Carte Blanche

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Carte Blanche Kallysten

Copyright © 2008 Kallysten All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published February 2008 First Edition All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Edited by Mary S Cover by Kallysten

ISBN 1-906023-48-4 978-1-906023-48-5

To Mistress Phoenix, with my gratitude and appreciation

Chapter 1 "She's in thedungeon , if you can believe that." Grace struggled not to let her instant dislike for the police officer appear on her face and merely nodded as she passed by him, ignoring his chuckle. One of first things Hugo had impressed on her was that she would have to work closely with the police and would rely on them for many things. She couldn't afford to antagonize anyone, not even an idiot who found anything funny in the present situation. A woman was dead. Respect shouldn't have been optional. "Straight through the living room,” he indicated when Hugo came up the alley. “The staircase is by the kitchen." "Thanks Johnny,” Hugo replied. He stopped to shake the policeman's hand. “How's that baby of yours? She's what, six months, now?" Not interested in that discussion, Grace moved on, rolling her shoulder to adjust the strap of the leather bag she carried. Her high-heels shoes clicked on the polished wooden floor, and she instinctively looked behind her to check that she hadn't marred the surface. She hadn't, but she stepped as lightly as she could after that. If she were to judge by the living room, the owner of the house had had expensive tastes. The real wood on the floor matched the decorative trims around doors and windows. A lavish rug at least half an inch thick sat in the middle of the room. A sofa and two armchairs were placed around the marble coffee table in its center. It all looked straight out of a design magazine, from the grandiose fireplace taking up most of one wall to the carefully arranged pictures decorating another one. A look back toward the entrance showed that Hugo and his friend were still talking. Grace wanted to be annoyed—the officer deserved far less attention than he was receiving, as far as she was concerned—but it was hard to be impatient when she knew what lay ahead. She had seen dead bodies before: perfectly coiffed as they rested in their coffins, untouched by the mourners around them. She had never seen firsthand the victim of a vampire. Unwilling to go forward by herself, Grace walked over to the wall of framed pictures. She soon noticed that the same woman appeared in all of them: the owner of the house, she supposed. At the base of each wood frame, a thin brass plaque gave a date, place and names. After reading a few of them and examining the pictures, Grace realized that the victim had to have known a lot of influential people in Blackwood Falls and Washington if she had been on a fishing party on the Potomac with the mayor, had hunted with two senators, and appeared in fundraisers with political nominees of all persuasions. "Found something?” Hugo asked when he finally joined her. She indicated the pictures. “Just that her funeral will probably be well attended."

Hugo made a small sound in his throat that usually meant he was unhappy about something. When Grace looked at him, he was shaking his head. "That's no good,” he said gruffly. “They'll be on our back ‘til we can say for sure that we dusted the vamp." Still grousing, he led the way out of the room and to the door that opened on the basement staircase. Unlike Grace, he showed no qualms about the scuffmarks his right boot left on the floor. Usually, his limp was barely noticeable, but it worsened when he was tired. The gray-haired Special Enforcer ought to have retired years earlier. Grace was glad he hadn't. She had learned as much about vampires in the five weeks she had worked as his assistant as she had in almost two years at the academy. "You've got the bag?” he asked for the third time since they had left the agency as he took his first step down the staircase. She grinned at his back. “I've got the bag.” She knew his repeated question didn't mean he doubted her. Instead, it reflected just how attached he was to the bag and its contents. In thirty years of hunting vampires, that bag had saved his life a dozen times, he had told her, and she was sure he hadn't been exaggerating—at least, not much. When she reached the bottom of the staircase, Grace needed to stop for a second to take in her surroundings. She understood now what the officer at the door had meant by ‘dungeon.’ Her heart was suddenly pounding wildly in her chest, and she knew that in a few moments her panties would be soaked. It was just her luck to stumble on something like this when she was working. How was she supposed to remain focused now? "Grace." At the call of her name, she snapped back to attention and hurried after Hugo. He had reached the far end of the room already, and was talking to another police officer and two women from the coroner's office. The four of them stood out sharply in front of the black wall. Only when she came closer did Grace realize that the walls weren't painted jet black as she had first thought. Instead, they were covered with a heavy fabric that, from its sheen, looked like velvet. The metal hooks, chains, and various instruments that hung on the walls around the large basement seemed to gleam a little more brightly in this new knowledge. The feel of velvet at one's back while shackled to the wall had to be— Grace forced herself to abandon that train of thought and tried not to look around anymore. She felt like a child who had to walk through a toy store to reach her school. What had been the odds that her first vampire death scene would look like this? "Grace, this is Lieutenant Howell. You've talked to him on the phone before, haven't you?" She nodded and offered Howell her hand, smiling politely. "Nice to meet you, Lieutenant." The officer appeared taken aback, and he only shook her hand after staring at her for a couple of frozen seconds. He had to be in his forties, Grace guessed, returning his look. His crooked nose hinted that it had been broken in the past. His suit fit him perfectly well, giving him the air of a lawyer rather than the police officer the badge at his belt indicated. She noticed the glance he gave her left hand and felt acutely aware of the tan mark still visible on her ring finger.

"The pleasure is all mine,” he said, maybe more warmly than the situation warranted. “When Hugo said he had a new assistant, I figured it was a kid fresh out of the academy." Grace suppressed a snort. At thirty-one, she was hardly a kid, but she hadn't been when coming out of the academy eleven years earlier either. Oblivious to Howell's light flirting, Hugo continued the introductions and indicated the medical officers. “And these ladies are Dr. Porter and Dr. Mullen." The two women and Grace exchanged greetings. Both of them were wearing medical coats, but while Porter's stood brightly white in stark contrast to her brown skin, the color of Mullen's seemed faded, graying like her hair. Porter gave a discrete eye roll in Howell's direction, clearly showing she, at least, had noticed his game. "And this,” Mullen said, indicating a sheet-covered form on the king-sized bed to the side of the room, “is Dorothy MacAlair. Puncture wounds to the neck, no blood on the bed.” She paused, clearly hesitating. “At least, not recent blood.” She cast a glance around the room and shuddered, obviously uncomfortable. “You won't see a thing with the naked eye, but when we turned on the black light, this place lit up like a birthday cake." Grace bit her tongue before she could point out that in a place like this, the light was probably picking up traces of something other than blood. "The bag, Grace?" She handed out the bag to Hugo. He rested it on the floor and put a knee down next to it. As if on cue, Howell, Porter, and Mullen headed out for the staircase. "Five minutes?” Howell asked on his way out. "Make it ten,” Hugo called back. “Grace's going to do that one; she might need a bit more time." Coming to stand next to Hugo, Grace suddenly regretted having dressed in a skirt that morning. Until that day, Hugo had kept her in the office to do research. In his defense, there hadn't been any case like this one in months in Blackwood Falls. To see that he trusted her with the spellwork on her first case filled her with trepidation. She could only hope she wouldn't mess up. "Why did they leave?” she asked as she gingerly knelt on the linoleum floor. The black and red pattern had to be easier to clean than wooden floors. “Their presence wouldn't have affected the spell." Hugo's smile made his moustache twitch and added wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. “I know that. And you know that. But they don't." She started pulling bags of herbs from the bag he had opened for her, only glancing at him to give him a questioning look. "They ask too many questions if you let them stay,” he explained. “Don't know about you, but my spellwork gets on the shoddy side when people yammer at me." She nodded, understanding his point, then started focusing on the task at hand. It had been more than

ten years since she had done this. She had reviewed the theory recently, but her practice might be a little rusty. She was thankful suddenly that they were alone—alone with Dorothy MacAlair, that was, she remembered with a jolt. Three kinds of herbs thrown in a bowl, a pinch of ritual salt, a few murmured words and the flame of a match: magic wasn't difficult per se. The biggest challenge was to possess the ability. On that front, nature had been generous with Grace. She'd never be able to cast some of the most advanced spells, like glamours or defensive magic, but every tool routinely used by Special Enforcers was well within her capabilities. "Nice,” Hugo murmured, approbation thick in his voice as he looked around the basement. “Mine are never that clear." Around them, the spell had suddenly filled the room with colors. It was designed to show if a vampire had been invited into a home. From what Grace could see, their victim had had at least five vampire guests. She wouldn't have expected it after seeing the wall of fame in the living room. Then again, nothing upstairs had hinted at what they found here. "Thirty seven years,” Hugo sighed, “and I still don't get why people invite vamps in their homes. I've got nothing against being friends with one, mind you. I've got a couple of fanged pals myself. But I wouldn't let them inside my home, not for anything. And I'd have thought she would have known better as well." "You knew her?” Grace asked, surprised. "No, but I knew of her. She used to be a councilwoman. I voted for her a couple of times. She had pretty good ideas about how to control vamps." Grace didn't reply. She knew what he thought of vampires, and while she found his position a little extreme, it was also common for Special Enforcers. She had never given it much thought herself, for the most part because she had never met a vampire outside a couple of instructors at the academy. She had always wanted to be a Special Enforcer, but it had more to do with her desire to save lives and punish wrongdoers than a particular dislike for vampires. She could just as well have become a police officer. In the police, though, she wouldn't have had the opportunity to practice magic. "Want to do the reveal one now?" "Sure.” She searched the leather bag for the ingredients of the second spell. “Are there many marked vamps in town?" "Almost thirty now. The town council passed an ordinance ... Oh, it has to be five years back now. Anyone working for the town or wanting a license of any kind needs to get marked. It cuts down on our work when we've got killings.” He gestured at the small bottle in her hand. “Another drop. That's it." The spell was ready. All Grace had to do was say—"Reveal"—which she did, feeling that there ought to have been more to it. It was, after all, a fairly advanced bit of magic that would indicate if any of the vampires Hugo had marked with the complementing spell had entered the room. When, after a few seconds, nothing had happened, Grace looked at Hugo, biting the inside of her cheek. "Do you want to do it over?” she asked, a little uncomfortable.

Hugo stood with a little groan. “No need. No one marked came here, that's all. It'd have been too easy if they had." He stepped over to the bed while Grace took her time putting away the supplies. She heard the soft whisk of the sheet being drawn off the victim's body. She took a deep breath; the herbal scent of the two spell preparations she had just made jumped at her, and she sneezed. She took a little longer to close the bag than was needed, trying to prepare herself. By the time she was standing again, there was a block of ice in the pit of her stomach. It only grew with each step she took toward the bed. The woman was lying on her back, her blonde hair spread out like a halo around her head. Her make-up was flawless even now, eyeliner framing her glassy eyes and pearly red lips set on a pout. She had been bit on the jugular. "It wasn't an accident, then,” she said, her voice uneven. "No, it wasn't. That vamp knew exactly what he was doing." "He? How do you know it was a man?" Hugo gestured at the body before turning away. “Just a guess. I'm thinking she wouldn't have dressed like that for a woman." Grace had to tear her gaze off the seemingly innocuous small holes in the woman's neck to look at her body. She doubted those people on the pictures upstairs had ever seen Dorothy MacAlair in this red and black leather corset and miniskirt, with fishnet stockings and six-inch heels. Or if they had, they'd certainly not admit to it. From what Hugo had said, MacAlair hadn't been a councilwoman anymore, but Grace didn't think ‘dominatrix’ had been on her resume. She drew the sheet back over the body and turned away, ready to point out that they couldn't exclude female vampires from their suspects, not until they found out more about MacAlair's preferences in partners. Hugo was talking to Howell by the staircase, however, and the two medical officers caught her before she could join him. "We're all done here,” Porter said. “Mind giving us a hand bagging her?" "Of course,” Grace answered at once. “No problem." She would much rather help them than have them need the help of the policeman, who had let her and Hugo in earlier and who was now standing in the middle of the staircase, looking around with wide eyes and a twisted smile. "About Howell,” Porter said, sotto voce, as she opened the body bag. “You might want to know he flirts with everything that wears a skirt but always goes home to his wife in the morning." Grace snorted and threw the man a glance. “Thanks for the tip." The three of them quickly but gently lifted the cold body off the bed and onto the open bag on the gurney. Something caught Grace's eye, dangling from the belt of the skirt, and she reached in for the plastic card hanging from a clip. "Wait,” she said, and pulled the card free before Mullen zipped the bag shut.

"What is it?” Porter asked, looking at the object curiously. "I don't know,” Grace lied. “But it might help our investigation if I figure it out. Mind if I keep it?" Porter shook her head. “As you said, it's your investigation, your clues. We'll send you our report by tomorrow. Welcome to Blackwood Falls." They shook hands and the two women wheeled the gurney away, asking the still gawking officer for help carrying it and the body up the stairs. Still standing by the bed, Grace turned the card between her fingers. She had never seen one before, but she knew what it was. The size of a credit card, it was white on one side, save for the initials CB engraved in a corner and a magnetic strip running lengthwise. The other side was a deep red, without any apparent writing, but with a little friction and heat ... She rubbed her thumb hard in the center of the card and words appeared, as she had thought they would. Girls. Electricity. Knives. Needles. Scat. Hugo had been right, then, she thought as she watched the ink fade out again. MacAlair hadn't been into girls; her killer had probably been male. As she picked up the spell bag, she looked around the dungeon one last time. Carefully lined up whips, riding crops, floggers, and paddles of various sizes took almost an entire wall, each hanging from a metal hook over the velvet. Chains hung from the ceiling in a couple of places. More toys and accessories were spread out around the room, each, it seemed, in its proper place. It didn't look as though MacAlair had had time to play before dying. She could hardly have been a beginner on the scene. People had to have known her, and as was often the case, they would know whom she was dominating. She had been comfortable in inviting her killer inside her house, so she must have known him. Walking back to where Hugo and Howell were waiting for her, Grace slid the card in her short jacket's pocket. If she knew Hugo at all, he would send her home to her daughter and go hunt for information on his own that night. If she showed him the card and sent him to Carte Blanche, it would be a waste of his time along with a waste of an opportunity. The patrons there would never talk to someone who wasn't part of the scene. "The first time is always the hardest one,” Hugo said with a comforting pat to her shoulder when she reached him. “Ready to go?" "I'm fine,” she assured him, and she wasn't talking only about the death scene. “I'm ready." She slid her hand in her pocket and ran her thumb over the card. It had been years since she had walked the scene, and Carte Blanche was reputed to be one of the most select BDSM clubs on the east coast. She would have to be on her best game if she expected to get any sort of information. It would be a challenge, but she hadn't lied to Hugo. She truly felt ready.

Chapter 2 The shrill phone tone rang eleven times in Ray's ear before Keller picked up and practically growled in guise of greeting. The sound went straight to his groin even if his words were hardly what Ray would have hoped.

"Childe. It's been eight years. Do you thinksomeday you'll learn not to wake me before sunset?" Switching the phone to his right hand, Ray let the left one to drift down his chest until it was loosely curled around his hardening cock. "Maybe,” he said in a husky whisper, “you need to teach me better." He closed his eyes, summoning images of what that teaching might feel like, and tightened his fingers on his cock almost to the brink of pain, the way Keller liked to do when— "Stop." He froze, his body obeying before he even knew it. "Stop what?” he tried, but knew it was useless. Keller could always tell. "You know what, Childe, and playing this game does nothing to help your case right now." With a stifled groan, Ray opened his eyes and sat up. The king-size bed always felt too large when he was alone in it. He stood up and padded over to the desk where he had abandoned his cigarettes and matches earlier in the day. He found them easily despite the darkness of the room; being a vampire did have its advantages. "I couldn't know the sun hasn't set yet where you are,” he said, now sullen. “Where are you, anyway?" He had the time to strike a match, light a cigarette, and take a first deep, burning drag before the answer came, terse and warning him against pressing the issue. "Elsewhere." He hid a sigh in an exhalation of smoke. His hard on had flagged down while he waited for a reply, and that simple word—along with everything it left unsaid—wasn't going to change that. "Yes, Sire." Phone in one hand and cigarette in the other, he walked over to the light switch and flipped it on. The harsh halogen lights burst to life and blinded him for a second or two. "And you know I hate the smell of these damn cigarettes,” Keller added. Ray didn't wonder how he knew and looked around for an ashtray, locating one on the nightstand. However, the order he expected was never uttered. Instead, Keller asked, “Why did you call this time?" Crossing the room again to get to the dresser, he opened the last drawer and pulled out a pair of leather pants. He threw them onto the bed behind him and opened the drawer above that to look for a shirt, but gave up on his search to focus on the conversation. "You said I had to ask before going to Carte Blanche." He could practically hear the smirk in Keller's reply.

"I said so, yes." He rolled his eyes, though in truth he had known his Sire wouldn't make things easy. "So?” he said, impatient. “Can I go?" "If you think that's an acceptable way to ask, then no, you can't." The words snapped with the same swift harshness as a whip. Barely aware of what he was doing, Ray took two steps toward the nightstand and crushed the barely smoked cigarette into the overfilled ashtray, and even though Keller couldn't see him, he stood straighter. If he hadn't needed to hold up the phone, he would have crossed his wrists at his back. The fact that he was alone didn't change that. "I'm sorry, Sire. What I meant was, may I have permission to go to Carte Blanche tonight?" "Is that all you want permission for?" Ray thought fast. The sweetness in that question hinted at a trap waiting for him just out of sight. Keller was always quite creative when torture was concerned, and he didn't need to be physically present to be at his best. "And ... and permission to enjoy myself?" "Define enjoy, Childe. And be thorough, because anything you don't mention is off the table for tonight." The slightest catch in his voice left no doubt in Ray's mind that Keller's hand was doing exactly what he himself had been forbidden earlier. It was grossly unfair, but it wasn't up to him to make the rules. Keeping his hand safely to one side, he lay back down on the bed and started his list. He didn't know what would happen at Carte Blanche, but he tried his best to imagine all possibilities. There were few things he didn't enjoy doing or having someone do to him, and it would have been a pity not to be able to play in some way just because he had forgotten to mention it. He was hard and aching again long before he was done. Keller eventually granted him permission for all of it, save for one thing. Ray couldn't touch himself until the next sunset. If he wanted relief, he would need to find someone to help him. Seeing what his plans were for the night, that might not be too difficult. Nevertheless, his frustration when he hung up the phone was no match for his annoyance at not knowing where Keller was. He had been gone for two nights now. Ray's skin seemed to crawl at times from missing his touch. Fingers, fangs, claws, flogger, whip: anything would have been better than this unexplained absence. He hoped he'd find what he needed at Carte Blanche. **** For the third time, Grace lost her grip on the braid when she reached the halfway point, and she watched her reflection in the mirror, annoyed, as strands fell away and came to frame her face. "Damn it." Nothing said she had to braid her hair to go out, but she wanted—she needed—to look her best. If she was to get any information, she needed to look the part. "Language, Gracie,” her mother, Caroline, chided her, entering the bathroom behind her. “Give me that

brush." Knowing better than to argue, Grace handed her the hairbrush and stood still. In the mirror, she caught glimpses of fast moving hands and a wooden hairbrush, and the sight and feel of firm but gentle hands that never tugged too hard threatened to bring her back to her childhood. She didn't have time for a trip down memory lane, however, not when she was about to walk into the wolves’ den. "Is Laura in bed?” she asked, trying to distract herself. "Elastic." She handed Caroline the hair band, black so it would be inconspicuous against her hair, and took the brush back in exchange. "She's in bed. I wanted to read her a story, but she said you had to do it.” She patted the braid, then gave a nod to the mirror. “There. All pretty." She leaned forward to rest her temple against Grace's, her hands weighing gently on Grace's shoulders. Their reflections had rarely been more dissimilar. Grace's hair was dyed black, her lips shiny with bright red gloss to complement her carefully made up face, while Caroline's blonde strands were colored to hide gray, and fine wrinkles stood out more clearly at the corners of her eyes and mouth when she smiled. The shape of their faces and the deep green of their eyes, however, left no doubt that they were mother and daughter. "I'm glad you're finally getting on with your life,” Caroline said, very serious as she kept her eyes on Grace's reflection. “You deserve a good man, who'll make you happy." Grace rolled her eyes. Once again, she was finding herself losing years in the familiar situation, until she felt like a teenager embarrassed by an awkward talk on her prom night. She was hardly going to a prom, though, and she couldn't afford to slide into a teenager's mindset now. “Mom, I told you, this is work. And I don't need a man to be happy." Caroline let out a small sound that might have been a snort—if she hadn't thought that such sounds were unladylike. "But of course, darling. You made up your hair, your eyes, your lips—that color is too bright, by the way—and you put on a lovely, if a bit too short, dress and shoes I'd break my ankles wearing: all of that to go hunt vampires." Unconsciously smoothing her hands down her hips, Grace tried not to sigh. She had hoped she wouldn't need to explain what she was doing exactly. She didn't want to worry her mother, but she also didn't want to let her believe she was dating when it was the furthest thing from her mind. "I'm ... doing something like ... undercover work,” she said slowly, and immediately added when her mother's eyes took a worried look: “I'll be fine, really. It's not dangerous in the slightest." If I can pull it off, she finished mentally,it won't be . "Will your boss be there?” Caroline asked after giving a small nod. They walked out of the bathroom, Grace chuckling slightly. “No, he definitely won't be. He'd get a heart

attack if he went there.” At her mother's raised eyebrow, she explained, quieter now and very much aware that Laura's door, just down the hallway, was open, “I'm going to a BDSM club." Caroline's eyebrows only climbed higher on her forehead. Her grin was positively devious, which wasn't an expression Grace was used to seeing on her mother's face. "Are you certain,” Caroline insisted, “that this is work?" Grace smiled. “It is work. But it's also a pretty nice coincidence. You're sure you're OK—" "Gracie, I told you that if you went back to being a S.E., I'd help in any way I can. That includes babysitting my beautiful granddaughter. Now, go read her a nice story, and be on your way." "Yes, ma'am." She pressed a kiss to Caroline's cheek and walked to Laura's room. The ten-year-old was sitting in bed, a book propped on her stomach. Her eyes widened a little when she looked at Grace. "Mom! You're so pretty!" Beaming, Grace sat down on the edge of the bed. She pushed away dark blond strands to kiss her daughter's forehead “Thank you, honey. So where did we stop last night?" "When Lyra fell asleep on Ma Costa's boat. Remember?" "I do. You start." Laura's voice rose, soft and sometimes hesitant. Grace stroked her hair lightly and let her decipher the story for a few minutes, only helping on the hardest words. Then it was her turn. Laura lay down, her eyes already half closed, and listened intently. Grace's foot swung in the air as she read, but she kept the impatience out of her voice. She couldn't wait to go to the club and see what she could find out there, but this was her special time with Laura, and the rest of the world would have to wait a little longer. **** The owners of Carte Blanche could have accepted more applications for membership and doubled the number of players present in the club every night. They could have easily doubled their profits, by Ray's estimations. He had had the opportunity to talk to one of them outside the scene, however, and she had made it clear that she and her partner weren't in it for the money. They wanted to run a high-quality, exclusive BDSM club where they could enjoy themselves as much as their customers did—and they did just that. Or at least, they usually did. Right now, they seemed tied up at the entrance, talking in urgent tones to a woman and blocking her path. "...not your card. This is a private club." Music was playing, drifting into the bar area from the dancing one where it played louder. The club was divided into clearly separate zones, but the open plan let the music travel as easily as the players between them. The slow rhythm of the drums beat like a heart throughout the club, the wordless harmonies on top of it sensuous and penetrating. "Membership cannot be passed on like this."

"No, but members can transfer their card to guests for a night, can't they? It's in your statutes. I want to sample the experience before I apply for membership." Ray's thumb was tapping on his glass along with the drums, but he wasn't really aware of the music or anything happening in the seating area around him. He was focused on what was going on by the entrance, intrigued by the unusual occurrence. He had thought he knew all the players in town at least by sight, but he had clearly been mistaken. He wouldn't have forgotten this gorgeous woman if he had seen her before. Then again, from what he was catching of her discussion with the owners, it would be her first visit once they let her in. And they would, he was sure of it. It was a red card she was presenting, and she had the attitude to match it. As much as the club tried to maintain a balance amongst the players, dominant women were too rare to send away. "You have no idea what this establishment—" "Please, do not insult me. Just because you have not seen me on the scene in this town doesn't mean I'm a beginner." Oh, no, she definitely wasn't a beginner, Ray thought, grinning to himself. No beginner had a presence such as this woman's. Even from where he stood, maybe thirty yards from her, Ray could feel it. He couldn't have defined it, couldn't have explained it to someone who wasn't part of the scene, but there wassomething about her that told anyone who cared to listen that she expected to be obeyed without questions. Something that madehim want to obey—and that seemed to make up the owner's mind about her "You know about the cards?" "I do, but why don't you refresh my memory." "Dominants wear red cards. Submissives wear blue. Switches have both colors on their cards, the one at the top is what you need to look at. You know how to reveal the list ... yes? Good. By law, I have to tell you there may be vampires on the premises, and they are not required to identify themselves as such to you. There is no biting allowed in the common areas, and mild play only. For anything more, you are welcome to use the private rooms." The woman nodded and was finally allowed to enter. Ray watched her descend the short staircase that led from the entrance to the ground floor. She took slow steps, a hand resting on the railing, surveying the club. As most women did, she had clipped the club card to the hem of her short black dress so that it bounced a little above her knee with each step. She was holding a small, black clutch purse in her right hand, its closures golden like the loose bracelets at her wrists and her dangling earrings. She walked over to the bar and sat up on a stool, her long, perfect legs crossed and showing off her gleaming high-heeled shoes. Ray's cock stirred, making his decision for him. "If you ladies will excuse me..." The two women perched on each side of him on identical leather poofs looked at him askance when he stood. Using his free hand, he unhooked the card hanging from his belt red side up, and flipped it over. The woman on his right, Lea, if he wasn't mistaken, sighed dramatically. "But Ray, you promised we'd play! Didn't you say your Master was out of town?" Moments earlier, she would have called him ‘sir’ and never dared to question him like this—not unless

she was seeking punishment. He was now showing blue, however, same as she was, and the tenuous link between them had been broken. "He is,” he replied with a placating smile. “And we'll play another time. Good night." He finished what was left of his drink on his way to the bar, Lea and her friend already slipping out of his mind. He leaned against the counter a few feet from the woman he had been observing and ordered a refill before turning his eyes toward her. From up close, her tanned skin seemed golden. The tight braid that held her hair back accentuated the clean lines of her face. Ray's fingers were practically itching for a pencil and a piece of paper to transcribe what he was seeing: light, darkness, beauty—and a fire that made her eyes burn right through him. "I don't think I like the way you're looking at me,” she said, her voice and slight frown making it clear that she was displeased. "Well, how should I be looking at you, Mistress?” he asked, tilting his head and letting his gaze run from the pointed tip of her shoe, up her leg, over the plunging v-line of her dress, and finally back up to her eyes, which were now glaring at him. "I don't think I like the way you're talking to me, either. You call me Mistress, but you're not showing in any way that you know what this word means." She was responding exactly in the way Ray had expected she would—exactly like Keller would have, confronted to such blatant insolence—and he had some trouble hiding his grin. So far, she seemed to be what he hadn't dared hope to find when coming to the club this night. He picked up his scotch refill and emptied it in one long gulp, only now noticing that she had been sipping on fruit juice. He liked that; good players didn't need alcohol to get into the scene. The thought amused him, right when he had just swallowed another drink, but he still didn't let himself smile. Instead, he slid to his knees in front of the Mistress he had chosen for himself, making the movement as graceful as he could manage. Hands crossed at the small of his back, he bowed his head and controlled his voice carefully so that it reflected nothing more than pure obedience. "I spoke out of turn, Mistress. I am ready for the punishment I deserve." She could refuse, of course, but he didn't think she would. On her first visit to Carte Blanche, it was more likely that she would want to establish herself as a strong Dominant. In the frame of mind Ray was currently in, he would be more than happy to help her in that regard.

Chapter 3 All Grace had wanted, when coming to Carte Blanche, had been to investigate Dorothy's MacAlair's death, get a feel for the kind of person she had been to invite vampires in her home, and see if she could identify which vampires they had been. She had not wanted, or even expected, that a submissive—a switch according to the card hanging from his belt, but the blue side was up and submissive was what he wanted her to see in him—would push her into playing a scene with him. She could say no, of course. No rule demanded that she punish him for being insolent in his words and actions. No rule, and yet...

She watched him, kneeling at her feet with his head bowed. She had been in his place often enough to recognize that his posture was perfect, and if she was honest with herself, she could admit that the sight of him had her heart beating just a little faster than she would have wished. She couldn't help squeezing her thighs together as she shifted on her seat to pick up her drink again. A mirror above the bar reflected the room behind her—or rather, the series of rooms. First was a sitting area where the man now kneeling in front of her had been talking with two girls when Grace had first entered the club. The girls still sat there and were peering at her curiously. Behind them, a second space set apart by a large archway and different floor coverings hosted a few couples seated or kneeling around tables. She saw more than a few heads turned toward her in that room as well. Beyond another archway, she could see people dancing—and there, too, looks were being thrown her way. If she hoped to talk to any of these people and have them answer her, she needed their respect. She needed them to accept her as one of them, as a legitimate bearer of the red card hanging from her dress. They would not see her as such unless she acted the part. She turned back toward the insolent man who had put her in this situation, and unwittingly offered her the opportunity she needed. It was a shame she wouldn't be able to thank him. "Stand,” she demanded, and waited for him to obey. He rose with elegant moves and no trace of hesitation. Even if he now stood taller than she was while sitting, his demeanor remained submissive. She realized, at that moment, that he must have known exactly what he was doing when he had provoked her. It only gave her another reason to punish him. She almost regretted having asked him to stand now, but she supposed there would be time to get him back on his knees soon. She reached for the card hanging from his belt, and, without pulling it free, she rubbed her thumb hard over the center of the card. All that appeared was a star. Admitting her ignorance grated, but if the star had an important meaning and she ignored it, the consequences might be serious. "What does the star signify?” she asked, using a tone that implied she knew the answer and was merely testing him. He kept his eyes downcast and spoke quietly. “Nothing." She almost snapped at him before realizing what he meant. He wasn't being cheeky or eluding her question. The star, literally, meant nothing as it stood in the place where his limits should have been. He was open to anything and everything. The realization left Grace both heady and incredulous. Everybody had limits. What this star signified, in truth, was that the man in front of her hadn't found his yet. "Lead the way to the private rooms,” she demanded. “And behave yourself. There are few things I dislike more than being manipulated." He gave her a quick glance as he turned, so fast that she might have overlooked it, but after warning him to behave, she couldn't afford to miss anything. She made a mental note of that look and of the half-smile that accompanied it—amused, happy, insolent yet again. She had her work cut out for her. Her steps slow but assured, she followed him through the sitting areas and dancing floor toward the very back of the club, keeping a close watch on him the entire way and at the same time aware of the curious looks they attracted. Even though he was preceding her, there could be no mistake as to which of them

was in charge, and somehow it seemed to surprise quite a few people, Dominants and submissives alike. Noticing this, Grace grew more and more intrigued. She was almost certain that, when she had first walked to the bar, the man had worn his card with the red side upward. If it had been the case, then he had switched colors before coming toward her—before pushing her into playing a scene with him. It wasn't the fact that he was a switch that troubled her; rather, it was his willingness to move from one role to the next in mere moments. She didn't know how anyone could get into a different frame of mind so fast. It had always taken her hours to prepare. They had arrived at the very back of the club, just beyond the dancing floor. An employee of the club, recognizable from her black livery and the white card hanging on her chest from a lanyard, got up from her seat at a desk beside an open door. "Good evening, Ma'am,” she said with a smile, addressing Grace and completely ignoring her companion. “Would you like an open room or a private one?" Unsure what the difference was, Grace hesitated. At once, the girl apologized. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I should have asked if you've ever used our play rooms." "No, I have not." The girl nodded. “Open rooms have a bay window." She indicated something to the side, and Grace turned to look. She could hardly believe she hadn't noticed until now that the far wall, running through the different areas of the club, was made entirely out of glass. Behind it, she could distinguish rooms, maybe a dozen of them. In the empty ones, the lights were dimmed. When people were visible behind the glass, the light was brighter, allowing those in the club proper to see what was going on, if they cared to. One of the rooms was obscured by blinds, but even so shadows were still visible behind them. "Private rooms don't,” the girl continued on a matter of fact tone. “They all have the same equipment. Whatever you use, place it in the metal box by the door when you're done so that it can be cleaned. The room fee is applied directly to the account of the card used to enter the room." Grace nodded slowly to show that she understood. Remembering the star on the man's card, she realized that he probably didn't mind being put on display. She certainly had no problem with that, especially if it helped her establish her credentials. "An open room, tonight,” she finally answered the girl. "Certainly. If you will please come with me." She led the way past the door she was guarding and into a hallway. Grace followed without bothering to check if the man would come as well. She knew he would. They passed in front of four doors before stopping in front of the fifth one. Above the handle, a slot waited for a card, two small green lights next to it. The lights on the doors they had passed had been red. After excusing herself, the attendant left them in front of the door, giving them privacy, Grace realized, as to who would pay for the room. The way she saw it, it wasn't even a question.

