Nightfall (25 page)

“Don’t think of it that way. This is the vampire world, not
the human one. Think of what we are when it’s just the two of us, together.”
She put her hand on his jaw, her thumb touching his lips. “When we’re in my
world, we have to be something very different, but if we think of that façade
as a way to earn those ‘together’ times, we can get through it, right? Just go
somewhere else in your head. Out in the pastures, with a butterfly resting on
your hand.”

“Where do you go in your head?”

A light smile played on her lips. “I mix new drinks, think
of new tricks to amaze the patrons. I love running a bar. Love the customers,
love the way it all comes together when it’s being done right. I was hoping to
open my own place one day before I was turned. I never did that great in
school, decided to head for the big city and become a bartender after I
graduated high school. It was what I always wanted to do.”

“Well, After Dark isn’t the bigs, but we’re sure glad to
have you. Hope you’ll consider working there for quite a while.”

“Maybe. I’ve taken a liking to the boss. For all that he
hovers sometimes and sticks his nose in where it’s not needed.”

The lights flashed again.

“Think they’re getting impatient.” Quinn leaned over to
brush his lips over hers. She touched his face again and they held that way for
a couple blinks. He took a breath. “Let’s do this.”

The driver was a tall, steady-eyed ranch hand from Blood
Rock. He introduced himself as Jim, and told Selene point blank he was a second
mark, making it clear why he didn’t seem to think it unusual to retrieve guests
in the middle of the night from Butch’s private air strip. Other than that, he
was as typical as any other hand. He and Quinn made idle chitchat about
ranch-related topics on the drive, for which Quinn was grateful, since the
normalcy of it helped him ground himself. He did wonder about whether all
vampires had an array of servants with second and third marks, but Selene
answered that.

An overlord will often have a variety of staff members
with second marks he trusts who are part of his household. It’s rare to have
more than one third mark at a time, however. Dix is probably Butch’s only full
servant.

So it meant third marks were exclusive, special. She gave
him a look tinged with exasperation at his fishing, and he squeezed her knee in
the shadows.

She didn’t join the conversation for the most part, only a
short comment here or there when they discussed the bar. Jim mostly talked to
Quinn anyway. It might be he had that shyness that most ranch hands had around
a pretty female. Quinn bet Selene could get the guy to loosen up if he was
bellied up to the bar at After Dark, but that wasn’t her focus right now.

It occurred to Quinn then that her aloof behavior and Jim
studiously not directing comments to her could be due to the protocol that went
along with two vampires getting together. When Quinn put his hand back over
hers in the shadows, she let him hold it, give her his warmth, but when they
turned up the road leading to Blood Rock, she let him go.

From here forward, you act as my servant, Quinn.

Yes ma’am.
He gave her that smile that usually
loosened her up, but she was looking out the window. It was as if she’d
suddenly drawn an impenetrable box around her, separating herself from him and
the driver, a dividing line between species. He quelled an uneasy feeling about
that, holding on to her words.
Think of that façade as a way to earn those ‘together’
times…

The Blood Rock made the size of his place look like
Annette’s tiny herb garden behind the kitchen, but that was okay. He hadn’t
ever wanted the biggest spread, just a place of his own to run the way he
wanted to run it. His dad might never have had his own place, but he had taught
Quinn running something well mattered. It became yours, even if it wasn’t that
way on the deed. Well, now he had both of those things. But it made him think
of what Selene had said about running After Hours. Maybe she felt that way too,
another thing that connected them.

He liked the looks of Butch’s main house. It was a sprawling
creation of limestone, granite and flagstone capped with red clay Mexican
roofing tiles, the grounds accented with native Texas flora and fauna. As they
pulled up the drive, Dix was waiting on the front walkway.

Quinn opened the door for Selene as Jim pulled their two
overnight cases from the trunk. They’d packed light, though on the plane they’d
worn their more dressy clothes, Selene indicating this was considered a formal
audience. As a result, she wore a pair of slacks and a camisole top accented
with some silver jewelry. It made her look understated sexy, conservative and
in charge. He’d worn dress jeans and a shirt with pearl buttons, as well as his
silver-tipped cowboy boots, reasoning he should wear what Butch would consider
dressy. Selene had approved, saying a suit on a servant would be too much in
these circumstances.

