Bloodchild (24 page)

Five years, I’ve worked for her.
I’ve done a couple of strange things during these five years. Once, she had me
jump in her private jet to go and have a pair of earrings fixed in the shop
where she’d bought them in Paris.

“Only Michel can fix them
right,” she’d said.

Michel turned out to be a master
jeweler. He was also close to ninety, retired, wearing glasses as thick as my
pinky, and his hands shook worse than the plane when we’d passed through nasty
turbulences.

He came to the store in a taxi,
took off his beret, sat down at what had once been his workbench, and took
three hours to fix what in my humble opinion could have been repaired anywhere
by any jeweler in ten minutes at most. But hey, I got to spend the afternoon in
Paris so who am I to complain?

This had to be the strangest of
her demands. I’m no model, after all. I mean, I’m not ugly or anything, and I
try to keep reasonably in shape, but I already knew these dresses would not
look anywhere as good on me as they would on her. She could be a high fashion
model and wear the ridiculously small sample clothes that parade down runways.
As a matter of fact, once, she was asked to be a guest model during fashion
week. When she strutted down that catwalk in a black gown, I swear the entire
audience stopped breathing.

Me… Well, I have curves.
Generous ones. Also, who wants to undress in front of their employer? There was
nothing sexual about it, but that’s beside the point.

I didn’t want to do it. And
still, I was already down to my panties and bra.

At least I was wearing clean
underwear.

My face felt on fire when I
unzipped the dress, slipped it off the mannequin and stepped into it. I sucked
in my stomach, expecting it to be tight, and was surprised when it zipped up
easily. Well, when I say easily… I did have to play contortionist for a few
moments to do the zipper in the back, feeling absolutely ridiculous and all too
aware that Miss Delilah was watching. She didn’t offer to help. I didn’t ask.

At last, the dress was zipped.
It fit like a dream. Do I betray my overly deep interest in bridal couture if I
describe it as a mermaid-style sheath with a sweetheart neckline? The bodice
had just enough draping to accentuate my curves without being over the top.
Gorgeous, but the satin fabric looked like it might wrinkle just from being
looked at too intently. It was just a bit too long for me, or so I thought
until Miss Delilah gestured at the floor near the mannequins.

“Put on some shoes. The peep-toe
ones, I think.”

I hadn’t noticed the shoes until
now. Three pairs, all high-heels, all red—and all to die for.

I slipped on the shiny leather
peep-toe pair. They fit just as well as the dress, which surprised me because I
knew Miss Delilah’s shoe size was larger than mine.

“Go ahead, take a few steps
around,” she said. “Is it too tight to move in? How about the shoes?”

I walked around the room,
feeling incredibly self-conscious. I’m not ashamed of my body in any way, but
it’s one thing to be confident in my own clothes and quite another to feel at
ease in a gown that costs about half what I make in a year. Never mind the
price; I’d never worn something that low cut or long enough to brush on the
floor with each step; even my prom dress wasn’t that long.

“Hmm.” Miss Delilah tapped a
finger over her lips. “I like it, but there’s something off about it. It
doesn’t move quite right.”

“Maybe it’s just me,” I said.
“I’m not used to wearing gowns like this.”

If she heard me, she didn’t
reply, and instead she motioned toward the other dresses. “Let’s see the next
one. With the black trimmed shoes this time.”

I dutifully slipped out of the
dress, careful not to wrinkle it. The next one—and again you’ll have to forgive
the bridal talk because I have no idea how else to describe it—was a ball gown.
Think Disney’s Cinderella in a deep ruby red. Layers of tulle, a lace overlay
and thin beaded straps. It was beautiful but heavy, and before I even zipped it
up Miss Delilah shook her head.

“No, definitely not it. Next.”

I can’t say I was having much
fun at that point, but it never occurred to me to protest. Looking back, I
guess it should have been a clue that something not entirely natural was going
on.

The ball gown went back onto the
mannequin form. I turned to the next dress and realized this one was a
back-laced corset. How was I going to put that on by myself? Before I could
figure it out, Miss Delilah stood, her robe swishing gently around her as she
came to me.

“You’ll need to lose the bra for
this one,” she said, lifting the dress off the mannequin.

I gulped.

Another perfectly reasonable
occasion to say no. I still didn’t.

