Vampire Erotica Blood Rush (6 page)

Savon nodded. “Yes. Sex enhances the flavor of blood, fills it with endorphins and other feel good hormones. It’s like getting buzzed on fine wine. So vampires are very sex oriented and clothing sometimes annoys them.”

Jacques sniffed. “Some like to add pain into the mix too.” There was a guarded look in his eyes that said he knew more about that than he cared to admit. He took more dresses from the garment bag and whirled away from me to hang them up in the closet.

I blanched remembering the strangely violent pictures in the apartment. “You mean, like whipping?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, Madame Rouge wouldn’t contract you out for that without training,” Savon said. He opened the large cosmetic case he’d brought with him and rummaged through it, setting piles of make-up on the bed.

“Training? You mean, I would practice being whipped first?” I blinked, taken aback by the idea.

“Pretty much,” said Jacques.

I looked at them with wide eyes and Savon gave a ‘vampires will be vampires’ shrug.

Unable to picture how someone learns to be whipped and quite uncomfortable with the idea, I changed the subject. “Do you guys know Kristos well?”

“We know of him,” Savon said, still sorting through his case. “Sometimes we take his calls when Madame is busy.”

“What’s he like?”

“The girls love him. He’s left a string of broken hearts for Madame Rouge to put back together. Be careful he doesn’t do the same to you,” Savon said. “Now, here is your make-up. I will show you how to use it all before I go.” He shoved a pile of lipstick, liner and eye shadow toward me.

“Thanks, Savon.”

He smiled, and began to say something, but Jacques interrupted him. Unzipping the suitcase with a flourish, he said, “Are you ready for your day wardrobe?”

Not waiting for a response, he opened the suitcase and began tossing clothes all over the bed. “I have jeans, designer of course, and several different tops depending on if you want to dress up or dress down.”

I picked up a pair of jeans. The label was not a name I’d heard before, but it was clearly expensive. I had a hard time understanding why denim had to be designer, but Jacques had a budget that could probably buy a new car every week while I still shopped at Target.

Noticing my lack of reaction, Jacques gave a little huff of irritation. “Go put them on, oh ye of little faith.”

I just looked at him, taken aback. “What?”

“You won’t understand until you put them on.” He made a shooing motion. “Go. Enter the temple of high fashion and be enlightened.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but kept my emotions in check. If Jacques and I ever started competing on attitude, I was in for a world of hurt. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I grabbed the pants, snagged a pair of lace underwear and took them into the bathroom. Ditching my yoga pants, I pulled on the underwear followed by the jeans. They fit perfectly.

“Go out to the entry way, there’s a full length mirror there,” Jacques called through the bathroom door.

With a shrug, I did as he requested. The mirror showed me the power of designer jeans. My legs were long and lithe and my ass had been lifted into a perfect rounded mound.

I couldn’t stop myself from strutting a bit as I went back to my room. “Wow,” I said.

Jacques just nodded and passed me a shirt. “Here, put something on besides that ghastly white shirt. It does nothing for you.”

I accepted the blue off-the-shoulder tunic top and with a frown. Holding up my arm, I pointed to the IV. “What does the fashion handbook say about getting dressed with this thing?”

“If you need it, you need it, but the bag is empty,” Savon said with a pointed look to Jacques.

“You think I should take it out for her?” he asked Savon.

“You can take it out?” I was giddy at the thought of getting rid of my medical ball and chain.

“Oh all right,” Jacques said with an aggravated sigh. He strode over to me and ripped the tape holding the IV in place off in one swift movement.

I screeched in pain and jumped back, but he gripped my wrist and held me in place. “Don’t move unless you want to bleed all over your very expensive clothes.”

I went still and closed my eyes as he teased out the IV and grabbed a tissue from the nightstand to press on the wound.

He took my other hand and placed it on the tissue and then bent my elbow up. “There, all set.”

I opened my eyes and blinked. “How do you know how to do that?”

He shrugged. “Life experience.”

“Too much time with vampires?” I asked.

Jacques rolled his eyes at me and gave a little sigh of exasperation. “None of your beeswax.”

I winced at the rebuke. I’d obviously hit a sore spot. Why did we have so much friction? I didn’t get it. Hiding my embarrassment, I lifted the tissue to check my arm and since it didn’t seem to be bleeding, I went back into the bathroom to change. I put on a bra and then pulled on the tunic. Its lightweight fabric settled on my shoulders like a cloud and the white embroidery around the neckline gave the top a Moroccan flair. Back in the bedroom, I stashed Kristos’ shirt under my pillow knowing, if Jacques got his hands on it, I would never see it again.

“The tops were all selected to showcase your neck and chest,” Jacques explained, all business now. “Part of your job is to highlight your assets and be presentable at all times.”

“Got it,” I said, relieved to be moving on to safer topics.

He didn’t respond other than to fasten a braided brown leather belt around my waist. Then, digging through the suitcase, he produced a pair of blue pumps, with matching embroidery.

Inwardly I groaned. More heels. Great. To Jacques, I simply said, “Thank you.” At least I wasn’t wearing a dress.

Jacques stood back and looked me over with a critical eye. I struck a few poses, doing my best to channel my inner model. “You’ll do, I guess,” he said finally, his approval lackluster.

I opened my mouth to say something, my irritation with the man running high, but Savon intervened, saying smoothly, “Jacques, you know what we need? Something to drink. Since you know the layout here, can you get us something? I’m parched.”

I expected Jacques to resist the request; he didn’t strike me as the type to fetch someone a drink. To my surprise, though, Jacque gave a curt nod and whipped around on the heel of his cowboy boot, off to the kitchen. From his body language it seemed like maybe he was glad to have an excuse to get away from me.