"Well?” she said, turning an impatient look to her companion. The thinnest smile pulled at his lips, but he didn't look up to her. Unhooking his card from his belt, he dropped to one knee before offering it to her in the palm of his hand. "That's better." She picked up the card and used it to unlock the door. To her own surprise, her hand did not tremble in the slightest when she pushed on the handle. Until that moment, each of her words, each of her actions, had been the deliberate product of a single thought. If she believed it hard enough, if she shoved her doubts, fears, and hesitations into the farthest corner of her mind, if she pushed away years of convincing herself otherwise, she would be able to do this. If she acted as though she were ready, she would be. As she opened the door, however, she realized she wasn't pretending anymore. She was ready. Not only was she ready—she was looking forward to this. **** When Ray had approached the new Dominant at the bar, his mind had still been caught in what he had been doing moments before, trying to decide which of the two ladies he wanted to play with first. It had helped him make sure she would have no choice about playing with him. Her scent, for just a few moments, had reflected hesitation, and he had wondered whether he had made a mistake by kneeling at her feet. Both their states of mind had changed when they walked to the playrooms. She had grown more confident with each step, leaving whatever doubts she had had behind. At the same time, Ray had slipped fully into the part of the submissive. It had been a while since Keller had last played with him, truly played rather than simple mind games. Whatever scenes Ray had played since, in his Sire's presence or not, had done nothing more than exacerbated his need. It was an itch, somewhere between his shoulder blades: unreachable, unrelenting, maddening. With Keller refusing to say where he was or when he would return, all Ray could hope was that he had chosen well. He chanced a glance at her face when he entered the playroom. Her features tightened instantly. He knew that look; he had seen it on Keller's face. She had noticed, and she was adding this offense to the list of things he needed to be punished for. His cock stirred, and he held back a smile. Maybe he would go back home later and at last be able to sleep through the day. "Strip." He obeyed that simple word before being completely aware of the order. His shirt fell first, without his usual teasing slowness; he wasn't trying to seduce her. His ankle boots took a little longer, and he wanted to curse himself for tying up the laces too tight all the way to the top. Socks next and finally jeans, all of it piled up at his feet as he stood, naked, in front of his Mistress and waited for further instructions. "I should have mentioned—wait. I don't even know what your name is." "Ray. May I ask what I should call you?" She hesitated at his question, to the point that Ray wondered if he'd spoken out of turn. He didn't think he had. A name, and he wasn't silly enough to expect her real name, and a closer look at her card would

have been customary for him to request before playing with her if he hadn't skewed the scene from the start. "Mistress Red will do fine,” she said at last. “As I was saying, Ray, I should have mentioned I really dislike messes." After a beat, Ray understood what she meant. Kneeling down, he folded his clothes and set them and the shoes near the door in a neat pile. A small part of him, at the very back of his mind, was amused that Mistress Red was even more similar to Keller than he had first thought. The rest of him calmly accepted that he had earned himself another punishment, although this one not on purpose. He stayed on his knees, when he was done, eyes trained on the floor, legs parted just enough to display his semi-hard cock, left hand clasping his right wrist at the small of his back. "I am sorry, Mistress Red." She didn't respond. Unable to see more than the bit of floor in front of him, Ray focused his attention on the sounds she made, filtering out the muted music coming in through the double layer of glass on his left. Metal clicked softly; he had heard that sound as she walked, when her bracelets had moved against each other. She must have taken them off. The soft sound that followed had to be her purse being dropped somewhere. She stepped around the room, her high-heels clicking softly on the floor. Her heartbeat remained calm, but every now and then, it would jump, and along with it a burst of lust would sweeten her scent. He could hear a soft whisper, every few seconds, and it took him a little while to realize what it was. She was running her fingers on the toys displayed around the room, no doubt taking inventory of what was there, maybe choosing what she would use for his punishment. The thought had his cock hardening a little more and bobbing up and down between his thighs. At last, she returned to him, slow steps that told him she was taking her time, maybe to observe him and find fault with his posture. He felt the urge to move, maybe kneel a little straighter, but he silenced it. His position was perfect. Moving now would be breaking out of it. She approached close enough that her feet entered his field of vision. The leather of her shoes shone bright; it had the familiar smell of new shoes that were still being broken in, but she showed no sign of discomfort. She stood still for a second, then took a step to the side so that she was now facing the glass wall. Five minutes at least had passed since they had entered the room. As a human, Ray had never been very patient; becoming a vampire had not changed him in that regard. He couldn't help but wonder why she was taking so much time to start—and just as the question reached his conscious mind, he understood. The waiting was part of the scene; part of his punishment. She must have guessed how impatient he would be. He had given her a big enough hint, he supposed, when approaching her just moments after she had entered the club and pushing her into playing with him. A knot at the back of Ray's neck that he hadn't been aware of suddenly loosened. Every time he started doubting her, he realized she was a step ahead of him. It was time to stop questioning her every move and just let go. She would catch him. She hadn't touched him yet, but he now knew she would. **** Grace was sure that, somewhere in the world, someone had a playroom better furnished than this one. She was also sure that she would never see it. She couldn't wait to take her pick amongst the floggers; they had always been her favorite toys. She couldn't wait, and yet she had to. She was the one setting the

pace of the scene, not Ray, and she had a feeling if he had been in charge, things would have been much further along already. "We have an audience, it seems,” she commented as she looked at the bay window. She could see dancers in the back, but closer to the window, two people had sat in armchairs that faced the room. She recognized the owner of the club, and her feeling that she would be judged on what happened in this room only intensified. "You will behave better in here than you did outside, won't you, Ray? It would be a pity to disappoint them. And me." She turned back toward him as she spoke, and she looked very carefully for a reaction. Other than his words—"Yes, Mistress Red"—pronounced in a perfectly obedient tone, he didn't show any. No telltale flinch or shiver, no furtive look toward the window, not even a twitch of his cock. He wasn't an exhibitionist, then, nor did he seem to have problems in exposing himself. He just didn't seem to care. In a normal situation, she would have asked before beginning a scene with him, but he had forced her hand. She realized she was stroking the length of the riding crop she had picked up on the wall earlier, and made herself stop. "Before we start, what is your word?" "I don't need—” Ray started, but she didn't let him finish. "What is your word?” she repeated, letting her voice pick up an edge of irritation. She could see him grind his teeth, certainly biting back whatever boastful explanation he was used to giving about not needing a safe word. She wouldn't play with him if he didn't give her one, and no Dominant she knew would either. "Sunshine." The word was a sullen breath, and although his face remained the perfect image of submission, she had no trouble imagining he was giving her an eye roll as he said it. Sunshine. Ray. As soon as she made the connection, she knew he hadn't chosen that word. Someone had picked it for him. Someone who, presumably, hadn't taken no for an answer any more than she had. She circled around him, allowing herself to truly see his body for the first time under the pretext of observing the faultless form of his position. He was really quite lovely, slender but well toned. She couldn't wait to watch the pale complexion of his skin pink up beneath her ministrations, or the muscles of his entire body tense in the moment of expectation just before a touch. As for his cock ... Well, she wasn't planning on doing anything with it, but she could already see herself regretting her decision. It wasn't fully hard yet, and already of a beautiful size in a nest of very closely trimmed blondish hair. He was a natural blonde, then. "Good position,” she commented as she finished her inspection. “Someone must have taken quite some time teaching you." He didn't reply, but then, she hadn't asked him a question. Another proof if need be that, despite his

poor behavior at the bar, he had been well trained. It only reinforced her feeling that he had been insolent on purpose. Stopping in front of him, she slid the tip of the riding crop beneath his chin. He obediently tilted his head back and looked at her through clear hazel eyes. "What Masters have you served?" She might as well start gathering information now, with him. Other Dominants might have known MacAlair and with whom she played. They might also know the names of submissive vampires in town. "The only Master I serve is my Sire." Then again, Grace realized with a pang of shock, she might just have met her first suspect.

Chapter 4 Now that Grace knew, the fact that Ray was a vampire seemed glaringly obvious. She could hardly believe she hadn't figured it out for herself. It was actually rather humiliating. Dealing with vampires was her job, after all. However shocked she was, she tried not to show it in any way. She tapped the riding crop to his cheek, not hard enough to hurt him yet, a simple warning that she was displeased. "That is not true, Ray. You're here now, with me." His eyes made it plain he was ready to explain, but she hadn't asked him to. Beginners always forgot, and set themselves up for more punishment. Grace hadn't really thought he would fall for it. "Care to explain to me?” she asked after a few seconds. "Yes, Mistress. I am only here because my Master allowed it. He knows I'm here, and everything that happens here does with his permission." Grace mulled over his words and the pride that she could hear in them. Pride that his Master trusted him to make him proud, or pride at explaining this was only a scene within a scene? "Did he, now?” she said very slowly. “So he gave you permission to be rude to me?" The hint of a smile that had fluttered on Ray's lips vanished, and for a brief moment he seemed almost unhappy. His face smoothed over and he answered in a steady voice. "He did not." "I guess you will have to tell him, then. I have enough transgressions to deal with already without robbing him of the privilege." The tiniest shift in his body, the first movement she had picked up on since he had knelt down, had her wondering how, exactly, his Sire would punish him. She had never played with a vampire before, nor had she seen vampires on the scene. The clubs she had frequented before that night had not been open to

vampires. All she knew, really, she had learned at the academy, and the course had not included sexual practices or BDSM preferences of the average vampire. She felt like asking him, suddenly, whether he had been part of the scene before being sired, or whether being a vampire was part of the reason he was there. It was just curiosity, however, and it didn't have any bearing on what they were here for. She'd ask later, if she had the opportunity. Now it was time to give the people looking at them behind the almost soundproof glass something to watch. "Stand." He rose lithely, keeping his hands behind him, without showing a hint of discomfort at having knelt on the hard floor for the past few minutes. "Come here." He walked with her to the side of the room, and at her indication he stood in front of the bay window. A clear Plexiglas rod ran from wall to wall, just inches in front of the glass panel. She tapped it with the riding crop. "Lean forward and hold this." His hands closed on the rod in a way that hinted it wasn't the first time he had been made to take this position. She observed him for a few seconds, then corrected his posture with a light touch of the crop on his left thigh that had him spread his feet a little more. His hard cock bobbed against his stomach. She felt the urge to slide her hand down his back and ass; his skin looked smooth as silk. He hadn't earned such a gentle touch, however. She noticed he had lowered his head a little, probably so he wouldn't have to see the people watching him. He might not have been as indifferent to their audience as he had tried to pretend. "Keep your eyes open,” she demanded. “And look up." She had the time to count to two before he obeyed. "Now think back about everything you did since you watched me enter the bar. What do you need to be punished for? Be specific. And don't forget anything." "I was rude,” he started. “Also, I—" She tapped the crop to his shoulder, and he fell silent. "Specific,” she reminded him. “How exactly were you rude?" "I ... stared at you." The crop swished through the air and landed on Ray's ass with a snap. She hadn't hit really hard, so his small jump had to be due more to surprise than pain. He was a vampire, after all. This had to be nothing to him. "I undressed you with my eyes."

This time, the crop flicked at his skin more than truly hit. He might think undressing her with his eyes was a punishable offense, but she wouldn't have worn a tight short dress if she had shared his opinion. If anything, it was nice to know he found her attractive. "I was rude when I talked to you." That blow was the hardest yet. "I tricked you into playing with me." And harder still. It was his worst offense as far as she was concerned. She saw his hands clench on the rod, but he didn't move. If he felt the sting of the blows, it didn't pierce his voice as he continued his list and the crop continued to hit his ass, one cheek then the other in turn. His cock was as hard as ever, so she had to be doing something right. "I didn't keep my eyes down. I was slow giving you my card. I spoke out of turn. I left my clothes in a messy pile." He fell silent then, although he wasn't done as far as Grace was concerned. "If you need help remembering,” she said coolly, “you are allowed to ask." A few seconds passed. Grace waited patiently. When he finally gave up, there was a tremor in his voice that hinted he wasn't happy about it. "Mistress Red, would you please remind me what else I did wrong?" "You tried to argue with me about having a safe word." The crop hit his skin twice in a quick succession. She was ready to help, but her help had a price. "You wanted to roll your eyes at me, and not doing it doesn't excuse you. You looked down without permission when I placed you in front of the window. You weren't specific when I asked you to be." That was it—at least for the list. She stopped and ran a hand across his ass, checking her handiwork. She was surprised by the lack of heat, although she knew she should have expected it. There was just the smallest hint of redness to his skin; a human's would have been bright red by now. "I doubted you." The quiet words gave her pause, but she remembered to switch him for this new admission even as she thought about it. He had doubted her ... What did he mean by that? Had he doubted she would know how to handle him? For that matter, was she handling him well enough? She hadn't even left a mark on him, hadn't even made him flinch. She needed to do better and give him what he deserved. She needed to make him think that doubting her had not simply been an insult to her; it had been silly. She went to pick up a flogger from the wall, the leather falls narrow and as long as her forearm. Returning to him, she positioned herself and flogged him, just once, as hard as she could.That , at last, made him flinch. "Straighten up and look at me,” she asked.

He did, his wrists instantly crossing behind him again. "Now that we're clear on what you're being punished for, let's get to the actual punishment. I've never played with a vampire before, so you're going to help. How many blows like this one would your Master give you in this situation?" His eyes darted behind her for a second; she had a feeling that his Master would have used something else than a flogger, for example one of the whips directly at her back. "A dozen hits for the most serious offenses, Mistress,” he offered after a few seconds. “Maybe half for the less serious ones." "Then we'll double that, for good measure." He didn't even blink. “Yes, Mistress." She held his gaze, searching. “Are you still doubting me?" A tiny smile curled his lips. “Ask me again in an hour." Three seconds passed before he remembered himself. "Mistress." "We'll just add one more item to the list, then." An hour later, when she ran a hand down his back and ass, light as a feather, and he clearly had to struggle not to squirm under her touch, she asked him again. His answer was much more to her liking. **** Ray lived for moments like this one when everything was pure, raw, extraordinary sensation, moments when thoughts were unnecessary, when his body wasn't his own anymore, when all he had to do was listen, obey, and accept. He did all three with a quiet joy that filled him with same warmth the sun once had. He listened to Mistress Red, to her words as well as to the tone of her voice, and marveled at how well they matched. One-word orders held strength and the absolute certainty that they would be obeyed. Reminders of why he was being punished contained enough disappointment that he could have believed, even though he knew otherwise, that she had spent hours upon hours training him and making him a perfect submissive for her. Words of praise were long to come, but when they did, they burst with warmth and pride at how well he was now behaving, and slid on his mind like the tender caresses of a lover. He listened to her heart, too, and to his ears it was the calm and steady song of purpose. He obeyed her, positioning himself in any way she wanted him. Standing, at first, with his back to the window and his hands clenched on a trapeze suspended from the ceiling, as immobile as he could be as she used the flogger on his back, his ass, and the back of his thighs. Propped against the bench, next, when she alternated blows of a wooden paddle to his ass and light touches of a fur flogger that made him want to jump out of his own skin. He obeyed her, also, when she demanded that he remain hard and forbade him to come. The first one was much easier than the second.

And finally, he accepted. He accepted the harshest blows—never as harsh as Keller's, of course not, but it wasn't how hard she flogged that mattered, it was the reason behind each burning contact of leather on his skin. He accepted the single finger that slid from the root of his cock to the very tip, the nail scratching his hard flesh in just the right way. He accepted that she had never closed the blinds, and more people were now watching them. He accepted that he had placed himself in her hands and that he was hers to play with as she pleased or to display for others regardless of his preferences. He accepted her as his Mistress, not just an adequate substitute for his absent Master. "Good boy." The words slid on him like the most delicate touch. At the same time her fingertips left a trail of fire down his back and ass. Both the words and caress made him tremble, even when he tried to remain still. "Do you still doubt me?” she asked for the second time, as she had promised she would. Ray did not even need to think. His voice almost shook with fervor. “Never again, Mistress Red." She laughed quietly. The sound reverberated through Ray's mind, filling him with contentment. She was satisfied with him. He had done well. She hadn't said he could move, and so he stayed immobile and in position as she walked away from him. He didn't have time to worry she might be leaving. The quiet, familiar buzzing of the blinds being lowered told him exactly what she was doing. In spite of himself, his cock gave a jolt. If it had been Keller in the room with him, now would have been the time to take the edge off before going back to their bed and spending the rest of the night, and maybe the next day as well, fucking. Not all scenes at the club ended with sex, of course not, but if Mistress Red were so inclined ... The scent of lust filling the room wasn't only his own, and he would have bet his life that her panties were soaked through. "You took your punishment very well,” she praised, coming back toward him. “Even if your way of getting me in here was hardly commendable." Now standing in front of him, she placed a finger beneath his chin, the same finger that had trailed along his cock earlier, and made him look up and stand straight. For the first time in the past hour, he could see her face. It was practically glowing, her cheeks flushed bright and her eyes shining with a delight that never reached her voice. She was beautiful. Something inside Ray tightened at the realization that he had helped make her this happy. "Anything you want to say?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I am sorry, Mistress Red.” His throat felt as parched as though he had been screaming for hours, although, at her request, he had never made a sound. “And I thank you for teaching me better." Her finger slid over his chin to cover his lips in a shushing gesture. "Don't lie. You'd do the same thing again if you were in the same situation. How long has it been since your Master last played with you?" Ray could answer without counting. His lips moved against her finger as though in a kiss. “Fourteen nights, Mistress." Her features hardened a little, coloring with disapproval, although it didn't make Ray want to fall to his

knees. He understood why when he realized the disapproval was directed toward Keller, and for the first time that night he felt disloyal to his Sire. "We're done with the punishment,” she said, taking a step back. “Now a small reward for behaving well in here. Sit down, or kneel, as you prefer, and make yourself come for me. Give me a nice show." Ray stopped himself halfway though his kneeling and straightened again, feeling miserable. Of all things, she had to ask this. "I am sorry,” he said again, his eyes downcast, “but I can't do that." A few seconds passed in ominous silence before she asked, her voice back to the snap and crack of a whip, “Why the hell not?" Surely, those words and that sharp tone shouldn't have made Ray's cock throb just a little harder with need. "Mistress, I ... I told you I asked permission to come here tonight. And everything we did was allowed. But I don't have permission to touch myself." "Not even if I—No, don't answer that. I understand." Ray wanted to let out a sigh of relief. "But I'm not going to touch you. As good as you were, you didn't earn it. Get dressed." The swallowed sigh, this time, was one of disappointment. He didn't have permission to bring his own release until the next sunset, and he was in no state of mind to find someone else to play with this night. Still, it didn't occur to him to argue with her or cajole her into changing her mind. After the past hour, he wouldn't have dreamed of disrespecting her so. Trying to walk as steadily as he could despite the lancing pain that each step brought forth from his shoulders down to his thighs and despite the way his cock strained up toward a touch that wouldn't be given, he went to pick up his clothes and dressed, aware of Mistress Red's eyes on him the entire time. It didn't help his arousal abate, and he almost came when he pulled too tight jeans over the sensitive skin of his ass and had to tuck his cock in to fasten the buttons. When at last he was fully clothed, he had the neat impression that this was just another part of his punishment, especially when he saw the small smile dancing on Mistress Red's lips.

Chapter 5 During the hour and half Grace had spent in the playroom with Ray, she had been too caught up in the scene to pay much attention to the people watching them from behind the glass. She had spared them a thought, at the beginning of the scene, to realize she would probably be judged according to her performance with Ray, and a second one at the end when deciding that she didn't feel like sharing Ray's orgasm with anyone. Walking out of the room, she still felt irritated that the scene hadn't ended the way she had imagined, but she supposed it was nothing compared to Ray's frustration. She was a little sorry for him, but not enough to help. After all, he had brought this on himself. She had planned to invite him for a drink when they returned to the actual club and try to ask a few questions. She received some unexpected help with that. The owner of the club—she thought his name

was Maxwell—was waiting for her by the doorway. She had met him briefly upon arriving, and he had been one of the first to sit down and watch her play. Her heart jumped inside her chest, and she wondered immediately if she had done something wrong, broken some rule without meaning to, so that she was now going to be led to the door. The large smile he offered her, however, hinted at more pleasant things. "A remarkable scene,” he complimented her. “You left a few people jealous, too." From the heated glance he cast Ray behind her, Grace surmised that he was part of the jealous crowd, and that he would have liked to play with Ray himself. She wasn't too sure how to answer that, so she settled for a simple “Thank you." "I'd like to offer you a drink,” he added. “If you'll come with me?" "Thank you,” Grace repeated. “We'll be glad to." He blinked, and she realized the invitation might have been meant for her only. He didn't say a word, however, and smoothly guided her and Ray to the second room, where sofas and armchairs were arranged in small clusters for conversation. Tall and stocky, he walked with a confidence that matched both his expensive-looking suit and the red card hanging from his lapel. Grace sat down on a leather sofa, and before she could say a word, Ray had knelt down next to her, ignoring the thick carpet just a foot in front of him in favor of the bare wooden floor. It seemed to surprise Maxwell, although he quickly schooled his face and smiled at Grace. A waitress had appeared behind his velvet-covered armchair, clearly waiting for their orders. "What would you like to drink?” he asked her. "Champagne for me. Blood for Ray. You do have a blood bar license, don't you?" His voice remained steady, but again his face betrayed his surprise. “We do. We serve it straight or in cocktails." "With a bit of champagne as well, then,” she decided. While Maxwell ordered for himself, she looked at Ray, wondering what he thought of her choosing for him. With his eyes downcast, it was hard to tell. His body was entirely still, giving no indication of the pain she knew, from experience, had to be lancing through him still. She racked her fingers through his hair, making the short blonde strands spike up, then lightly tugged until he raised his face toward her. His eyes were calm, his lips smiling faintly. She took that as her answer that he was happy enough with her choice of drinks. "Do you intend to play again tonight?” Maxwell asked, drawing her attention back to him. "Not here,” she replied, leaving it up to him to figure out what she meant by that. "Then can I ask you to leave your friend's card with me? She can retrieve it on her next visit." Grace felt a pang of disappointment at that request. If he wanted the card back, she imagined it meant that she wouldn't be welcome to return to the club. Somehow, the idea was affecting her more than she would have thought, seeing how she had only come to gather information in the first place.

Unclipping the card from the hem of her dress, she placed it on the coffee table between them and leaned forward to push it toward him. He picked it up and slipped it in the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a bulging white envelope that he placed on the table and pushed toward her. "A membership application,” he explained. “Once you fill it out, it usually takes us a couple of days to create your card, but you'll be welcome to visit with a temporary card in the meantime." Grace stared at the envelope, not quite daring to pick it up as though, if she touched it too soon, Maxwell would reveal it had only been a joke. Carte Blanche wasn't simply the most exclusive club in town; its reputation spread down the entire east coast. In her younger years, Grace had met a few players who had boasted they were members, although none of them had ever shown the famed card that would have proved it. She could hardly believe she was being invited to join. Their drinks arrived, two slim champagne flutes filled with golden bubbles and a tumbler of dark red liquid. The waitress left all three on coasters on the table. Maxwell picked up the flute closest to him and seemed to wait for Grace to do the same. Before she did, she took the tumbler and handed it to Ray. "Thank you, Mistress Red,” he murmured as he took it from her. He, too, waited for her to pick up her glass and take her first sip before drinking. "Champagne is quite appropriate,” Maxwell commented. “New Dominants are always celebrated here. Especially ladies." He raised his glass toward her in a toast, and she nodded briefly in response. "You don't have many Dommes?” she asked, happy to finally have the opportunity to gather information. "We accept only the best,” he replied, although it wasn't really answering her question. She noticed the look he gave the envelope she still hadn't touched, and decided that maybe picking it up was best, lest he changed his mind. Taking hold of it, she placed it in her lap. "What about the subbies?” she asked after taking another sip from her drink. “I guess you have more of them. Many vampires among them?" From the corner of her eye, she saw Ray freeze, his glass halfway to his mouth. She thought he would look up at her, but he didn't. Although she would have been unable to explain why, she followed her instinct and ran the fingers of her free hand through his hair again. He relaxed into her touch. She smiled to herself. "A few of our members are vampires,” Maxwell said cautiously. “I'm afraid confidentiality rules forbid me to say more than that." As she tried to figure out a way to get around his reserve, Maxwell drained the rest of his glass and placed it on the table. "It was a pleasure talking to you,” he said as he stood. “Please, feel free to order anything else you may want, and bring us back your application soon. We'll be glad to have you with us."

She didn't even have time to say goodbye since already he was striding away. She thought for a moment that she had chased him away with too many questions, but as she followed him with her eyes she realized his haste had probably been due to the woman he was now approaching. Vexed that he had left so fast, she finished her champagne and considered Ray at her side. Was it worth raising his suspicions by asking him about fellow vampires after he had heard her ask the same kind of questions to Maxwell? He had claimed that he didn't play with anyone other than his Master, but for all she knew his Master had given him permission to play with others before, and MacAlair could have been one of them. Even if part of her wanted to trust he'd never hurt anyone, and especially not someone to whom he had given control over himself, she realized she had no reason to believe any such thing. Until she found more information, he was a suspect, and she needed to treat him as such. The half-formed fantasy of coming back purely for play and finding him again disappeared beneath her duty. She finished her glass and said, “Stand up." Ray appeared startled by the order, but he stood nonetheless, clearly hesitating as to what he ought to do with his unfinished drink. Grace reached for the card on his belt, unhooked it, then clipped it back in place, this time hanging with the red side facing upward. "Why?” he asked, looking at her with his head tilted just so in puzzlement. She forced herself to smile. “I have a feeling you won't be submitting to anyone else tonight.” She stood, catching the envelope before it could fall to the floor. “Good night, Ray." "Why leave so early?” he asked. “We could—" "Early for a vampire,” she interrupted before he could tempt her. “Not for me." His eyes darted to the envelope in her hand. “But you'll be back,” he said, making the statement sound like a question. She only replied with another smile before walking away. As long as he was a suspect, she couldn't possibly come back and risk compromising her work. Once they found MacAlair's killer, however, maybe it would be all right to return. **** Hanging from Ray's belt, his card identified him as in a dominant mood, but the truth was something else altogether. Mistress Red was leaving the club, freeing him from her temporary rule, and still Ray felt the quiet peace of mind that only came when he let go of who and what he was to offer himself to someone. The pain that radiated though his backside couldn't have been more welcome in that regard, a precious reminder of the scene they had played. Even the glass in his hand was part of it all. She had ordered that drink for him, he supposed, hoping to please him. Ray had known before even tasting the mix of blood and alcohol that he wouldn't like it. As a rule, he liked his blood warm and without anything in it, which was why he never ordered blood at the bar in Carte Blanche. Nevertheless, even now that she had left, he kept taking small sips of the beverage, intent on finishing what she had offered him. He sat down on the sofa she had vacated, and could have sworn he could still sense her warmth, as unlikely as he knew it was. He closed his eyes to hold on to the calm and contentment he felt. His painful hard-on did not even begin to spoil his satisfaction. He wanted to come; no, he was desperate to come. However, every second that passed with his cock hard, aching and untouched was another second spent submitting to both his Sire and Mistress Red. The mere thought of it was almost enough to make him come in his pants without another touch.

The sofa cushion shifted as someone sat next to him, but he couldn't be bothered to look and see who it was. He took another mouthful of blood and champagne; he wasn't getting used to the mix. "Ray?" A hand rested gently on his thigh. He looked down at it, a little annoyed, and followed the lace-covered arm with his eyes. One of the two girls he had been playing with earlier—he couldn't have remembered her name at that moment to save his own life—was curled up in the sofa next to him. She gave him a hopeful look. "Would you like to dance?” she asked with a little simper. “Or maybe you're too sore. She was very..." Paying no mind to her chattering was a simple matter of concentration, demanding no more effort than ignoring a buzzing fly. Her hand, however, was more difficult to ignore, especially when it was kneading his thigh, slowly making its way upward toward parts of Ray that would have wanted nothing more than to be touched. The idea to take her up on what she was offering, what she had offered in the past, never even brushed his mind. In one long gulp, he finished his drink and stood, startling the girl at his side. He left her there without a goodbye, a small part of him realizing that he was being rude and yet utterly unable to care. Pleasure and pain were still humming through his body and mind. If he couldn't serve a Mistress or Master anymore tonight, he preferred to go home. He didn't need to speak to pay his bar tab or retrieve his jacket from the coat check. Both only required him to hand over his card and nod in thanks when it was handed back to him. He slipped the jacket on after stepping out of the club. The leather settled on his shoulders, heavy against his bruised flesh, and he shrugged into the feeling to accentuate it a little more. By pure habit, he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and turned it back on. He was a little surprised when the phone chirped at him, announcing a message. With a few touches of his thumb, he opened his inbox. The one line made him smile. Call when you're done playing. K. He walked a little faster toward the apartment, only two blocks away, wondering the entire time whether Keller would want details—and whether those details would incite him to come back. It wasn't like him to go away like this, leaving Ray behind without a word of explanation. Ray had thought about everything he had done and said in the days and nights preceding Keller's departure, long days and even longer nights without any play, but try as he might, he couldn't figure out what he could possibly have done wrong. The five flights of stairs had rarely seemed so long. The lock creaked as always when he turned the key. He pressed the preset number as he took his first step inside the apartment and shrugged out of his jacket while the phone rang. Keller picked up on the third ring and bypassed greetings to immediately ask: "Where are you?" Leaving his jacket in the living room, Ray crossed the apartment straight to the bedroom and gingerly sat down at the desk to take off his shoes. “Home. You?" Predictably, Keller ignored the question. “When did you get my message?"

It should have been tempting to lie, especially when Keller had no way of knowing he was being lied to. The idea however did not even present itself to Ray. “When I left the club." He stood and picked up the drawing pad from the desk along with a pencil and went to lie down on his stomach on the bed, only stopping to straighten up the heavy comforter. In his ear, Keller's sigh was ominous. "What did my message say exactly?" The pencil slid with a familiar scratching noise on the heavy paper and left a curve in its wake, the line stark on the bright white pad. "To call you." A few quickly drawn lines, a little shading, and the curve became a lovely feminine hip. "What did my message say exactly?” Keller repeated as though Ray hadn't said a word. Ray lifted the pencil off the page, leaving the silhouette faceless for now, and flipped back through the pad until he found the drawing he wanted. Unfinished as well, it hinted at the features of an angry Keller. The pencil caressed the eyelid, adding a couple of thin eyelashes. "To call when I was done playing,” he said. “And I didn't. Are you mad enough to come back and punish me?" The silence, on the other end of the line, told Ray all he needed to know. “What did I do?” he asked, biting the words. On the paper, the pencil was furiously running back and forth, adding a gray background around Keller's face. “What did I do to chase you away? And what am I supposed to do for you to come back?" "Not everything is about you, Childe." The bored tone of Keller's voice hit Ray like a slap. The tip of the pencil slipped on the paper, marring the drawing with a thick line bisecting Keller's face. Ray stared at what he had done; hours of work ruined in a careless second. "Childe?” Keller said impatiently after a few seconds. "Yes." "Tell me about your night." The decision was surprisingly easy to make. He closed the pad and turned over onto his back. Pain blossomed again everywhere he touched the bed. When he closed his eyes, Mistress Red seemed almost close enough to touch. "Nothing much to tell." If Keller didn't care enough to be there, didn't care enough to apply the logical consequence to a transgression, then maybe he didn't need to hear about someone who did care. And next time Ray needed to play, maybe he wouldn't bother to ask permission

Chapter 6 Children were running past her as Grace bent down to kiss Laura's cheek. Her daughter dutifully stood still but rolled her eyes. "Mom, come on, do you have to?” She wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her jacket. “You're supposed to be tough and stuff." "Tough and stuff?” Grace repeated, amused. “Am I, now?" "Of course you are.” Laura sighed as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You're an S.E." Grace wasn't sure whether to smile or be scared of the lingering awe in Laura's voice every time she pronounced those two letters. "And as such, I have the right to kiss my daughter goodbye,” she said. “Now go. Be good." She watched Laura skip away, her pleated skirt dancing around her. She joined a group of girls, and they all entered the school together. Even then, Grace stayed on the sidewalk a little longer, not really seeing anything. After her divorce, she had taken a few months to think before deciding to finally use her Special Enforcer license, so long after she had earned it. If not for Laura, she wouldn't have waited to make up her mind; she had wanted this for a long time. Her daughter had changed everything, however. Working as a Special Enforcer and tracking vampires who murdered humans wasn't the safest line of work she could have chosen. It had taken a meeting with Hugo and his assurances that the job of S.E., in this town, wasn't anywhere as dangerous as what she had been warned about at the academy, for Grace to finally tell Laura that she wouldn't be a stay-at-home mom anymore. Laura had taken the information in stride and excitedly asked if Grace would come talk to her class on career day. Shaking herself into motion, Grace got back into the car and drove to the agency. The small, shop-like building stood in the center of the town, the faded awning announcing ‘Hugo Tyler, Special Enforcer.’ Hugo had promised that when he retired, he'd get a new awning with Grace's name on it. Most mornings, she arrived there first, and started her day by listening to the messages on the machine. They varied from day to day, but most fell into two distinct categories: concerned citizens who reported seeing vampires on their street, and remorseful ones who needed a spell cast on their home after inviting a vampire in. This time, however, Hugo was already seated at his desk. Dark circles beneath his eyes revealed he had probably not gotten much sleep. "Last night was a bust,” he said as soon as she entered. “But we do have a lead." Grace shrugged out of her jacket and walked through the customer area toward his desk in the middle of the room. "And what lead is that?” she asked, knowing not to take Hugo's abruptness personally. "MacAlair's address book.” He pointed to a slim black notebook in front of him. “There's a couple of

names in there that came up as vampires after a quick check. You feeling up for some more ground work?" Grace looked around the office. In the back, a table hosted a computer, printer, and scanner, along with the coffee maker Hugo couldn't live without. On the wall behind Hugo's desk, books piled high on shelves that bent beneath their weight. On the opposite wall, closer to Grace's desk, wooden cabinets hosted case files as well as spell supplies. She had spent the past five weeks in here, transferring thirty years worth of reports to the computer, scanning pictures of known vampires and reorganizing spell books as well as supplies. "When do we leave?" Hugo smiled. Twenty minutes later, she was parking in front of what, a few years earlier, had been one of the most desirable apartment buildings in town. There were better ones now, more exclusive ones. The building, however, had lost nothing of its elegance. Getting out of the car, she looked up the sleek façade of glass and marble, and thought ruefully of her own apartment. "Where do vamps get money, anyway?” she grumbled. Hugo chuckled as he hobbled ahead of her. “Been asking myself the same thing for thirty years. Closest I can figure out, compound interest has a lot to do with it.” He stopped and rummaged in his overcoat's pocket. “You've got your badge, right?" Grace nodded. For years, she had kept that badge, the proof that she had successfully completed the academy training, hidden at the very back of her sock drawer. Since the day she had decided to join Hugo's agency, she'd kept it on her at all times. Even the previous night, when she had gone to Carte Blanche, she had brought the badge with her, hidden in the inside pocket of the coat she had left at the entrance. They found the super easily enough. He opened his door to them, a television remote still in hand. Short and stout, he seemed to be in his fifties, maybe. Hugo lost no time showing him his identification badge and explaining why they were there. "Of course I know him,” the super said with a sniff. “Never had a complaint about him. You're sure that's the vamp you're looking for?" "We just want to ask him a few questions,” Grace jumped in. “Nothing more." At least, not for now, she mentally added. "The rent's paid for two more months. Standard agreement. I haven't seen him for the past few days though. I don't think he's here." Hugo's smile was more teeth than niceness. “Mind opening up for us?" The man gave a shrug. “I can't say I'll be glad to, because if you ask me, you guys should have to get a warrant, like the police for humans. But I'm not the one making the laws, am I?" Hugo clapped him on the back as the man led the way up the stairs.

