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He could push past all that, but she'd panicked when he'd gone there the other night, under far more sensual circumstances. She was already feeling very unsettled. He didn't want to add to it if he could figure it out through patience and deductive reasoning.
As the day had progressed, she had gotten quieter, less likely to respond to Butch's laughter. Once, when she needed to go to her room to retrieve a hardcopy file, Dix had hopped up and told her to tell him where it was. "That way you don't have to interrupt what you're doing," he'd said easily.
In hindsight, Brian realized he'd made the offer a little too quickly. But as a result, Debra had remained in the room with them throughout the day, never leaving except for the occasional bathroom break, which was just outside this room, in view of the door.
She regularly served at Council dinners. At the few where he'd also been present, he'd been incredibly pleased by her responsiveness. It was a credit to him as her Master and, beyond that, it intensely aroused him, feeling his servant act under his command. Up until recently, he'd always told himself it was evidence she'd positively adjusted to the realities of vampire life. But had he ever really delved into those subconscious layers where she was obviously hiding her true self, to see if emotionally she accepted the things a submissive like her responded to physically?
He knew she liked it very much when he was present at those events. Her eyes would latch onto him, mind reaching for him, ensuring her Master's pleasure. He hadn't seen it as a vital way for her to deal with the scenario. Endure it and find pleasure at the same time.
He frowned, prowling around her mind. She was focusing on her work, pushing her dread away, though he noticed the twitch of her fingers on the counter, the taut line of her shoulders. She was wearing her lab coat, as she always did when they were conducting official examinations, but beneath her slim body was clad in a waist-nipping skirt and cotton knit shirt that molded her curves. She'd change into something else for dinner, something a little more formal. Seeing the flash of it in her head, he was more than pleased with her choice.
She'd brought an amber-colored shimmery short dress, one of his favorites on her, enhancing her doe-brown eyes, the multiple shades of gold in her hair. His beautiful wild creature, something that looked like she belonged to the forest and in the shade of green trees. Even more pleasing was what she usually wore beneath it, thong panties and a matching bra whose cups were so low her generous breasts would spill out of them with little more than a shallow breath.
He just wasn't sure he cared to see the effect it would have on the other vampires present.
So you'd have her wear flannel? He couldn't afford to get possessive like this. He didn't have the rank to keep his servant exclusive. Truth, it had never occurred to him as a possibility. From the time he'd had a blood nanny, his parents had taught him a servant was a toy that must be shared, unless he achieved a rank where he could be more discriminating. A servant could only be kept completely to oneself if no vampire was higher in rank. There was only one position in the vampire world that qualified, and he didn't imagine himself taking Lyssa's place anytime soon.
His mind rejected the thought of Debra as a toy, though he knew the term simply clarified the example. He was being overly emotional. He returned to the matter at hand -- figuring out the source of her fear in a way that didn't exacerbate it. "So, are you looking forward to dinner?"
"Yes, my lord."
Her response was automatic, but what happened in her mind was anything but. A maelstrom of thoughts and worries erupted with one face in the center of it. Lord Graham.
Another handful of images popped up around that center, and they had him coming to a full stop, his work forgotten. Any reservations about bonding himself too closely to her emotions vanished and he opened himself fully to the throbbing press of her fears, her dread. Fury filled him.
Over the past few days, he'd finally absorbed just how much Debra did for him. She not only cared for his needs as a vampire, which were demanding enough on their own, but she worked with him as well, a punishing schedule that had worked her to the bone. Past a third mark's endurance, until he noticed she wasn't getting any sleep.
She sure as hell hadn't planned to tell him.
Yes, he didn't have the rank to prohibit other vampires from enjoying the sensual pleasures his servant could offer, short of actual sex with her. Yet vampires who consented to other vampires taking liberties with their servants would at least stay in the servant's mind, even if just to enjoy voyeuristic pleasure. They didn't abandon their servant, mentally as well as physically, to face another vampire's requirements alone.
