Shamira had always been a sweats or jeans kind of girl. It wasn’t as if she had nothing slinky, but mostly those were her competition outfits, and those were supposed to show off everything. Now, everything she had seemed to show things off. She had comfortable but tight hip-hugger blue jeans expensive enough to feed an entire African village for a week. All the shirts she had seemed designed to expose as much hard-bodied flesh as they could.
Straps over the shoulders, exposed midriffs, sleeveless, and cleavage-revealing were all primary factors in the other’s womens’ decisions. The girls had dragged Shamira kicking and screaming (almost literally) into Victoria’s Secrets because, in Monique’s words, she was going to get fitted for a bra and not play underwire roulette. And good grief, what Clara considered to be “underwear” differed greatly from Shamira’s definition. Silk and lace had never been Shamira’s thing. Cotton . . . cotton had been good.
But the boots were Shamira’s idea. If she was going to be forced to endure this weirdness, why not get one good pair of footwear out of it? She was a western girl at (her non-beating) heart, so she’d always wanted a nice pair of cowboy boots. She had ordered a pair of hand-made, hand-tooled Leggenda Collection Lucchese black-leather boots for the low, low price of $1500. Shane’s pockets ran deep, and the boots would be shipped directly to his address. And then she got her very own leather duster that fit her like a glove. She liked leather, though she refused to say it out loud. Not with this crowd around anyway.
“So,” Shamira said, “why aren’t you guys being all ‘yes master, no master’? I thought that’s what you did.”
“There’s a time and a place for everything,” Lillian said. Her hand slid into Monique’s. “There are rules.”
“Rules?”
“Yeah,” Clara said, taking a sip of her orange smoothie. “For instance, all the subs get a day off every week where they can’t be controlled, even if they want it. It’s hard doing it full-time, and Shane realized that people needed a break. Also, there’s a common room in the house where the game is suspended. Subs can call things off anytime they want, thought they’re required by rule to abstain from the life for a full day and explain why. If there’s something a sub can’t handle, it’s made known to the other doms or dommes.” She pursed her lips as she tried to think of more. “You can ask for days off, and subs can’t be interfered with if they’re doing Shane’s work.”
“My sewing room is off limits,” Monique said.
“I play both roles,” Lillian said. “Shane is the only male I let dominate me when I’m being bottom. One of my rules. And in the magic room, I’m off limits.”
“There’s a magic room?”
“Of course,” Clara said. “Lillian and I both need a place to work. We split the room in half.” Her eyes drifted to Shamira’s enormous breasts. ‘I need to get my hands on those,’ she thought. Luckily for her, Shamira didn’t notice that she was being ogled. She was staring at a high-priced clothing store on the lower level. Shamira rolled her eyes, then looked around. “Glad I could expand your education,” Clara muttered.
Shamira finally saw that a mall security guard, standing up and going over to talk to him. She was pointing down towards the store and explaining something fairly calmly. The rent-a-cop nodded and then headed down the escalator while Shamira sat back down.
“Explanation?” Clara said, eyebrow arched.
“Oh, lady down there is shoplifting,” Shamira said, sipping her soda.
The other women looked down. “How can you tell?” Clara asked.
“She looks kinda too middle-class for that, doesn’t she?” Monique asked.
“Shoes don’t match. They’re close, but not quite right,” Shamira explained. “Her whole get-up was probably gotten from a Salvation Army store, put together to make her look respectable,” she added, looking at Monique, “to avoid suspicion. That purse she’s carrying is huge, and it was concave on the outside when she walked in earlier. Now it’s convex, but she’s still wandering around the store. She keeps feeling the clothes, but she isn’t looking at them.”
The security guard approached the suspect and started to talk to her. The woman was growing increasingly agitated, especially when the guard pointed towards the bag. Another guard arrived, and the woman finally surrendered the bag.
“Damn!” Monique said. “At least she stole some nice stuff,” she added, watching a few expensive sweaters materialize from the depths of the bag.
Clara was grinning. “You can’t stop being a cop, can you?”
Shamira blushed. “Guess not.”
“Okay, the mall closes in a bit, and you need to get ready for Shane’s testing. You should try on one of the outfits –”
“Why? I mean, I’m just gonna be going somewhere to sweat anyway,” Shamira said. “Besides, I don’t have the boots yet.”