"And if the law asked for me to get a warrant, believe me, I wouldn't ask you to open that door without one." The man kept grumbling under his breath, though it might have been in regard to the five flights of stairs more than it was about civil liberties denied to vampires. The elevator was apparently out of service. He unlocked the door for them, giving the key an extra turn to make sure it'd lock back behind them when they were done, then left them to return, presumably, to his television. "Badge around your neck,” Hugo murmured. “And stake in hand. We're not here to kill, but we better be prepared for anything." Grace nodded to show she understood, and readied herself as he had indicated. At her second nod, Hugo pushed the door open and stepped in first, calling out loudly: "Keller Owens? I'm a Special Enforcer, and I need to talk to you. Do not attack, or you will be in breach of the law and I will have to kill you. All I want is to talk." There was no answer as they walked through the darkened living room. Venetian blinds on the window let in just enough light that they didn't bump into the few pieces of furniture. The heavy scent of cigarettes made Grace's nose twitch. Hugo stopped to look around, maybe searching for a light switch, and Grace continued to advance toward the hallway and the several doors she guessed were there. She tried to keep her breathing under control, but her heart continued to beat too fast. When she had been at the academy, she had dreamed of doing something like this. It had just dawned on her that a decade later, the thrill had not faded in the slightest. A light flickered on ahead of her, and she moved forward. She stepped through the open door at the end of the hallway, entering a bedroom and discovering the most unlikely sight she could have imagined finding. Ray was standing by the king-sized wooden bed. The sheets were tangled up behind him, but he was clearly alone—and naked, what looked like pajama pants in his hand. His eyes widened as he saw her, and his mouth opened. He didn't say a word, however. Instead, he dropped the pants and smoothly lowered himself to his knees, his arms sliding in position behind him. Already, his cock stood at half-mast. A flash of heat spread through Grace. There couldn't possibly have been a worse time for this, but that didn't stop her from feeling an intense rush of power at the idea that the simple sight of her could make him hard. "Stand and get dressed,” she hissed. “Now!" Relief flooded her when he obeyed without questioning her with more than a frown. Hugo's voice rose from the hallway. "Grace? Found something?" He walked in behind her just as Ray was pulling on the drawstrings of his pants. "I guess you did,” he said, his amused tone making it clear that he thought she had walked on a naked Ray. Raising his voice, he pointed at the badge hanging on his chest. “I am Hugo Tyler. This is Grace

Alkins. We are Special Enforcers. Are you Keller Owens?" Ray looked at Hugo, then his eyes came back to Grace, settling on her badge with a bemused expression. "No. My name is Ray. Ray Evelt." Grace felt like she had to say something to let him know where they stood. It would be easy for him to betray her, and there wasn't much she could do to stop him if he decided to. "Are you a vampire?” she asked, meeting his eyes as calmly as she could. His eyebrows twitched, and he came close to smiling. “How did you guess?" "We're looking for Keller Owens,” Hugo said. “Does he live here?" "Define live.” Ray shook his head as he walked around the bed to pick up a pack of cigarettes on the desk to Grace's left. “But if you mean does he reside here, the answer is yes. Usually. He's not here now, though.” He lit up a cigarette, took a deep drag and looked back at Grace. “Although you probably guessed that, too." Thinking back on what he had told her the previous night, she understood what he wasn't quite saying. Owens was his Sire, the Master he had told her hadn't played with him in days. "Do you know this woman?” Hugo continued, oblivious to the tension in the room. He pulled out the picture of MacAlair from his pocket and approached Ray, showing it to him. Ray barely glanced at the picture before answering. “No." Right away, Grace knew he was lying. She didn't know exactly what had clued her in, but she had heard him tell the truth before, and this wasn't it. His voice was off in some way, or maybe there was something in his eyes. She just couldn't call him on it, not with Hugo in the room. That would have raised too many questions she had no desire to answer. "Where were you the night before last?” Hugo asked. "At a club, two blocks from here." Hugo put the picture away and pulled out a slim notepad. “What club is that?" "It's called Carte Blanche." Another flash of heat coursed through Grace when she heard him say those two words. They sounded almost indecent, coming from his lips. "Where is your ... friend?” she asked, trying to focus again on what she was supposed to be doing. "I don't know. He's been away for a few days." Grace noticed that Hugo was looking around the room. She wondered what he was looking for, but couldn't bear to keep her eyes off Ray for very long.

"Do you have a picture of him?” Hugo asked when he didn't find what he was looking for. Ray laughed. “A picture? No, I don't.” He chuckled a little more, but now he sounded bitter. “I really don't." Curiosity devoured Grace, and it was all she could do to stop herself from asking questions that would have been fine at Carte Blanche, but that were unimaginable in Hugo's presence. She settled for something that would be helpful to their search. "What does he look like?" Ray tilted his head as he considered her through a cloud of smoke. “My height, short brown hair, dark eyes." Hugo snorted. “You just described half the vampires I staked in the last thirty years." "I'll suggest he dye his hair blue when I see him next, then,” Ray said, deadpan. “Will that help?" "I could arrest you for impeding our investigation." The threat did not seem to affect Ray in any way. “You're Special Enforcers, not cops. You can stake me if I kill a human, not arrest me if I don't play your games. You didn't even tell me what you want with him." "He's a suspect in a murder,” Grace said, observing him closely for a reaction. There was none, which only meant that he was controlling himself very tightly. She couldn't tell whether he was taken aback by the accusation or if it came as no surprise to him. She wished she could have asked, but they would have needed to be alone for that. That was when she saw it. His left eyebrow rose, just enough for her to notice after she had been watching him so closely. She looked at his eyes, and the invitation was there to see him later, and ask if she still wanted to. If that was what it took, she supposed she could bear to go to Carte Blanche again. It wouldn't be too much of a hardship. She nodded, and he smiled.

Chapter 7 For the rest of the day after the two Special Enforcers had left, Ray moved restlessly through the apartment, unable to focus on anything for more than a few minutes. He tried to sit at the desk and draw, but each new sketch he started was lacking in some way. In no more than five minutes, he wasted as many sheets. Lighting a cigarette, he went to sit in front of the television. Nothing grabbed his attention, and he kept going from channel to channel until he tired of it. He turned the television off again and returned to the bedroom. His eyes immediately found the cell phone on the night table where he had dropped it the previous night. "Did he kill her?” he asked the empty room.

The silence that answered slid like ice over him. Crushing what was left of his cigarette in an ashtray, he went to pick up the phone and sat down on the bed. His thumb poised on the preset button, he remained frozen for long minutes before realizing that he couldn't make himself call Keller. He should have called him. It would have been the sensible thing to do. Keller needed to know he was a suspect in a murder investigation, so that he could come back to clear his name—or stay away and safe. The trouble was, Ray didn't want Keller to stay away, and neither did he want him to come back only because of the investigation. Caught between his duty as a Childe and his pride as a lover, Ray found himself unable to act. Maybe, he told himself, after he talked to Mistress Red—Grace, the other S.E. had said her name was—he would have a better idea as to whether Keller had killed that woman. In the middle of his worrying about what Keller might have done or not and why, the thought struck Ray without warning. He wondered whether she'd allow him to call her Grace, now that he knew her name. It certainly fit her better than Mistress Red. He shook the idea away. Whether she allowed it or not, it wasn't up to him to ask for that privilege. In fact, it might be tricky to get information from her if he wasn't allowed to ask questions. With a sigh, he laid down on his back. He wished he still felt the aftereffects of the scene he had played with Grace the previous night, but the pain had been completely gone when he had awoken to the uncomfortable realization that intruders had entered his lair. Still half asleep, he had thought he was dreaming when he saw her standing there, just a few feet away from him, when he hadn't been sure he would ever see her again. His surprise at realizing she was truly there had only been matched by the discovery that she was a Special Enforcer. It made sense, though, and explained the tentative questions she had been asking the previous night—as well as those she would undoubtedly ask later. It had to be different, this time. They had to meet as equals if he could hope to ask questions of his own. It wasn't how he had imagined a second meeting would go, but a different game could be fun, too. This was why, when Grace entered the club that night, Ray's card was turned with the red side up. Slow but loud music filled the dance area, making it impossible for him to hear her this time. Swaying gently against his dancing partner, he kept her eyes on Grace as she stepped down the staircase. She wore tight black leather pants that molded to her ass perfectly when she turned around. With every movement, her black shirt showed the light sheen of silk. Ray watched her hand an envelope to Maxwell and receive a temporary card in return. She clipped it at her waist and accepted a drink before turning to the club. Her eyes swept the crowd; Ray could tell exactly when she noticed him. He grinned. "Ready, sweetheart?" Lea shivered at his murmur, and her arms closed a little tighter against him when he brushed his lips against her shoulder. Her skin, flawless ebony on every other inch of her body, was marred with several bite marks there, only one of which was Ray's. "Always, sir,” she replied, the anticipation thick in her voice. “And ready for more if you change your mind." "Not tonight, but thank you." He kissed her lightly before closing his mouth over her skin and dropping his fangs as slowly as he could.

Lea let out a quiet sigh that became a breathless moan when he pulled on her blood, tight and slow. Her hands clasped his back; she would have been clawing him if not for his shirt standing in the way. The scent of lust rising from her had been thick already, but it doubled suddenly, even as her desire spiked her blood with the faintest tang of sex. Ray started letting go, and her heart stuttered against his chest. "No,” she gasped. “Not yet, just a little—" He pulled on her skin again, hard, breaking the small capillaries around the closing wounds and raising a bruise around them that he was sure would be just a shade darker than her skin. She shuddered in his arms and relaxed, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "Thank ... thank you, sir,” she murmured, her voice thick with pleasure. Ray brushed his lips against the bite just to feel her body tremble one more time against his. "You're quite welcome. Always so sweet." She hummed lightly at the compliment, content. They continued to sway with the music amid the rest of the dancers. Some of them had noticed what was going on, Ray was sure, but it was hardly unusual at Carte Blanche. There was a rule against vampires biting humans in public areas of the club, but it wasn't enforced. As long as it remained consensual, there really wasn't anything that was frowned upon in the club. Past the arch that separated the dance room from the sitting room next to it, Grace's eyes were ice. She had sat down on a sofa that faced the dancers, the hand that held her glass leaning on the armrest, the other one thrown on the back of the sofa. She had watched Ray bite Lea without flinching or looking away, but with each passing moment, he could see her features becoming harder. She finished her drink in one long swallow that bared her throat then placed the empty glass on the coffee table in front of her. She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again the other way. The entire time, her eyes remained on Ray. When her fingers started tapping impatiently on the armrest, he figured he had made her wait long enough. "You should sit down,” he murmured in the shell of Lea's ear. “Munch on something. Have some juice." "I'm fine,” she protested. “I'm used—" "That wasn't a suggestion, Lea." She tensed against him, then dropped her arms from his back, waiting for him to let go of her waist before she pulled away. "Yes, sir,” she replied meekly, her eyes downcast. “I'm sorry, sir." "Go, now. And be safe." She looked up just long enough to press her lips to his cheek before scurrying off toward the bar. He watched her go and shook his head lightly. He'd let her do that the first time they had played; he could hardly reproach that small kiss to her now when he had said nothing the first time. Regardless, he had other plans for the moment. He looked back toward Grace and couldn't help but grin as he started toward her.

She didn't respond to his greeting when he got to her, nor did she reply when he asked if she wanted another drink. Shrugging, Ray sat down in the armchair opposite her. "It was quite a lovely surprise to see you this morning,” he said after a few seconds. “I wouldn't have expected—" Her head whipped to the side, and she raised her hand toward a passing waitress, ignoring Ray completely. "Another fruit cocktail,” she asked, her voice cold as winter. “And the child will have a glass of warm milk." The waitress threw Ray a startled look before hurrying away. This had definitely not been part of his plans. "Listen,” he started, more calmly than he felt capable of, “there's no need—" "If you insist on acting like a child,” she interrupted him again, “I will treat you as one." That was all she said, but her piercing gaze flickered down for a second, settling on Ray's card, before coming back up to look straight at him. Her left eyebrow rose expectantly even as her fingers resumed their impatient dance on the armrest. Ray found himself struggling not to squirm beneath that cold stare. "I didn't mean—" "You do realize you're only making things worse for yourself, don't you?" It was the complete certainty in her voice that decided him. She had no intention to treat him as an equal. If he was honest with himself, deep down, he had known she wouldn't—and he might even have been disappointed if she had, the same way he had been disappointed when Keller had accepted insubordination from him. Resigned and a little aroused, he stood and reached for the card at his belt, flipping it over in an instant. He started sitting back down, but she stopped him with a terse command. "Go wash your mouth." The urge to roll his eyes at her was almost too strong to resist. He gave her a little bow before turning away and walking over to the restrooms. The hunter green tiles, darker walls and black doors enclosing five stalls, the bright lights above him and the square mirrors over the three porcelain sinks were all new to him. He had, of course, never needed to use the facilities. He glared into the mirror when he stepped in front of the sink. It had been eight years, but he still wasn't getting used to his lack of reflection. Keller said that, in time, he'd get used to everything, but it was sometimes difficult to believe. Head down, he watched water run from the gleaming faucet, his hands clutching the sides of the sink. Slowly, his irritation abated and his thoughts calmed down. He couldn't begrudge Mistress Red for acting like a Dominant; it was who and what she was, after all. Cupping his hands beneath the flowing water, he leaned in to rinse his mouth, as she had demanded. When he walked out of the bathroom, he kept his eyes lowered and returned to Mistress Red. His state of mind now matched the color of his card perfectly, which was probably what she had hoped to achieve

when she had sent him away. Rather than sitting down across from her as before, he slid to his knees by her feet, his wrists crossing at the small of his back. On the table next to him, a tall, clear glass waited. The smell of warm milk tickled his nose, reminding him unpleasantly that she was upset with him. He would have apologized, but that would have meant talking without permission. He figured he had disappointed her enough for one night. "Let's make something clear,” she said after a few seconds. “That little display on the dance floor was meant for me, wasn't it?" Ray kept his eyes on the tip of her right boot, just inches from him on the carpeted floor. “Yes, Mistress Red." "Your ... friend consented to it?" The disgust was thick in her voice now. She had barely bated an eyelash the previous night when discovering he was a vampire, and he had thought she either did not care or was a vampire groupie. Now, though, he could easily believe that she was in fact a Special Enforcer. Ray felt like explaining himself, and claiming he had never taken a drop of blood that hadn't been offered to him. She hadn't asked, however, and so he bit back what he wanted to say, and simply answered her question. "She did, Mistress." She grumbled under her breath, something about stupid children making her job more difficult than it needed to be. The remark clearly wasn't meant for his ears, or Ray would have pointed out that Lea was probably a few years older than she was. She ran her hand through his hair, like she had the night before, and tugged until he was looking up. "What was the point of that show, exactly?” she asked after a few moments of scrutinizing his face. Ray's throat felt dry, suddenly. “I ... I just..." "Speak up." He raised his voice and tried not to stutter. “I wanted to show you I'm not powerless." She appeared perplexed by his answer. “What gave you the impression that I see you as powerless?" That she even had to ask when he was kneeling at her feet threatened to make Ray laugh uncontrollably. “I submit to you,” he pointed out, trying to keep his tone as neutral as he could. "And that makes you powerless?” she insisted. “How? I thought yesterday proved that you got exactly what you wanted. If anything, I didn't." Ray opened his mouth, ready to explain it to her since she couldn't grasp something so basic, but he quickly found out that he didn't know how to explain. His mind echoed with Keller's voice and words reminding him, every night, in a hundred different ways, that he was powerless in front of his Sire, that he had been turned to serve him, and obey him in all things. Something deep inside him, in the same place where the urge to bite and feed from a warm, living throat hid, had vindicated those words, made him see the truth of them. This same ‘something’ that he called his demon in the privacy of his own mind now merely pointed out that all he had to do was stand up, flip his card over and return to the dance floor.

Nothing forced him to stay where he was, nothing obliged him to play with anyone, as a submissive or as a Dominant. He was on his knees because he wanted to be. He wasn't powerless; he was simply deciding—and there was nothing simple about this decision now that he thought about it—to lay his power and free will at her feet for the time being. "Ray?” she chided him. “I asked you a question." "I don't know how to answer, Mistress Red. Maybe I was wrong." She seemed to search his face for a few seconds. Whatever she found, it had to be enough because she finally let go of his hair and nodded lightly. Ray returned to his contemplation of her boot, more shaken by his own little discovery than he would have liked to admit. "Finally talking sense. I guess there'll be no need to feed you milk and send you to bed with a spanking like a naughty boy after all." A shiver ran through his body at those words, just like she had probably known would happen. The smile was clear in her voice when she added, more quietly, “Or maybe just the spanking, then." Ray's cock stirred in the confines of his pants, and a simple word escaped his lips. "Please." She clucked her tongue in reprobation. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We have some unfinished business to discuss.” She paused for a second as though considering her words. “You lied to us this morning." He didn't reply, didn't move a muscle, even though that accusation made him want to squirm in anticipation of the punishment he was sure it would earn him. "Nothing to say in your defense?” she asked impatiently. Ray struggled to keep his voice level. “You didn't ask me a question, Mistress." She snorted. “Fair enough. Let me try again. Why did you lie to us this morning?" Yet again, her fingers wove into his hair. Ray started raising his head without waiting for the tug he knew would come. "We weren't playing,” he explained, meeting her eyes and remembering how wide they had been that morning when she had realized who was standing in front of her. “You weren't Mistress Red then." Her expression became thoughtful, and she briefly inclined her head. “I guess not,” she conceded, “although you did drop to your knees for me, didn't you?" Ray allowed a small smile to come to his lips. “It took me a little while to realize I wasn't dreaming." Her face revealed nothing of what she thought, but both her scent and her heartbeat betrayed her. The first was spiked with a hint of lust suddenly, while the second jumped as though she had just been running.

"No dreams now,” she said slowly. “And no more lies. Did you know the woman my colleague asked you about?" He hesitated, no longer than a second, but her fingers tightening in his hair called him to order. "I did." She didn't appear surprised in the least, and her next question came without a beat. "Did you meet her here?" "Yes." "Did you play with her?" Ray's mouth opened to deny he had, but his answer changed before it came out. The way he saw it, he had not played with her; he had been playing with Keller, and Keller had merely demanded that he submit to MacAlair as some sort of experiment. He doubted Mistress Red would see things the same way, however. "Yes." She seemed to ponder her next question, taking a little longer to ask it. “Your Sire gave you permission to play with her like he did last night?" Ray felt like chuckling at the somewhat bitter memory. “Not exactly, no. He gave me to her." Shock bloomed on her face, as unexpected as an exotic flower in an arctic landscape—and as beautiful. She must have noticed how closely he was looking at her because she suddenly let go of the strands of hair through which she had been twinning her fingers. Ray dutifully dropped his gaze. "Your Sire is Owens, isn't he? Keller Owens?" "Yes." "How well did he know her to ... to give you to her?" Ray struggled to resist the urge to look back at her. Was she asking because of her investigation, or was that a more personal question? "She played here often,” he offered, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy her. "And Owens? How often does he play?" It felt wrong, to hear her say Keller's name. It felt even worse to answer her. Ray had to remind himself that anyone else in the club would have been able to give her the same information to be able to push the words out. He wasn't betraying his Sire, he repeated to himself; he wasn't, even if it felt like it. "Most nights." Her heart jumped again, betraying the same tension her voice held. “Is he here tonight?"

"No." More than he wanted to say had to have transpired in that simple word, because she asked, “You really don't know where he is, do you?" Ray pushed away suspicions and half-formed guesses. “No, Mistress, I don't." "Why did he leave you behind?" Ray had asked himself the same thing dozens of times in the past few days. He had even asked Keller, a couple of times. He could have given her a hundred reasons, but the truth remained that he didn't know. Maybe he had made a mistake, one more, one too many. Maybe it was all a test of some sort. Maybe Keller had simply tired of him. "I asked you a question, Ray,” she said mildly after a few seconds had passed. "I'm sorry, Mistress Red. I have no answer." One more time, she tugged at his hair, angling his head so she would see his face when he replied. “Did he kill her?" It was tempting to say no, and maybe push her away from considering Keller as a suspect. If she thought he was lying, however, it might make things worse for both Keller and Ray. "I don't know,” he replied, meeting her gaze and willing her to see he was telling the truth. "Did he have any reason to kill her?” she insisted. Something broke in Ray at finding himself forced again to question his loyalty to his Sire. It was one thing for him to purposefully disobey or lie to Keller. It was entirely different to be asked to betray his confidence. "Maybe,” he snapped, “she asked him too many questions he had no reason to answer." A grin slowly emerged on her face, ferocious and almost gleeful. "And maybe someone here needs to learn to watch his tongue."

Chapter 8 With each question Grace asked about Keller Owens, she could see cracks grow in Ray's countenance, and it became a test. How far would she have to push before he pushed back? As it turned out, his breaking point was much closer to the surface than she had expected. She couldn't help grinning when he finally lost control. Now she had a reason to take him to the relative privacy of a playroom. "And maybe someone here needs to learn to watch his tongue." She leaned forward to place her empty glass on the coffee table next to the untouched glass of milk. She had seen the flash of distaste on Ray's face when he had noticed the milk, and while she had had no

intention to make him drink it, it had served its purpose. She remembered being in his place, and having to drink that glass of milk before being sent to stand in a corner like a child for the rest of the night. She couldn't imagine doing the same thing to Ray, even if it would have been the perfect punishment for him. It was obvious how much he craved attention, and denying it to him was bound to hurt him more than blows. She was wondering if, maybe, his Sire had not left him behind for this very reason. She cut short her musings and stood, walking past him with a curt command. "Follow me." She stopped just behind him and watched him carefully. His tension was clear in the rigidity of his back and his fisted hands crossed behind him. She could almost feel him think and argue with himself—was he going to keep playing with her, or would he flip his card again, red side back up, and tell her to go to hell? A few seconds trickled by. When he finally stood and turned toward her, eyes directed at the floor and wrists still at his back, Grace let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She led the way to the back of the club, keenly aware of the gazes following them but confident that Ray's hesitations wouldn't be noticed. Since she had sent him to wash his mouth earlier, he had behaved much better than his little display on the dance floor had led her to believe he would. Knowing she was a Special Enforcer, it had been pure provocation for him to bite a human, willing or not, just yards away from her. He had been quick, however, to place himself back in the position he had chosen the previous night, at her feet and responding to her words and touch in the sweetest way. Had they been alone, she would have avoided antagonizing him once she realized that his Sire was a difficult topic for him. Alone, they were not, however, and as time passed, couples or small groups had settled in the sitting areas around them, close enough to listen to their conversation if they cared to try. Ray knew what she was, and she was fine with that; that didn't mean she wanted everyone in the club to know. When the attendant asked her what kind of room she wanted, she didn't hesitate before asking for a private one. She soon stepped into a playroom identical to the one from the previous night except for the lack of a bay window. The door shut with the soft click of the latch behind Ray, and when she glanced at him, she found him already undressing, folding his clothes methodically and making a neat pile with them near the door. "I didn't ask you to undress,” she said mildly just as he was finishing, and watched him freeze before adding, “although a little initiative in anticipating my needs can be nice. As long as you don't overdo it." He seemed taken aback by the praise—because that was how she meant it, despite the roundabout way in which she had voiced it. "Does your Sire know you're playing tonight? Is there anything you don't have permission for?” she finished before he had time to respond. In front of her, Ray had slid back to his knees, his body a mass of coiled muscles. Unlike the previous night, his cock hung low, interested by the proceedings and yet far from being fully erect. "No, Mistress. To both questions."

"Is that why you're so sullen? Because you're not supposed to be here?" He took so long to answer that she thought she would need to call him to order. When he finally did, his words came slowly, almost reluctantly. "I am sorry if I appear sullen. It wasn't my intention." And that, Grace realized at once, did not answer her question. The fact that he was avoiding giving her a meaningful reply, however, might have been an answer in itself. "I have one more question about Owens. Answer it, and I won't ask anything else about him." She sat down on the bench against the wall and waited for him to give her a sign that he accepted her offer. He didn't look up, didn't speak, but his head moved in a shallow nod. "You said you don't know if he killed her. Do you think it's possible that he did? Look at me when you answer." For close to a minute, he kept his gaze on the floor in front of him. When he finally raised his eyes toward her, the tiniest frown marred his brow. "He is mySire ,” he said, putting more weight on that last word than should have been possible with such a quiet voice. A little annoyed, Grace shook her head. “You're not—" She stopped herself, the meaning of his words jumping at her through her irritation. Owens was his Sire, which meant that he had killed at least once before; he was therefore capable of killing. These same words, however, also explained why Ray was so troubled. Even if she hadn't realized it until now, she had been asking him, with just about each of her questions, to betray his Sire and Master. She almost apologized for it before deciding against it. There were other ways than words. His punishment would be first, though. Leaving him where he was kneeling, she walked over to a shelf on the wall and looked inside the clear Plexiglas box. The scarves were all different, some of them sheer and light as a breeze, others made of a heavy cotton. They could have a multitude of uses, and she could see herself using them to tie him up or caress him with the most elusive of touches. Right then, however, what she wanted was a blindfold. A dark blue bandana-like scarf seemed well suited for that purpose. At the last second, she also grabbed the sheerest, thinnest scarf in the box. "Give me your hands,” she demanded as she walked back to stand in front of him. His palms rose up toward her. She moved them together as though in prayer and tied the sheer scarf around his wrists, maybe a little more tightly than she would have tied a human. "Look at your hands." His eyes came up to look at his hands she was still holding in hers, but whatever he thought of his restraints, his expression showed nothing.

"I know you could rip these to shreds without even trying. If you do, I'll be disappointed. If you don't, I'll reward you. Understood?" His gaze flickered a little higher to meet hers. “Yes, Mistress." She released his hands and grabbed the second scarf she had kept on her shoulder while tying the first. "Do you know why you're being punished tonight?" "Would you like a list, Mistress?" Slowly, she stepped behind him. “Not this time. I trust you could give me details if I asked. Just the main offenses." She watched his back as he replied, admiring not so much how straight he was kneeling, but rather how perfect his skin was, smooth and unmarked. A day after his last punishment, a human would still have worn a few marks, but Ray did not. It only made her want to do better this time and leave a longer-lasting trace on him. "I lied to you. I did not submit at once. I was insolent." "I will forgive the lies as we were as far from the scene as we could be at the time. And the insolence too since I all but asked you to betray your Sire and I realize I shouldn't have." The muscles of his back rippled, the movement revealing he was troubled by her words. She wondered if it was the forgiveness she was offering or her admission of fault that was surprising him most. She knew some Dominants refused to admit ever being wrong about anything. In her mind, however, if she was going to hold her submissive accountable for the tiniest mistakes, she had to hold herself to some standards as well. "So really, the only thing you are to be punished for tonight is looking at Mistress Red and trying to fool yourself into seeing Grace.” Leaning down, she placed the bandana over his eyes and tied it at the back of his head. “I think you need to be reminded how precious the gift of sight can be. And there's no better way for that than to lose it.” She walked back in front of him and examined the blindfold, folding over a corner of the bandana. “Can you see anything?" "No, Mistress." There was a new tightness to his voice that hinted he wasn't too happy at that moment. Grace smiled to herself and took a step back. "Stand up." Arms crossed, she watched him obey. The usual elegance of his every movement was spoiled by a little unsteadiness as he tried to get his bearings. "I want you to lean over the horse, chest completely down and holding the far end." The horse was only about ten feet from him, the four wooden feet bolted to the floor at an angle and supporting a padded platform at waist level. As soon as Grace finished speaking, his head turned in the general direction he needed to go. He hesitated for a second then started taking slow, cautious steps that

revealed his fear of tripping over something. His bound hands were raised in front of him, both searching and guarding him against unpleasant encounters. A little beneath them, his cock bobbed up and down as though playing the same role. "You're very pretty,” Grace mused aloud, causing him to stumble. “Show me just how pretty. Raise your hands over your head and turn around for me. Keep turning until I say you can stop." She moved across the room as he performed his imitation of a ballet figure. Feeling devious, she almost demanded that he continue on the tip of his toes, but decided against it. From the look of concentration on what she could see of his face, she was sure he was trying to keep himself orientated in relation to the horse. She stopped him with a word mid turn, so that he was facing the wall rather than the horse. Without waiting for her to urge him on, he took a step forward—and immediately stopped. His face turned around as though he were looking for the horse, but unable to see, he soon looked straight ahead again and took another step, this one clearly hesitant. "Problem, Ray?” Grace asked sweetly after a few seconds of watching him take single steps this way and that, getting no closer to the horse in the process. "Mistress, I ... I do not know where the horse is anymore." "I see. You are always allowed to ask for help, remember?" He turned toward the sound of her voice and inclined his head. “Yes, Mistress, I remember. Could you please guide me?" "I will.” She moved to stand behind the horse. “Lower your hands but don't hide your cock. Now follow my voice. Do you know why I will guide you? Because you put yourself in my hands. Remember you chose this, Ray. Next time Mistress Red is in front of you, remember you chose her. Not Grace." She fell silent before she could say that he would never have given Grace a second look, and Ray stopped walking at once. He was standing just an arm-length away from the horse. "You're there." He raised his hands again and found the support beam. “Thank you, Mistress.” Orientating himself by touch, he stood at one end of the horse and draped his body on top of it. With his arms stretched out, his hands were in the perfect position to grip the other end. "Good." He seemed to relax a little at the single word of praise. Grace picked up a wooden paddle on the wall behind her, being careful not to make a sound, then walked around the horse to stand behind him. She noted that his cock just rested against the rounded end of the padding and decided to allow that small contact. She doubted it would be enough to distract him once she started. Without warning, she swung the paddle. It hit his ass with a loud smacking sound, pushing his hips forward and into the horse. For the first time, she also pulled a choked moan from his lips. "Ten more has a nice, round sound to it. Count for me." She almost regretted, when his pained voice reached ten with a gasp, having set such a low number. He

moaned beautifully, and his ass had taken a lovely shade of red. Without having prepared him in any way, however, going further would have been too much, too fast. She frowned as she ran a light hand down his back and over his ass. He pushed back into her hand and she swatted him lightly. For a second, she had forgotten he was a vampire, and forgotten she still didn't know what his limits were. She started walking toward the side of the horse, wanting to see his face as she asked him how much pain he was in, but a glimpse of his cock told her all she needed to know. It was harder than ever so far and a shiny strand of precome hung from the tip. She was beginning to think she had been wrong when believing he enjoyed the idea of the punishment more than the actual pain. He might just need both equally. "I've got a choice for you, Ray. Listen carefully, now. Are you listening?" He took a deep breath in and the trembling of his body stopped. “I'm ... I'm listening." "Ten more with the paddle or fifty with my hand." He didn't answer right away, but she didn't mind waiting. She was tempted to ask if she was right—if he was hesitating over which he wanted most rather than which sounded less appealing. If he needed pain more, he'd go for the paddle. If it was punishment he wanted, he'd choose her hand. Unless it was contact he wanted, flesh on flesh— "Your hand, Mistress." Maybe it was the way he said that last word, soft and breathy, or the way his backside wiggled, just a little, as though he hadn't been able to stop himself, but she knew, then, which it was. He wanted to be touched. "Count." Alternating striking one ass cheek then the next, she let him go up to ten, then stopped and came closer to Ray, close enough that her body brushed against the back of his thighs and ass. As he took breaths as shaky as they were unneeded, she slowly caressed him with both hands, covering his entire back from just above his ass to the two sets of healed bite marks, one on each side of his neck. "Which of them are from your siring?" Seconds trickled by before he answered. “Left side." She scratched her nails lightly against the slightly raised scars on the left. He shivered. "And the ones on the right?" "A few ... a few weeks before Keller turned me." So it hadn't been an accident, she thought as she pulled back and set herself in position again. "Eleven." Ray had known the vampire who was to become his Sire, had allowed him to feed from him before. Had he known Owens was looking for more than a few mouthfuls of blood? Twenty came almost too fast. As before, she stepped closer and let her hands play over him, not just

fingertips this time but her palms and the entire length of her fingers as well. For a moment, she thought Ray was moaning, then she realized it was a soft, contented hum she was hearing, almost a purr. "Did you ask him to turn you?" The muscles of his back locked beneath her touch before relaxing again when she kept stroking him. “No." The edge of a blade slipped into Grace's words at the sudden idea that Ray might not have wanted this. “Did he do it without your consent?" "No." Feeling strangely relieved, she touched him a little longer, then resumed the spanking, focusing exclusively on his left ass cheek. When he reached thirty, his voice was as hoarse as though he had been shouting. He sighed when she started touching him again, and the humming purr resumed, just a little louder now. Grace felt almost sorry for having him stop by answering another question. "How long have you had fangs?" "Eight years." She stilled momentarily, surprised. She would have thought it had been much longer than that, though she couldn't have explained why. "How old were you?" "Twenty-three." She chuckled lightly when she realized that they were the same age even though he looked—and always would—like he had just graduated from college. She could guess, by the way he shifted, that he wondered what she was laughing about, but she did not feel like sharing. A step back and to the side and she started again, this time concentrating on the right. By thirty-two, his voice was ragged; by forty, it was no louder than a whisper. She realized her right hand hurt too, when she started rubbing his back again, and had been hurting for some time by the feel of it. She couldn't have cared less, not when he was so beautifully responsive to her touch. It took her a little while before she decided to ask a last question. It felt intrusive, and much too personal. Still, she finally asked, unable to resist the need to know more about him. Ray answered before she even finished. "Have you ever regretted becoming a vam—" "Never." The word was still echoing through her mind as she dealt the last ten blows. "Very good,” she praised as she finished. “Straighten up, now."

