Reborn Vampire Romance: Blood Courtesans (6 page)

“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 open 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.

A
round 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 good.” 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 want to keep up your blood volume.”  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. Just be sure to drink lots of fluids to replace what you've lost.” 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 his hand 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?”

His gaze steady, he said, “Not any time soon. It’s something you work up to and it’s not for everyone.”

I edged toward the door, heart in my throat. What had I gotten myself into? Sex and blood were one thing, whips and chains something else entirely.

Seeing my panic, Kristos held his hands up and open as if to show he was harmless. “Myra, this is nothing to be afraid of.”

I continued to edge away from him and the room until I stood on the threshold. Kristos followed me, matching my slow pace, his blue eyes locked with mine.

“Have I acted without honor at any time since we’ve met?” He asked, his gaze hardening.

I shook my head. “No.” Quite the opposite in fact.

“That is not about to change. Now come, I am sure you have questions and I would prefer to answer them elsewhere.” He held out a hand.

For a long moment I hesitated, but then remembering my mother, I took it. Kristos hadn’t hurt me. He’d been nothing but kind and there was no reason for me to run screaming, even if his home was equipped for the Inquisition.

He led me out of the room, shutting the doors after us and escorted me to the dining room. Candles gleamed in the center of the table, highlighting a vase of red roses and a plate heaped with what appeared to be roast chicken and mashed potatoes. A bottle of wine waited in a silver ice bucket. Despite my frequent raids on his fridge, my stomach growled.

He smiled at the sound. “Are you always hungry or do you just never eat?”

“Since I eat, I guess the answer is I’m always hungry.” I slid into the chair as he pulled it out for me. “At least tonight, I have underwear.”

“I’m not sure that’s an improvement.” He settled into his seat where the setting consisted only of a wine glass. Pouring the wine, he said, “Underwear makes it difficult to top your entrance last night.”

“You may enjoy my humiliation, but I don’t.” I sipped my wine, relishing its fruity tang.

He paused, glass halfway to his mouth. “You misunderstand. Women have thrown themselves at me in a predictable fashion for centuries to the point where it’s dull. You were different and I like new things.”

“Is that how you picked up your little torture hobby?” I immediately wanted to take the words back. Kristos was a client, someone I needed to impress, not snark on. What was with all the flippant comments?
Get a grip Myra
, I ordered myself.
Mind your manners.

His jaw clenched and his expression grew stern. “First, this is not my private home. It's owned by my company and is used by multiple people. It's furnished to satisfy more than just my needs. Second, you have no idea how good a whip can feel. Third, other than an open mind, I will never require something from you that you aren’t willing to give.”

I bit my lip and focused on my plate, the aroma of perfectly roasted chicken suddenly failing to entice my appetite. He was mad and it was my fault. “I’m sorry. It’s just one of Madame Rouge’s people had a bad experience there.”

“You aren’t them and I am not Ivan.”

“Ivan?” I furrowed my brow, unfamiliar with the name.

“One of my associates. He’s no longer with the company.” He shifted in his seat, reaching for the wine bottle to top off our glasses. “Let’s change the subject. I understand you’re in college. What major?”

“Business.” Although the world of textbooks and professors felt like it was a different dimension given my current circumstances.

That made him smile. “You want to be a CEO when you grow up?”

I shook my head and cut up my chicken. “No. I’m more interested in entrepreneurship and small start-ups.”

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, curious. “Ah, you have a business idea?”

“A few,” I hedged. My appetite resurfaced and I began to eat. The succulent chicken and gravy filled me with the warmth of comfort food.

He smiled at me over his wine glass. “You’re smart to be careful with your intellectual property.”