Dix came down the steps to meet them in the drive. “Thanks,
Jim. I’ve got them from here.”

“Sure thing, Dix.” As the car moved away, Dix gave Selene a
short bow. “Ma’am. Welcome to Blood Rock.” He sent Quinn a cordial nod and a
look, where Quinn got the feeling he was being measured up in a lot of ways. In
his business, he was used to the what-kind-of-asshole-is-this look from another
man, weighing the value of his professional or personal acquaintance, but he
and Dix were already past that. This was a deeper level, a
does-this-guy-know-what-he’s-in-for look.

Unfortunately, it made him think of what Selene had implied
at the bar. He hadn’t given it thought before now, other things taking
precedence, but if Dix was Butch’s servant, and all vampire-servants had the
Dom/sub thing happening, did that mean Butch swung toward guys? Quinn thought
both of them pretty much oozed the straight-guy thing, but in the Texas cattle
world, to do otherwise wouldn’t be too smart.

Quinn cleared his throat. He couldn’t do anything about
that, but he could watch Dix closely, figure out the servant thing by
imitation. He hadn’t offered to shake Selene’s hand as one peer to another, but
given her that bow. It told Quinn even if she was the lowest vampire on the
totem pole, the highest servant was still beneath her. Selene underscored it by
giving Dix a neutral nod back, but his Mistress wasn’t overly snooty about it.
She was doing what was expected. A façade, just as she said. It reassured
Quinn, somewhat.

“If you’ll follow me, Butch will see you first thing to
discuss your issue.” As they stepped into the foyer, Dix handed off their bags
to a quiet Mexican woman who didn’t even meet their eyes, just disappeared like
a shadow. “She’ll put your things in your guestroom, Miss Torres. Quinn’s in
the adjacent bedroom.”

Quinn was going to open his mouth and say that they could go
in the same room, but a warning flicker from Selene kept him from it.
It’s
customary for a servant to have smaller quarters adjacent to a vampire. You are
invited to my bed according to my desires.

Even her mind voice sounded more remote, formal. But was it
weird his cock tingled at how it echoed her Mistress tone? Other than the dawn,
was that why she left him upstairs and went to the cellar most nights? Yeah,
some of this might be show, but he was reminded he was also dealing with a
woman who was a Mistress, all the other bullshit aside, and it wrapped up
nicely with the vampire thing. It bemused him that hearing that tone now could
get him a bit revved, but he figured that might be helpful, keep his mind off
other less pleasant things.

Dix escorted them down a wide hallway. Quinn noted Butch was
a Jim Daly fan, possessing some of his limited-edition prints, as well as those
of other artists who captured Texas’ wide-open spaces and the type of people it
attracted. He also had an unexpected thing for gargoyles, a fair collection of
them along the hallway. Small ones, large ones, medium ones, arrayed like a
leering, grinning audience that were by turns whimsical, sad or frightening,
but highly detailed, as if they’d been living beings frozen there. Strangely,
it worked with the art, that mix of Texas western and fantasy legends.

They stepped into a large study, dominated by a massive
mahogany desk, several big easy chairs and couch, a wall of books and a
foursome of flat-screens, one of which was muted but displaying a basketball
game. Butch was sitting in the big chair behind the desk, his booted foot
pressed against the frame beneath it, which Quinn saw had been wrapped with an
industrial foam to protect it from such treatment.

As Butch rose and came toward them, Quinn noted his
expression and body language was not the same as the man he’d seen at the
cattlemen’s meeting. The aura of command and wealth was still there, but the
affable I’m-just-a-cowboy-like-the-rest-of-you vibe was nowhere to be seen. His
piercing eyes were far sharper and much older, despite the handsome face. His
large body moved without sound, as smooth as a sidewinder across sand. Any
veneer that he was human was gone, and it impressed the hell out of Quinn that
he could cover it that well on a day-to-day basis. Or nightly basis, as it
were. He never would have guessed.