“You have two pairs of back-up boots,” Clara said primly. “But you’re right. No need to get dressed up tonight if you’re going to be run through your paces. Tomorrow night, we’re going out. No arguments,” she said, cutting off Shamira’s objection.
———- —————-
Two hours later . . .
———- —————-
“How’s she doing?” Shane whispered as he and Reaper watched Shamira go through her strength tests. Vampires were stronger than humans, so having a standard gym was impractical. Instead, they had a set of hydraulic equipment that was derived from the stuff used to test the power of heavy-duty industrial machines.
The big black man didn’t bother to glance at his clipboard. Reaper probably never forgot anything he heard or saw. His brain would probably explode with information in about a century or so. “Well, she’s bench-pressing about half a ton, she did the twenty-yard shuttle run agility test in 1. 5 seconds, did the hundred-yard dash in 4. 23 seconds, scored higher on her shooting proficiency than anyone here besides me –” He paused. “Shane, have you ever met a fledgling so advanced?”
“No,” Shane said. “Shadow Healer, Shadow Jumper . . . “shadow” seems to be the key word. As if she’s skipped directly to the second stage of her evolution.” He smiled. “I knew she could be special, but this?”
“Has she made a decision yet?”
“From what she’s shown so far, I don’t think she can stop being a cop, so I think she’ll come around to being an enforcer. As for the rest, all we can do is hope. I won’t force her.”
“I know you won’t.” Reaper hadn’t found many people worth working for in his relatively short life, but Shane Stapleton was one of the good ones. “I wouldn’t be here if I thought you would.”
Shamira released the bar and turned off the I-Pod she had borrowed from Monique. She had several in different colors. The girl knew how to accessorize. “So, how’d I do?” She was feeling energized, and she wasn’t even sweating.
“Exceptional,” Shane said. “Your abilities are well developed.”
“So, what’s next? IQ test?” She looked over at Reaper and managed a grin. “Big Team Battle?”
Reaper looked at Shane. “It would be a good test of her hand-eye coordination.”
“You just want to spend another four hours playing your infernal game.”
“Yes.”
Shane turned back to Shamira. “I’d like for you to go on a recon run with Henry this evening. Meet some of the people you would be interacting with as my enforcer. See the creatures of your new world.”
“Clara wanted to go dancing and –” she stopped. She did not want to go out and play. She wanted to work. Working helped her clear her head, and it might distract her from the thoughts that had been surfacing in her mind. “Actually, I think I’d like that.”
“Take her to the armory,” Shane instructed Reaper. “See what strikes her fancy,” he added with a grin.
“I’ve seen all the stuff at the range,” she replied.
“That’s the practice gear. You didn’t really think that’s all we had, did you?” Reaper escorted her down the maze of hallways to what appeared to be the door of a bank fault. It took a fingerprint ID, eye scan, and a twelve digit code to breach, but she quickly found out why.
“Holy shit!” she murmured as she walked in. The damn vault was easily 50 feet long, 15 feet wide and lined with weapons ranging from throwing stars to rocket launchers. “This is SO illegal!” she said, running her hands over a high-powered sniper rifle with a scope she’d never even seen before. “What the hell are these?” she asked, picking up a pair of what looked like Desert Eagle 50s but with some kind of banana clip.
“Just what they look like,” Reaper said lovingly, staring at the guns. “I know someone who works with the manufacturer, and he made us a special set. Single shot for most bad guys, triple-shot setting for the big guys. And we’ve got silver hollow-point rounds.”
Shamira pressed one against her cheek. It’s okay,” she said in a lullabye voice. “Momma’s here.” She smiled when Reaper handed her a shoulder strap that could accommodate one of the odd but delightfully destructive instruments.
Reaper didn’t smile, but he almost wanted to. A woman after his own heart. “If you come on, you’ll get a license to carry concealed just about anywhere, license to utilize automatic weapons, license to carry just about anything, and that includes knives. You good with knives? We like everyone in the field to carry something a little more up close and personal.”
She looked around and saw something a bit unusual. She picked it up. “Short whip?”
“It’s a snakewhip,” Reaper explained. “You ever use a whip?” He tried to ignore the smirk on Shane’s face as he stood behind Shamira.
“Yeah. My dad’s folks had a ranch up in Montana. Spent a bunch of summers up there learning how to drive cattle, and I played with lassos and whips.”
Shane’s grin widened. If whips and lassos were her thing —