He did with a choked moan of pain and turned toward her. He was holding his hands up, pressed to his chest, the thin scarf still intact around them. His cock was almost as brightly red as his ass, begging for contact. "I'm going to touch your dick, now,” she warned. “You still don't have permission to come." His body went completely rigid just a second before she wrapped her fist around the base of his cock. He gave a little jerk that she assumed was involuntary. "Follow me,” she said, and with a little tug led him to the backless bench on the side of the room. Before she could make him lie down on the polished wood, he gasped. “Mistress, can I ... Can I speak?" The breathless quality of his voice intrigued her enough that she gave him permission. “Go ahead." "If you keep touching me, I will come." He wasn't telling her because he wanted to be granted his release, she realized. She hadn't given him permission to come, and he was warning her of his limits. She released her hold on him. "You did the right thing, telling me. You'll always do the right thing asking for help before breaking rules." With a few words and touches to his arm, she had him sit then lie down on the bench, arms extended behind his head. She noticed how he was taking some weight off his ass by arching on his heels. That wouldn't do. She threw a leg over his body and sat down on his thighs, effectively pinning him down. He groaned aloud, the sound ending on a muffled moan when he bit down on his lower lip. She rested her hands in the center of his chest, enjoying the feel of him trembling beneath her touch, but did nothing to cause him to lose what was left of his self-control. "We'll keep chatting while you get yourself under control, then." She watched his face and reached over to take off the blindfold. His eyes were always so expressive; she could guess a lot by looking at them. She felt like something was missing when he was like this. Nonetheless, she pulled her hand back before touching the blindfold. She could see a lot in his eyes, but she had a feeling he could read her just as well, if not better. "What kind of player was Dorothy MacAlair?" The question seemed to surprise him, and she could feel him tense beneath her. "What kind?” he repeated, cautious. “She was a Domme, Mistress." The easiness of his answers when he had been talking about himself was gone. She missed it. "I know that. What kind of Domme? What did she do to you when you played with her?" It was taking him too long to answer what should have been an easy question. She slid her right hand over to his left nipple and pinched the small nub, pulling a surprised cry from his lips.

"Well?” she prompted. "She ... whipped me,” he gasped at another pinch. “Flogged me, too. I think ... she liked that she could hit me more than would be safe for a human." Grace nodded even though he couldn't see her. “Anything else?" "She ... she talked a lot." Her interest perked up at that. She flicked his nipple lazily with her thumb, then switched to the other one. "Talked about what?" She could see how hard he was trying to remain still beneath her almost absentminded touch, and she relented, resting her palms over the hardened nubs but without rubbing them anymore. "About ... I don't know. I wasn't listening all that much." She clucked her tongue. “Do you do the same with me? Pretend to be a good boy and not really pay attention?" "No, Mistress. You don't rant about vampires being your inferiors and needing to be controlled.” He paused, and a wry smile pulled at his lips. “At least, you don't do it while you play." A tap to his cheek reminded him to watch his tongue while Grace thought about what he was saying. If MacAlair had held such opinions about vampires, it might explain why she had ended up the victim of a vampire. It was possible the murder had been politically motivated, and that the killer had only pretended to be a submissive to gain access to her. It was strange however that MacAlair had invited vampires inside her home. Why would she play with them if she despised them? She didn't realize she had voiced the question aloud until Ray answered it. "Because that's just one more way not to be afraid. Dominate vamps, take their rights away.” He passed his tongue on his upper lip before adding: “Become a S.E." She grasped the blindfold and pulled it off with a flick of her wrist. He blinked several times, adjusting to the light, and when his eyes found hers, she put all her conviction in her words. "I did not become a Special Enforcer because I was afraid of vampires." Their eyes remained locked for a few seconds, and finally he nodded, barely moving his head. "As you say, Mistress." He didn't sound convinced, but she let it pass. Something else he had said was intriguing. "What did you mean, take vamps’ rights away?" "She bragged about how close she was to lawmakers. Said she'd have us all branded and—"

The word ended in a choked cry when she twisted his nipple harder than before. "You said you weren't listening to her. Sounds like a lie." "I ... I am sorry, Mistress. I didn't mean—" Another pinch had him fall quiet. His eyes were wide, his mouth open for gasping breaths he didn't need, and Grace realized that he hadn't said he would come if she touched his cock—he had said he would if she touched him, period. Maybe she ought to pull back a little, even if her fingers itched to slide over his skin again. "Who did MacAlair play with?" His voice shook when he answered, but she could see he was calming down. “Anyone who presented a blue card." "Anyone?" "Any man." "Is Owens a switch? Did she—" He burst out laughing at that. Angry, Grace closed her hand over his balls and squeezed until his laughter turned into a pained moan. "I'm sorry, Mistress,” he said with a gasp. “But if you knew him, you'd think it's funny, too. He's a Dom. Never was, never will be anything else. Just like you." She bit her tongue rather than following her impulse to answer that was funny as well. She had no wish to revisit a painful past, and how mistaken she had been to think that two Dominants could be happy together if one of them pretended to be a switch. "And if I may, Mistress...” He sounded serious now, and she gave him a nod to allow him to finish. “You said you wouldn't ask anything about him anymore." She grimaced at that reminder; she hadn't meant to break her promise, but caught in her questions, she hadn't realized she was coming back on her word. She supposed she owed him reparation. Thinking, she trailed a finger from the base of his cock to the wet tip. His hips bucked up before he stilled again. "You're right,” she admitted. “And I promised you a reward. What do you want?" She didn't bother setting limits on her offer, trusting him not to ask for something he knew she wouldn't give. His widening eyes revealed his surprise, but he didn't hesitate for a second. "Please, Mistress Red ... please make me come." Pure heat slid over her at his desperate plea, along with the thought that she would hear him beg again, many times, if she had anything to say about it. It was rather telling, she thought as she ran her finger along his cock again, that even when he could have directed her actions, he had left it up to her how she would make him come, placing himself, yet again, in

her hands—both figuratively and literally this time. She considered her options, her eyes drifting from his cock, so hard and begging to be touched, to his chest, and the smooth skin over tense muscles, to his face finally, and the hopeful look he was giving her. "How close are you?” she asked, and again her finger followed the curve of his cock. He shook beneath her touch. “Very." "Could you come from just the feel of my finger?” she asked idly, repeating the movement. “Like this?" "Yes,” he hissed. Watching him bite down on his bottom lip, she lifted her hand. He groaned at the sudden lack of contact. When she touched him again, it was with two fingers scratching lightly at his left nipple before giving a little pinch. "How about from this?” she asked, and this time the words caught in her throat at the low, keening moan he gave. "Mistress, please..." "How about..." It was a bad idea, and she knew it. It went against the rules she had set for herself. It was too personal, too intimate, too much. Nonetheless, she was going to do it, her rules be damned. She wanted this—no, she wanted a lot more than this, but she wasn't that far gone yet. It took her no more than a second to stand. Loss and confusion swept over Ray's face, but not for long. "No fangs,” she murmured, leaning in toward his face, and covered his mouth with her own. He remained completely still beneath her kiss, only letting her in when she ran her tongue along the seam of his lips. She cupped his face in her hand to angle it just so, and he made a small noise in the back of his throat as her tongue stroked his, then retreated. She waited just a second to see if he would pursue her. When he didn't, she slipped in again and kissed him more deeply. She felt him tense beneath her as he had earlier when warning her he was too close. Pulling back, she nipped at his bottom lip. She thought she had bit him harder than she meant too when he moaned, but his shaking betrayed he hadn't minded. She did it again, and looked down his body just in time to see his cock pulse, releasing a long stream of ejaculate. "Lovely." He shook again at that simple word, and she looked back to his face. Her hand still cradled his jaw, and she stroked her thumb over his cheek until he blinked twice, clearing his eyes of the heavy fog of pleasure that clouded them. "Lovely,” she repeated, and watched his mouth curl into a shy little smile. "Thank you, Mistress.” A spark of hope glinted in his eyes. “May I ask for the opportunity to please you?"

She traced his lips with her finger, then reached for his hands over his head. A few tugs on the knots freed his wrists, and she used the scarf to wipe off the come from his stomach. Then, without thinking, she massaged his wrists gently. Only his slight frown reminded her that he had no blood circulation. Regardless, she continued the useless gesture a few more seconds. "You pleased me. You answered my questions, without lies this time." She let go of his hands and took a step back. "I meant—" "I know what you meant. I'll take a rain check. We're done for tonight." He looked a little disappointed but answered with a perfectly obedient, “Yes, Mistress." She watched him get dressed. Without her needing to ask, he picked up the toys she had used and carried them to the box by the door so the staff would know what needed to be cleaned. Finally, he stood in front of her and presented her with his card in the palm of his hand. She picked it up and clipped it to the collar of his shirt, red side up. He looked down at it, and passed a hand through his hair when he raised his head again. "Red side?" She shrugged. “You said you only play sub to your Sire, didn't you?" He gave her a lopsided smile. “And you, now." She returned his smile before walking over to the door. “Good night, Ray." "Wait." She looked back, questioning him with her eyes, expecting him to ask when she would return. Instead, his question left her speechless for a few seconds. "Won't you ask me if I killed MacAlair?" She considered him thoughtfully. She had not known him for very long, but she was usually good at reading people, and she could not imagine him killing a woman, let alone a Dominant. Then again, maybe she did not want to imagine it. "Did you?” she asked at last. He answered with a quiet yet forceful, “No.” Grace nodded and started for the door again. "Good night, Grace." She almost turned back, but thought better of it. She had given his freedom back to him; she could allow him to use her name. The way it had rolled on his tongue, soft as a caress, continued to echo in her mind as she drove back home. She couldn't remember the last time someone had said her name like this, almost reverently.

It wasn't until her mother took a look at her when she entered her apartment that she realized she was smiling. "You look suspiciously happy for someone who was supposed to be out for work." She tried to wipe away her grin, but couldn't manage to and ended up shrugging. "It was work. It might have turned into pleasure somewhere halfway through it." Her mother looked at her closely, and brushed a strand of hair that had escaped her braid behind her ear. A hint of worry was hiding beneath her smile. "I hope you're safe,” she said very quietly. Without waiting for an answer, she kissed Grace's cheek and said goodnight. It wasn't until Grace went to bed, later that night, after she had checked on Laura's sleep, after she had taken a long shower, after she had brought herself to a quicksilver orgasm that left her curiously unsatisfied, that she started wondering when she would go look for Ray again.

Chapter 9 The rain beat against the glass, relentless and maddening. Ray stood in front of the window, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and bare-chested. A cigarette dangling from his lips, he watched the cloudy skies continue to streak the town with gray. As a human, Ray had found the regular rhythm of the rain soothing. Ever since he had been a child, he'd never slept as well as he had to the sound of pounding rain. All that had changed when he had been turned into a vampire, however. What had once been a quiet white noise had become the most irritating of sounds. Sometimes, Ray felt like each individual drop of rain had its own, distinguishable sound. The accumulation of it could make him feel like he was losing his mind in just minutes; it had been raining without interruption for four hours. He had awoken to the sound of rain and immediately had been taken by a foul mood. Not only was it early in the afternoon, much too soon for him to be up when he had gone to bed at sunrise, but he had also been pulled out of a very interesting dream at the worst possible moment. He had never seen Grace wearing anything else than proper attire, but his subconscious had rather clear ideas about what she looked like naked. As soon as he had rolled out of the too big bed, he had turned on the stereo system as loud as he could bear it, but even heavy guitar riffs and screamed lyrics weren't helping much. The sound of the rain was still there, inescapable. A taxi stopped in the street down below, and Ray tensed, poised on his toes in anticipation. After a few seconds, a figure stepped out of the back and started running across the street. Ray let himself believe for a moment that the man was Keller and that his Sire would soon be coming in through the front door. He even tried to decide how he would react; would he welcome Keller as though he had not left without a word of explanation, or would he give him the cold shoulder? Three nights earlier, with Mistress Red's touch fresh on his mind and body, it would have been easy to answer. She had not come back to Carte Blanche since then, however, and while Ray had played with a couple of submissives, he was feeling the

familiar itch creeping up his spine. It wasn't Keller. Abandoning his contemplation, he strode through the living room and turned off the stereo on his way to the bedroom. He crushed what was left of his cigarette in the ashtray and picked up his cell phone from the desk. After pressing the speed dial for Keller's number, he brought the phone to his ear. He expected it to ring for a while before Keller picked up. Instead, the phone went straight to voice mail, and an automated message greeted Ray. It wasn't even Keller's voice. The beep rang in his ear, and he opened his mouth to leave a message. Nothing came out, however. What could he say to convince Keller to come back that he hadn't said already? He hung up without a word. He considered the phone for a little while. There was only one Special Enforcers agency in the town, he knew where it was, and it wouldn't take him long to find its number. What would he say to Grace, though, once she was on the other end of the line? That he missed playing with her? He wasn't quite that pathetic yet. Annoyed with himself, with the rain, with Keller and Grace both, he dropped the phone back on the desk. His eyes fell on the notepad there. On a whim, he sat down and flipped it open, pencil already in hand before he reached the page he wanted to work on. He hadn't added anything to the outline of Grace's body since starting it. A few strokes broadly defined her face; a few more clothed her in what started as leather gear but turned, halfway through, into a summer dress. Out of the blue, he added an umbrella in her outstretched hand. An idea struck, and he grinned. "Time for your rain check, Grace." He flipped to a new page. Feverishly, he marked the paper in long lines, defining the features of a face he knew almost too well. Sharp angles, a strong, bold nose, cold dark eyes, slim lips set on a sneer, very short dark hair. In moments, the portrait was done. Ray ripped the page off and stood. He threw on a shirt, shoes, his jacket, and was out the door with the rolled portrait in his hand. Twenty minutes later, he was parking Keller's car in front of the town's Special Enforcers agency and thanking the bad weather for allowing him to get there so early in the day. He kept the drawing inside his jacket as he dashed through the rain to the door. Bells chimed, loud and ominous, when he stepped inside. Before they had stopped ringing, he found himself the target of two armed crossbows. By pure reflex, he stopped and raised his hands, showing he was unarmed. Grace was standing behind a desk on his left, her weapon as steady as her partner's on the other side of the room. She lowered her crossbow first. "Mr. Evelt,” she said coolly. “This is an unexpected visit. We don't get vampires very often in here." "I guess you don't.” He cautiously lowered his hands, deeply aware that her partner—he couldn't remember his name—was still aiming a sharp bit of wood at him. As a human, he had found it ridiculous that such a low-tech weapon was able to put an end to an otherwise endless existence. He still found it ridiculous now, but his primal fear of the ancient weapon was stronger than his contempt for it. “With that kind of reception, it's not too surprising vamps aren't falling over themselves coming here." The man didn't react to his feeble joke, but a glance in Grace's direction revealed that she was smiling faintly. "Anything we can do for you, Mr. Evelt?” she asked, walking toward him but staying well out of reach.

She still held the crossbow, though she was now pointing it at the floor. It was strange to hear her be so formal with him and treat him as a stranger after what they had shared. She didn't let on anything when she looked at him. He couldn't help but wonder whether she would have been any friendlier if they had been alone. "Actually, I came here to help you.” He looked back at her partner and unrolled the drawing to show it to him. “Do you still need a picture of Keller?" The man's eyes went back and forth between the drawing and Ray's face a few times before he lowered his crossbow at last. "We do. Is that portrait accurate?" Ray shrugged. He couldn't help feeling a little uncomfortable, even if it wasn't Mistress Red he was about to lie to. “As accurate as I could make it." Cautious steps brought the Special Enforcer closer. He took the portrait from Ray before retreating with a few backward steps. Only when he was past Grace did he take his eyes off Ray. "I'll go scan it,” he told her, his voice betraying his excitement. “We can send it to our informants and see if one of them saw him. We can show it to MacAlair's neighbors as well." He didn't wait for Grace to reply and limped away toward the back of the agency to sit in front of a computer. Ray pushed the man out of his thoughts; he was hardly the first person he had met who couldn't look at a vampire without their scent taking on the acridness of fear. When he looked back at Grace, he realized she had been observing him, and he felt a jolt of contentment at that. He smiled. "I've been waiting,” he started, quiet enough that her partner wouldn't overhear, but she stopped him with a sharp look and a shake of her head. "Did your ... friend return?” she asked, her voice cool and level. Ray wondered who was asking, and why; the Special Enforcer trying to find a suspect or the Dominant, curious to know if her submissive had been playing in her absence. Either way, the answer was the same. "No, he did not." "That's a pity,” she said, though her slight smile belied her words. “If you talk to him, please let him know we're looking for him. The faster we clear up his name, the faster we can move on to other leads." "Maybe you'll find him before me." She didn't look convinced at all. “Maybe, yes. In the meantime, thank you for your help. It's very much appreciated. And if you hear anything from Mr. Owens...” She dropped the crossbow on her desk and picked up a business card and a pen. She scribbled something before handing the card to him. “Please, call us." He looked at the card in his hand. One side bore the name of the agency and a couple of phone numbers. He turned it over between his fingers, and read the few words she had written there.

Don't go to the club tonight. Stay home tomorrow. It was signed ‘Mistress Red'. A pang of desire ran through Ray, making him hard instantly. He looked up at her, certain he was grinning like a lunatic but unable to care in the slightest. "I'll definitely do that,” he murmured. Her slight smile was answer enough. She held out her hand toward him, and he took it without thinking. "Thanks again, Mr. Evelt." They didn't shake hands, just held on to each other. Her hand was warm, soft and strong all at once, exactly the way he remembered it. "My pleasure." Letting go of her was hard. He clutched the card in his left hand as he walked away, and held on to the thought that she would come to him. **** When Grace angled the drawing just right, she could see each pencil line, and could imagine Ray's hand moving over it. The lines that formed the mouth had dug a little deeper into the heavy paper. What did it mean? What had he been feeling or thinking, when drawing these thin lips? The sneering wasn't particularly flattering. Was he angry at his Sire? Did he miss him, as a person, or did he miss having a Master? Somehow, she found herself wishing it were the latter. Judging by his expression when he had read Grace's note, it just might be. "You know, staring at that portrait won't help us find that vamp any faster." Grace looked up at Hugo, embarrassed that she had been caught staring. She shrugged and gave him a small smile. "I just want to be able to recognize him if I see him somewhere." Hugo drew a chair closer to her desk and sat down. He let out a muffled sigh as he took the weight off his leg. He'd promised her, several times, that he would tell her how he had been hurt. So far, however, he'd only given her conflicting hints. She suspected he was enjoying seeing her try to piece it together. "That's a good idea,” he said, picking up the drawing from the desk and giving it a close look. “I've been thinking. You're ready." She leaned back into her chair, both amused and surprised by the announcement. She had felt ready to perform all the duties attached to being a Special Enforcer the moment she had entered the agency, weeks ago. She had taken a few weeks, after her decision to become a S.E., to go back on a stringent training regimen, and had only approached Hugo when she had felt ready to fight. Nonetheless, Hugo had felt he needed to take her through baby steps. "What made you change your mind?" "I've been watching you closely. You know your stuff."

Grace's smile only widened. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that your leg is bothering you more lately." His moustache twitched, a sure sign that he was amused. “Well, maybe that helped too. I've got to say, I had my doubts. I'd never heard of anyone going through the training only to take ten years off before they even started their S.E. career. But these past few days, you've been ... I don't know, stronger. More assertive. You can't hesitate if you're going to be dealing with vamps; one second too late can mean death. And today, you didn't hesitate. You had that crossbow out almost faster than me." He almost sounded like a proud father on that last part. Grace refrained from pointing out shehad been faster, and tried not to dwell on the fact that he had noticed a difference in her behavior since she had started playing on the scene again. "So ... Do you need me to patrol tonight?" She was sure of his answer before he even said a word. He might think she was ready; that didn't mean he was. "Nah, not tonight. But I do have a couple of house calls for you to do before you go home." She couldn't help chuckling. It had been obvious since the first days she had started working for him that performing disinvite spells for people who regretted having invited a vampire into their homes was his least favorite thing to do. "No problem. Do you want me to come by over the weekend?" He stood with a groan and hobbled to his desk, coming back with two assignment slips. “No, no need. I'll call you if anything happens. You'll have enough weekend shifts to pull once you start running this place. Enjoy your freedom while you can." "Didn't you just say I was ready?” she teased him. "You are. But that kid of yours needs her mom.” He waved his hand. “We're done here and you've got those spells to do, why don't you take off early?" His words stayed with Grace as she drove to her first appointment in the suburbs. Laura did need her, but she had also been as supportive as a pre-teen could be in such a situation, promising that she'd be fine if her grandmother had to pick her up from school or stay with her at night while Grace was working. She was lucky, she reflected, that both her daughter and mother supported her like this. It certainly was a nice change from her ex-husband's refusal to let her work as a Special Enforcer. She felt even more blessed when she knocked on her first client's door and introduced herself to a scowling woman. "Thank you for coming so fast,” she said, her face softening into relief. She stepped aside to let Grace in, but she did not verbally invite her in. Grace had a feeling she was not the one who had invited a vampire in her home, and was soon proved right when the woman called out: "Gabe! Come down here!"

A sullen teenager, maybe seventeen, walked down from the second floor, hands thrusts deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched. He stood on the next to last step of the staircase and kept his eyes down after a quick look at Grace. "My son is the one who invited that ... that thing inside." "Mom! She's not a thing!" The woman ignored Gabe's interruption. “I've heard you need him to be present for ... for what you're doing?" Grace tried very hard not to roll her eyes. Rumors abounded about vampires and everything that concerned them; her client didn't seem particularly well informed. "No, it's a simple matter, and I don't need him. I do need a flat surface for a few moments." "Of course. Gabe, go ahead and show this lady to the kitchen." The young man sighed, but he did as he had been asked and led Grace with a quiet, “This way." He leaned against the wall while she emptied her backpack on the kitchen island, and looked back toward the hallway when his mother failed to follow. "So, you're like a vampire hunter?” he asked, still sullen but his interest piercing through his voice. "I'm a Special Enforcer,” she corrected him. "What's the difference?" She took a few seconds to reply, not because she didn't know what to say—she had been asked and had answered the same question before—but rather because she needed her full attention mixing the ingredients for her spell. It wasn't all that complicated, but it needed to be precise. "Vampire hunter,” she finally answered, “was what you called someone who tracked vamps regardless of whether they killed or not before there were laws against hurting harmless vamps. A Special Enforcer will only stake a vampire when there is tangible proof that he or she has killed, or bitten a human without permission.” She looked up at him, her eyes settling on the slight redness of his neck where he was tugging at his shirt's collar. “Anything you want to tell me?" His eyes widened in alarm, and he glanced back again toward the hallway. “No, nothing, nothing at all." "How old are you?" By law, no minor could legally give consent to be bitten, but in practice it was difficult to apply that rule. "I'll be eighteen in two months,” he said, defiant. Shaking her head, Grace focused on the spell, murmuring the words beneath her breath. When she threw a lit match over the ingredients, a flash of light spread out through the house. There were a handful of ways to perform a disinvite, but she had always liked this one best. Her instructors at the academy had

mentioned it reassured clients better because they could actually see something happening. "That's it?” Gabe asked, sounding nonplussed. "That's it,” she confirmed. “Until you invite your friend in again. For what it's worth, if you plan on letting her do it again, you'll take fewer risks if she bites your shoulder." He didn't say a word as she packed up her things, but he did mutter a thank you as she was passing by him. His mother, who had been pacing back and forth in the hallway, saw Grace out with a smile and a trembling handshake. Grace hesitated about asking her if she knew about the bite. There wasn't much anyone could do to stop Gabe if he wanted a vampire to bite him. At eighteen, he'd be able to enter blood bars and offer his blood to any vampire he chose. Regardless, she was his mother, and Grace figured she had a right to know; if Laura ever followed that path—and Grace felt sick to her stomach just imagining it—she wished someone would tell her. The look on the woman's face, when she heard, was less shock than resignation. "I figured as much,” she sighed. “I was just hoping he'd tell me himself." The second spell couldn't have been more different. The client was a middle-aged man who apparently lived alone in an apartment a few blocks from Grace's. There were several bite marks visible on each side on his neck, and he seemed blasé about the whole experience, even asking her to give his regards to Hugo when she left. She wondered, as she drove home, whether Gabe would be like this man, in a few years, regularly inviting vampires into his home and allowing them to bite him, only to have disinvite spells performed when he ceased trusting one of his fanged friends. She was glad when she was done, and drove home feeling a little bitter. She had a hunch that, in just a few months, this part of the job might be her least favorite as well, regardless of the magic it required. She did not fear vampires, and she had no problem playing with one, but she wasn't silly enough to risk inviting one into her home. The smell of cooking, when she walked into her apartment, had her stomach rumbling in anticipation. The bitterness melted away, replaced by gratefulness. She had told her mother, repeatedly, that it was more than enough for her to baby-sit Laura, she didn't need to cook on top of it. Caroline, however, was very good at ignoring what she called ‘suggestions,’ and Grace enjoyed her cooking too much to really mind. The three of them had dinner together, and Grace found herself brought back two decades when Laura said out of the blue, echoing words she had once pronounced herself: "Mom? Do you have a boyfriend?" Grace nearly choked on a piece of pasta. She coughed into her napkin, and her voice almost squeaked when she answered. "A boyfriend? Why ... No, honey, I don't have a boyfriend." For some reason, that seemed to disappoint Laura. “It's OK if you have a boyfriend, you know. I'll be real good if you bring him home." Across the table, Caroline disguised a chuckle into a cough. Grace gave her an annoyed look but didn't

ask if she had set Laura up to this. "I'm sure you'd be a perfect angel. But I really don't have a boyfriend." For a little while, she thought her answer had satisfied Laura. She was wrong. "Don't you like kissing boys anymore?" Grace looked at her daughter, then at her mother. Caroline's smile was at once commiserating and amused. She stood and carried her empty plate back to the kitchen, leaving Grace to answer on her own. "No, honey, I still like boys. But I don't kiss a boy unless he's very special." The memory of what Ray's lips had felt like against hers fluttered through her mind, light and warm as a summer breeze. She chased it away with a sip of water and focused on Laura. She was pushing what was left of her pasta around her plate, pensive. "Isn't Daddy special?” she asked after a few moments, quiet but hopeful. Clear green eyes waited for an answer, and as much as Grace would have liked to dodge the question, she didn't feel like she could, not again, not without hurting her daughter, and hurting her was the last thing she wanted. "Your father is a very special person,” she said, picking her words carefully. “He's just not my kind of special anymore. Remember how we talked about how people sometimes don't love each other as much?" Laura nodded. “Yeah. And you said Daddy still loves me, but he hasn't come to see me in a long time. Did he forget about me?" Movement just at the periphery of her vision caught her eye, and she turned to see Caroline standing by the kitchen's entrance. Her face was impassive. Looking back at Laura, Grace tried to reassure her even though she didn't believe a word of what she was saying. "Of course he didn't, honey. You know how busy he always is. I'm sure he misses you very much." Her expression was breaking Grace's heart. "You could write him a letter. Tell him about your school and your new friends." The suggestion had Laura perk up immediately. “Can I write it now?" "Go ahead, honey." She managed to keep up the smile until Laura had run off to her room. By the time Caroline sat down across from her again, she had taken her head in her hand and closed her eyes. "He didn't deserve you when he was your husband,” Caroline said. “And he deserves you even less now."

"I'm not doing it for him." "I know.” Caroline reached over the table to run her hand over Grace's hair. “And I also know she'll blame you when he doesn't answer her letter." Grace lowered her hands and crossed her arms on the table, pushing the plate away. She tried to smile, but she thought she might have grimaced instead. "She'd blame me for keeping her away from him if I didn't let her write or call." "Call?” Caroline sounded surprise. “You didn't tell me—" Before she even let them out, the words were sour on Grace's tongue. “There was nothing to tell. She called, and a woman answered. Mike wasn't there." From her expression, she knew what Caroline thought, and what she would say if given the chance. She was in no mood to listen to it, not again. Piling up the plates and cutlery, she stood and brought them to the kitchen. When her mother followed with the glasses, she changed the subject and said, “I've got something to do tomorrow afternoon. You think I could bring Laura over to your place after lunch?" Caroline gave her a piercing look, the same kind of look she had once used when trying to ferret out where her teenage daughter was going and with whom. “Work or pleasure?" The smile, this time, was much easier. “A bit of both?" Caroline tilted her head to one side and grinned back. “Is he special?" She could feel herself blushing as she answered. “Very special.” She was almost fifteen again and preparing for her first real date. She might as well start admitting to herself that Ray might be more than a play partner.

Chapter 10 Grace's thumbs tapped on the wheel as she watched Laura through the windshield. After the rain of the previous day, the sun was now shining brightly with barely a cloud in the sky. Laura's hair gleamed like spun gold and bounced as she skipped, the envelope clutched tight in her hand. The previous night, she had placed her letter in it herself and written the address in her best penmanship before asking for a stamp. Grace would have liked to know what she had written. She wasn't worried—she didn't want to admit being worried—but if her daughter changed her mind and decided she would rather live with her father, she hoped she'd be the first to know. The envelope fell into the mailbox. Grace's stomach flipped unpleasantly. When Laura turned around, she was beaming. Grace gripped the wheel tighter and returned her smile as she came back to the car. "How long until Daddy receives it?” she asked before she had even climbed on the backseat again. Grace started the car. “A few days, honey. By Thursday or Friday, maybe. And if he replies you won't get his letter for another week at least." She hated that, even now, she was buying Mike a little more time to reply. She hated even more

knowing he would probably need it. All the way to her mother's townhouse, Grace tried to find a way to ask, without sounding too intrusive, what Laura had written about in her letter. In the end, she didn't say anything. If Laura wanted her to know, she would share; if she didn't, prying would be of no use. At last, she parked in front of her mother's house. She honked the horn and turned back to look at Laura. “Tell Grandma I'll pick you up before dinner." Laura leaned in to kiss her cheek before bouncing out of the car. On the front porch, Caroline was waiting for her. They both waved at Grace as she drove away. A rush of guilt swept over her without warning. There were a hundred things she could have done with her daughter this afternoon. Instead she was going to meet a man she barely knew. Not only that, she was going to meet a vampire. She returned home, quickly changed to clothes more appropriate to the situation, and left again. Halfway to Ray's place, however, she had to park on the side of the road, turn off the engine and breathe in deep and slow. Methodically, she pushed the guilt and apprehension away, and repeated to herself that she was a good mother, and a good Special Enforcer. Wanting to play with Ray again did not change either of these things—and she did want it, she realized. It wasn't about the investigation or the help he could give her anymore. It was about him, and what she wanted to do to him. With him. After a few minutes, when she turned the key and started the car again, her hand wasn't shaking anymore, and her mind was clear. She was a grown woman, she knew what she was doing, and she had every right to do it. By the time she stood in front of his door, all she felt was confidence, spiced up with a generous dash of desire. No more than two seconds after she had knocked, the door opened, and Ray appeared behind it. He wore nothing more than tight fitting black jeans and a wide smile. He stepped to the side, inviting her in with a gesture and a small bow. “Good afternoon, Mistress." "Hello, Ray." She let herself answer his smile as she walked in. After his boldness at the agency, she had thought she would need to spend some time reestablishing her dominance over him. He seemed to have learned his lesson from their last encounter at the club, however. She was glad he had. He had lit pillar candles around the living room. She took that as an invitation to stay there. She noticed that Ray's eyes lingered on the bag she placed next to her on the sofa, but he didn't ask what she had brought, and she didn't volunteer anything. She hoped she wouldn't have to take out the toys; it would only mean Ray had really messed up, and she didn't want their play time to be about punishment. "Would you like something to drink, Mistress?" "Maybe later. Come next to me." He approached and slipped to his knees in front of her. As always, his hands crossed at the small of his back and he kept his eyes lowered. It would have been perfect at the club, but in this private setting, she was open to relaxing things a little—as long as he behaved. "Keep your eyes on me unless I say otherwise."

His hazel eyes immediately looked up at her. They seemed deeper than usual, and she noticed the black eyeliner accentuating them. The odd thought popped in her mind—how did he apply eyeliner without being able to look in a mirror? He had to be extremely confident in his skills. Or maybe he'd had someone's help? She realized, when his face started showing his confusion, that she had been staring at him for too long. He had to wonder what was going on. While keeping a submissive guessing could be fun, it was not the game she wanted to play today. "I've been wondering ... Why didn't you give us the drawing when we first came?" His head tilted to one side for an instant before he caught himself and straightened again. "I didn't have it then, Mistress." She nodded. She had figured as much. “You drew it for us. Why?" "I was bored." "No, I meant, why did you decide to help us find your Sire? You seemed very protective of him at the club." He passed his tongue over his lips before answering. Grace found herself squeezing her legs tighter together at the sight. She knew what would happen later. She could almost have believed he knew as well. "I don't think,” he said, each word slow and deliberate, “that the drawing will put him in any danger from you." Grace's smile held no joy. “Should I feel insulted?" His eyes widened in alarm. “Mistress, I didn't mean—" "Shush. Whatever you mean, you're at least partly right. If he didn't hurt MacAlair, then he truly is safe from us." He didn't respond to that, and even dropped his eyes for a short moment despite her orders. She didn't call him on it. He seemed troubled, and the slip had clearly been involuntary. Was he worried that his Sire was in fact guilty and would end up as dust? Or maybe he was beginning to think giving her and Hugo that drawing had been a bad idea. Whatever it was, she decided it was time to change the subject. She had come to play, not work. "Did you go to Carte Blanche last night?" His surprise at the question was plain in his expression. “Mistress, you told me not to." "What about the nights before?" His small movement could have been an aborted shrug. “I thought you would be there."

