Drink this.”