who wants to read about a Mary Sue?
so i was looking into my saved files and came across a gem of a Mary Sue. i started this some five years ago and was posting it to a yahoo group where i think maybe three people read it. after some discussion with mistress_o_muse , i figured what the hell? i'll post it. and if people don't like it, tough tooties. you were plainly warned. so here we go. back when i wrote small chapters.
Title: The Master's Slave
Fandom: the Anita Blake Universe
Rating: no one under 18. there will be blood and gore, sex and violence. dirty language and whatever else i feel like tossing in here.
Warning: as i said, sex and violence and dirty words. said sex will include, but not be limited to, M/F, M/M, M/M/F and probably any other combination i can work out. weak stomach, not my fault. you have been warned.
Disclaimer: i do not own anyone from the Anita Blake universe. the only one here i do own is Tempest and i haven't even played with her in a while. i swear i'm not making any money from this. i just do what the sick voices inside my head tell me to. i write purely for my enjoyment. and possibly the comments. please don't sue, harass or bother me. i have no money to pay you, but i do have a really nasty temper. and i know some good cuss words.
Author's Notes: yes. this character is likely really Sue-ish. i apologize for that. i had plans for this way back when, but now i think most of them have fizzled out. dunno if i'll ever finish, but at least posting it here gives me a place to hold on to it. go easy on me, please.
The slave pens were full. The slave pens were always full. Crammed tight with men and women who were bought and sold like cattle at auction. Not a bad comparison, really. It was a part of the magical world that no one wanted to admit to. They could accept the Vampires, such a lovely and cold and interesting part of life that Mortals couldn't seem to get enough of. They knew about the shifters, a class of being somewhere between human and undead. They knew about ghouls and zombies and any other thing of magic that existed. But they remained ignorant of this part of the world. This part of life.
It was like sardines being stuffed into a can. There were so many bodies in the pens that there was no room to move. There was barely room to sit without feeling crammed. Most had their legs pulled up against their chest, their arms wrapped around their knees. They even slept like that. All the slaves had their ankles bound together, so that they couldn't run. Not that there was any chance of any of them running. Slaves were guarded during the day by some of the seedier shifters. The ones who didn't care who they served or who they hurt. They just took the money they were paid. At night, there were Vamps who watched over the slaves. There was no chance of escape.
Some slaves had their hands bound, too. They were the special cases. They could do things with their hands that others couldn't. Things like work magic. There were few of them, but there were some in the cages. They were generally kept separate from the other magic workers. The thought being that they could combine their magicks and break free. Not many people understood those people. They didn't know what it meant to be magical.
People ended up in the pens for any number of reasons. There were criminals who'd made deals with the law. Either prison or the pens. Most of them didn't know that if they took the pens, it usually meant they wouldn't come back. There were people who had ended up here as a result of their debts. They'd sold themselves into slavery to pay their debts. These people usually ended up making a new start with their life once they'd paid off their debts. There were people who'd been taken off the streets. No one would miss them and they would disappear into the slavery system, never to be see again. There were those who had done nothing more than piss someone off, so they'd been snatched with the hopes that the Vampires who frequented the pens would end their lives.
And then there were the magic users. They were tossed into the pens simply because they could use magic. Because no one understood them. They were feared and shunned. As open as people were about the Vampires and the shifters, they still had a hard time with those people who could honestly use real magic. So they were reported to the slave scouts. They were grabbed out of their beds in the middle of the night. Snatched on lunch. Stolen from the grocery store. They were brought to the pens and bound and put up for auction like a prize mare or milk cow. They were treated like less than livestock.
They were people like me.
I had so many deeply latent magical abilities that I couldn't tell you what all I could do. I'd been a dancer in a club at night. An exotic dancer. But I'd also worked during the day as a tarot reader. People had come to me to find out their futures. And it had been a good, lucrative job. Until one of my clients had met a rather sticky end and his wife had accused me of being responsible for his death. And she'd had enough money to pay the slave scouts to find me and grab me. I'd lost everything when I'd been thrown into the pens. Even if I'd managed to get auctioned off, I would never have the life I'd once had. Magic users who were sold into slavery generally never got out of it.