She kept quiet about how much she had thought about it. Two nights of playing had left her hungry for more. She hadn't been able to justify it to herself, however, not when work did not require her to go back. "Is that why you came to the agency? Because I didn't show up at the club?" "I ... Yes, Mistress." She had known, of course. All she had needed was to take a look at his face when he had walked in. He'd been targeted by two crossbows, and yet smiling brightly when he had seen her. "What did you hope would happen, by coming to see me?" His lips took a mischievous turn. “I hopedyou 'd come, Mistress." She was about to point out he couldn't have known she would give him a rendezvous when she realize he meant something quite different. The lust simmering at the back of her mind jumped forward at once and spread through her body. It was said vampires could smell desire. If it was true, it explained why his eyes suddenly seemed so hungry. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't done playing—as a matter of fact, she hadn't even started. **** Ever since Ray had left the Special Enforcer agency the previous day, he'd been anticipating Grace's visit. He'd cleaned up the apartment, bought refreshments and snacks a human might be interested in, changed his mind two or three times about what to wear—or not wear—and waited. She had taken her time, coming to him, to the point that he had started wondering whether she would. He was slowly learning that he ought not to doubt her; the idea was a novel one for him. All his doubts, however, disappeared while they were talking and she asked why he had gone to the agency. "I hopedyou 'd come, Mistress." Her scent shifted at once. Until that moment, she had seemed more interested in getting answers from him than anything else. Now, though, there was only one thing on her mind. It didn't bother Ray one bit. He'd been hoping she'd want him for more than a round of spanking or ten. Not that he had anything against spanking when she was the one doing it. "Cocky,” she said, sounding a little amused. Ray was tempted to make the obvious pun, but he knew better than to follow that impulse. He didn't plan to give her any reason to find fault with him. "I'm curious now. How did you imagine I'd come? I want details." After the four nights he had spent waiting for her to return, Ray had imagined enough scenarios to keep his hand and cock good friends for a few weeks at least. He tried to decide which one he wanted to share with her, but when he thought he had the one, when he grinned as he looked at her, she raised a hand palm out toward him. "No, don't tell me. Show me."

His cock tried to jump in the confines of his jeans, and he regretted having opted to wear clothes at all. He raised his hand, slowly reaching for her knee-high boot, only inches from him. He'd wanted to touch her, even with the most innocent touch, since she had walked in, and now— "I didn't say you could touch." The warning tone in her voice stopped Ray better than a slap would have. He gave her a confused look. If he couldn't talk or touch her, how was he supposed to show her? She returned the look levelly, as though confident he would figure it out. That reassured him. If she thought he could figure out what she wanted, that meant there was a right answer to the riddle. He had been caught all too often in games where every possible move was as much of a mistake as not moving at all. The answer came in a flash, and he felt a little foolish that he hadn't understood faster. "May I please go get my drawing pad?" She stood abruptly. Ray thought he had done something wrong until she reassured him with a few words. "You may. I'll come with you. Lead the way." He just had the time to wonder if he ought to crawl on all fours when she solved his dilemma. "You can walk there. But you'll do so naked." She didn't need to repeat herself. Ray quickly stood and fumbled with the buttons of his jeans. He closed his eyes in relief for a second when his cock was finally free. Mistress Red clucking her tongue had him snapping back to attention. "I'm losing patience, Ray." He could have believed her more easily if there hadn't been so much color in her cheeks and in the triangle of skin exposed by the collar of her tight shirt, or if her nipples hadn't been clearly visible, straining against the thin fabric. "I'm sorry, Mistress Red. This way, please." He wondered, as she followed him to the bedroom, whether her eyes remained on the back of his head or strained lower. He added a little swagger to his hips, and received an answer when she swatted at his ass. She didn't say anything, though, and Ray had a feeling she hadn't minded too much. The light was already on in the bedroom. He heard her steps stop on the threshold, and tried to see the room though her eyes. The clothes that had been thrown on the floor when she had first been there were now out of sight and satin sheets dressed up the bed. He had left a flogger, a whip and a blindfold in plain view on the dresser, just in case. He doubted she would need them, though, not if the bag she had brought contained what he imagined it did. He walked to the desk, and pulled the chair away and a little to the side. He picked up the notepad and a pencil before sliding back to his knees next to the chair. Without waiting for her, he flipped through the pad to a blank page. He placed the pencil on the paper and let his mind guide him, drawing feverishly.

"Don't rush,” Mistress Red admonished as she came closer. He glanced up at her. She sat down on the chair next to him, legs crossed and an arm leaning on the desk. He could feel her eyes on her as he resumed drawing. He slowed down a little, more because he didn't want her to think he was ignoring her than because he had truly been rushing. The vague shapes on the paper grew more refined until her body was complete—or rather what he imagined her naked body looked like. Full curves, flawless skin and head thrown back in pleasure, she sat astride her lover. A few more pencil strokes added his hands on her hips and just enough details to show the drawing was from his perspective. Her accelerating heartbeat and the growing lust in her scent told him what she thought of the drawing even before he looked up. Her bright eyes and shiny lips were almost too hard to resist. He wanted so much to kiss her again... Focusing on the notepad again, he moved the pencil to a blank corner and resumed drawing. They were just faces, this time, hers much more detailed than his own, touching lips, closed eyes, and just the shadow of his hand where it cradled her cheek. "Pretty. And a nice way to start." The slight catch in her voice sent a jolt of pleasure through Ray. Her fingers, threading through his hair in that now familiar gesture, only added to the feeling. She tugged a little more, and he obediently rose onto his knees even as she leaned down toward him. Her lips were as warm, as soft as he had remembered them in the past few nights when he had summoned the memory of the lovely kiss she had offered him. He touched his tongue to the seam of her lips, slow and gentle, a little surprised when she allowed him access. Emboldened, he reached out to touch her face. She leaned into the touch, tilting her head just so before deepening the kiss. Their tongues slid against each other, almost tender. It wasn't anything like the kisses Ray was used to sharing, and he felt a true pang of loss when she pulled away. "And here I thought all you could do with that pretty mouth of yours was speak out of turn." She sounded almost breathless. Ray smiled. She might be trying to make a joke out of it, but this kiss had touched her, too. "I wonder what else you can do with your mouth." He kept quiet. She hadn't asked him a question. Nevertheless, he tried to put in his look all the desire he felt for her, all his need to please her. He had to have done something right, because she stood and undressed in front of him, leaving her clothes on the desk before going to sit on the edge of the bed. He watched her and tried to blink so he wouldn't miss even a second. She was even more gorgeous than the image of her that had taken residence in his mind, full curves and silky, golden skin. The only surprise was the trimmed nest of curls peaking at the apex of her crossed legs; he couldn't even begin to imagine her face framed by blonde hair rather than these jet black strands he'd wanted to touch ever since he had first seen her at the club. "Well?" He blinked at the impatient reminder that she was waiting and gave her a little sheepish smile as he joined her by the bed, remaining on his knees.

"Mistress, if I may?" She nodded shortly, allowing him to go on. "You are beautiful." It was worth risking a reprimand just to see her pupils dilate briefly. For no longer than two strong beats of her heart, a bit of shyness and self-consciousness rolled over her body, so out of place after she had undressed in front of him without the hint of a hesitation. He had a feeling he'd just been given a glimpse of Grace. She never answered in words. Uncrossing her legs, she crooked a finger at him and beckoned him forward. Without thinking, Ray started reaching out so he could open her legs a little more and get better access to the pink lips that hid her sex. A cluck of her tongue stopped his hand. "Still no touching. Not with your hands, at least." So he wouldn't be tempted to touch her anyway, he clasped his hands behind him. As he leaned forward, her fingers threaded through his hair yet again and guided him, unhurried but purposeful. From this close, all he could smell was the herbal scent of her soap and the musky one of her desire. He could barely wait to taste her, but he forced himself to delay just a little longer and pressed closed mouth kisses along her sex. Her hips canting forward and her legs spreading just a little wider hinted clearly enough that she wanted more, and Ray was happy to oblige. He ran the tip of his tongue along her slit then pressed it in gently, finally tasting her wetness. Far from quenching his thirst for her, it only made him crave more. He lapped at her burning flesh, darting in every now and then, occasionally flicking the tip of his tongue to her clit, and all the while he catalogued her reactions and what made her fingers tighten in his hair or made her hips jump forward for a second. He didn't know how long he pleasured her like this. He would have been content to keep doing it all afternoon, keep her on the brink as long as she let him or make her come, over and over, until she was the one begging him to both stop and continue. The heat of her flesh, the tanginess of her wetness, the heavy scent of her need, the quiet moans escaping her throat, all of it filled Ray with pride, not only because he had made her feel like this, but also because she had allowed him to. "Enough,” she requested suddenly, the word no more than a gasp. “Make me come. Now." Using everything he had learned since first touching her, he redoubled his efforts, alternating curling his tongue inside her slick channel and pressing against her clit. A small part of him knew with the utmost certainty that the lightest hint of nibbling on her clit would have made her buck against his face and precipitated her orgasm, but he doubted she'd have been pleased with him once she climbed down from her high, so he abstained. Her cry of pleasure, when she finally came, was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard from her—except maybe for the quiet, almost purring way she said his name right after that. Breathing hard and fast, she gently pushed his face away from her too sensitive folds, and he found himself resting his cheek against her thigh and looking up at her. Flushed, her hair in disarray, mouth open

and gasping still, she was just beautiful, and even more so because he was the one who had brought that blissful look to her face. For long seconds, he simply watched her and listened to her slowly calming heartbeat. He hoped they weren't done playing, but should she decide to leave now, he would still be happy that he'd had the chance to give her pleasure. "You've been really good since I arrived,” she said at last, still a little out of breath. “I thought I'd need to assert more discipline over you, but you've surprised me." She kept running her fingers through his hair. Ray thought fast. There had been just the barest hint of disappointment in her voice. He knew that game. He didn't particularly like it, but he knew the rules and how to play. "You've said yourself I was trained well,” he said, looking at her through his eyelashes. “Misbehaving is usually more fun." He just glimpsed the beginning of a frown on her face before he turned his head and scraped his teeth against the inside of her thigh. Her eyes were wide and shocked when he looked back up. Smirking, he waited for her to react.

Chapter 11 For just a handful of seconds, Grace remained stunned. She had just been praising him for how well he was behaving, and he answered by not only speaking out of turn and insolently, but also by biting her. She couldn't say it had hurt, he had barely scraped blunt, human teeth to her skin, not even hard enough to leave an ephemeral mark. Regardless, she could hardly believe he had even dared. It was his smile that clued her in, both cheeky and expectant. He had been trying to give her what he thought she wanted. Cute, but misguided. She took care of him and his needs, not the other way around. "I don't need a reason to take a flogger to your ass.” She made the words as cold and stingy as she could manage, and was glad to see his smile waver at once in the face of her anger. “If I want to play, I'll play. You trying to rile me up as though you're doing me a favor ... that's both stupid and insulting." She stood as she finished, abruptly dislodging him from her thigh and walking past him to the desk. She picked up her shirt, sliding it on without bothering with the bra. When she looked back at Ray, he was prostrated, his forehead pressed to the floor. She buttoned the shirt entirely, wondering whether she was really ready to leave or just playing an act to make a point. His body starting to shake almost imperceptibly made her decision for her. "Anything to say in your defense?" Ray didn't move an inch, but he did reply, his words muffled by his position. "Mistress I ... I am sorry. I misinterpreted what you said. I thought you wanted—" "Have I played games with you?” she interrupted him, annoyed. “In the scenes we have done together, have I set traps for you to fall in? Have I set you up to fail? Have I given you any hint that I wanted something different from what I was asking?" The answer came slowly, but she didn't mind. It meant he was truly thinking of her words rather than

trying to figure out what she wanted to hear. "No, Mistress. You have not." "Then why on earth would you think I'd want you to disobey on purpose and in such a stupid fashion?" The shaking became a little more pronounced. Without thinking, Grace sat down on the edge of the chair and leaned toward him to rest a soothing hand on the back of his head. He seemed to calm down a little beneath the innocent touch, and she wondered how upset he had been at the thought that she might leave right there and then. "You ... Mistress Red, you are very different from my other Master." By now, she knew him enough to realize this non-answer was a polite way of saying that Owens was an asshole. He had trained Ray, all right. Not everything he had taught him was worthy of praise, however. "I hope by now you're starting to get just how different we are,” she said mildly. “For this time, I will punish you. Try something this idiotic again, and it's over. Are we clear?" She could see his relief in the loosening muscles of his back. "Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress." "Good. Up, now. Lay down on my lap. She watched him closely, as he stood and started leaning over, and the expression on his face left no doubt in her mind. He had truly been distressed at the thought that he had gone too far. She felt some relief at that. She wasn't messing with his mind, and she certainly did not want him to mess with hers. He started leaning over her lap, and she guided him with just a touch so that his cock was hanging between her thighs. She left them open, making sure he would only get enough friction to get frustrated without finding relief. He rested his weight on his toes and hands on the floor, but she knew in a moment it wouldn't occur to him anymore to try to make himself lighter on her. "Tell me, Ray. How many hits do you think you deserve for your impertinence?" He wiggled a little on her lap, trying to find a more comfortable position. This wasn't about his comfort, though, far from it. She stilled him by rubbing small circles on his ass with the palm of her hand. "As many as you see fit, Mistress." The answer was on par for the situation, but hardly what she needed. The coolness of his skin everywhere it touched hers was an all too clear reminder that he was a vampire, and she was still trying to figure out his pain tolerance. She would have to play this one by ear. She dealt the first blow without warning and Ray practically jumped—more in surprise than pain, she was sure. She rubbed his skin for a few seconds. She knew full well she didn't need to prepare him by gradually increasing speed and strength, but she found herself wanting to do it anyway. The next time, she hit him twice on the same cheek, then twice on the other before resuming her petting. Ray's entire body was incredibly tense against hers as he braced himself for the next blow. She waited

until she could feel him relaxing ever so slightly, and again her hand fell on his ass, a little harder, this time, and for a few more blows before she stopped. She doubted she was anywhere near the point of inflicting real pain on him, but she wasn't in any rush. They would get there, all in due time. She started again, keeping the number of slaps on each ass cheek random so he could never know where the next one would come. She noticed he was starting to shift into the blows, and clucked her tongue in reproach "Quit trying to rub your cock against my leg,” she said, using her sweetest voice and hitting him just a little harder. “Or I swear you won't come today." He stilled instantly so that his only movements now were those created by the momentum of her hand. For the next few minutes, the only sounds in the room were that of her hand smacking his flesh and, eventually, his quiet moans. His ass turned a lovely pink shade, nowhere near as bright as a human would have been, but very pretty nonetheless. Grace's hand stung fiercely, and still she kept going a little longer. The chair beneath her was growing wet with her arousal. Her nipples, hard and tight against the fabric of her blouse, begged to be touched. "Have you learned your lesson?” she asked, stopping to rest her hand on his ass. She was surprised by the throaty quality of her voice. "I have, Mistress,” he moaned. “Please..." She knew what he was pleading for; in truth, she wanted the same thing. "Stand up." He did as she had asked. He wobbled a little, wavering on his feet after being over her lap for so long. She rested a hand on his hip to steady him, her eyes detailing the hard cock just inches in front of her. The tip was shining with precome, and she wished she could have given it a lick—just a small lick, just to get a taste of him, nothing more. It would have done nothing more than confuse him, though, so she passed on that opportunity. "On the bed, now. Lie on your back." She watched him go, and took pride at the stiff way he walked and the twinges of mixed pain and pleasure reflected on his face when his ass pressed onto the satin sheets. She took her shirt off before going to him. "I would have let you touch me,” she said, the words as casual as though she had been talking about the weather. She climbed onto the bed and straddled his thighs, leaning forward so he could see she was grinning. “But I don't think you deserve to. Keep your hands over your head." His arms moved at once. He clasped his right hand over his left wrist high above his head. Grace hummed her approval. Reaching for his cock, she gave it a few slow tugs that had his hips arching off the bed and hissing in denied pleasure. She tightened her fingers at the base, and he stilled completely. "I don't need to say you are not to come before me, do I?" "No, Mistress, but I'm not sure—"

He lost his voice when she raised herself onto her knees and slowly lowered her cunt onto his cock. “I know you won't disappoint me again." Grace herself had to fall quiet then or risk squeaking in the most embarrassing way. His thick cock stretched her in the best possible way and made her feel full before she had taken even half of him inside her. It had been much too long, she thought, closing her eyes for a brief moment when he was completely inside her. She remained still a few seconds more, simply enjoying the feel of him, then started raising herself onto her knees. She noticed Ray's eyes were shut tight and stopped her movement. "Look at me,” she demanded. Ray took in a deep breath before he obeyed. She was surprised to discover that his eyes seemed almost golden. She'd been told vampires looked as though they had flames dancing in their eyes when they fought; she had never seen it for herself until that instant. She wondered, briefly, if she should be worried, but it was difficult if not impossible to fear Ray when she was sitting astride his cock and commanding his every movement. "Don't move and keep your eyes on me." Holding his gaze, she started riding him. She rested her hands on his chest and rose up on her knees above him until just the tip of his cock remained inside her, then thrust herself down again, sometimes hard, sometimes slow, torturing him, and herself, by refusing to fall into a regular rhythm. Whenever she pressed down a little harder, pushing his ass into the mattress, pain would flash through his face and leave it shining with a little more pleasure. His eyes, while never leaving her, drifted every few seconds from her face to her breasts to the apex of her legs where her body met his, then back to her face. The longing in that look almost made her rethink her order that he not touch her, but she thought better of it. He hadn't earned that privilege yet. "Where would you touch me if you could?" The question brought his burning eyes back up and he looked at her with hope. “Your chest, Mistress.” He almost choked on the words. Grace nodded. “Good choice." He blinked furiously when she brought both her hands to skim over her breasts, her fingertips and palms teasing her hardened nipples. She could see how much he wanted to be the one caressing her, but he kept to his orders and remained as still beneath her as she could expect. Somehow, that realization was almost as pleasurable as the flashes of need shooting from her nipples as she pinched them lightly, or the feel of his cock, so hard, and she started riding him faster. As much as possible, she kept her eyes on his face, watching denied pleasure contort his features even as her own grew closer. He was only holding back because of her, because of a few words she had pronounced. She had only known him for a few days, had only played with him a handful of times, and already she held such power over him... It was that knowledge, ultimately, that pushed her over the edge of pleasure and pulled a wordless cry from her lips. She managed to keep her eyes open as her orgasm tore through her. She wanted to watch Ray come. Arms stretched out above him, his arched his back but kept his eyes on her as she had demanded. He

was quite a sight, she thought, her mind buzzing with pleasure. Even nicer than when he was fully submitting to her. She was beginning to hope she'd get more opportunities to see him like this. Lying down on top of his body, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "You were perfect,” she said warmly. “You can lower your arms. And you can touch me." She wasn't sure which part put the most gratitude in his voice: the praise or the permission to touch. “Thank you, Mistress." His arms came down to encircle her. For a short moment, he held her tightly against him, then loosened his embrace as though unsure it was allowed. She didn't say anything but sought his lips for a kiss. Slow but unrelenting, she ran her tongue against his until he responded and joined the dance, daring to follow her tongue back into her mouth, emboldened when she moaned her approval. His softened cock was still inside her, and she could feel it harden again as they continued kissing. She rolled onto her side, pulling Ray with her so that they lay side by side on the bed, arms around each other, still intimately joined. A light touch of her hand to his ass was all the encouragement he needed to start thrusting inside her, the movements as slow as the caresses of his tongue. Just a moment ago, all Grace had had in mind was to reach orgasm, as hard and fast as she could. Now, however, minute movements and gentleness were perfect, leaving her body to hum in contentment wherever Ray touched her. The wave built back in her slowly but steadily, urged on by a deep kiss, caresses as tender as they were reverent, and the unhurried pace of his cock sliding inside her and out. When her body shook, giving in to pleasure, Ray held her just a little closer, trembling but still tense against her and fighting his own release. She pulled away from his mouth to whisper one word—"Come"—and covered his lips again, taking in his quiet moan as though it had been the finest wine. She let herself lie in his arms a little longer, enjoying the feel of another body along hers. It was the numbness spreading through the arm trapped beneath him that finally forced her to roll away and onto her back. In spite of herself, she felt a silly grin rise to her lips. "There's something to be said for vampire stamina." He chuckled. “It helps when your partner is inspiring." Grace couldn't recall anyone ever calling her inspiring, but as much as the compliment pleased her, it was out of place. "Who said the scene was over?” she chided, and lightly tapped her hand to his chest. He sobered down at once. “I apologize." "I'll have to punish you.” The urge to yawn took her too fast for her to cover her mouth. “Next time." "Yes, Mistress Red." With a quiet groan at being sore in all the right places, she sat up on the bed and looked at Ray. He seemed as relaxed and contented as a big, lazy cat—and his grin was only missing a few yellow feathers. She realized at his small smile that she had all but promised there would be a next time. She hadn't given

it much thought until that moment, but she wouldn't be upset if there was. "We're done,” she said, feeling a little silly at the formality in her own voice. “I'll grab a shower before leaving. Where's your bathroom?" "First door on the left. Towels are beneath the sink. Do you need someone to scrub your back?" The offer was tempting, but she declined. She had told Laura she would pick her up before dinner. Inviting Ray to share her shower would have probably led to other things, which would only make her late. It didn't matter that these other things were very appealing as they played out in her mind while she cleaned up, or that Ray was a wonderful submissive and lover. She had to go. She was still trying to convince herself when the ringing of a phone startled her. It sounded like hers. She hurried out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around herself, but realized the ringing came from the bedroom rather than the living room, where she had left her bag and cell phone. Stepping back inside the bedroom, she found Ray lying on his stomach on the bed and staring at the ringing phone he held in front of him. "Why don't you answer?" He jumped, clearly startled by her question, and looked up at her. “Because I don't have anything to say to him right now." She didn't need to ask whom he was talking about. “Then why don't you shut it off?" The ringing stopped. Ray looked down at the phone again, his expression unreadable. After a few seconds, the ringing started again. He still didn't answer. "I don't know,” he said, his eyes back on her as she dried herself and went to pick up her clothes by the desk. “I guess ... I'm curious to see how many times he'll try calling." She observed him while she got dressed. His attention drifted between her and the phone in his hands. It stopped and started ringing yet again, and Ray seemed both puzzled and happy. He didn't pick up even then, though. "At the academy, I was taught vampires don't love,” Grace commented. She was buttoning her shirt, but she kept her eyes on Ray and saw him look back at her, puzzled. “The more I watch you miss Owens, the more I wonder if that's true." She heard the jealousy in her own voice and winced when Ray smiled. He had noticed as well. "He's my Sire,” he said with a little shrug as though it explained everything. He shut off the phone with a touch of his thumb and let it drop on the bed. He joined her by the desk just as she was stepping into her shoes. Picking up the notepad and pencil from the floor, he scribbled something in a corner, tore off the page and handed it to Grace. "I promise to answer if you call me,” he said with a small, awkward smile when she took the drawing from him. Almost all the way back to her mother's, she wondered if she would call him. Every so often, she

glanced at the drawing on the passenger seat, and flashes of their afternoon popped back into her mind. She could still feel his lips, his hands, his skin beneath her fingers. His cock. Just a block from her mother's townhouse, she stopped at a convenience store, stepping inside just long enough to buy a lighter. Back in the parking lot, she hid behind her open door and burned down the drawing, preserving only the corner where Ray had jotted down his phone number. She didn't know if she would call him, she told herself as she slipped the number in her purse, but if she needed to ask him something about Owens, she'd be able to. That was probably the lamest excuse with which she had ever tried to fool anyone, let alone herself. Judging by her mother's knowing smile when she picked up Laura, she wasn't fooling anyone. Or maybe it was the fact that she had forgotten to go home and change out of her tight shirt and tighter leather skirt. "Did you have a good time?" Grace kept her eyes on Laura as she put away her color pencils and notebook, and felt herself blush both at the teasing question and at the memory of watching Ray create drawings much less innocent than her daughter's. "It was all right,” she mumbled, unable to hide a grin. Caroline laughed, but waited until they had all stepped outside and Laura had climbed into the car before she caught Grace's attention with a touch on her arm. Smiling lightly, she asked, “When are you bringing him home?" Grace would be damned if she knew what to answer.

Chapter 12 It was late on Sunday evening when Grace stumbled on the local news report by accident while aimlessly going from channel to channel. It was a name that stopped her—MacAlair's. After the whirlwind of emotions and sensations Grace had been caught in on Saturday, the rest of her weekend had been rather bland. She had thought that Laura's play date with two school friends would keep her busy, but she barely saw the three girls other than welcoming them in and calling them for snacks in the middle of the afternoon. They spent almost the entire time playing in Laura's room, and giggles drifted out every now and then. This laughter alleviated Grace's fears. Despite being a sweet child, Laura did not make friends easily. Grace had been worried when she had pulled her daughter out of her old school to move to a new town, but she seemed to have adapted well to the change. Laura was in bed now, and Grace sat up on her sofa and leaned forward so she would catch every word without needing to raise the volume of the television. "Today's funeral for the lobbyist and former councilwoman was well attended,” the newscaster read in a mournful tone. “The entire town council presented its respects to MacAlair, forty-two, and honored her dedication to keeping Blackwood Falls and its citizens safe. Let's listen to a speech she gave two weeks before her death when legislation she had worked to introduce in the town's statutes was repealed." A clip of MacAlair standing in front of the town hall replaced the images of the funeral. Dressed in a professional suit, she couldn't have been more different from the image that popped into Grace's mind

whenever she thought of her. The only hint of her Domme persona was the strength and confidence with which she spoke, chastising the council members who hadn't had the nerve or vision to impose further restrictions on the town's vampires. "Dorothy MacAlair had started taking her fight to Washington,” the reporter said as a still frame of MacAlair popped on the screen next to a live shot of the studio. “But not everyone shared her views, and one of her opponents, a vampire, took her life a few days before she could address Congress. The president of the town council—" Grace thumbed the television off. So far, she'd tried to find MacAlair's killer by looking for a vampire involved in BDSM, thinking her death had to have been related to a scene that had turned wrong. Listening to that report, however, she was wondering if she should have followed the hunch she had had at the club when Ray had told her of the MacAlair he knew. She thought about it until she fell asleep that night, and in the morning it seemed more and more likely that the murder had had political roots. She arrived at the agency before Hugo and did some research online while waiting for him, trying to figure out who had been MacAlair's closest allies—and more importantly, who had opposed her. By the time Hugo arrived by eleven, she had two lists of very different length; in appearances at least, more people had supported MacAlair's ideas than rejected them. Maybe they would know of vampires who might have threatened her. "I spent two nights out,” Hugo groused as he limped in, forgoing greetings as was usual for him. “Not a beep on the radar. I showed that portrait in every single bar in town. Got three people saying they recognized him, but none of them saw him recently. And no one ever saw him with MacAlair." He dropped his leather bag on his desk and ambled to the back of the room where Grace had put a pot of coffee to brew. He helped himself and drained a full mug before filling it again and coming back to his desk. “He's the only vamp in her address book that we can't verify an alibi for.” His face showed relief as he sat down. The chair creaked when he leaned back. “He's our best guess at this point. We'll just have to hope he's stupid enough to come back. And we'll send a wanted notice to the Central Enforcing Agency in case he isn't." Doing so was as good as branding him a known killer, therefore authorizing any Special Enforcer who came across him to kill him without warning. Grace didn't care all that much about Owens, and she wouldn't object if he was gone from Ray's life for good, but she couldn't let Hugo condemn a vampire to death if there was a chance he was innocent. It went against the oath she had taken when graduating from the academy. "Before we get the C.E.A. involved, I'd like to try a new lead,” she said, putting the confidence into her words that Hugo had praised when she had seen him last. He arched an eyebrow at her over his coffee mug. “New lead? What lead?" "MacAlair seemed rather invested in having anti-vamps laws passed, so I'm thinking a political motive might be worth looking into." Hugo's small snort told her what he thought of her idea, before he elaborated, “Motives don't matter in our line of work, kiddo. Leave that to the police." Grace had to struggle not to snap at him. For the first time since she had started working with Hugo, his manners irritated her.

"You said yourself the police won't touch a vamp case.” She tried to keep her voice calm and quiet, and a hard edge crept into it. She thought she had sounded a bit like this when Ray had broken her rules on purpose two days before. “Our job is to find the vamp who did it, not the one that's most likely to have done it." The look Hugo gave her hinted he pitied her. “Give it a few years and you might feel different. But if you want to waste your time until then...” He shrugged. “Be my guest. Just don't be too disappointed when you don't find anything." Not trusting herself to answer politely to what was, after all, permission to investigate as she pleased, she nodded and returned to her research. As she worked, however, her frustration and annoyance turned into that familiar need to be in total control of the situation. For years, she had had no outlet for that need other than compulsively rearranging furniture and redecorating her home. Now, though, things were different. She had tried not to think too much about Ray since she had left him, so she could get some perspective on what had happened. By the time she was ready to take her lunch break, she had enough perspective to last her a few years. As she did most days, she picked up a sub sandwich at a small deli down on the corner, then hurried back through the rain to eat in the back room of the agency. Her first phone call was to her mother; Caroline had plans for the evening, but she was free the next night. She called Ray next, only realizing after the first tone that calling him at this hour of the day was the same as calling a human in the middle of the night. He answered quickly, however, his words muffled as though by a pillow. "'Llo?" "Is that how you answer the phone, Ray?" In her mind's eye, she could see his sleepy eyes open wide, could see him sit up on his bed, instantly awake, alert, and hard. "I apologize, Mistress Red.” There was no trace of sleep left in his voice. "I'll forgive you, this time. I suppose I called a bit early. Listen carefully now. I'll come by tomorrow night, a little before nightfall. We'll go to Carte Blanche together. You are not to touch yourself until then, and I want you to dress to impress me. Understood?" "Yes, Mistress." Grace was grinning when she hung up the phone. If Ray hadn't been hard before, he definitely was now. **** As much as Ray hated the sound of rain, he did enjoy the opportunity it gave him to go out during the day, safe from the sun as long as the cloud cover was opaque enough. In his first few months as a vampire, he had been terrified of going out even beneath heavy clouds, but his Sire hadn't given him much of a choice, dragging him outside on every possible occasion. The fear had receded, and he did not hesitate anymore. Even if the cloud cover did break, Keller's car had tinted windows that filtered indirect sunlight, and heavy blankets were always in the back seat. Once or twice, Ray had curled beneath them, waiting for night to fall. It was part of the hazard of going out during the day, and he accepted that. That afternoon, however, there didn't seem to be any risk of the rain stopping. Parked up the street from

the Special Enforcers’ agency, Ray kept his eyes on the door, waiting to see Grace walk out. When he had driven past the agency earlier, he had caught a glimpse of her inside, so he knew she was there. He doubted she would be happy to know he was checking out her whereabouts, but she hadn't asked him to stay cloistered at home until she came to him, so he wasn't breaking any rule. The tinted windows would keep her from seeing him if she happened to walk or drive past him. He had been caught between sleep and wakefulness when she had called, his head burrowed beneath a pillow to block out the sound of the rain. Going back to sleep after her call had proved impossible. How was he supposed to function with that promise of more play to come? He'd never been very patient, and the next night seemed much too far away for his taste. He had dressed and gone out to buy cigarettes, but by the time he had walked down the five flights of stairs, he'd taken the car with an entirely different destination in mind. Why had she given him rendezvous for the next night? Why wait longer, when they hadn't played since Saturday? Did she have other plans for the evening? And if she did, what kind of plans? Was another submissive getting ready for her even as Ray wondered and kept watch over the agency? He had just realized that he knew very little about her, while she had been gathering tidbits of information about him since their first meeting. It was time to even things out a little. She didn't come out of the agency until three in the afternoon. Ray let her drive past him, then followed her, making sure to keep a car between them whenever he could. She drove first to Blackwood Falls’ town hall, and spent maybe half an hour inside while Ray tried to imagine what she could be doing in there. After that, she was off to the local television news station. She only was in there for a few minutes, and although Ray was parked too far away to see her face, he saw enough to guess her mood. The way she held herself when she walked back to her car screamed of annoyance. Another, longer ride took them to the edge of the town, and Ray had to leave more distance between them for fear she would notice she was being followed. When she parked in a driveway, he thought for a moment that it might be her home. Someone greeted her at the door with a handshake, however, and let her out a few minutes later. Ray guessed this had to be work related. Back in the town, she parked in front of an apartment complex and entered a building. When after half an hour she hadn't reappeared, he started thinking she might be home. She had been wearing casual clothes, and he didn't think she would have gone to someone to play dressed like this. He stayed in the car as the rain finally stopped and night fell, and wondered if she would reappear dressed for play. By ten o'clock, he figured she wouldn't and drove off. He still didn't know why she hadn't offered to play that night. Since he couldn't imagine she'd let him question her, he doubted he'd ever know. He started driving back to the apartment when his hunger reasserted itself, unpleasantly turning every pedestrian on the sidewalk or passengers in the cars that passed him into potential meals. He hated when the thirst for blood skewed his perspective on the world, and usually he tried not to let it happen. He hadn't fed since the previous evening, however, and it hadn't been much blood even then. He had better feed right this night; he didn't know if Mistress Red would order blood for him when they went to Carte Blanche the next evening, and he didn't think it was a good idea to play with her when he could think of nothing but blood. However hard the staff scrubbed the playrooms at the club, the scent of blood and sex always remained, exciting or maddening depending on how much Ray had fed. Two establishments other than Carte Blanche were licensed to serve blood in Blackwood Falls. One was a trendy bar that claimed to be a meeting place for humans and vampires. Ray had been there once. The mirrors lining an entire wall as well as the ceiling had chased him away before he had reached the

actual bar. The other place was a true blood bar; the clientele was for the most part composed of vampires, and the few humans who went there only left after having found a vampire to bite them. Sometimes, the bite happened on the premises. Sometimes, they took the vampires home for the night. All Ray wanted was blood, and he had no desire to leave the bar with anyone, which was why he took a seat on a high stool at the counter. Immediately, the bartender approached, a glass already in hand. "Evening, Ray." "Hi, Lucas. Anything good tonight?" Lucas shrugged. He had once confided that, after years of serving it, all blood now tasted the same to him. “The usual array of animal produce. Human is fresh, though, not frozen." Fresh meant more expensive, but Ray didn't care about that, not with Keller's credit card in his wallet. "Human, then. Straight. And warm." Moments later, he had a tall glass in front of him. His first taste made him sigh in contentment. This was the closest thing to drinking from a neck. He finished the glass fast and ordered again. He sipped on his second drink while looking around the bar to see if anyone he knew was there. It was still early, however, and the room was practically empty save for a couple of vampires Ray didn't know and the human owner of the bar, Terry, whom he did know and didn't like much. He had played with Terry once, a couple of years back, and been put off by his insistence at being bitten even after Ray had declined. A little bored, he turned his attention to the television at the end of the bar area. As it had been since the announcement of her death, MacAlair's name was a hot topic again during the newscast. "I can't believe they're still talking about her,” Terry said disgustedly. He looked up from the paperwork spread out on his table to the television set. “Turn that crap off, Lucas." Rather than obeying, Lucas leaned against the counter across his boss. “They're not talking about her. They're talking about that vamp law the town council is discussing. They're naming it after her." "What law is that?” Ray asked, curious. He hadn't heard about any new vampire law. Lucas glanced at him. “They're talking about requiring all vamps who reside in Blackwood to register and be tracked by magic. Like making those of us who hold a professional license jump through hoops wasn't enough." "They're just trying to run my customers away from the town,” Terry groused. “They should just cancel all blood bar licenses; it'd be faster." Ray finished his glass and didn't comment. Such a law would be blatantly unconstitutional, and if the town council ever came to pass it, it'd be challenged and stricken from the statutes within months. Vampires would leave rather than subject themselves to magical tracking spells—he would, at least—but they would also return once the requirement ceased to exist. He left after paying for his blood and returned home. It was much too early for him to go to bed, so he straightened out the apartment, emptying ashtrays and opening the windows to get some fresh air in. He didn't know if Mistress Red would want to come in before they went to Carte Blanche, but if she did, he

wanted everything to be perfect. Praise from her was as interesting as punishment in its own way. He slept fitfully that morning, his mind reeling with the possibilities of what might happen later. So far, they had gone to Carte Blanche and left the club separately. Going and leaving together would be something entirely different, and Ray couldn't wait to see the reactions of a couple of Dominants who had shown interest in playing with him. His cock hardened at the thought of being displayed as hers, at least for the night. Not being able to do a thing to make himself comfortable only added to his arousal, because she was the one who had ordered him not to touch himself. Getting up by mid afternoon, he spent some time getting ready. He thought about spiking up his hair, but Mistress Red might not appreciate getting gel on her hand if she ran her fingers through his hair again. On the other hand, the last time they had played she had stared at his eyes for a little while, apparently liking the eyeliner. It was a pain to apply, but worth it if it pleased her. Choosing his clothes took less time than he had expected. She had asked for him to impress her; he could do that. He was just finishing getting dressed by buckling the collar around his neck, which matched the bands on his wrists, when he heard noise just outside the front door. If his heart had still been beating, he thought, grinning, it would have been racing in his chest. Excited, impatient, and practically bouncing with pent-up energy, he went to open the door.