I turned around until my back
was to her and slipped my bra off. It’s not that I’m that much of a prude, but
come on, how often do you find yourself topless and wearing nothing more than
panties in front of your boss?

After fumbling with it for a
second or two, I dropped the bra to the floor and, at her command, lifted my
arms. She slipped the gown over my head and tugged it down in place,
immediately starting to do the laces in the back while I was still smoothing
down the skirt. Made from bright, light chiffon, it fell as an A-line from a
dropped waist. The corset was made of a thicker fabric, with a scalloped top
and crystals scattered throughout.

“The trick to a corset,” she
said on a conversational tone, “is to tighten it until you can’t breathe
anymore.”

She demonstrated, and I let out
a huff as every last bit of air was squeezed out of my lungs.

“And then,” she continued, “to
release just the width of two fingers.”

She did release the laces
somewhat, and I didn’t feel anymore like I would die of asphyxia in the next
minute. As she finished the lacing, I did feel rather glad that I’d only have
to wear the dress for a few minutes. The corset was giving me a cleavage to die
for but I do enjoy breathing very much.

“Peep-toe shoes,” she demanded
as she stepped back.

I slipped into the shoes and
stood there, arms at my side, watching her watch me and thinking that, lack of
air notwithstanding, this had to be the most beautiful dress I’d ever worn. And
there wasn’t even a mirror in the room for me to look at myself.

Miss Delilah apparently agreed.
She nodded once and smiled. “Perfect. All we need is to get your hair up,
freshen up your make-up a bit, and we’ll be all set to go.”

I stared at her, confused beyond
words. She couldn’t have just said what I thought she had said, right?

She had.

As it turned out, she’d known
all along which dress she’d wear: the fourth one, a long sheath that hugged her
body like a second skin, with a black train hanging in the back. The other
three, she’d bought for me. No, not just bought. She’d had them made for me.
That was why they, and the shoes, fit so well. How she knew my measurements, I
have no idea.

I wasn’t wearing the Cinderella
dress, but when she was done with me, I did feel like I’d just met my fairy
godmother and was about to go to the ball to meet the prince.

Except that, as far as I can recall,
there weren’t vampires in the fairy tale, and the godmother didn’t offer
Cinderella to the prince as a midnight snack.

Continued in
Ward of the
Vampire
(first installment is free)

About
the
Author
:

Kallysten’s 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 over fifteen years, and always enjoyed
sharing her stories and listening to the readers' reactions. After playing with
science fiction, short stories and poetry, she is now trying her hand, heart
and words at paranormal romance novels.

To see her other stories, including free short stories
and sample chapters, visit
http://kallysten.net
. You can also find her
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Other
stories
available from this author
:

Out
of the Box

The first time Virginia went to
the dance club On The Edge, she only wanted to find out what a night in a
vampire’s arms would be like. Anando showed her it could be much, much more
than she had imagined.

Over the next few months, every
time she returned he continued to stretch her imagination and the boundaries
she tried to set on their relationship.

Soon, though, Anando’s limits were
tested as much as Virginia’s when their sexual encounters gave way to feelings
neither of them had expected.

A Kiss of Blood

All Deidra wanted was a family.

Instead of a husband and children
however, fate gives her a Sire, a clan, and a village she is sworn to protect
from beastly demons. It also gives her Tristen, who teaches her what it means
to be a vampire—and what it means to love.

When her duties to her village
conflict with her Sire’s orders, she has to choose which part of her family is
the most important. And Tristen, confronted with her disappearance, also needs
to decide where his loyalties lie.

Before The Edge

For Lisa, The Cliff was just one
more bar to visit, one more competitor to gauge on her way to opening her own
club. The verbal abuse unleashed on her by a patron is unexpected, but not
entirely unusual: as a vampire, she has been called worse than ‘killer’ or
‘thing’ before. What is new, on the other hand, is the intervention of the
bar’s owner. Lisa isn’t used to humans trying to protect her, and she finds
Brett strangely endearing.

For his part, Brett isn’t all that
comfortable being around a vampire, but now that he has thrown out the lout who
was insulting Lisa, he can hardly ask her to leave. After getting to know her a
little, however, he starts seeing the woman beyond the fangs, and when she
returns the next night he’s ready to share a dance with her… or even a little
more…