Clara was watching as Shamira practiced expanding and retracting her fangs until she obviously felt comfortable, then went about eating. ‘Interesting,’ she thought. ‘She finds a problem and stays with it until she solves it, then moves on. I think Shane was right to bring her over.’
During the meal, Shamira kept her ears open but her eyes mostly downward, occasionally stealing glances at the other feasters. At the table, she didn’t hear any “masters” or “slaves” uttered. They talked about the news, sports, and some magical politics that she struggled to keep up with. She glanced several times at the Brazilian hottie Renata, who was relaxed at the other end of the table and talking with Raul about increasing their magical security. If she hadn’t seen it with her own two eyes, Shamira never would have believed that the woman had been whipped and fucked less than half an hour earlier. Instead, she was being a professional, albeit dressed in a black silk robe that probably felt heavenly against the stings on her skin.
And Shamira’s mind kept drifting back to when she had seen Renata’s face. Sweaty, hungry, satisfied. She shook her head. She couldn’t imagine doing what that girl had done. She was stronger than that. But no matter how hard she tried, that look haunted her.
‘What do I do?’ she thought. ‘They can’t expect me to make a decision right away. I’ve lost my job, maybe my family, and hell, I lost my life.’ She remained quiet for the entire dinner and, when it was over, sat there quietly. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do next.
Shane had been keeping an eye on the young woman. She had not been brought over under optimal conditions, and he felt sorry that she was so lost. He normally tried to let people know about what being a vampire meant and what living in the world with little sunlight meant, but there had been no time. He had made a decision that had completely turned her life upside down. “Clara, why don’t you take Shamira down to the club? Show her a little of my empire? I have to make some calls and see how much leeway I have with our would-be conquerer, otherwise I might join you.”
“Wait,” Shamira said. “What club? Not the one I was killed in, right?”
“Absolutely not. It was a second rate establishment and gaudy besides. No, this is the club I own, and you’ll find it considerably more tasteful. At least I hope you will, otherwise I may have to fire someone.”
“I’ll go with,” Renata said. “I need to talk to Travis anyway and see if he can recommend any other weres that might help booster security. When will the new housing be ready, by the way?”
“I’ll be closing on an adjacent property next week, so we’ll be able to house them as soon as you find them and approve them.”
“I’ll tag along as well,” Henry said, a sexy Texas drawl in his voice. “If the missus decides to take ya up, I might be able to help answer her questions.”
“Okay,” Clara said.
“Hey, I don’t really have anything to wear for a . . . night out . . . after being dead.”
Monique perked up. “I can –”
“I think it’s a bit early for that,” Clara chuckled. “It’s okay. Just throw a long coat over what you have on and you’ll be fine. It’ll make everyone wonder what, if anything, is beneath it, and sometimes the mystery is the greatest aphrodisiac of all.”
“Okay, you’re creeping me out again.”
“I’ll meet you in the garage,” Renata said, eying the new girl over. “I think I’ve got a coat that will work for her.” She stood up, dropped her robe over the back of the chair and strode out naked, wearing the red welts on her back like badges of honor. Shamira was apparently the only one shocked by this.
“She’s got a great bod,” Clara muttered. “Why not show it off?”
Shamira couldn’t argue. She stood up and followed Clara to the garage, and she got the sinking suspicion that Henry was checking her out. She wasn’t sure what he was judging, and it certainly wasn’t any romantic interest. Guys, even vampiric ones, that looked that good could have anyone they wanted. That meant they didn’t wind up interested in Shamira.
They got to the garage and Shamira’s heart and mind took another shock. The garage was an attached building, and inside was every kind of vehicular toy you could imagine. Truck, cars, motorcycles . . . hell, there were even golf carts.
“Damn, now all I need is a golf course,” she murmured.
Clara smiled. “Shane has a nine-hole course on the property. He turns on the night lights and plays to unwind sometimes. You play?”
“A bit. I’m not great.”
“Shane would be thrilled to have someone to play with,” Clara replied. “The only other person who plays is Banshee and well, she’s a sore loser. Love her to death, but don’t ever get competitive with her.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Normally, Shamira wasn’t a car person, but she couldn’t help but drool over the selection she was looking at. “Which one are we taking? Oh my God, he has a Prius?!”