Debra's surprise when he'd issued the mild threat to Lord Butch about disembowelment underscored how rarely he demonstrated any possessiveness toward her at all. Many vampires did, which told others that those liberties, when taken, should be respectful of the vampire master or mistress. That there were consequences for stepping over the lines.
Unfortunately, he'd sent the exact opposite message. Then again, he'd never realized she'd faced such things. But that was because he didn't spend time in her mind. God in heaven, what kind of horrible bastard was he?
His lips tightened. The kind that would seize that cruel edge to use it for good purpose. For once.
He closed her laptop in mid-stream, though he allowed her time to remove her fingers from the keyboard first. Startled, she looked up at his face, which he knew was thundercloud dark.
"What else has Lord Graham made you do?"
Color stained her cheeks. That and the tremor that ran through her, her gaze dropping to the floor, were all the trademarks of a woman who felt shame. It only increased his wrath with himself.
"I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't want --"
"That's quite clear," he snapped. With effort, he reined himself back. "You owe me no apologies, Debra. Absolutely none."
Confusion gripped her. She was struggling for words, a question.
"You will tell me the things he has done," he said evenly. He'd seen snippets only. Probably more than enough to fill in the blanks, but he was going to be thorough. Unless it distressed her too much.
"I can't, my lord. Please don't make me say them."
He captured her chin in gentle fingers, met her eyes. "Show me then."
She did, staccato flashes as if she was trying to press the Play button but hit stop after each frame so she didn't have to see the animation. His blood boiled at what she revealed. No there hadn't been sex, but that hardly mattered, did it? Rape wasn't about sex.
His father would scoff at that. Brian could almost hear him, an obscene narrative to accompany what Debra was showing him. "A servant can't be raped. She's performed the same acts at public dinners, with other servants. Serving our pleasures is required of her."
It wasn't the same. There was a tremendous gap between those events, where her submissive nature allowed her to feel pleasure even if she had mental inhibitions -- especially if he made the effort to make sure his ass was there to command her as her Master -- and what Lord Graham had forced upon her.
He was still holding her chin, and he slid his grip briefly over her throat, gave it a light squeeze. "Debra."
"It's fine, my lord," she said hastily. "It's simply what a servant must do. I can handle it. It's fine. No need to trouble yourself. Will you be there tonight? I know there are things Butch gave us that you wish to review..."
She was trying her best to phrase it as a casual inquiry, but Brian saw the truth of it in her head, in her tremor beneath his touch. She wanted him there. Needed him there.
She'd never asked him for anything, not since the night she'd asked if he loved her. Every fiber of her was begging him to be there tonight, to help her through this. And what speared his heart was seeing how it shamed her to have to ask, to depend on him to care for her.
That answered his earlier question -- yes, he was definitely a bastard. But he could change that.
It had been his experience that change didn't come ab
out from external factors, only internal motivations. But Debra was his third mark, and that mark went both ways. She could delve down to the level of his soul, fill him to the brim, if he allowed it. Or even if he'd done his best to prevent it.
"Yes. I will be."
Her relief was palpable, but she merely nodded. Slipping out of his grasp, she gathered up her things as he watched her with narrowed eyes. "I'll go prepare for dinner," she said. "Is there anything else you require in the meantime?"
There were so many things, he couldn't enumerate them all. He was simmering with anger, frustration, regret...shame. He needed time to process things. As a result, though he was reluctant to leave it this way, he let her go.
"No, Debra. Go get ready for dinner."
She nodded, not meeting his eyes, and hurried out. He followed her in his mind to their room, noting how she hesitated at intersecting passageways. She was like a mouse scurrying through the estate, making sure the cat wasn't waiting to pounce.
He let the rage and helplessness in his heart rise. She'd pulled away from him so abruptly because she was afraid of depending on him too much. She was worried if she relied on him this one time, it would be harder for her to face it alone next time, since she was sure she would be.