So far, I'd been in the pens longest of any of the magic users brought in. The normal humans came and went like storm clouds. They were barely in the pens before they were sold off. The magic users like me were not as popular. We were feared. Sometimes, the occasional business man came through and bought one of us. But this was someone who knew the trick to keeping us bound. Not many people knew that trick.
By my calculations, which were fairly accurate even without a calendar, I figured I'd been in the pens for almost four months. I had some kind of standing seniority with the slavers and the slaves. I was given a small amount of preferrential treatment, though not much. I got to lay down to sleep at night where the others had to sit with their heads on their bent knee, though we all slept on straw like animals. All slaves were given a single meal. A single full meal. The other times we were fed, it was something small. But enough to keep us from losing too much weight. Or strength or stamina. I was not given anything extra. It was believed that food only helped maintain the strength of the magic. No one understood that it was so much a part of us. Like our heart or a lung. It was just there. And nothing they could do really changed that.
It was a night like any other. Humans and Vampires alike strolled the slave floor, searching through the pens for the perfect slave. Either for pleasure or blood play, it didn't matter. The slavers didn't care what they were used for. Food or fun, it was all the same to them. So long as they got their money, they would sell a baby to a child molester. They were only in it to make a profit. The slavers stood over the pens, watching slaves and buyers alike. To make sure that nothing... untoward happened. As was usual, I sat in a back corner, pretty much ignoring the things happening around me. I doubted I would get picked this night. I hadn't been picked any other night.
There were people talking, picking some of the women in my cage. That was an unspoken rule. The sexes were kept separate. Men with men and women with women. The slavers had found out, early on, that it was best to do it that way. Those slaves that were sold for sex needed to be kept hungry. Needy. Horny. Those things were important to the buyers. If they were bought to be a pleasure slave or a sex toy, they wanted to have them ready for their new life. Their new masters. I ignored them, knowing that none of them would do this with me.
Not that I wasn't pretty. I'd had my share of men when I'd been part of the real world. I'd been courted by rich men and poor men alike. I'd had my pick of them at one time. With flaming red hair that looked like split blood and a pale complexion that had lead more than one person to ask me if I was a Vampire or not, I was considered beautiful by some. Eyes as green as the finest and most sought after emeralds in the world. With a figure that was as much eye popping as it was dangerous in the clubs, I'd been popular with men and women alike. Here, I was ignored. The cuffs about my wrists marked me as a freak. A magic user. No one really wanted to take on one of us. We could use that magic to escape. Or so they thought.
"Pay attention, you stupid witch!" a voice snarled at me. One of the shifters prodded me with the long pole they all carried to poke at the slaves with. I winced as I felt the sharp end of the pole pierce my flesh. I looked up to see someone staring at me. I was shocked to find that he was a shifter, with boyish good looks that hid a seriousness and intelligence that many would never possess. He smiled at me, that kind of smile that made you want to smile back, no matter what kind of day you were having.
"There's no need to hurt her," he told the other shifter. The two men sized each other up and down and I could feel the anger levels rise along with their powers.
"You're no alpha," the slaver growled.
"That may be so, but I come with the good will of my Master. If I'm unhappy, he's unhappy," the blonde said. By the way he spoke the words, I could tell his Master was someone of great importance. I took a moment to study the blonde. He wore a blue, long sleeved shirt over a tank top in a light gray, a pair of denim jeans fitting his lean frame snuggly. He was handsome, in a boyish kind of way that likely endeared him to any one he got close enough to. I offered him a faint smile, wondering why he was here.
"She's been here the longest. I don't know why you would want this one. I've been told this one is the worst we've ever had. They don't even have a name for what she is," the slaver snarled at me. I could hear the growl in his voice. The one that said he was really more animal than person now.
"My Master said he wanted a magic user. He said to purchase the strongest one. From everyone I've spoken with, that's her. What's her name?" the blonde asked him. The slaver laughed, throwing his head back as he chortled out his laughter.
"The slaves have no names here," he finally replied, gasping for breath as he did so.
"What's your name?" the blonde looked at me.
"Um..." I cleared my throat, my voice hoarse from not being allowed to talk very much. "My name is Tempest." I got a funny look for that. But it was true. It wasn't a stage name or my adopted witch name or anything like that. It was my honest to gods name. My mother had been a throwback from the hippie era and had taken a liking to anything not of the normal world. So I had been christened Tempest Storm O'Hara.