Clara laughed out loud. “No, that’s Lillian’s. She’s kind of a tree hugger. Got Shane to get an acre of solar panels to help offset the energy this place requires.”
“I thought she was submissive?”
“No, she’s a switch. And being a sexual submissive doesn’t mean pushover.” Clara looked around. “So, which one do you want to take?”
“How about the Hummer? I mean, I’ve just never been in one before.”
Henry grabbed some keys off a rack on the wall and tossed them to her. “You’re driving.”
“Me?! I don’t even know where I’m going and –”
“Every car has GPS,” Clara said. “This is just one of the perks you’ll have if you work here. Shane shares his wealth.”
Renata arrived with a leather trench in tow. “The height is right for me, but it’s a little big. I think it’ll fit your shoulders perfectly.”
Shamira looked at it and thought she was going to look like some kind of flasher. But when she slid her arms in and let that leather tighten around her, she almost purred. It fit like a glove and actually made her look kind of cool. Except for the flip-flops.
“Need new shoes for you,” the Brazilian said. She had such an adorable accent.
“I wish I could get my lucky hat back,” Shamira muttered.
Clara heard her and figured she would do something about it when she had a chance. Hopefully as a housewarming gift. “Let’s roll.”
Driving a Hummer was apparently like driving a pregnant whale strapped to a really big skateboard. If she hadn’t taken a number of courses in defensive driving, then Shamira probably would have committed manslaughter a number of times. And driving something the size of a tank made one a lot more cocky, she decided. She managed to do something that she did not think possible. She scared the hell out of two vampires and a werejaguar just because she cut across four lanes of traffic to catch the exit. She wondered if any of them really drove inside the perimeter often enough to think that SHE was a scary driver. Luckily, the club in question had a parking space dedicated to Shane and his entourage big enough to house a limo, so she was able to squeeze the Hummer in without much problem.
“She’s just having problems adjusting to vamp reflexes,” Renata said, holding on to the door handle for a moment with a trembling hand.
“I’ve ridden bulls that were gentler.” Henry was smiling though.
Shamira had never been here before. She didn’t even know it existed. Down an alley between two buildings that looked abandoned, there was a purple neon sign that just read “Prometheus.” Just like the old speakeasies, one member of the party knocked, then a little window slid open. She thought she heard chanting, then a bluish glow peeked out from that slot. The window slid shut and the door opened. Inside was a intimidating large bald man in a custom-made suit, sunglasses, and obligatory ear piece for radio communication. He motioned them inside. The four of them went down a long corridor with a metal door at the other end, and this swung open to —
“Holy shit,” Shamira muttered. This place looked more like a massive study than a dungeon. There were leather sofas everywhere, bookshelves, ebony coffee tables, and gorgeous glass lamps. Through an opening was what looked like a fancy restaurant with a full bar. There were people everywhere, chatting over snacks and coffee or some other beverage, and all of them were dressed like Shamira’s companions. For every man or woman sitting comfortably, there was a leather, PVC, or scantily clad sub at their feet. “I’m not in Kansas anymore.”
“I’ve got to talk to Travis,” Renata said. “If you guys wanted to mingle, I could take Shamira to the security booth and show her a little of the operation.”
“You okay with that?” Clara asked.
Shamira nodded. She was feeling oddly warm where she was, and wanted to go elsewhere. She followed Renata into the bar area and then through a black door that Shamira couldn’t even see. Beyond that door was a medium sized room with banks and banks of video screens and some pretty sophisticated-looking surveillance gear. In the middle of the room in a swiveling computer chair was a very, very large man.
Travis McNeil, head of security for the club, was a werebear, and he looked the part. He was six feet four inches tall of pure beef, massive through the chest and arms that could probably use steel beams as toothpicks. He had short white hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee, but he otherwise looked like a wall of darkness in his suit.
“Renata,” the big man grumbled, not taking his eyes off the monitors. “How can I help you?”
“First, let me introduce you to Shamira Carswell, the newest vamp in Shane’s family.”