I watched him go with a puzzled frown. Such a prickly pear. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Sometimes you can’t do anything right with him, at which point I try to distract him with something else,” Savon said, his tone matter-of-fact. He pulled more stuff from his case. “I also brought you some hair products. Oh, and a toothbrush, I figured you would need one.”

I accepted the bundle of hair gels and oral hygiene implements he handed to me. “Thanks, I appreciate your help.”

Somewhere in the apartment, glass crashed to the ground and both Savon and I froze.

“Jacques,” he whispered, rushing out the door.

I followed and we found Jacques in the grand foyer by the front door. He was on his knees in front of the double doors that offset the entrance to the apartment. Shards of glass gleamed in a puddle of water on the marble floor. The doors had been closed all day, but now stood open and it was impossible not to notice the contents of the room beyond. Whips hung on the walls. Chains dangled from the ceiling and in the center of the room sat a bed draped in red velvet. There were other things I didn’t understand. Sawhorses. Wooden pieces of furniture whose purpose was a mystery to me. Again the art from the apartment haunted me, poking at my subconscious with a warning whisper.

“Are you okay?” I knelt down next to Jacques and began to gingerly collect glass in my good hand, the one that hadn’t been sliced the night before. Here I was again dealing with broken glass and a strong sense of
déjà vu
prickled up my spine. I shook it off and focused on Jacques, who was determinedly not looking into the torture chamber, his gaze fixed on the small area of carpet in front of him.

“Jacques?” I asked, trying to break through his shield of silence.

He looked up at me then and tears glimmered in his eyes. “I had to see if it was still there.”

“Sorry?”

“I used to do what you do. I used to be a courtesan.” He nodded toward the room. “And they broke me.”

Savon kneeled next to Jacques and patted him on the back. “Jacques, this is not good for you.” He stood up and pulled Jacques with him by the hand. “Myra, do you mind cleaning up? I’m going to get him out of here before he has a complete breakdown.”

I nodded. “Yeah sure. Is he okay?”

Savon flashed a smile at me that was meant to be reassuring, only it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, of course. Sometimes his past is a little more present than he can take.”

“I thought I would be okay,” Jacques said in a soft murmur, looking at Savon with wide eyes. “It’s all different now.”

“Yes it is, but you are still the same.” Savon led Jacques down the hall. “Now come, let’s get our bags and go.” They disappeared into my room and I resumed picking up shards of glass with cautious fingers.

What had happened to Jacques? Why would he say they broke him? And why did Kristos have an elaborate torture chamber in his apartment? The last question bothered me the most.

When they emerged from my room, bags in hand, I stood up and walked with them to the door.

“Savon?”

He turned, just about to step out of the apartment. “Yes?”

I shot a nervous glance at Jacques who moved like a robot set on autopilot. He stared straight ahead with a fixed gaze, body posture rigid as if trying to keep himself together through sheer will. I didn’t want to upset him, but I needed to know. “Am I really safe here?” That room was made to tie somebody up and beat them bloody. For all I knew, that somebody was me.

Savon caught my look to Jacques and nodded. “Yes. This is all old history. Vampires share space a lot. Now this place is Kristos’ but a--”

“Monster,” Jacques finished for him, his voice flat.

“Another vampire used to live here.” Savon laid a comforting hand on Jacques arm. “But he’s gone now and he can’t hurt anyone.” To me, he said, “You’ll be fine.”

I nodded. “Okay. Thanks for your help.”

They left and the silent security guard shut the door after them. I continued on to the kitchen where I disposed of the glass I’d been holding in my hand and tried not to think of monsters.

Chapter Six

Around dusk, another security guard escorted Doctor Martin into my room. He smiled at me warmly. “How are you feeling, Miss Danson?”

“Myra, please. I’m feeling fine.” I held up my hand and showed him the IV was gone. When he frowned, I hastened to explain, “The bag was empty and I didn’t know when you were coming.”

He nodded and opened his briefcase. “All right. Well, let me check your blood pressure and just make sure you aren’t running low. Being around vampires, you don’t ever want to get too dehydrated.”  He pulled out a cuff and stethoscope.

I held my arm out and remained still while he inflated the cuff until it felt like it would amputate my arm. He listened for a moment and then let go of the bulb.

The cuff hissed as it deflated. “Your blood pressure is perfect and you don’t seem to be dehydrated. I think we can declare you cured.” He patted me on the shoulder. “I need to see you late next week so I can remove those stitches in your hand, all right?”

“Sure. Do you come to me or do I come to you?”

“Kristos will let me know.”

“Yes I will,” said Kristos stepping into the room. He flashed a smoldering smile my way and I, predictably, blushed. “Thank you, doctor, you can go now.”

Doctor Martin nodded and gathered his things. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks,” I said as he left the room. Turning my attention to Kristos, I said, “Hi.”

“You’re looking better.” He came to sit next to me on the bed and took my hand in his.

I gave him a little squeeze, happy to see him. “Yes, thank you.”

“Nice outfit.” He ran a finger along the collar, making me shiver. “Ready for dinner?”

I shrugged. “Sure. What did you have in mind? More gun fights at swanky restaurants?” I put a hand to my mouth surprised by my sarcastic response, but Kristos just chuckled.

“Very funny. I have something better in mind.” He pulled my hand away and kissed me.

Pushing him back, I said, “Wait a second. We need to talk.” I took his hand and tugged him toward the hallway. “Come on.”

Kristos allowed me to lead him to the torture chamber Jacques had uncovered earlier. “What is this room?” Now that I stood inside, it seemed even worse. Everywhere I looked, there was a whip or some kind of shackle. The room was a prison without prisoners, a place where you lost your freedom.

Kristos looked abashed. If he’d had any circulation, he would have blushed. “It’s a predilection of my kind.”

“What? Torture?” Fear shot through me. “Were you...were you going to
beat
me?”