Then Butch stepped in front of Selene, and everything she’d
entreated Quinn to remember disappeared. Because Butch hit her in the face with
a closed fist the size of a softball, dropping her like a stone.

* * * * *

The pain exploded inside her skull, but it wasn’t
unexpected. Selene knew her next movement was stupid, way too telling, but the
alternative was far worse. She threw out a hand in Quinn’s direction, speaking
in his head so vehemently she was sure it came through to him as a shout.

Quinn, don’t. Hold your ground.

Butch took advantage of her vulnerable position to give her
a healthy kick in the side, one she was sure broke a couple of her ribs, but
even worse, tore her silk camisole. Goddamn it, shirts didn’t grow on trees for
her, unlike him in his big, fancy house.

She didn’t attempt to shield herself. He pulled her up by
her hair, held her on swaying feet as pain screamed through her side and his
eyes pinned her. He was a big man, big as Quinn, but the hand that held her was
oddly graceful and long-fingered. It was that way with vampires. Everything about
them was beauty and strength together, and though he had a rugged vitality to
him, those hands told the story of his physical power. A man who could lift a
car in one hand didn’t have calluses, no matter how much he rode, worked or
busted his ass to make his ranch a success. It was why she was one of the few
bartenders without chapped hands. Nothing marked them. Nothing on the outside.

Her gaze flicked briefly to Quinn. Thank God for Dix’s
insight. He’d blocked Quinn, had an arm over her servant’s chest, had him
backed to the wall, was speaking to her enraged cowboy, low and fast. Thank God
Butch was letting Quinn’s reaction pass, though he acknowledged it.

“I’m not going to punish him for you being young and stupid.
Not unless he forces the issue.”

When he let her go, she fell back to one knee, no choice for
it, swallowing a cry at the agony. It would heal. In just a few moments the
bones would start to knit and later, unless Butch killed her and it was a moot
point, she could take blood from Quinn and regain the strength the healing
would take. It didn’t ease the pain now, but one got used to that. Laurent had
done far worse to her.

Then Butch did something Laurent had never done. Sliding his
hands under her elbows, he helped her to her feet and eased her into his guest
chair. “All right then. That’s done. Here.” He put a handkerchief in her hand,
closed her shaking fingers over it. “The busted lip bled on your pretty shirt,
no help for that, but Yolanda may have some magic she can do with it. She’s
also a good seamstress and may be able to work on that rip. Hold that up to
your lip. Don’t bleed on my floor. She gives me hell about that kind of thing.”

His thumb passed over the bleeding lip. Selene raised her
gaze to see him take a taste, his gaze kindling at the intimacy. “Might as well
get that other part over with, right?”

Bending down, cupping her nape, he sealed his mouth over
hers. His fangs speared her cheek as his tongue slid over her bloody lip,
stroking her flesh as he took blood from both wounds he’d caused. Though she
flinched at the sharp pain, she curled her hand over his, a gesture of
acceptance. Hope unfurled inside her. An overlord took blood from a vampire in
his territory to mark their whereabouts, as Laurent had. It didn’t yet mean
Butch would champion her being there, but at least it meant he wasn’t going to
kill her outright and deliver her body to Laurent to curry favor with the
older, more powerful vampire. That had been a real possibility, which was why
she accepted his analysis of her youthful impulsiveness without argument. She’d
as much as said the same to Quinn.

Unfortunately, she also felt Quinn’s fury reach new heights.
Hitting her had been bad enough. This, an obviously sexual gesture that Butch
claimed as his right, his hands sliding down her body, cupping her breasts and
exploring while he took his requisite swallow, was enough to push Quinn to
suicide-by-vampire-attack.

It’s part of the process, Quinn. Ease back. Please, if
you care for me, go to that place in your head. Pretend this is just a bad
dream.

She’d learned to relax during such things, and in truth it
wasn’t so bad. A vampire could feel pleasure, no matter the source, their
carnal instincts far greater than morality or boundaries. So worried about the
violence end of things, she’d forgotten to go over that with Quinn. Butch was
skilled in his touch, intending to give her pleasure as well as take it, and
her breasts peaked under his stimulation, her lips parting beneath his.