Chapter 13 That morning, rather than going straight to the agency, Grace stopped by the local television station. She had been there the previous day, having arranged a meeting with a reporter to talk about MacAlair, but Shirley Landon had forgotten their rendezvous and had gone out on assignment. Grace wasn't pleased when her second attempt at meeting the woman turned out the same way as the first and an assistant informed her Landon wasn't there. "But maybe I can help,” the young man offered. “If you tell me what it was you wanted to talk to Shirley about ... S.E. business has to be important." Grace shrugged and decided to try her luck. When she had called the station and introduced herself as Hugo's partner, she had been directed at once to Landon as the specialist of everything and everyone dealing with vampires in town. If the woman was too busy to meet with her, however, she'd take the information wherever she could. "I'm investigating the death of Dorothy MacAlair. Specifically, I'm looking into groups or individuals that might have been most vocal about fighting her ideas." He nodded thoughtfully. “I see. I might have something for you. Please, come with me." He led her to a windowless office and ushered her past the door on which was taped a simple piece of white paper printed with the words ‘James Allen—Assistant to Ms. Landon.’ The room looked like its primary purpose, not that long ago, had been storage, and piles of boxes still lined the walls. The desk was nothing more than a card table with a filing cabinet underneath it. It was covered with piles of folders that reminded Grace of the mess that had been in Hugo's office before she had arrived and started organizing his files. Allen dug a laptop out from underneath the folders and sat down in front of it. "I do Shirley's research,” he explained. “We're preparing a piece on the evolution of the legislation in...”

A glance up at Grace, and he grinned ruefully. “And you don't care. Bottom line is, there's this group, vamps and humans, who keep a close watch on what laws are being discussed. They call themselves L.E.V., though apparently they pronounce it ‘levy.’ The League for the Equality of Vampires." Grace frowned. “I've never heard of them." On a pile of boxes behind Allen, a printer started chirping. "I'm not surprised you haven't. They're pretty quiet about their lobbying activities, and even getting an idea of who belongs to the group is mostly guesswork.” Standing, he picked up the printed sheet of paper behind him and handed it out to Grace. “Here's my best guess so far." Grace skimmed the list, barely realizing that she held her breath until she was sure Ray wasn't on it. There were maybe two dozen names on there, along with occupations, addresses, and phone numbers. The meaning of the ‘V’ next to two-thirds of the names was easy enough to guess. A second read-through left her disappointed, however, when she recognized one of the names at the very bottom of the list and between parentheses. She had firmly placed it in her own ‘allies of MacAlair’ list just the previous day. "Are you sure Spencer Nihls is part of this group?” She looked back at Allen, only to find he was observing her expectantly. “He has been rather vocal about supporting MacAlair." Allen nodded. “True, but only in the past few months. Before that, he was on the other side of the fence. I left him on the list for reference purposes." Spencer Nihls wasn't a vampire, but if his views had truly changed, it might be worth asking him if he knew anyone who might want to hurt MacAlair. If that brought no results, Grace would still have about fifteen vampires to investigate. "Thanks a lot,” she said, shaking Allen's hand. “This should be very helpful." He beamed at her. “Glad to be of service. And if you find her murderer thanks to this list ... I'd appreciate it if you'd consider giving me an interview about your investigation. It could really help boost my career." "If he's on this list, I'll think about it,” she promised. As she left the building, she was a little surprised to realize she had meant it. She wasn't one for public spotlight, far from it, but if she was to become Blackwood Falls’ sole Special Enforcer, she would need to make a name for herself rather than hide behind Hugo's. Not only that, but she might need more help from reporters in the future, and it would be helpful to have an ally at the station. She spent the next few hours going through the vampires’ names one by one. A handful of them were licensed professionals and had therefore been marked by magic. Their presence in MacAlair's dungeon would have been revealed by the spell Grace had performed there. She would check on the others in the regular manner, but before that she wanted to meet Nihls. A call to his town hall office found him reluctant to talk over the phone, but he invited her to visit him at his house the next morning. She wasn't too happy about having to wait, but at least he had agreed to see her. Throughout the day, the image of Ray kept popping into her head at the most unexpected moments. She wondered what he was doing, and whether he was sleeping late or waiting for her already. She thought

about calling him, but in the end decided against it. She didn't want him to think she was so impatient to play with him that she couldn't wait—even if it was true. At five o'clock, Hugo waved her away when she said her goodbyes for the day. He had been irritable ever since she had arrived at the agency with news of the L.E.V. group. He'd admitted having heard of it before, but not having ever had any idea about who belonged to it. It seemed that he was starting to think he might have been too prompt in declaring Owens’ guilt. Being mistaken didn't seem to sit well with him. Grace didn't care too much about it. Her job did not consist of making him happy. She picked up Laura from soccer practice, and they went home together. She tried to keep her mind on her daughter as she babbled about school and the team, but it was harder as hours passed and the time to go to Ray came closer. Focusing on the story she and Laura read at bedtime was sheer torture, but she forced herself not to rush through the words. Ray could wait; Laura couldn't. At last, with an amused eye roll from her mother at the red corset, molding black skirt, and black lace camisole she hid beneath her jacket, Grace left the apartment to go pick up Ray. She might have driven a little faster than was strictly necessary, and even in high heels the five flights of stairs were nothing. She tried to wipe the grin off her face as she knocked on the door. It wouldn't do for her to appear too eager. No more than a handful of seconds passed before the door creaked open and Ray appeared. She lost her breath for a moment as her eyes slid over him. She had asked to be impressed, and he definitely hit the mark on that. Tight black leather pants molded his legs and crotch, leaving very little to the imagination. A mesh t-shirt, black as well, revealed just enough of his skin to make her want to see more. He had put eyeliner on again, deepening his eyes. The leather cuffs with silver rings at his wrists gave her interesting ideas about how the rest of the night might turn out, but the matching collar would need to go. She might put a collar on him eventually, but it wouldn't be an option for quite some time. Until then, she wouldn't let him wear a collar she hadn't given him. Before she could ask him to take it off, however, even before she could step in, he said urgently: “It's not a good time, Grace. You should leave." She stared at him, her good mood and anticipation entirely forgotten. She had thought they were past these games. “Not a good time?” she repeated, her voice hardening with each word. “I should leave? I don't think that's up to you to decide." He dropped his gaze but did not move out of the way. “I'm very sorry. I have company." The idea that he might not be alone was so outlandish that she frowned, certain she had misunderstood his words. “I told you I'd come for you." He glanced up again, looking miserable. “I know you did, but this was very much unexpected. I'm sorry, more than I can say, but—" One single word booming behind him explained everything. “Childe?" Grace's confusion disappeared at once, replaced by a single-minded focus. She tried to look over Ray's shoulder, but without much result, and turned sharp eyes back to him. "Is Owens here?"

He started closing the door, but not before she caught a glimpse of someone entering the living room a few steps behind Ray; someone who looked nothing like the portrait he had drawn. "Please, leave." The last thing she saw was the pleading look he was giving her, a perfect match to his words. She stared at the closed door for a moment, stunned speechless, then ground her teeth and got a grip on herself. There would be time later for her to think about Ray and what he had done, time for her to regret putting any trust in him. The game was over, but there was still work to do. Banging on the door with one hand, she pulled out her Special Enforcer badge and a stake from her pockets with the other. "Keller Owens,” she called out. “Special Enforcer business. Open the door." She was just finishing when the door opened again, more widely this time. A dark-haired man stood on the threshold, his eyes going in one instant from the badge she was showing in her left hand to the stake she now held in her right to the clothes she wore beneath the unbuttoned jacket. That brought forth a raised eyebrow. "I am Keller Owens,” he said, sounding a little puzzled. “Can I help you?" "Grace Alkins.” She tilted her head toward the badge. “I'm a Special Enforcer and need to ask you a few questions. Can I come in?" He opened the door wider and stepped aside to let her in, apparently as wary of her as she was of him. She slipped her badge into her jacket's pocket as she walked into the living room and put some distance between the two of them. Her jaw tightened when she noticed Ray leaning against the wall across from her, arms crossed over his chest and a completely blank expression on his face as he looked at her. Trying to ignore him, she focused on Owens. "Do you know a woman called Dorothy MacAlair?” she asked, all business, despite the pain of betrayal still searing her. He gave her a confused look. “MacAlair? I don't think—" "Mistress Dorothy,” Ray chimed in quietly. Owens threw a slight frown at him before looking back at Grace, now nodding. “I do, yes. Why are you asking?" "She's dead." He looked genuinely surprised, but that didn't mean anything. For all she knew, he was a great actor. His surprise only seemed to increase when he realized why a Special Enforcer was standing in his living room. "Wait ... You think I killed her?" "All I know is that your name was in her address book. This is a routine check. Can you tell me where

you were Saturday night to Sunday morning, the week before last?" She could see him think for a moment, then his face lit up. “I can do more than tell you.” He glanced back at Ray. “Get my coat from the bedroom." Grace would have expected Ray to jump at the order and hurry to obey. Instead, he shook his head, looking sullenly at a spot on the floor. “Get it yourself." If he had dared talk to her like this, Grace would have been incensed. She wasn't surprised to hear the same anger in Owens’ voice, tightly controlled but obvious nonetheless. "Childe. Don't make me repeat myself." Ray's head came up, and he looked at Grace. His eyes were pleading again, though she had no idea what he expected from her. When she didn't react, he pushed away from the wall and walked down the hallway to the bedroom. Grace watched him go, only returning her eyes to Owens to discover he was considering her thoughtfully. A few tense seconds passed; she was sure he would guess something had been going on between her and Ray, sure he would ask about it, but he said nothing until Ray came back and handed him a trench coat. "Down." The word lashed out in the air like a whip. This time, Ray obeyed without showing a trace of hesitation and sunk to his knees, wrists crossing behind his back. Grace's throat was dry suddenly, and something inside her ached more than it had any right to. "Here you go.” Owens had fished something out of the coat's inside pocket and was handing it out to her. “I was in California from Friday two weeks ago until last night." She had to get closer to him to take the boarding pass stubs. Doing so, she realized she wasn't afraid of him. Nothing in his demeanor was threatening in the least, and before she even looked at the stubs, that instinct of hers she trusted so often told her he was telling the truth. A quick, involuntary look at Ray reminded her that her instincts weren't always correct, however, and she examined the stubs carefully. "I can also give you the name of my hotel,” Owens said. “And the information of a couple people who can vouch for my whereabouts." "The hotel should be enough." He searched his pockets again, this time pulling out what looked like a credit card receipt. He ripped off the top of it and handed it to Grace. The fragment held the name and address of a hotel in Haventown in California. She had heard of the city; it had the reputation of being one of the friendliest places for vampires in the United States. "Anything else, miss?" Grace made an effort to give him a polite smile. “Just one last question. Are you aware of any threats that might have been made against MacAlair?" "We were nothing more than acquaintances,” Owens replied, shrugging. “If someone had threatened her, I doubt she'd have told me."

Every fiber of Grace's being wanted to look down at Ray, but she managed to keep her eyes on Owens. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Owens. Sorry for the disruption, and good night." She let herself out, never looking back, and started down the staircase. She had to stop on the fourth floor landing, however, when her heart started to beat painfully fast. Her hands shaking, she pulled out her cell phone and called Hugo, leaving a message on his voice mail to explain, in as few words as possible, that she had found Owens and his alibi checked out. She didn't mention the portrait or how inaccurate it was, so she wouldn't need to explain how she had recognized Owens. By the time she hung up, her chest still felt too tight, but she ignored the pain and left. She drove back home completely on instinct, her mind buzzing with everything that had happened, everything she had heard and said, every second she had spent with Ray in the past week. She had rarely felt so stupid. "Back so soon?” Caroline was clearly taken aback when Grace entered the apartment and came to sit by her on the sofa in front on the television. “What went wrong?" Leaning her head against her mother's shoulder, Grace shrugged, letting out just one word. "Men." Caroline didn't reply, but she started caressing her hair, soothing her as she had done a few times in the past when crushes, boyfriends and even her husband had left Grace's heart raw and aching. She could only wonder why she had thought Ray would be any different.

Chapter 14 The latch clicked softly as the door closed on Grace. Ray had heard that sound dozens, hundreds of times; it had never seemed so final. "Anything you want to tell me, Childe?” Keller asked, his voice deceptively mild. He had held his temper in front of Grace, but his scent did not lie, and anger dominated it. "No, Sire." Quick steps took Keller away; by the sound of it, he went to the bedroom. Ray knew better than to look or move. He'd been ordered to his knees, and until Keller said otherwise, he had better stay where he was. He should have known better, also, than to antagonize Keller in front of someone, but that hadn't stopped him earlier. He'd been hoping for a word from Grace, a gesture, anything that would acknowledge he had been supposed to play with her that night. Although he supposed he had put an end to that when he had refused to let her in. He didn't know anymore which of them he had intended to protect by keeping them apart; or maybe he had been trying to protect himself. "What should I be more concerned about?” Keller came back and stood in front of Ray. A page from his drawing pad fell to the floor between them. It was Keller's ruined portrait. “That my face looks like you took a knife to it, or—” The sound of paper being torn off a spiral filled the room before a second page fell on top of the first. “—that hers is perfect?" Ray's eyes detailed the drawing in front of him. It wasn't perfect, far from it. Grace's hair needed refining, her dress seemed too stiff, the umbrella in her hand was unfinished. Nevertheless, he could see Keller's point.

"It was an accident,” he said calmly, although he felt anything but calm. “My pencil slipped—" "Your pencil slipped and happened to draw a Special Enforcer, yes." The notepad joined the two drawings on the floor, falling open upside down so that a page was creased. Ray flinched. His fists tightened at the small of his back. The urge to pick up the pad and fold it correctly was almost too strong to control. Keller knew exactly how much his drawings meant to him; this was punishment, pure, simple, and crueler than blows. "The very same Special Enforcer who happens to drop by unannounced, dressed in an outfit more suitable for a visit to Carte Blanche than for her line of work. Look at me." Ray raised his head, although he was unable to meet his Sire's eyes. He wasn't ready to deal with the disappointment he knew was there, not after he had seen the same thing on Grace's face. "You dressed up for her, didn't you? The make up, the subbie look ... You've been playing with that woman." Ray couldn't miss the surprise in Keller's voice. For the first time, he regretted not having told him, that first night, when he had come back from Carte Blanche with Mistress Red's words in his mind and the pain she had offered him still coursing through his body. "I did. I have." "Was it before or after you knew she was looking for me as a murder suspect?" At that, Ray's eyes found Keller's. He didn't want Keller to think he had betrayed him, not when Grace had clearly thought that very same thing. "Before,” he said, putting all the strength he dared in that simple word. “And when I found out, I tried to steer her away from you." Keller looked nonplussed. “You did? How?" "I ... I gave her partner a drawing of Stephen and said it was you." Laughter burst out of Keller's throat, loud and deep, and somehow reassuring. The sound slid over Ray like a balm. If Keller was amused, then maybe he hadn't messed up as badly as he'd thought. "You know,” Keller said when he had calmed down, “you being jealous of my other Childer was amusing the first couple of days. It has only become annoying since." There hadn't been a question in there, and Ray found himself unable to explain himself, unable to say he wasn't jealous, just lonely. He tried to put it in the look he gave Keller, but already he was walking away, back to the bedroom. For a few minutes, all Ray could do was listen to drawers being pulled open and wonder what Keller was looking for. Finally, the call he had been waiting for came—"Get in here."—and he almost sighed in relief. When at his most angry, Keller's best weapon was to ignore Ray; he was extremely good at it. Ray did not even think of getting to his feet. He crawled to the bedroom on all fours, rehearsing in his

head the apology he would be asked for, eventually. When he entered the room, however, the first thing he saw was one of Keller's suitcases standing by the bed, the top bulging. The matching one lay open on the bed, and Keller was placing a pair of pants inside. "Tell me about the girl,” he said without looking at Ray. “Start from the beginning." Ray needed a few seconds to find his words. Keller never stopped packing. "The night ... the night I asked for your permission to play,” he said at last, “she showed up at Carte Blanche. I ... I made her play with me—" "Youmade her play?” Keller interrupted, throwing Ray a frown. “I was under the impression she was a Domme." "She is. I...” Ray remembered, as though it had just happened, how Mistress Red had told him she'd let Keller deal with the rudeness he had not had permission for. “I was rude to her, publicly. It was her first night at the club." Keller chuckled. “You made her play,” he repeated. “Always so clever when you really want something.” Abandoning the dresser he had been emptying, he came to sit on the edge of the bed just three feet in front of Ray. “Why did you want her that badly anyway?" Taking a chance, Ray shuffled forward until he was just inches from Keller. He held his eyes the entire time. He couldn't see any anger left in them. He couldn't see any emotion at all. "You'd been gone three days,” he murmured. “And we hadn't played for more than a week before that." Whatever Keller thought of that answer, he didn't let it show on his face. "So you played with her. And you didn't tell me when I asked what you'd been up to.” He raised a hand, stopping Ray before he could explain himself. “When did you find out she was a S.E.?" "The next morning. She and her partner barged in here looking for you." Keller snorted. “That must have been quite a shock. Why didn't you give them my number?" "I...” Ray blinked, taken aback by the way Keller jumped around topics. “I didn't think about it. It all went very fast." "I'm sure. Did you play with her again after that?" With each question, Ray was becoming more and more uncomfortable. This quiet, hands off interrogation wasn't like the Keller he knew. There should have been fire in his eyes and anger in his scent, not this cross between amusement and indifference. Something was going wrong, so very wrong, and Ray didn't know how to fix it any more than he had known what to tell Grace earlier. All he knew was that refusing to answer now could only make things worse. "We played that night. At ... at the club. I—" "The club you didn't ask permission to return to,” Keller commented. “Go ahead."

A desperate pleading crept into Ray's voice. “I wanted to get information from her so I could protect you." "Really. And yet I have this feeling it didn't quite go like that. She asked you about me, didn't she?" "Yes, but I didn't say anything." "Why not?" Ray was surprised that he didn't know. Even Mistress Red had understood. “Because you're my Sire." The faintest smile appeared on Keller's lips. “I am, yes. Your Sire and Master. And yet you lied to me, disobeyed my orders and didn't tell me I was being investigated. I could have cleared my name right away. Did that even occur to you?" Ray's mouth opened, but no sound came out. For the first time since he had come closer, he broke eye contact, dropping his gaze to the carpet in front of him, whose patterns he knew so well he could have drawn them from memory. Keller forced his head back up with a single finger beneath his chin. He looked, and sounded, stunned. "You thought I had done it? Why?" All of Ray's hopes and fears resurfaced. He didn't want to answer, but at the same time confirmation that his theory had not been too far-fetched would have been nice. “I didn't. I ... I just ... wondered. You were mad at her after she played with me, so I thought maybe..." His voice trailed off when Keller stood abruptly and returned to his packing and Ray wondered what that meant. Had he guessed right? Was Keller embarrassed that he had figured it out? Was he worried because he had lied to Grace? "I don't kill.” The words slipped under Ray's skin like an icy blade. “Not even when I make a mistake and get you hurt. I despised her, I wanted to kick her ass, but I didn't kill her." Ray had no idea how to respond to those words, or to the trace of regret he thought he guessed behind them. What did Keller regret, exactly? He didn't dare ask. Minutes passed in near silence. Ray watched as his Sire finished packing, and tried to understand what was going on. As much as he tried, he didn't, and the clicking sound of the suitcase being shut almost startled him. "You played with her in this room, didn't you?” Keller asked out of the blue. “You fucked her in my bedroom. In my bed.” He snorted. “Were you going to do that tonight again? Should I feel sorry I ruined your plans? She didn't look too happy with you. I guess that makes two of us." Ray didn't know if he was supposed to answer any of those questions, but he needed to say something to explain or apologize; he wasn't sure which. Keller didn't let him do either. "Sire—" "Be quiet, Childe.” He came back to the bed and sat down in front of Ray again, grabbing his face with both hands. “I'm moving to California for a while. I came back for three things. My clothes, my car, and

you. Guess which one I'm leaving behind?" The world started tilting around Ray. Without thinking, he brought both hands in front of him to cling to Keller's hands so he wouldn't fall. “Sire, please—" "The rent is paid for the next year,” Keller continued, still as calm. “You don't need to worry about the utilities or the club fees, those are taken care of as well. You can keep using my credit card for the rest." "Sire,” Ray tried again, but Keller ignored him. "You are not to call me. I might call you. Or maybe I won't. If I haven't come back for you in one year, you're allowed to come and try to find me. If you come before that, don't expect me to even acknowledge your existence." Surely, this was a joke. A test. A punishment. Keller couldn't possibly mean that. The fear of being left alone tore at Ray's mind and body. He was shaking, and his fingernails were digging in Keller's wrists so hard the scent of blood rose between them. “Sire, I'm sorry, I promise..." Keller slowly, gently let go of Ray's face and freed his hands. “Save it for your Mistress, Ray. You're going to need it." Moments later, the door was clicking shut for the second time that night. The sound was almost a signal, allowing Ray to break out of position. He did so without the fear that Keller might return and chastise him for moving; Keller wasn't coming back, or at least not anytime soon. Mind blank but aching, he lay down on the floor, arms spread out on each side of him, and stared until he thought he could see each stroke of the paint roller on the off-white ceiling—each flaw in the paint job. With the clarity of hindsight, he could move back in time and find each of his mistakes just as easily. He remembered his certainty, eight years earlier, that having a Sire would mean never being alone again. He'd been so relieved at never having to explain to anyone else that, if he wanted to give them entire control over him, it wasn't because he was sick or twisted, it was just the only way he could feel safe, warm, and loved. He also remembered meeting Keller's other Childer, and being sure that he was different, that Keller would never tire of him just as he would never tire of Keller. He had made the vow then to be the best Childe a Sire might want, along with the best submissive a Master might need. He had never imagined it wouldn't be enough, but he had realized, as years passed, that it wasn't—for himself, it wasn't. He wanted and needed more than a Sire and Master. He wanted a lover, too, in all senses of the word, and while Keller could be sensuality incarnate, passion and love seemed foreign to him. Ray had hoped he was just really good at hiding his feelings. He had refused to see what now was blinding him. Keller was who he was, and no one, not even Ray, could change him. On the canvas of his life, small incidents, looks, words were like many brushstrokes forming a simple, predictable picture. Keller had left. Maybe he wouldn't have left so soon if Ray hadn't lied to him over the phone, but he would have left some day. It might not have been any more difficult to bear than it was now, but it wouldn't have been any easier either. If he had any regret, it was that he had ruined whatever had been happening with Grace by trying to protect Keller. At the very least, he decided he owed her an apology, and if she would listen, an explanation. It would probably only be a couple more strokes on another painting, smaller but strangely

just as painful as the other one. Hours had passed when he finally got up from the floor, feeling disorientated and sore. Before anything else, he walked to the living room and picked up his notepad and the two loose sheets, smoothing the pages as he brought them back to the bedroom. Standing by the desk, he flipped through the pages. A drawing was missing, one of his oldest ones, a self portrait whose clumsy lines he had never liked but had never been able to improve either. He couldn't begin to understand why Keller might have taken it. A shower did little to warm him even if he stayed under the scalding spray until the water turned cold. Still wrapped in a bathrobe, he returned to the desk, opened the notepad to a new page and started drawing. He didn't let himself think about the images his mind and hand were creating, or why these memories were resurfacing rather than others. He just drew, fast, sometimes not very well, getting bored with each drawing before he completed it, until he had gone through seven pages and his fingers cramped painfully around his pencil. His eyes hurt from being focused on the paper for so long. When he put down the pencil, he realized with some surprise that it was almost the middle of the morning. Both Keller's scent and Grace's still lingered in the bedroom, but he was exhausted enough that he managed to find sleep almost as soon as he lay down on the bed. Thankfully, he did not dream. At sunset the next evening he walked out of the building in his street clothes. A taxi was waiting for him. Despite his better judgment, he had the driver stop in front of a flower shop for a few moments before he indicated the way to Grace's apartment. A peek at the mailboxes told him she lived on the third floor. He rehearsed what he would say on his way up the stairs, all too aware that he would only get seconds, if even that, before she slammed the door in his face or shoved a stake through his heart. He took a breath as deep as it was unneeded as he stood on the threshold, and knocked twice. He could hear steps behind the door and got ready. Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the child standing beyond the open door and looking at him with a small frown. "Are you my mom's boyfriend?"

Chapter 15 The car behind Grace honked. She jumped, startled, and drove through the intersection when she realized the light was green. She had just dropped Laura at school and, without someone needing her immediate attention right then and there, she found herself drifting back to what had happened the previous night. She wished she could put the entire episode behind her as easily as she had taken Owens’ name off the suspects list, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't help feeling betrayed still. She had tried telling herself that she shouldn't have expected anything else from Ray. After all, it had been all too clear from the start how protective he was of his Sire. She should have been more suspicious that he had volunteered to give her and Hugo a portrait of Owens after he had been so reluctant to give them a simple description. She should have guessed, also, that asked to choose between Owens and her, he wouldn't hesitate. The truly surprising thing was that she had deluded herself into thinking it had been more than playing for him. From there, it hadn't taken her long to realize she had wanted it to be more than playing. She should have known better, both as a Special Enforcer and as a woman. Her mother had been discreet and had refrained from demanding details, for which Grace was grateful. Nonetheless, she had asked, when she left, whether it was over for good or whether things could get fixed between her and her ‘gentleman friend,’ as Caroline called him. Grace had wanted to say it was

over. She wanted to believe it was. Still, she had found herself unable to say the words, and had needed to resort to a vague “I don't know” that had made her mother smile a little sadly and had left her with an unsettling feeling of restlessness. Chasing from her mind the image of Ray kneeling at his Sire's feet, she glanced at her agenda on the passenger seat where she had noted Spencer Nihls’ address. She was on the right street in one of Blackwood Falls’ most affluent neighborhoods. She only needed to find the right house—or as it turned out, the right mansion. She drove up the private brick-paved road, and tall evergreens blocked her view of the house until a slight bend in the road. They also hid an unmarked police car with a warning light on the roof and the medical examiner's van in front of the house. Puzzled but already getting a bad feeling, Grace parked next to the van and proceeded up the path that wove through the manicured lawn to the front door. Her badge in one hand, she knocked on the door and waited only moments before a woman came to open it. She was maybe in her fifties, dressed in a housecoat, with her graying hair in disarray. Her eyes were red and puffy; she dabbed at them with a handkerchief as she looked at Grace. "Hello ma'am. My name is Grace Alkins. I'm a Special Enforcer and—" The woman let out a sob and stepped aside, motioning for Grace to come in. “The police ... they said you'd come. They also said you'd do a spell on the house to chase the vampires away.” She gripped Grace's arms with her right hand, her eyes suddenly wide and almost panicked. “You can do it, right? I don't think I can stay in here if—" "I can do it,” Grace cut in gently. “You're safe. Everything will be fine." The woman let go of Grace's arms and looked to the back of the house. “I'm not sure it will be,” she murmured. “What will I do without my Spencer?" If Grace had had any doubt left, she now was sure someone had died. Not just anyone, but the very same man she had been on her way to meet. "I know this has to be hard, ma'am, and the police probably asked you already. But could you tell me what happened?" The woman, shaking slightly, walked over to the sitting room next to the entryway and let herself fall onto an armchair. Grace followed her and sat on a nearby sofa. "My husband ... he was in his study when I went to bed last night, around eleven. He said he would join me soon. I heard a car pull up in the alley, and voices.” She looked up from the handkerchief in her hand and smiled through her tears. “Spencer was a member of the town council. He loved his job. He often worked late, but he rarely had meetings that late." She seemed to be waiting for Grace to say something. "I'm sure he was very dedicated to his work,” she said warily. The woman nodded. “Always. Even when our son—” She swallowed hard. “—even when he was taken from us, Spencer kept working so hard. He said he wanted to make Blackwood Falls so that other young men wouldn't die like our Tony."

Grace suddenly had a pretty good idea as to what had cause Nihls to change his mind about vampires. "Mrs. Nihls, I can't say how sorry I am for your losses. Could you tell me what happened after you heard the voices?" She sniffed. “I don't know. I fell asleep, and only woke up this morning. Spencer never came to bed. I figured he had fallen asleep in his study again. I went down to the kitchen to warm some coffee and when I looked out ... I couldn't understand why he was in the backyard. He never went there. He just..." She started sobbing again. Feeling awkward, Grace reached over and patted her arm gently. "I'm sorry,” she said again. “I'll go talk to the police, if that's all right with you. Is there someone you could call to come and be with you?" "My sister ... she's ... she's on her way. I'll show you." She stood with some difficulty, nodding her thanks when Grace supported her elbow briefly, and led the way to the kitchen. She didn't enter it, and only motioned toward the French windows. "They're out there. You'll do the spell before you leave, right?" "I will, ma'am. I'll be back in a moment to do it." She had just stepped onto the back deck through the French windows when she noticed Hugo. He had walked around the house to get to the backyard, and looked at her with obvious surprise. "How did you know to come here?” he asked as they reached the body together. He looked at Lieutenant Howell, his frown almost accusing. “Did you call her too?" "I didn't know I had to,” Howell replied, his eyes going from Hugo to Grace and back. Grace shook her head, a little amused despite the situation at how Hugo was still so protective of his work, even days after he had promised to let her do more for the agency. “I was supposed to have a meeting with the victim this morning." At Hugo's questioning look, she explained. “He used to be a strong adversary of MacAlair's, but recently he turned around completely. I thought he might have information about who opposed her enough to want her dead." "And nowhe 's dead,” Hugo mused, then grudgingly admitted, “Maybe you were onto something. We'll look at those lists of yours a bit more closely when we get back to the agency." After her struggles from the past couple of days, this felt as close to validation as Grace could have hoped. She had some trouble hiding her smile. Since the murder had taken place outdoors, magic was useless. Vampires only needed an invitation to enter a personal home; backyards, like public places, were freely accessible to them and did not bear traces of vampires passing through them. All Hugo and Grace could do was watch the body being removed. Mullen, the medical examiner, did point out that Nihls seemed to have received a blow to the head before his death, though she couldn't say yet if it had killed him, or if the bite on his neck had. She promised them an answer before the day was over.

