Guilty Pleasures

39

I woke up, which was a pleasant surprise all on its own. I was blinking up into an electric light set in a ceiling. I was alive, and I wasn't in the dungeon. Good things to know.

Why should it surprise me that I was alive? My fingers caressed the rough, knobby fabric of the couch I was lying on. There was a picture hanging over the couch. A river scene with flatboats, mules, people. Someone came to stand over me, long yellow hair, square-jawed, handsome face. Not as inhumanly beautiful as he had been to me before, but still handsome. I guess you had to be handsome to be a stripper.

My voice came out in a harsh croak. “Robert.”

He knelt beside me. “I was afraid you wouldn't wake up before dawn. Are you hurt?”

“Where … “ I cleared my throat and that helped a little. “Where am I?”

“Jean-Claude's office at Guilty Pleasures.”

“How did I get here?”

“Nikolaos brought you. She said, 'Here's your master's whore. “ I watched his throat work as he swallowed. It reminded me of something, but I couldn't think what.

“You know what Jean-Claude has done?” I asked.

Robert nodded. “My master has marked you twice. When I speak to you, I am speaking to him.”

Did he mean that figuratively or literally? I really didn't want to know.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

There was something in the way he asked it that meant I shouldn't feel all right. My throat hurt. I raised a hand and touched it. Dried blood. On my neck.

I closed my eyes, but that didn't help. A small sound escaped my throat, very like a whimper. Phillip's image was burned on my mind. The blood pouring from his throat, torn pink meat. I shook my head and tried to breathe deep and slow. It was no good. “Bathroom,” I said.

Robert showed me where it was. I went inside, knelt on the cool floor, and threw up in the toilet, until I was empty and nothing but bile came up. Then I walked to the sink and splashed cold water in my mouth and on my face. I stared at myself in the mirror above the sink. My eyes looked black, not brown, my skin sickly. I looked like shit and felt worse.

And there on the right side of my neck was the real thing. Not Phillip's healing bite marks, but fang marks. Tiny, diminutive, fang marks. Nikolaos had … contaminated me. To prove she could harm Jean-Claude's human servant. She had proved how tough she was, oh, yeah. Real tough.

Phillip was dead. Dead. Try the word over in your mind, but could I say it out loud? I decided to try. “Phillip is dead,” I told my reflection.

I crumbled the brown paper towel and stuffed it in the metal trash can. It wasn't enough. I screamed, “Ahhh!” I kicked the trash can, over and over until it toppled to the floor, spilling its contents.

Robert came through the door. “Are you all right?”

“Does it look like I'm all right?” I yelled.

He hesitated in the doorway. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You couldn't even keep them from taking Phillip!”

He winced as if I had hit him. “I did my best.”

“Well, it wasn't good enough, was it?” I was still screaming like a mad person. I sank to my knees, and all that rage choked up my throat and spilled out my eyes. “Get out!”

He hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Get out of here!”

He closed the door behind him. And I sat in the floor and rocked and cried and screamed. When my heart felt as empty as my stomach, I felt leaden, used up.

Nikolaos had killed Phillip and bitten me to prove how powerful she was. I bet she thought I'd be scared absolutely shitless of her. She was right on that. But I spend most of my waking hours confronting and destroying things that I fear. A thousand-year-old master vampire was a tall order, but a girl's got to have a goal.