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“Ashe will take you to my home,” he says, lowering onto the leather chair as if it were a throne. I look at him, unmoored, and blink. Ambrose looks up, as if annoyed to see me still standing there. He appears completely unaffected from his feeding, save for his lips having a flush of color. “Do you require assistance?”
Stark reality crashes into the strange haze that’d taken me when Ambrose fed and I jerk backwards away from him. He smirks and I’m like a small rabbit breaking out of the freeze response in front of a wolf who is no longer quite as hungry as before.
“No,” I bite out and tug the damn dress down where it’s ridden up higher on my thighs. Ambrose’s pupils are dilated, and he watches my movements with a heat-inducing assessment. I harden my gaze and lift my chin. He’d surprised me once with the sensation of feeding from me and I refuse to be taken by surprise again. “I will need to get my things from my place. If that’s all right,your majesty.”
Ambrose’s brows narrow at the sarcasm in my voice and a warning flashes in his eyes. I should heed it and step back, but I haven’t ever let a man with power send me running with my tail between my legs and Ambrose won’t be the first. He may be a vampire, but he’s just the same as any human man with power. They take and take and take, because powerful men believe it’s their due and when they’re challenged, they do whatever it takes to crush their opponents.
Greater men than Ambrose d’Vil have tried to crush me only to discover my spine is wrought of steel.
“Don’t bother with clothing,” he says, studying me with renewed detachment. “I will provide a wardrobe befitting someone in your place. The clothing will be delivered tomorrow. Ashe.”
At his name, the second vampire steps beside me. I never noticed his return. He has a polite expression as he extends an arm to herd me towards the door. I bite back a sharp retort. I have no doubt that the clothing Ambrose will provide will be nothing like the style I prefer. I have to deal with Ambrose for three months and I do, in fact, have a survival instinct. So I let Ashe guide me out of the office, doing my best to leave as if Ambrose hasn’t affected me in the slightest.
Leaving his office, I’m met with the music of the club below, practically deafening after the quiet of the previous room.
“This way,” Ashe says, turning me towards a door hidden in the dark. It opens to a short hall which ends in stairs leading upwards. This hallway isn’t like the entrance to Noir. There are no sensual color schemes promising a chamber of sin below, no dim lighting to prepare your eyes for the darkness found under the street. The walls are the boring white of office buildings filled with cubicles, and fluorescent lights shine without the flicker of gilded wall sconces.
I hesitate before the stairway, turning to look up at the vampire over my shoulder. Like Ambrose, Ashe looks like an angel carved of marble who wouldn’t be out of place in a grand cathedral. He isn’t as tall as the vampire king, but I still barely manage to come up to his shoulder in my heels. He raises a thick brow in question, and I decide if it was possible to be both supernaturally beautifulandhomely, Ashe would fit the description.
“I left my coat at the front,” I whisper, the quiet of the short hall not letting me speak any louder.
Ashe nods once and holds out a hand. “If you give me your ticket, Ms. Morse, I’ll see that it’s returned to you.”
His voice is like warm silk and yet, it doesn’t affect me like Ambrose’s. I duck my head and struggle with my clutch. Ashe waits patiently as I manage to get it open and find the ticket the lady gave me. I make sure to place it in the center of his palm without touching his skin. Physical contact with one vampire was more than enough for my night.
If I offend Ashe, he makes no show of it as he slips the ticket into the front pocket of his black slacks. Like Kasar and Lan, Ashe wears a well-tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt underneath. Is it a uniform Ambrose insists on? Unlike Kasar, Ashe has opted to wear a narrow black tie. He inclines his head towards the stairs in a silent command, and I turn back towards them, climbing carefully in my tall heels. I refuse to make an idiot of myself in front of the first vampire who seems to treat me with civil respect.
When I reach the landing, Ashe reaches from behind me to open the door that reveals a moderate-sized garage bay. Two massive gray Mercedes SUVs, each one costing more that I’d make in ten years, are parked one in front of the other on one side and a gunmetal silver Subaru WRX with a vanity plate dominates the other side. I roll my eyes when I read the plate.King
“I would have expected something more like a Bugatti or Ferrari,” I comment as Ashe moves towards the SUV closest to the garage bay door. He opens the back passenger door and looks over at the WRX before back at me.
“Ambrose prefers to blend performance with practicality,” he explains as he offers a hand to help me step into the high backseat, dropping it gracefully when I don’t take it.
“I guess Ferraris wouldn’t do well on gravel roads into the woods,” I say, thinking of the landscape around Newgate and Oldgate, and the coastal swamplands.
Ashe closes the door as I buckle up, moving around to the driver’s seat. I stare at the WRX, trying to imagine Ambrose sliding into the black seats. I peer closer, my nose bumping the window.
“Are those racing harnesses?” I whip around to find Ashe meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror, his amusement plain.
“They are,” he confirms and turns the key, the Mercedes humming to life with a sweet growl. I pinch my lips together, trying to ignore the thought of beautiful, ice sculpted Ambrose d’Vil strapped into the performance car and racing around tight curves on gravel roads, a hair’s breadth away from disaster. My aunt always shook her head at my choice in boys, but she never got it. It wasn’t the boys I was interested in, before everything went to shit. It was their cars and the thrill they offered.
Fortunately, Ashe pulls from the garage after the door is raised and onto the dimly lit streets. The rain has let up, but everything still reflects the headlights as if the storm has polished the city. At the first stoplight, Ashe asks for my address and I give it to him, only hesitating slightly. I have to remember that “stranger danger” isn’t really available for me right now, not after agreeing to be Ambrose’s feeder for the next three months. I refuse to believe that Deidre is dead, even if it would mean I’d escape Ambrose’s deal earlier.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, not giving a crap about ruining my makeup. I’ve gotten the help for Deidre I’d wanted, so what does it matter if my makeup turns into raccoon eyes?
“We’re here.” Ashe’s calm voice pulls me from the rising anxiety and I take a deep breath before looking up at my building.
“I’ll be right back down.” I open the door and slide out of the car. Before I can shut it, Ashe is in front of me, his massive hand gripping the top of the door. “Holy shit,” I practically shriek, my hand going to my chest as if I can keep my heart from beating straight out of my ribs. “Don’t do that!”
Ashe doesn’t look apologetic as he closes the door. “I’ll be escorting you, Ms. Morse.”
I cross my arms and glare. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m not going to run off and flake on my side of the bargain.”
Ashe’s dark eyes hold mine, his expression placid. The wind picks up, ruffling my hair and filling my nose with the promise of more rain. I roll my eyes and give in. I’m not so full of pride that I’ll let myself get drenched just to prove a point.
“Well, come on then,” I throw over my shoulder as I pull my lone key from the clutch pocket I’d secured it in. At least I hadn’t left it in my coat pocket.
Ashe is my silent sentinel as I slip off my heels before walking up the flights of stairs. He can judge me all he wants for walking barefoot in what is technically a common stairwell, but he wasn’t the one wearing three-inch heels. But he’s quiet and leaves me to my thoughts as I step up each riser.