"His wife said she heard him talk to someone inside the house late last night,” she told Hugo when the police was done. “She wants a disinvite, and we probably should trace vampires who entered the house before that." Hugo nodded. “Of course. You want to do it?" She shrugged self-consciously and tried not to look at the leather bag Hugo held. “I only came here to talk to the guy. I don't have any supplies with me." He shook a finger at her. “You shouldalways have basic spell supplies with you. You never know when you're going to need them." "You're right,” she conceded, contrite. “I'll remember that." He seemed satisfied by her admission and gestured for her to follow him. They walked inside the house through the window she had left open. Mrs. Nihls stood just inside the kitchen doorway again, although she was now dressed. She had also brushed her hair. While she wasn't crying anymore, her eyes remained as red. "My condolences,” Hugo said, more sympathetic than Grace was used to seeing him. “We're going to do a couple of spells and revoke any invitation to enter that may have been given to a vampire. We'll just need a moment." She nodded before stepping away. Hugo pulled out the ingredients they needed from his bag and set them out on the kitchen table. He didn't invite Grace to take over, but she didn't mind. Standing against the wall, she watched him as he mixed the ingredients and recited the spell. Nothing happened. Hugo grunted. “That's weird. I've done this spell hundreds of times. I can't believe I did it wrong." "You didn't,” Grace said, as taken aback as he was. “I was watching you. You did everything the way it's supposed to be." "But that can't be right. If no vampire was invited in this house, how could a vampire have killed..." His frown turned into raised eyebrows at the same time that Grace figured it out. "The vamp could have had an accomplice,” he said. “A human—" "A human who led Nihls out in the backyard and knocked him out with a blow to the head before letting the vampire kill him." Hugo nodded. “I don't see why else he'd have gone out in the middle of the night. Can you think of another explanation?" Grace thought about it for a moment. It was possible, she supposed, that the late night visitor might be unrelated to Nihls’ murder, but then what could have lured him outside? He had lost his son to vampires, he had been fighting for anti-vampire legislation ... Grace had met people like him before, and they rarely liked to be in open spaces at night. "Did ... did you do the spell?” Mrs. Nihls asked, reappearing by the doorway.

Grace and Hugo exchanged a glance. A disinvite spell was useless if no vampire had been invited in. "We did,” Grace said, smiling reassuringly. “You're safe. And we'll do everything we can to find who is responsible for your husband's death." **** That promise stayed with Grace all day as she and Hugo reviewed everything they knew and every hypothesis they could come up with. By the end of the day, when the medical examiner called to say it was the bite that had killed Nihls and that it was identical to the bite they had found on MacAlair, both Special Enforcers were convinced that the two killings weren't separate incidents. "This has never happened before,” Hugo exclaimed, not for the first time, just as they were closing the agency. “In this town, deaths by vampires are accidents. One or two a year, never more. And now we've got two intentional killings of anti-vamp politicians...” He shook his head in disbelief. “It's just weird." Grace didn't answer. As far as she was concerned, what was weird was that such a thing hadn't happened before, given that the charter of Blackwood Falls was so strict where vampires were concerned. "You're sure you want to come?” he asked, also not for the first time. “Your kid—" "Is home with my mother,” she cut in, smiling but unyielding. “She'll be just fine. And, yes, I am sure I want to come and investigate L.E.V. As I recall, I'm the one who found out about it in the first place." Hugo stopped complaining after that, and they left together in his car to visit one after another two vampires and a human, all of them part of the L.E.V. group. All three were adamant as to the complete legality of their actions and pointed out that the murders hurt their cause rather than helped it in words so similar it had to be a planned response. One of the vampires and the human had alibis for both murders. The other vampire, as a licensed attorney, had a magical trace on him that eliminated him as a suspect, since no registered vampire had entered MacAlair's home. "Well, that was a waste of time,” Hugo complained, driving Grace back to the agency so she could pick up her car. Night had fallen, and with vampires free to roam, they had decided to stop their visits until the next day. "Not completely. You heard them; they were strictly reciting their group's opinion on the murders. There's got to be someone in L.E.V. who thinks legal action takes too long. We need to find out who." "But if they're all guarding each other's backs, we'll never get through." They arrived, and he parked the car next to Grace's. She opened the door but didn't get out immediately. “I don't know,” she said, thinking aloud. “Some of them pay lip service to the group's official word on the murders, but others might believe it more strongly. That last vamp—" "Fontes? The attorney?" "Yeah. No offense, but I don't think he liked you much." Hugo chuckled. “No, dear old Nathan never did. We've known each other quite a while now, although you wouldn't know it to look at him."

A half smile tugged at Grace's lips. “I think he might be more open to talking to me alone. I'll try him again tomorrow, and ask if anyone has been advocating more direct action." "Let me know how it goes." "I will. Good night." Since stumbling onto her second murder scene that morning, Grace had been entirely focused on her work, and had not thought of Ray more than a couple of times. The instant she closed her car door and turned the key in the ignition, the bitterness and betrayal she had felt that morning returned fully, augmented by the half-formed thought at the back of her mind that she could ask him if he knew about the L.E.V. group or even had ever been a part of it. She stomped on that idea before it could become too nagging. Her subconscious wasn't fooling her in the slightest, offering her an excuse to go see Ray, and as much as I wished she could have, she refused to take the bait. As it turned out, she didn't have to go see him. When she reached her floor, the first thing she heard, before she could even see him, was his voice, confused and hesitant. "Your mom's ... I ... not exactly..." Her heart suddenly trying to break free from her chest, Grace hurried past the corner of the hallway. Questions thundered through her mind—why was he here? How had he known where to find her?—but the fear was louder than them. Laura should know better than to invite anyone inside their home, but if she did so anyway by accident... "Flowers, huh? You're the one who hurt my daughter, then." Grace reached the door just as Caroline finished uttering her pronouncement—just in time to see the effect it had on Ray. He looked both crestfallen and hopeful when he heard Grace approach and turned his face to her. The combination was odd, just as odd as the sight of him wearing blue jeans, a white shirt, and a navy blue jacket. Black suited him much better, she decided before dismissing the stray thought. "What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice as harsh as Mistress Red's had ever been. He glanced at Caroline, as though unwilling to speak in front of her. She seemed to interpret his look as a plea for help. "He came to apologize, of course,” she said, crossing her arms, and raised an eyebrow toward Grace. “Or did he mess up too much to even get the right to apologize?" Grace repressed the urge to groan aloud. She'd wanted to see Ray, she had even held the barely conscious hope he could find a way to explain his behavior, but not like this, not in front of Caroline and with Laura looking out curiously only a few feet away. "Mom, please, give me a minute, would you?" Caroline seemed almost disappointed, although Grace couldn't have said if it was because she was being asked to step back or because she didn't want Ray to have the chance to apologize. She closed the door after another look at Ray. Grace was sure she would eavesdrop if given a chance, just like she was sure

the nosy neighbor across the hall would listen in as well. "Come with me,” she said, gritting her teeth, and led the way down the staircase and to the parking lot. She got into her car and unlocked the passenger side, her need for privacy prevailing over the little voice in her mind that claimed being so close to him was not a good idea at all. After a moment of hesitation, Ray climbed in. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't stake you right here and now,” she snapped at him, her anger from the previous night compounded by her instinctive fear at a vampire having been so close from her daughter. Without thinking, she closed her hands on the wheel and tightened them until they hurt. From the corner of her eyes, she could see him turn his upper body toward her and lean back against the door. He didn't say anything until she looked at him fully. "One reason,” he said, much too calm to her liking. “OK. You're not the kind of Special Enforcer who just kills a vamp because he looked at you the wrong way." "You did more than look at me the wrong way.” The last time her voice had been so cold, she had been telling her soon-to-be ex-husband she wanted a divorce. "Do you want me to make a list of what I did wrong?" There was just the trace of a smile pulling at his lips. Grace had to struggle not to slap him. "No, I don't. We're not playing anymore. You lost the right to play when you lied to me." He nodded, yet the words that passed his lips were anything but an agreement. “I thought you'd see things that way. But I didn't lie. Not to you, at least." She stared at him incredulously. “And you didn't tell me the portrait was of your Sire?" "No, I told your partner it was of Keller. He's the one who asked for a picture. He's the one I gave the drawing to. I never toldyou —" Grace couldn't help it. She laughed. It was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard, and yet at the same time she could see why he had thought she might accept this excuse. "Let me make a guess here,” she said bitterly when she had calmed down. “If you gave such a crappy excuse to your Sire, he'd call you clever and let you get away with it." Ray blinked very slowly. He looked a little taken aback. “He would, yes. But you won't, will you?" "No. Want to know why?" He nodded. "Because I give—gave a damn about you. And from what I know of him, he doesn't. He'd let you get away with it because, for him, it was nothing more than a game." She managed to stop herself before voicing the obvious corollary. She had made enough of a fool of herself already. She expected him to try pushing at her with more apologies after that, but he only gave

her a miserable smile. "I see that now,” he said. “I just wish I had realized it sooner. I know it doesn't mean anything to you, but I'm sorry." Straightening his body, he pulled at the door handle. The ceiling light turned on. Before she knew what she was doing, her hand was closing on his arm. "Wait." He looked back at her, not disguising his hope well enough to fool her. She wanted to answer that hope. She wanted to accept that they hadn't been involved on the same level, and she shouldn't have expected so much from him after only playing with him a handful of times. She wanted to give him a second chance—and yet, she had promised herself, a few months earlier, that she'd never again offer a man a second chance to hurt her. What she wanted to say became something completely different. "Do you know someone called Spencer Nihls?" He blinked, then frowned. The hope was gone. “The name sounds vaguely familiar.” At her insistent look, he gave a small shrug. “You're asking me to guess? Is he a TV person of some sort?" Somehow, she was ready to believe he truly had no idea who Nihls had been and that he had been killed. It would have been too much of a coincidence if the two murders hadn't been linked, and she trusted that neither him nor his Sire had been involved in MacAlair's death. "What about the L.E.V. group?" That brought a furtive gleam of recognition to his eyes. “I've heard of them. Some kind of vampire defense association or something along those lines, isn't it?" "Do you know anyone who belongs—" He shook his head. “We're done playing,Grace , you said so yourself." She wanted to reproach him the use of her name, but she realized just before she did that she had given up that right. All she could do was watch the fire slowly rising in his eyes and voice as he continued his tirade. "And I'm done answering any question you can throw my way. I don't know who killed MacAlair, and honestly I don't care all that much. The only good thing she ever did as far as I'm concerned was allow me to meet you." His face softened a little then, and his voice dropped to a murmur. “I'll miss you. Grace as much as Mistress Red. Goodbye." He leaned in to press his lips to hers, slowly enough that she could have stopped him. She couldn't have explained why, but she didn't. She knew she should stop that chaste kiss and pull away, and yet she remained still and allowed him to end it. Turning away, he pushed the door open and stepped out of the car. Grace watched him leave with his hands deep in his jacket pockets and his head held high so stiffly

she knew it had to be a façade. Only when he had disappeared did she notice the bouquet of flowers he had left on the passenger seat. In the darkness, the fifteen red roses seemed almost black.

Chapter 16 Ray managed to keep his head up until he had turned past the street corner. He didn't know if Grace was watching him, but if she was, he didn't want to give her the idea that he felt in any way defeated or depressed—even if he did. Things had gone better than he would have expected; she had, after all, listened to him. She had let him kiss her goodbye. She even had hinted that she had seen more in their playing than he had thought she did. It should have pleased him. Instead, it only accentuated what he had lost. If he had only guessed... The sidewalk in front of him was threatening to become another canvas for the gloomy picture of his mistakes. He cut off that train of thought as quickly as he could. He'd wallowed in self-pity more than enough already, and continuing now wouldn't help in any way. He needed to feed, then he needed to figure out what to do. The thought crossed his mind of going to Carte Blanche. It wouldn't be too difficult to find someone there who was up for a bite. They'd expect a bit of play to go with it, however, and playing was the last thing he wanted at that moment, even for the sake of a bite. If he wasn't going to feed at Carte Blanche, he had two options left. Go to the butcher and buy animal blood, or try his luck at the blood bar. He didn't really feel like being around people, but being alone at home was just as unappealing. Before he even knew he had made up his mind, he found himself in front of the blood bar, and since he was already there, he decided he might as well stay. He remained at the bar just long enough to say hello to Lucas and ask him for a beer, then went to the back of the room, where the booths lining the walls offered more privacy than staying at the bar or sitting down at one of the tables. It was still early, and the only customers aside from Ray were one couple sitting at one of the tables and a second couple in a booth close to the exit. Like two nights earlier, the television above the bar was set to the news channel, clearly for the benefit of Terry who was working at a table a few feet from it. As the evening progressed and more customers arrived, the television would be shut off and replaced by music, but for now Ray didn't mind it. He sipped on his beer and listened absently to the state of the stock exchange—in which he had absolutely no interest—until a young woman approached and blocked his view of the television. "Hi.” She smiled a little hesitantly. “Mind if I sit down?" Short, light brown hair framed her face, hiding its shape. Her long-sleeved top left her neck exposed; it was free of telltale bite marks. He forced himself to return her smile. “Go ahead." Her heartbeat had been racing already, but it jumped at his words. She sat in the booth across him, her

smile a little wider, but her hand still clenched on her drink. For a few minutes, Ray waited to see if she'd say anything or if her nervousness would get the better of her. When she had opened her mouth three times without managing to say a word, he took pity on her. "It's your first time in a blood bar, isn't it?" She blushed. “I'm that transparent, huh?" Ray didn't answer and merely took another sip of beer. "You must think I'm crazy to come here tonight of all nights." She seemed to wait for a reassurance that Ray thought no such thing, but he had no idea what she meant. "What's special about tonight?" She shrugged and gestured in the direction of the television. “You know, with the murders and all." Ray followed her gesture toward the television, but it had been turned off. “Murders?” he asked, confused. “What murders?" He must have spoken too loudly because the couple at the table a few feet away glanced at him and the girl, clearly uncomfortable. The other couple, whose chatter had been like a buzzing in the background, fell silent. Terry noticed their uneasiness; he turned a severe frown toward Ray, but his features softened when he recognized him. "You know,” the girl explained, oblivious to the changing mood in the bar, “these two people who've been killed by—” She gulped and lowered her voice. “—by vampires? Just in the last week?" Ray had no idea what she was talking about. He knew about MacAlair, of course, but he hadn't heard of another killing. As she talked, Terry approached their booth. He didn't seem too excited about the turn that their conversation had taken. "Miss, I couldn't help overhearing you...” He gave her a smile as bright as it was fake. “Please, do not believe for one minute you are in any danger. The vampires who patronize my establishment—” He inclined his head toward Ray. “—are no killers. They come here to meet open-minded people such as you, not to hurt anyone." The girl didn't look convinced. “But that man ... the one who was killed today ... The news said he was working for vampire rights—" Terry snorted. “He used to. And then he changed his mind, and decided to destroy everything he had built. What's surprising is that a vampire didn't get to him any sooner." It wasn't the first time Ray had heard Terry rant like this, but the girl didn't seem to know what to make of it. She glanced at Ray, looking confused and more hesitant than ever. "Maybe you should come back another night,” he suggested, smiling gently. “You look like you need to

think about this a little more." She took his advice with obvious relief etched on her face and slid out of the booth with a “Goodnight” that was barely louder than a breath. "Great,” Terry grumbled, rolling his eyes at Ray. “Now even my customers try to make me go bankrupt. Thanks ever so." "She was spooked,” Ray said, shrugging. “You'd rather have her go find a S.E. in the morning and say I bit her without her consent?" "Of course not. But if you'd agreed with me, she might have listened." Ray shook his head, unsure whether he was amused or annoyed. “I don't even know about that second murder." "Well, I do.” Terry's voice dropped to a whisper. “And if you ask me, Nihls had it coming even more than MacAlair. At least she wasn't a traitor." His expression hinted that he expected Ray to agree with him. It only proved how little he knew him. "I need another drink,” Ray said even though his glass was still half full. “Excuse me." He stood and walked past the man to the bar, happy to get away from him. With opinions such as those, it was a wonder Terry hadn't found someone to sire him yet. Thankfully, when Ray returned to his booth with a glass of warm blood, he had returned to his own table to work. As he sat down, however, Ray couldn't help but turn his attention back to Terry, thinking about what he had said, and in particular about the name he had pronounced. Nihls. It had just occurred to him that it was the same name Grace had thrown at him not even an hour earlier. He couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that she had questioned him, looking at him as no more than another suspect. He was even more sorry, however, that he had left without telling her what he knew of the L.E.V. group. It could have been the first step toward building trust between them. He thought for a while, forgetting both his drinks until the blood was tepid and the beer barely any cooler. In the end, he called himself a fool for even hoping, but decided to try. It might be his best chance to get Grace's attention. He went home early to prepare, and looked at the cloudy sky expectantly. He hoped it would rain the next day. **** When Grace drove Laura to school that morning, the sky reflected her mood, gray and bleak. All night long, Ray's words had played back in her mind, not only the discussion in the car but also everything she remembered him telling her since they had met. She didn't like the little voice that tried so hard to convince her that he had played by the only rules he knew and she couldn't blame him if her own were different. She didn't like either how inflexible and unforgiving her failed marriage had left her. "Mom, are you sure he wasn't your boyfriend?" Her fingers tightened on the wheel for a moment. She glanced at Laura in the rearview mirror and made

herself smile. "I told you, honey. He's just someone I know." "But he brought you roses,” she insisted, bringing up the bouquet for the third time since the previous night. “I'm big enough to know if you have a boyfriend." "And when I do, you will,” Grace answered more sharply than she would have liked. It was hard enough trying to quiet her own mind; it didn't make anything easier to have Laura prod her with questions for which she had no answers. Thankfully, they arrived, and for once Grace managed to park directly in front of the school. "We're here. Have a good day." In the mirror, Laura pouted as she undid her seatbelt but said nothing. Grace stayed in the car, watching her join her friends past the fence, her flute case in one hand and her backpack slung over her shoulder. Grace only left when they had entered the building together. Then she drove off to interview again the attorney she felt hadn't been entirely forthcoming the previous afternoon. Like many vampires who held professions that put them in contact with the public, he was following a human schedule. The plaque by his door indicated his office opened at eight thirty. When Grace arrived at eight thirty-five, the waiting room was empty, but according to his secretary, Nathan Fontes was too busy to see her. If Hugo had been there, he would have flashed his badge and recited some charter law or other that authorized him to see any vampire he pleased at his own convenience. He had done as much just the day before. Grace doubted it was the way to get Fontes to talk to her, however, so she sat down in one of the plush armchairs lined up in the waiting room. "I'll wait,” she simply said. And she did wait; Fontes took in only two clients that morning, spending twenty minutes with one and an hour with the other, but he didn't agree to see her until past noon. By then, Grace was bored senseless, and she had long since given up trying to push Ray to the back of her mind. Unfortunately, she was no closer to figuring out any answer where he was concerned, so she was glad to go back to her investigation. "You're quite tenacious,” Fontes said when she entered his study. “And also more patient than you were yesterday." The room was spacious, with two seating areas. In the corner on the right to the door, a low sofa and two armchairs seemed to invite a casual conversation or a cup of coffee. Landscape paintings on each wall and muted fabric colors gave the space a cozy feeling. Facing the door, however, Fontes’ desk area was much more imposing. The large, carved wooden desk stood neat and clutter free in front of bookshelves that covered the entire wall. On one side, facing the door, his leather chair had the comfortable look of a well broken-in piece of furniture. Across from it, two wooden chairs with padded velvet seats and armrest were just as posh if more formal. They sat down at his desk, and Grace smiled faintly. “Doing my job doesn't prevent me from appreciating you are doing yours as well." He inclined his head. “That is a refreshing change.” He didn't mention Hugo, but it was obvious he was

thinking about him. Leaning back in his chair, he observed Grace thoughtfully. “I thought I answered all your questions yesterday. What brought you back?" "I just wanted to make sure you understood what was going on." He chuckled. “Miss, I was a vampire long before your grandmother even thought of having children. Vampires killing humans and humans seeking revenge are hardly things you need to explain to me." "That's where I'd like to respectfully differ, sir. I'm not looking for the killer for revenge. I'm looking for this vampire, and his accomplice, because they target those who try to limit vampires’ rights—and all they'll manage to do this way is antagonize those who didn't mind vampires until now." All traces of amusement had left him, and he stared at her across the desk until his gaze seemed almost too heavy. "Why would you care if he's hurting our cause? He only makes your job easier." She leaned forward in her chair and tried to put all her conviction in her words and face. “The job was to stake vampires who kill—and protect those who don't. I am more than willing to do both. What I am not willing to do is persecute innocent vamps." A clock somewhere behind Grace ticked away long, silent seconds until Fontes finally nodded, very slowly, as though reluctant to believe her still but willing to take a chance. "What do you need?" "Yesterday when I asked you if anyone in the L.E.V. group ever suggested violence to reach your goals, you hesitated." He nodded again, although he seemed more on edge suddenly, as though uncomfortable. “The man I thought of when you asked is an old acquaintance, and I can't believe he'd kill a human for this. That being said...” He sighed. “He's been rather ... vocal in the past year about how our group was unable to stop some legislation being discussed, and we had to ask him to step down as a member" Grace tried very hard to contain a grin. “Do you have his name?" A call to Hugo to share what she had discovered damped her enthusiasm. Lucas Welton, as a bartender licensed to serve blood, was under a tracking spell that cleared him of having entered the first murder scene. She decided to talk to him anyway, and see if he would name people who shared his views. Half an hour after leaving Fontes’ office, she was knocking at the address Hugo had given her. A gray haired man opened the door. He did not match the description Grace had for Welton, and the blood vessel that started throbbing on his temple when she introduced herself as a Special Enforcer proved him human. "What do you want with him?” he asked, immediately defensive. “He worked all night and until five this morning. I won't have you disturb him unnecessarily." "I'm sorry, Mister...?" He did not volunteer his name. Grace shrugged it off as poor manners on his part and continued with a

little impatience sliding into her voice. "This is a private matter I need to discuss with Mr. Welton. I'd rather talk to him now than have to bother him at his place of employment later." His face lit up at her words, and he smiled coldly. “So glad you said that. I happen to be his employer, and you have my permission to come talk to him all you want tonight. He'll be there at eight. Good day." With that, he shut the door in her face, leaving Grace stunned and more than a little ticked off. She raised her hand to knock again, but thought better of it. The blood bar where Welton worked had been on her list of places to visit. Now, she even had an invitation from the owner to do so. A few hours wouldn't change anything. It started raining while she drove back to the agency, and it reminded her of the day Ray had used the protection of the clouds to come and bring them the supposed drawing of Owens. She wondered whose portrait it had really been. She'd probably never know. She bought a sandwich from the corner deli and ate at her desk, filling in Hugo while she had a late lunch. "The place is called ‘Fangs',” he told her in return. “Very original for a blood bar. It's been open for more than twenty years, and there's never been a problem in or around the place. I doubt you'll find a killer in there." She shrugged. “At the very least, I'll see what it's like. And if a little cooperation on my part makes the owner of the place more friendly, all the better." Hugo shook his head in dismay. “Playing nice with vamps and vamp lovers will only help you so far, you know. Eventually you'll have to crack the whip, and by then it might be too late to make them respect you." His choice of words flustered Grace; she could see them applying far too well to the situation with Ray for comfort. She was also getting tired of how every little thing brought her thoughts back to him when the topic should have been over and done with. They questioned two more vampires together that afternoon. Both belonged to the L.E.V. group, and both had solid alibis for one of the murders or both. Grace hoped her visit to Fangs would yield more results; they were starting to run out of leads again. With the lack of progress, Hugo was getting grumpy, and the five calls he had received since Nihls’ murder from various town council members did nothing to appease him. "We've got to find that vamp,” he was saying for the umpteenth time when Grace's phone rang. It was the end of the afternoon, and they had just returned to the agency. She took the call as she got out of the car, hurrying out of the rain and beneath the protection offered by the agency's awning. On the other end of the line, her mother sounded worried. "Grace? Did you pick up Laura at school?" Frowning, she covered her free ear with her hand to try to hear her mother better. She must have misunderstood her.

"Did I pick her up? No. You were supposed to get her after band practice. Did you forget?" "Of course not.” Caroline sounded frantic now. “But she wasn't there when I got to the school. Her friend Sam said she didn't go to practice today. Do you think she would have gone home by herself? She had a bad cold yesterday, maybe..." Grace couldn't believe Laura would have left school on her own, even if she had been feeling sick. She knew better than that. On the other hand, she had been upset with Grace that morning, and she might have made a bad decision. "Did you try calling my apartment?” she asked, trying to remain calm even when she felt like shouting. "No, I didn't—" "I'm hanging up now, Mom. I'll call you back later." She cut the call abruptly and feverishly dialed her home number. Hugo, who had opened the agency's door and walked in, looked at her questioningly. "My daughter,” she said curtly, then cursed under her breath when she realized she had misdialed. She started over. “She wasn't at school when my mom went to get her." The tone rang in her ear three times before the answering machine picked up. "Laura?” she called out. “Are you home, baby? Pick up the phone if you are." There was no answer. She flipped the phone shut and stared at it for a minute. If Laura was in her room, she might not have heard the phone ring. "I need to go home." "Of course,” Hugo replied at once. “I'm sure she's fine. Give me a call when you find her." Between the heavy rain, her anxiety, and the way she kept her eyes on the sidewalk as she drove, looking for a familiar purple raincoat, it was a wonder Grace didn't run off the road on her way home. She had never climbed the three flights of steps faster. "Laura?” she called out as soon as she unlocked the door. “Are you here?" She only noticed the oversized envelope that had been slipped beneath her door after she stepped on it, leaving a wet shoe print on it. She picked it up and opened it while she walked over to Laura's room. She stopped in the middle of the hallway and stared at the two sheets she had pulled out of the envelope, certain now that her daughter wasn't here. One piece of paper, the largest, was a portrait of Laura; the other, a short handwritten note. I think I may have found what you're looking for. Give me a call tomorrow. The note and drawing were both signed Ray.

Chapter 17 Grace's hands shook so hard that she dropped her cell phone while taking it out of her jacket. Cursing, she knelt down and picked it up. She held her breath while flipping it open, and sighed in relief when the screen lit up. She thumbed the too small buttons frenetically, looking through her calling history for Ray's number. She pressed redial and brought the phone to her ear. She thought her heart would stop when the call went straight to voicemail. Too angry to say anything coherent, she hung up and got back to her feet. She was out of the apartment before she even knew where she was going. By the time she reached the car, her shaking had calmed down enough that she could drive. It had finally stopped raining, although Grace barely noticed. She saw nothing, heard nothing, her driving entirely on automatic. For the few minutes it took her to get to Ray's apartment, the same questions ran through her mind in a loop, more infuriating and scary each time because she didn't have answers. Where was Laura? Was she all right? How had Ray found her school? For that matter, how had he found their apartment? Why had he taken her? How had he taken her? Had he hurt her? Had he killed her? What would Grace do if he had hurt her—what would she do after she had staked him, that was? Before she knew it, she was in front of his apartment and pounding on the door with both fists. There was no answer, and not a sound inside, although the neighbor across the hall did open his door and peer at her. She flashed her badge at him and waited until he had closed the door again. Two kicks and three hard pushes later, the door was yielding in front of her. A stake in hand, she entered the apartment. Everything was dark. She found the switch by the door and turned the lights on. There was nothing in the living room. She barely glanced at the kitchenette before moving on to the hallway, turning the lights on as she went. The first door, which had never been open when she had been there, led to a small bedroom. It didn't look like it had been used in quite some tome. The bathroom was empty—and so was the master bedroom. Ice slid into Grace's bones. She froze. The stake clattered to the floor, but she barely heard the sound. Blood was thumping in her ears, fast drums that urged her to run, search, hunt down Ray, find Laura. She didn't move. She didn't know where to start. The emptiness of the room was pressing in on her, the walls closing in. She forced herself to breathe, slow and deep, and take a step further inside the room. She looked around, desperately trying to remember any clue Ray might have given her about where he could be. On the desk to her left, his notepad was open, displaying an unfinished drawing of her wearing a dress and seated on a high stool. It was the way he had first seen her at the club, she realized, and the barely defined shape at her feet had to be Ray. Without thinking, she flipped the page over, revealing another drawing. This one also showed the two of them at the club, after they had played. She was seated on a sofa, Ray kneeling at her feet. This drawing wasn't finished either, but one part seemed more complete than the rest, with refined lines and light and shadows carefully rendered; her hand playing with his hair. She knew, before she turned to the next page, that the next drawing would be of them together as well. And the next. There were seven total, each a visual memory of their games save for the last one. Judging by the clothes she wore on that one, it was supposed to depict the night she had come to him only to find Owens there. Owens wasn't in the picture, however, and rather than kneeling at his feet, Ray was kneeling at hers. "You can't rewrite the past,” she said aloud, addressing Ray's outlined shape on the page.

Forcing herself to move away from the desk, she gave the room one last glance. In spite of herself, she remembered the last time she had been here. If she had known then that Ray would become so obsessed with her, to the point of taking her daughter ... How could she not have known? How could she have taken such stupid risks? A pang of guilt echoed through her mind. She refused to listen to it. Ray was the guilty party here, not her, and when she found him— The answer came in a blinding flash. Frantic, she hurried to the dresser, opened it at random and pulled out the first shirt she found. Twenty minutes later, she was back at the agency and throwing the shirt on her desk before turning to the magic spell supplies. She wished Hugo had still been there; it had been a long time since she had performed a location spell, and she wasn't sure she remembered how. She faltered for the first time since leaving Ray's apartment. She couldn't afford to make a mistake now. Every minute that he had Laura was a minute too long, and she had wasted enough time already. Getting a grip on herself, she looked through Hugo's desk, certain she had seen him put a spell book in there, and almost sighed in relief when she found it. She paged through it, finding the right page and quickly reading it to refresh her memory. "I can do that,” she muttered, the words sounding louder in the silence of the agency. “I have to calm down, but I can do it." She breathed in deeply as she spread out a map of the town and its surroundings on her desk and forced her heart to slow down. Mixing some herbs and oil came first. Then she recited the incantation. Her voice sounded uneven, but her pronunciation had always been good. She cut a small piece of fabric from Ray's shirt and, holding it with the scissors, she set fire to it above the map. A pink flame rose, too bright, too large to be entirely natural. In just a second, the fabric was gone and ashes were falling onto the map, concentrating on a single spot and locating Ray at the corner of a residential neighborhood. Grace held her breath as she leaned closer to read the names of the streets. It wasn't very far from the agency. Folding the map again, she shoved it and the ingredients she needed into her purse, along with a strip of fabric she ripped from Ray's shirt. If he moved before she got there, she wanted to be ready to redo the spell. When she had everything, she grabbed the crossbow off her desk and strode out of the agency, barely aware of the phone ringing on Hugo's desk. Five minutes later, she reached the address the spell had given her, and her artificial calm shattered. An ambulance was at the corner of the street. As though observing from far away, she saw herself parking next to the ambulance and rushing out, her badge in one hand and the crossbow in the other. She heard herself ask if it was a vampire attack, and saw herself start to shake when she was told it had been. She slammed back into her body when she was told the victim—a town councilman—had survived the attack. "I need to talk to him,” she said at once, and tried to move forward to where she could see a gurney being wheeled toward the ambulance. The paramedic stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Then you'll need to follow us to the hospital. He lost consciousness just before we arrived." She blinked and looked at him, frowning. “How do you know when he passed out?" "The guy who called 911 told us. He's...” He looked around, then shrugged. “Gone."

He went to help his colleagues hoist the gurney inside the ambulance. Grace followed. "What did he look like?” she asked, tugging on his sleeve when he didn't answer. “Did he give you a name? What else did he say?" He shook her off as he made his way to the front of the ambulance and climbed in. “A bit taller than you. Blonde. Just said the guy had lost blood." Before she could say anything else, he was driving off, the sirens blaring through the quiet neighborhood. Grace didn't know what game Ray was playing now, and why he would attack someone only to call for help before finishing the kill. It didn't make sense, not any more than him kidnapping Laura did. The only explanation she could come up with was that he had lost his mind. It didn't matter, though. Sane or not, he was a dead vampire. How painful his death would be only depended on how long it would take him to tell her where Laura was. She wished she could have done a tracing spell on her daughter, but only the most gifted magic practitioners could locate humans through this spell, and while she had the talent, she wasn't that good. Vampires were, thankfully, easier to locate. A second localization spell, done on the hood of her car by the light of the nearest streetlamp, revealed that Ray was back in his apartment. This time, when she strode up the staircase, she had a crossbow in hand, and she was ready to use it. **** As soon as Ray pushed open the broken door of his apartment, he knew who had been there. Grace's scent, in each room, made it obvious. What he couldn't figure out was why she would break into his place while he wasn't there. He knew he had taken a risk by bringing that drawing to her apartment, but he hadn't expected her to react this badly. It only made him glad that he had gone when he was as certain as he could be that she wouldn't be home. He went straight to the bathroom and ran his hands beneath warm water. They were covered in dried blood. Time had seemed to stretch forever while he had waited for that ambulance, pressing his hands to the man's neck to stop the bleeding and talking to him to try and keep him conscious. He'd asked stupid questions, anything that had gone through his head, from whether the man was happy with his car, just a few feet away from them, to what he did for a living, to whether he knew the person who had attacked him. Only when the man had passed out had Ray realized why he was so scared to see him die practically in his arms. Twenty-three years as a human, eight as a vampire, and the only death he had ever witnessed was his own. He would be perfectly content to keep it that way as long as possible. Once his hands were clean and dry, he took off his jacket and shirt, both of which were bloodstained. The cabbie who had brought him home had been sure the blood was his and had argued about bringing him to the hospital. Then he had noticed Ray's lack of reflection in the rearview mirror, and he had kept quiet for the rest of the ride. Bare-chested, Ray walked out of the bathroom—and almost impaled himself on the crossbow Grace was pointing in his direction. "What the—" "Where is she?" Standing in the hallway, she looked murderous. He had never seen her look so cold, even when they

were playing and he had broken her rules, even when she had found Keller in the apartment. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, glad suddenly that he had washed the blood off them, and took a careful step sideways into the hallway and toward the bedroom. She didn't let him put any distance between them, however, following him step for step. "Where is who?” he asked as calmly as he could. Her eyes hardened further if that was even possible. “My daughter." He froze for a second, confused. “How would I know?" Clearly agitated as well as angry, if he was to believe her scent, she thrust the crossbow in his direction. He stumbled back farther into the bedroom until his legs butted against the mattress. "No more games,” she spat. “I found the drawing. And the note. How did you find her school?" Feeling more and more confused, Ray sat down on the edge of the bed. He hoped he'd look less of a threat that way, and then maybe she'd lower that crossbow. He didn't like how tense her finger seemed against the trigger at all. "Whose school? Your daughter's?” Things finally started making sense. His eyes widened in shock. “Did something happen to—" "Don't even try to pretend you don't know.” She was shaking now, her aim unsteady. “Don't pretend you're innocent of anything. I know you almost committed a murder tonight. I don't know why you didn't finish him, but it doesn't matter. The only reason why you're not dust yet is that you have my—" Ray had heard enough. He braced himself on the bed and kicked up at the crossbow. The attack took her off guard, and she hit the trigger, but with the weapon aiming upward, the stake embedded itself in the ceiling rather than come anywhere near Ray. She dropped the weapon at once and pulled out a stake from her pocket. Before she could raise it toward him, Ray tackled her to the floor. The fall knocked the wind out of her. He managed to grab both her hands and secure them above her head. Under other circumstances, having her shaking beneath him and in his control might have felt strange. At that moment, however, the only thing going through his mind was that she wasn't thinking straight and he needed to make her listen before she killed him. "I didn't bite that guy,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “And I didn't take your daughter. You've got to believe me." She struggled to free herself from his hold, but he didn't let go. "Grace, listen to me—" "I saw your drawings,” she said, her voice wavering between anger and despair. “I know you're obsessed with me. But kidnapping—" "I didn't take your child!” he repeated, exasperated. He slid his hand to hers to take the stake from her, and when he had it he stood abruptly, leaving her on the floor. “I can't believe you'd think I'd do that. I'm a vampire, and yeah, I miss you, but I'm not stupid! How would taking her help me get you back?" He realized he was gesturing at her with the stake. Maybe that wasn't the best thing to do when he was

trying to convince her he hadn't done anything wrong. He threw it behind him and away from her. She was now staring at him with wide, confused eyes. "Your note said you had what I was looking for,” she said as she stood, making the statement sound like a question. “And it was with a drawing of Laura." "The drawing was an apology present,” he explained, as gently as he could. “And the note ... I figured out why you were asking about the L.E.V. group. And I remembered where I had heard of it." She blinked and gave a small nod. Certain that he had her attention, Ray continued. "I heard about it from a guy who plays the scene as a sub and who complains about anti-vamp laws any chance he gets. I thought he might know something, and that's what I would have told you when you called tomorrow. I followed him tonight, just to see what he was up to, and I walked in on him before he was done killing that guy. He ran away; I stayed with his victim and called for help. I called your agency, too, left a message to tell you about it." If anything, her confusion only seemed to increase. “It doesn't make any sense—" "Ask the guy whose life I saved when he wakes up." She turned away from him for a moment and passed a hand through her hair. Ray kept quiet and waited. Clearly, she needed time to wrap her mind around everything. "Who is it?” she asked at last, slowly facing him again. “Who's the killer?" Ray almost sighed in relief that she believed him. “He has a blood bar downtown." "A blood bar...” She frowned for a second, then her eyes grew wide in surprise. “You mean Fangs? The killer is the bartender from Fangs? I was supposed to talk to him tonight!" "No, not the bartender. Lucas wouldn't hurt a fly. The killer is the owner." "But he's human,” she protested. He raised an eyebrow at her. “And humans don't kill?" "They don't bite and drain other humans." "No, but they apparently can invent tools that pierce a neck and draw blood convincingly enough to fool Special Enforcers and coroners." She looked completely speechless. The anger was completely gone from her scent, leaving only the sourness of despair behind. In a small, broken voice, she asked, “You really didn't take her?" Ray's annoyance that she would even think he was capable of such a thing disappeared in front of her obvious distress. He hurt with her, and wanted to reassure her, but he didn't think words would be enough anymore. Unsure whether she would welcome the gesture but needing to try anyway, he crossed the three feet that separated them and took her in his arms. She clung to him as though to her last hope. He only wished he had known how to help her.

Chapter 18 Ray's arms wrapped around her, unexpected and gentle. Grace didn't even think of refusing his embrace. Instead, she closed her eyes and held him. She had been sure that finding him would mean finding Laura. It had been the only thing pushing her forward when fear threatened to paralyze her. Now there was nothing holding the fear at bay—nothing but Ray's arms, and his lips against her temple, cool and tender. The idea seemed ridiculous even as it came to her mind, but despite everything, despite Laura being missing and Ray being a vampire, for a short moment, she felt safe and at peace. It had been a long time since she had felt like this. Only in the early days of her marriage— Her eyes opened abruptly, and she pulled away from Ray, the anger back in a flash. "Fuck!" He looked at her, startled. "Her father,” she said, gritting her teeth, before he could ask. “Her father took her. I bet he did." She pulled out her cell phone and started pacing as she dialed his phone number. Ray observed her for a moment, then went to the dresser and pulled out a shirt. She watched him put it on and start to button it while the phone rang, but turned away as soon as the tones stopped. He was just too distracting. "Hello?" It was a woman who answered, and that only added to her anger. She started shaking as she spoke. "I want to speak to Mike." On the other end of the line, the pleasant voice became hesitant. "Is this ... is this Grace?" She started when Ray's hand settled on her shoulder, light but comforting. As much as she wanted to yell at the woman, she managed to control herself so that she sounded cold but calm. “Put him on the line." "Listen, I didn't know what he was going to do, and I swear if he had told me I—" All the woman's hurried babbling did was confirm to Grace that Mike had taken Laura. She wasn't interested in listening to excuses or explanations. "Where is my daughter?” she cut in harshly. "She's here. He'll bring her back Sun—" "Tell him I'll be there in two hours. She had better be ready to leave when I arrive, or I swear prison will be the least of your worries. For both of you." Her hands were shaking so much that she fumbled for a few seconds before she managed to hang up.

"I can't believe he's that stupid,” she muttered, incensed. "He's never done anything like this before?" She turned toward Ray. His hand stayed on her shoulder, soothing her. "Never. He can get her every other weekend. He did, the first month we lived here. And then one day he stopped coming to pick her up. Never explained..." She stopped and took a deep breath, her anger jumping yet again as she remembered how hurt Laura had been, how sad she still was, on Saturdays, when the morning passed without her father showing up. "I am so going to kick his ass." She started turning back to the door, but Ray's hand tightened on her shoulder, stopping her. He tilted his head as he considered her. "You can't drive when you're shaking like this. You won't get your daughter back or kick his ass if you get in an accident before you get there. You said the drive is two hours?" She blinked, then nodded. He was right. She had to calm down. She just didn't have time to calm down, not when the bastard thought he could just take Laura without talking to her first. "Do you want me to drive?" She blinked again, unsure she had understood him right. Not ten minutes earlier, she had been accusing Ray of kidnapping and murder. He couldn't be offering this now. He didn't have any reason to. His face, however, was nothing but serious and earnest. "Why?” she murmured. He shrugged. “Why not?" If Laura hadn't been two hours away, Grace would have argued that this wasn't an answer. She had assumed the worst of Ray, for no other reason that he was a vampire—something she had promised herself, years earlier, she would never do. She had been nothing short of callous and had threatened to kill him. Helping her was the last thing he should have wanted to do. Nevertheless, moments later they were in her car, and he was driving away in the direction she indicated. They hadn't left the town yet when she remembered she hadn't talked to her mother since she had called an hour and half earlier. She had to be worried sick. Indeed, she picked up her phone after the first ring and asked right away: "Did you find her?" "She's with Mike. I'm on my way to get her." Caroline gasped. “He didn't!" "I'm afraid he did, Mom.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. If she stayed much longer on the phone, she just knew Caroline might start rehashing everything Mike had ever done wrong

in her eyes. “I'll call you back when we're back home." "All right. I'll be waiting." She ended the call with a touch of her thumb, then considered the phone for a second before looking at Ray. They reached the highway that she had indicated. He was driving fast but within the speed limit, his eyes darting every so often to the rearview mirror. It was somehow difficult to reconcile in her mind the image she had of him as a submissive on his knees and the man she had met this night, confident and assertive without being antagonistic. She wondered if that was what he was like, at Carte Blanche, when his card was turned red side up. After a moment, he glanced at her as though he had felt her eyes on him. "Is something wrong?” he asked. She shook herself out of her stupor. “No, nothing. Do you know the name of that bar owner?" "I only know him by Terry. I think it's short for Terrence." "Thank you." She dialed again, this time Hugo's cell phone. "Hugo Tyler speaking." "Hugo, it's me. I know who our killer is. It's the owner of the blood bar. Terry or Terrence something." "Terrence Kane?” Hugo replied, his incredulity obvious. “He's human!" "I know. Apparently, he has some kind of device that mimics a vampire bite. Can you have the police arrest him and search his place?" "Are you sure? That sounds really ... strange." "I know that, too. But there's a councilman in the hospital who might be able to identify him. He tried killing him tonight, but he was interrupted. The police took prints at the crime scenes, didn't they? Have them compare them to his. We've got our killer." "OK,” Hugo said reluctantly after a few seconds. “If you're sure..." Grace swallowed back an exasperated sigh. “I am sure. Trust me." "All right.” He paused for a second, then asked, “What about your kid?" "She's fine. I'm on my way to get her. I'll see you at the agency tomorrow." This time, when she shut off the phone, she slipped it in her pocket. For a little while, she stared at the road ahead of her, so familiar from her monthly visits to her mother when she and Mike had been married. She felt mentally exhausted, but she couldn't afford to be, not when she had her most important battle still in front of her. "You're divorced, aren't you?” Ray asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Yes,” she replied simply, unwilling to elaborate. Just a few days ago, she thought with a humorless smile, she'd have taken a paddle to his ass if he had dared ask her personal questions like this. Now, even though she didn't want to answer, she felt that she had to. "And you have legal custody?" "Yes. I told you, he's got two weekends a month." From the corner of her eyes, she saw him nod. "I assume you don't have a copy of the legal papers with you. Do you have your attorney's number?" Grace looked at him, perplexed. “The number ... Why?" "If you have his number and can find him at this hour, you could have him fax the papers to the local police and explain what's going on. By the time you get there, they'll be aware of the situation and ready to help." She didn't reply for a while, thinking over his words. It sounded like a good idea—except for one not so small detail. "Laura wouldn't understand if the police showed up to take her from her father,” she said, shaking her head. “But thanks for the suggestion." He shrugged. “I was in your daughter's place a couple of times when I was a kid. My father wasn't as protective as you seem to be." She had a feeling that this volunteered information was an exchange of sorts for what she had revealed of herself. She took it in, but did not question him further. "It's funny,” she said after a moment. “You're offering me legal advice, when I'd almost expect you to offer—" She stopped herself, belatedly realizing that he might interpret her remark as a suggestion, which was the last thing she wanted. "Offer what?” he asked when she didn't finish. “To hurt him? Or kill him?" "I'm not saying I want you to, I just..." He laughed at that. “I'm not silly enough to tell a S.E. I'm ready to kill for her." She frowned at his choice of words. “Not silly enough to tell me, what about doing it?" He sobered down at once and glanced at her before focusing on the road again. “I've been a vampire for eight years. I have never killed to this day, and I don't plan to if I can help it. So, no, as much as I care about you, I would not kill someone for you. Not even if it meant getting you back." She didn't reply, unsure what to make of his words. This night had been an emotional roller coaster for

her, and she didn't know anymore what to feel or think. All she knew was that she needed to get her daughter back. She'd have time to think about the rest—about Ray—when Laura was home. **** By the time Ray left the highway, Grace had calmed down enough that her voice was back to its normal, even tone. She had been silent for more than an hour, and he didn't know what to make of that. She was still angry, he knew as much; her scent made that obvious. He didn't think she was angry with him, or at least, not any more than she had been when they had talked the previous night. He had thought for a while that she had forgotten about that, and maybe she had, seeing how she had accepted his help, and how they'd had the beginning of a normal conversation. He had a feeling that she remembered now, though, and if she could have gotten rid of him mid trip, she might have. She gave him short, clipped directions from the highway to her ex-husband's home. In the well-lit street, it looked exactly like the houses around it: average size, two stories, with a small patch of grass in the front and a garage with matching roof and trim in the back. Ray wondered, briefly, if she had lived there while she'd been married to the guy. The banal little house with white, lacy curtains at the windows did not resemble her. Then again, he had only learned the day before that she had a daughter, and he wouldn't have guessed that either. He thought he knew Mistress Red pretty well, but Grace continued to be full of surprises. He parked the car in the driveway, expecting her to practically run out. Instead, she closed her eyes for a short moment and took a deep breath before calmly getting out of the car and walking up to the front door. Ray didn't hesitate before stepping out of the car; he'd been driving for a while and needed to stretch. He doubted his presence by her side would help anything, however, so he stayed back and leaned against the hood. Lighting a cigarette, he watched Grace knock on the door just a few yards away. It would be interesting to see how she acted with her ex. The door opened seconds after she knocked, and a man appeared. He was almost a head taller than she was. From the angle at which Ray observed him, his face seemed set in a sneer, and Ray couldn't tell if his bulk was due to toned muscles or lack of exercise. "Who's that?” he said in guise of greeting, pointing his chin in Ray's direction. "None of your business,” she replied, sounding more like Mistress Red than Grace. “Where's Laura?" "Do you ever check your answering machine? If you had, you'd have known I was coming to get her and there would have been no need for you to be hysterical." "I'm not hysterical. And if you ever think of pulling a trick like that again, I'll call the cops. You're lucky I didn't call them tonight." He took a half step forward at that until he was towering over her. Grace didn't look impressed in the slightest. Ray couldn't help grinning to himself. "What if I called them on you first?" She snorted. “For what?" "For endangering my child.” His voice hardened and raised in volume. “You thought I wouldn't find out?" When she replied, Grace sounded truly puzzled. “Find out about what?"

Ray stilled, his cigarette forgotten halfway to his mouth. Could that man know about him—about him playing with Grace, or being a vampire, or both? He hoped not. He didn't want to be responsible for this, not even indirectly. "About you playing at being an S.E.,” the man said, and Ray almost sighed in relief. “Laura told me about it in her letter, but I'd have found out eventually. How could you—" "What I can or cannot do,” Grace stopped him, practically bristling, “is not up to you to decide. And you know what? It never was, even when I was silly enough to listen to you." He ignored the venom in her words and crossed his arms. “I heard there were several murders by vampires in your town recently. What will happen to her when you get yourself killed? Or when those vamps you hunt decide to hunt your family in return?" "Oh, please! You never cared how dangerous being a Special Enforcer was or wasn't, for me or for anyone else. You cared about me doing what you wanted. You're not upset because you think she's in danger. You're upset because I broke your rules. Guess what? We're done playing. We've been done for a long time." Ray frowned as he considered her and her words. He wished he could have seen her face, or better yet, ask her if she meant what he thought she did. It was hard to imagine her following anyone's directions as she was implying she had. Her ex said something Ray didn't catch—something she didn't listen to. Looking inside the house behind him, she called out for her child. "Laura? Get your things, honey. It's time to go home." "You're not leaving with her,” the ex practically growled. Just then, the child appeared, and slipped past her father to throw herself in Grace's open arms. “Mom! I told Dad you'd be mad, but he said it was OK. Was it OK?" She gave her daughter a hug but did not respond, her eyes locked with her ex's. He was the first to break away when Laura tugged at his shirt. He leaned down to pick her up, and for a second Ray thought he would walk back in with her. She hugged his neck, however, saying goodbye before she planted a kiss on his cheek, and he let her back down, albeit with obvious reluctance. Grace took her hand, and together they came back to the car. The little girl's eyes widened when she noticed Ray, while Grace raised an eyebrow at him, her gaze pointedly following his cigarette. He hurriedly got rid of it and smiled apologetically. "You said he wasn't your boyfriend!” Laura exclaimed. She threw her mother a dark look. “You lied to me!" "I didn't lie to you. He's not. Get in the car, honey." Ray opened the back door for Laura while Grace walked around the car. The child gave him a serious look and repeated the question she had voiced when she first met him. "Are you my mom's boyfriend?"

"I'm not,” he replied, amused, then leaned down and whispered: “But I wish I were." Her face lit up, and she nodded when he pressed a finger to his lips, asking for her silence. She climbed in, and Ray closed the door after her. On the other side of the car, Grace was frowning at him, her hand poised on the passenger door but not moving. Her mouth opened, and he thought she would ask what he had just said, or reveal that she had heard him. She climbed in without a word, however, and while she talked to her daughter on the way back to Blackwood Falls, she didn't say much to Ray until they entered the town and she told him to drive back to his place, and she'd take the wheel from there. They got out of the car together and crossed paths in front of the hood. Looking a little embarrassed, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He looked at her, slightly bemused. "Thanks,” she said with a small shrug. “For everything." He smiled. “You're welcome. Anything you need, just ask. You know my limits. Everything else is yours." He meant it. He had rarely meant something as much as this. But when she looked away and didn't answer, when she drove off without a glance back at him and only Laura waving goodbye, he wondered if she believed him. More than that, though, he wondered if she'd ever take him up on his offer. He had the unpleasant feeling she wouldn't. Climbing the stairs up to his apartment—up to Keller's apartment—Ray thought back to his Sire's words. He'd promised to ignore Ray if he joined him before a year had passed; but how long would he be able to ignore him? If in the end he was to be alone, he might as well take his chance and at least try.

Chapter 19 Grace found it difficult to leave Laura at school that morning. After her scare from the previous night, she couldn't help worrying that Mike might try the same trick again. She talked to Laura's teacher and to the school principal, both to let them know what had happened under their watch to make sure it wouldn't happen again. The next step, when she got to the agency, was to call her attorney. She hadn't wanted to do it in front of Laura. Hugo arrived while she was in the middle of her conversation. He helped himself to a cup of coffee before sitting down at his desk, rotating his chair to face Grace. He brought the cup to his lips and took small sips. He listened in to her call without trying to hide his interest. "So that's where your kid was?” he asked once she had hung up the phone. "Yes. And it won't happen again if I have anything to say about it." "At least she's safe.” He took a sip of coffee and changed subjects abruptly in his usual fashion. “You were right about Kane. He confessed." Grace frowned, momentarily perplexed about who Kane was. "Oh, good,” she said when she remembered, a bit peevish that she had forgotten about that.

"I've got to ask, though.” He leaned forward on his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs. “How did you figure it out? I thought you said you didn't talk to him when you saw him yesterday?" She rubbed her fingers to her temples. She had barely gotten any sleep, and her head felt too small for her brain. "I didn't. I had help.” She knew him well enough to guess he wouldn't stop asking questions until he had the full story. Two weeks earlier, she would have felt compelled to make up a story rather than admit the truth, but not anymore. “From a vampire." He stilled with the cup just inches from his lips and lowered it again without touching it. His disapproval was all too clear, and Grace was in no mood to listen to it. "Listen, if you plan on leaving the agency to me, I'm going to run things my way. If you've changed your mind, I'll just create my own agency." For ten years, she had listened to other people's opinions and acted on them. Seeing Mike had only reminded her that pretending to agree with those opinions didn't help anything. She was done pretending—about anything. "All right." She blinked at Hugo's quiet answer, unsure which part of her tirade he was agreeing with. "Can't say I approve,” he continued, “but it's your life. If that's how you want to play it, there's really not much I can do." She nodded, relieved that this fight, at least, wouldn't be too difficult. She had more battles coming her way and no energy to waste. All morning long, she thought about her next battle. She had planned to fight it that night, but a few hours sitting at her desk and filing old cases left her antsy, and right after lunch she told Hugo she was taking the afternoon off. When she arrived at Ray's, the door was open. He was working on fixing the lock, a focused expression on his face as he screwed in a new guard plate. He did throw her a quick glance as she reached the landing, along with a slight smile. "Hey. Sorry about breaking down your door." He shrugged. “I was long overdue for a better lock." "Can I come in?" He glanced at her again, the look on his features unfathomable. “Go ahead. I'll be with you in a minute. I want to finish this now." She was about to comment on how early it was for him when she noticed the suitcase standing upright near the kitchen wall. She tightened her fists briefly and forced them open again as she sat down in the one armchair that faced the door. She watched him work and wondered if he wanted to fix the lock so fast because he was leaving. Was she too late?

There was something strange about the situation—something stranger than her presence in his apartment when two days earlier she had never wanted to see him again, and just the day before she had been ready to kill him. It was only when Ray finished his work and tried closing the door that she realized what it was. Until that moment, whenever they had been alone together, his attention had been entirely focused on her. She would never have imagined she'd miss being his focus that much. He picked up spare screws and a hammer from the floor and finally locked the door. He turned to her. Grace's heart stuttered. "Would you like something to drink?” Without waiting for her answer, he stepped into the kitchenette. "I'm fine." She could still see him above the breakfast bar. He seemed to take more time to put away his tools than was strictly necessary. She waited until he was back in the living room and standing a few feet from her, hands in his pockets, before she forced out the words she had prepared. "I came to apologize." He glanced back at the door. “You already did. And it's all fixed now." She shook her head. “No, not for the door. Well, yes, for the door, too.” She gave him a faint smile and felt emboldened when he replied in kind. “Mostly I wanted to apologize for doubting you. And thinking you were a killer. And a kidnapper." He shrugged. “You don't know me well enough to know better." "I thought I did,” she said softly, feeling a little silly as the words passed her lips, yet needing to let them out. “If I'd stopped for a minute, I'd have known. I chose not to look past your fangs because I was still angry with you. It was easier to put you in role of the bad guy than to give you a second chance." She had tried not to let herself expect too much, but watching him take a step back until he was leaning against the breakfast bar sent a pang of disappointment through her. It couldn't mean anything good that he was trying to put distance between them. He wet his lips. “Are you going to? Give me a second chance, I mean." "It doesn't look like it's up to me anymore,” she said, pointing at the suitcase. “You're leaving, aren't you?" He raked his fingers through his hair, making it spike up. The sudden urge to do the same and feel the silkiness of his hair coursed through her. She clasped her hands so she wouldn't move. "I don't know,” he answered with a frustrated sigh. “It depends on you, I guess." Grace almost smiled. “I could order you to stay,” she said, only half joking. Something flickered in Ray's eyes, a light that looked a lot like repressed hope, but it disappeared with a shake of his head.

Frowning lightly, she stood and walked over to him, holding her head a little higher, her back a little straighter. This was not what she had planned to do, but Ray's involuntary reaction to her teasing seemed to demand that she slip into a familiar role. She looked straight into his eyes and tried to keep her voice cool and level. "What if Mistress Red ordered you to stay?" Seconds passed in complete silence. Ray lowered his eyes, and for a moment Grace was sure he would drop to his knees in front of her. When he looked up again, however, she couldn't help but wonder if she had lost him for good. He raised a slightly shaking hand to caress her face; his fingers were cool against her skin. "I like the scene,” he said very slowly. “I enjoy the scene, and at times Ineed it. But when both you and Keller left me behind, I realized it's not enough. I need more than a Master or Mistress. I need someone who will trust me, and give me second chances when I mess up, and...” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And love me. As much as I love them." Grace's mouth felt very dry, suddenly. She wasn't sure she had been ready for this when she had come to him. She wasn't sure either she was ready to say no to what he was offering. “These things take time.” She had to push the words out, and couldn't stop her voice from wavering. “Feelings like that don't just pop out of nowhere." He smiled, the tenderest smile he had ever offered her. “Don't they?" She realized then that, for all intents and purposes, he had just said he loved her. Her heart must have missed a beat. It was the only reason why her head would be feeling so light suddenly. "I can't...” Barely aware of what she was doing, she ran her left thumb against the base of her ring finger. She couldn't have said if she was looking for something, or making sure it wasn't there anymore. “I can't rush into a relationship. I need time—" "I have time. I have eternity in front of me. I can wait." Words were too much. She leaned into him and pressed her lips to his, very briefly. Ray's hands settled at her waist and gently drew her closer until their bodies were brushing against each other. She looked into his eyes, discovering a mix of desire and hope she knew all too well; she felt the same way. Maybe, she thought, it was time to take a chance. Kissing him again, soft and slow, she only broke apart for a second to pull his t-shirt over his head. His chest shook lightly when she splayed her hands over it. She caressed his shoulders, arms and back. For a few seconds, his fingers tightened on her hips before sliding to the front of her shirt. The buttons came apart; the shirt came off, followed by her bra. Ray's arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer still, until they were chest to chest. Grace wondered if he could feel her heart, beating for the both of them, as clearly as she could feel his cock pressing against her crotch through the layers of clothing. She continued touching him, sometimes with her fingertips only, sometimes with her full hands. After a moment, he followed her lead and started doing the same, trailing lines of sensations over her skin until her entire world was summed up in the touch of his hands, body and mouth. She was surprised when, without warning, he picked her up, his hands sliding at her waist and behind her knees. She looped her arms around his neck, and for a second the thought that she should chastise him for taking the lead this way brushed her mind. She pushed it away firmly. She had told him before

she wasn't against him showing some initiative. As long as he didn't push things, she would allow him some leeway. His pace was steady as he carried her to the bedroom where he gently lay her down on the bed. Propped back on her elbows, she kept her eyes on him as he pulled off her flat shoes, pants and panties. Each of his movement was as reverent and gentle as he had ever showed himself as a submissive. He was still as tender when he sat on the bed next to her and, leaning down on his forearm, pressed a line of barely there kisses from her temple to the crook of her neck and on to her shoulder. A look in his eyes asked for permission; she granted it with a slight nod. His free hand skimmed over her body, teasing her nipples to hardened points with the lightest of touches before traveling down over her side, to her thigh, then back up to the apex of her legs. Grace wondered if this was the way he touched a lover when he wasn't playing, but the question disappeared in front of a pressing need. "I want to touch you,” she said, tugging at the waistband of his jeans to make her point. "No one is stopping you, Mistress,” he replied, and even if his mouth was pressed against her shoulder, she knew he was grinning. She gave a light tap to his ass then started working on the buttons of his jeans. “You'll pay for this later, you reali—ooh..." Her light reprimand ended on a moan when his lips covered her right nipple and he started sucking lightly. Unfastening a button had never seemed so difficult. If he kept doing this, with his mouth, his tongue, his fingers—sneaky fingers, pressing into her to gather wetness and spread it over her clit—she'd never get him undressed. At that moment, getting him naked and getting her hand on his cock was all she could think of. With a shaky but determined hand, she pushed at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back. Once he was there, she finally managed to unbutton his jeans and, with his hips rising off the bed helpfully, slid them and his boxers off. "Much better,” she said, satisfied, as she curled her hand around his hardened cock and started stroking him. He hissed her name and thrust into the tight channel formed by her fingers a few times, then suddenly pulled her to him and rolled their bodies again. "You're adding to the list of things you'll need to pay for,” she warned, not really meaning the words but needing to hold on to her role. "Yes, Mistress,” he breathed, a light smile tugging at his lips. Her hand was trapped between their bodies, still holding his cock. He pulled back, giving her just enough room to maneuver. She guided him inside her, sighing as he slowly thrust forward. His eyes, just above hers, had never seemed so clear as they did at that moment when he froze, his cock all the way inside her. "Permission to speak, Mistress Red?” he asked in a whisper. Grace didn't trust herself to keep her voice steady, so she nodded her assent.

"I'm trying to decide,” he murmured, his words a caress on her lips, “if I started falling in love with you when you first looked at me or when you first touched me." She couldn't answer, not in words, not yet, but she could kiss him, and buck her hips beneath him, and pull quiet groans from his throat until he was practically purring. They continued kissing and touching as they had before, slow and gentle, the same way his cock moved inside her, neither of them in any rush to finish this. Grace remembered how desperate he had seemed to touch her, the first time they had slept together. He was catching up on lost time now, his fingers playing over her skin and discovering sensitive spots she hadn't known existed until she was writhing beneath him. "Don't get used to this,” she said, teasing. “Next time might be hands off." He raised his head and looked at her with a wicked smile. “Even if I'm good?" Holding back a laugh, she rolled their bodies to be on top of him and sat up. His hands gripped her waist and helped her reinforced her rhythm as she thrust herself onto his cock. As the pleasure built in her, she grabbed his wrists and leaned forward, pinning them over his head. He closed his eyes, his face contorting as he held off his orgasm. She ground her clit against him a few more times, until she was ready, and breathed three words in the shell of his ear. "Come ... for me." He arched his hips up into hers and moaned aloud. She let go of his wrists and slid her hands down to weave her fingers with his. Pleasure took them together, and left them both gasping for breath. Moments passed. Their hands remained linked over his head, her body still draped over his. "Not fair, Mistress,” he said, no louder than a whisper. With her face pressed to the crook of his neck, her chuckling and answer came out muffled. "Who said Dommes have to play fair?" Laughing, he rolled their bodies to lie on top of her and kissed her, his slowly moving hips already preparing to pleasure her anew.

Epilogue The whip cracked again, loud as thunder, and the submissive jumped just a second before the tip caressed her back, not even hard enough to leave a trace on her pale skin. Her smiling Master interrupted himself to make some comment or other about control, but Ray wasn't listening anymore. He had stopped paying attention the second his senses had warned him. His Sire had walked into the club and was approaching. Every few weeks, the owner of Carte Blanche arranged for a demonstration to be offered in the club. The windows of one of the private rooms could be completely removed, so that the room became an extension of the sitting area. Sofas and armchairs were placed in a semi circle in front of the now open wall, and the demonstration took place. Some teachers spoke very little, letting their actions speak for

themselves; others alternated hands on demonstrations with explanations. Some even called for other Dominants to join them and try a new technique. Until that night, Ray had never cared much for whips. A few minutes into the demonstration, however, he had been hard and aching, and more than willing to take the submissive's place beneath the carefully controlled touch of the leather. "Alone, Childe?” Keller sat on Ray's right on the sofa and leaned in so he wouldn't be overheard, Ray supposed. “I've got to admit I didn't think you'd last an entire year. I think you deserve a nice reward. Anything you'd like?" From the corner of his eye, Ray could see him look at the demonstration and grin. "Anything like that, maybe?” Keller murmured. “You always liked the whip." Ray had to fight himself not to roll his eyes. Remaining perfectly still and silent, he kept his eyes on the demonstration. His attention, however, was focused on the familiar click of heels that he knew would return to him soon. He almost sighed when Mistress Red came back from the restroom at last, and since Keller had taken her seat, he slipped down to a kneeling position to offer her his place. "Thank you,” she said, sitting down without a look at Keller, who had moved back in surprise. “Everything all right? You can talk." "Everything's fine, Mistress,” he replied, leaning into the light touch of her hand to his hair. She had asked him to let it grow longer in the past few months, and it now curled around her fingers. Next to her, Keller chuckled. “Congratulations. I'd never managed to teach him to be quiet, but it looks like you did. I wonder how much you had to beat him before the lesson sunk in." "Surprisingly little,” she replied, her voice cold as a winter draft. “He responds better to positive reinforcement." "Does he, now?" Ray couldn't see Keller's face, but he could hear the forced smile in his voice. He wasn't happy, far from it, and Ray was almost surprised to realize that the prospect of his Sire being upset did not fill him with dread or anticipation. All he felt was contentment at Mistress Red's continued soothing touch. "I'll have to try that, sometime,” Keller said as though musing aloud. "I don't think you will,” Mistress Red replied at once, her tone pleasant yet hard as steel. “Not anytime soon, at least." Keller chuckled. “You think so? You don't know who I am." For just a second, her fingers tightened in Ray's hair, tugging more roughly than he was accustomed to. When he glanced at her, her eyes were on him, her face inscrutable. "I have a pretty good idea who you are,” she answered Keller, her eyes remaining on Ray the entire time. “You're the one who made him who he is. Who trained him. I guess I should thank you for that. But you're also the one who left him. You can't just come back and expect he'll fall back in step behind you." "Of course he will.” Keller got to his feet and remained standing in front of them. “He's myChilde .

Stand, Ray. Come with me." Her hand left Ray's hair suddenly, and he gave her a questioning look that, at any other time, would have earned him a reprimand at the very least. She smiled faintly, however, and bent down to whisper to him. "I can guess how much he means to you,” she said, holding his gaze. “He's your Sire. He'll live as long as you will and be there for you much longer than I will be able to. If you want to leave—" He didn't let her finish. He didn't need to. “No." She pulled back and stood, disapproval etched on her face even as her eyes sparkled with pleasure. "Speaking out of turn, love. And you don't get to tell me no. Let's get home and see what other lessons you forgot." She walked by Ray, and he stood to follow her, smiling. His Sire was already out of his mind. The End

About the Author: Kallysten is a French citizen whose most exciting accomplishment to date was to cross a few thousand miles and an ocean to pursue (and catch!) the love of her life. She has been writing for almost fifteen years, and always enjoyed sharing her stories and listening to the readers’ reactions. After playing with science fiction, short stories, poetry and fanfiction, she is now trying her hand, heart and words at paranormal romance novels. To see her other novels, visit: original.kallysten.net Other story in the Special Enforcers series available at Alinar Publishing: CheckMate Lilia is a vampire; Vincent hunts vampires. They've each sworn to kill the other, and have battled many times without either of them winning. But when a spell gone wrong links them through bonds of shared blood and sex, the game stops abruptly and with no clear winner. Trying to stay alive, they learn to guard each other's back against old and new enemies alike. The game takes a new turn as the memories of what they shared under the spell become too hard to ignore and they succumb to lust—or could it be more than that? www.alinarpublishing.com

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