So the last name didn't fit. What could I say? My dad, rest his soul, had been full blooded Irish. My mother, still out there somewhere with her peace signs and love beads and tie dyes, was a mix of cultures and claimed none of them as her own. So I was half Irish and half mutt. The blonde looked at me curiously. "I swear I know that name," he said, mostly to himself. Then he shook his head and looked at the slaver. "How much is she?"
I hid my frown, deciding it would be prudent to not let them see my anger over the question. The slaver glanced down at me, a smirk curling his lips up. I knew I wouldn't like what he had to say. "Mr. Figg says since she's so undesirable, she isn't worth much. He's only asking five for her."
"Five thousand is reasonable," the blonde said, dipping one hand into his pocket. He came out with a small wad of cash and unfolded it, counting bills out quickly and efficiently. When he was done, he handed the cash to the slaver, then tucked what was left into his pocket. The slaver leaned over the pen, his big hands closing over my wrists. He jerked me up rather roughly over the top of the pen to stand beside him. I knew there would be bruises there before the night was over.
The blonde stepped up to me and stared. He wasn't much taller than I was and he could look me in the eyes. When I met his stare, the slaver slapped me in the back of the head. "Eyes down, you bitch," he snarled at me. I glared at him a moment before dropping my gaze. Only to feel the blonde's hand under my chin. His hand brought my eyes back up to his and he smiled before turning a cold stare at the slaver.
"My Master is the only one who orders her to do anything now," he told the other shifter with a low, even voice. The tone stated that the slaver didn't want to meet his Master on just about any day. The blonde took my hands, then stopped and sniffed loudly. "She needs a shower," he said evenly.
"Showers are for buyers. Not slaves," the mean shifter snapped.
"Want me to call my Master? I'm sure he'll be more than happy to find somewhere else to buy his humans," the blonde asked, his hand reaching into another pocket for a cell phone. The slaver suddenly looked a little scared. "She needs a shower. I'm not taking her back to him with the stench of the pens on her."
"You can take that up with Jerome," the slaver said, then turned and walked away. I stared at the blonde, confused about the entire episode. There wasn't anyone in the city with the clout he was implying his Master had. At least, no one I could think of. The Mayor even came in and browsed, but he couldn't do the things the blonde intimated his Master could. Before I could find my voice to ask questions, the slaver returned, a bigger man following behind him.
Jerome Neely was the main slaver on the floor. He always worked the night shift, as that was when most of the business happened. He was also one of the biggest shifters I had ever seen. The man was built like a brick shit house, muscles bunching and rolling with each movement. He had a flat face with a pair of beady eyes that made him look very stupid. He was anything but. As it stood, Jerome was a smart man. He was shrewd and he knew how to make the most of the slaves. He was Mr. Figg's best employee because of that. When he stepped up to where I stood with the blonde, his presence filled the area and I shrank back from him, moving behind my purchaser.
"Jason, I'm surprised to see you here," Jerome intoned, his gaze flicking briefly to me.
"He wanted a magic user. I was the only one not busy," the blonde shrugged.
"I know he has good taste and all, but...." Jerome's hand gestured to me. "Honestly, Jason. Her?"
"He wanted both looks and ability. She seems the be the only one here who fit the bill well enough," the blonde, Jason, replied easily. "I checked with everyone. They all said the same thing."
"She's been in the pens for four months. No one wants her. She's unreliable. No one knows what her real talents are," Jerome told him. A half smile lifted his lips. "Not even she knows what her talents are. And she's the one who carries them."
"It doesn't matter. She fits his requirements. But I can't take her to him like this. She smells and she needs new clothes badly," Jason replied. Jerome looked at Jason as if he was mad. "If you don't want to let me use the showers here, I'll just tell him that he can start shopping somewhere else for his humans."
"She isn't human," Jerome snapped, but then smiled and motioned to a doorway. "But as this is your Master, I'll make an exception about the shower. So long as you intend to be responsible for her. She is a magic user, after all. I won't have her running about my pens, hexing people left and right."
"She won't do that," Jason assured him. Then he turned to look at me, a winsome smile on his face. "Will you, Tempest?"
"Of course not," I whispered, wondering if Jerome would take his fist to me for speaking. He merely nodded at me before dropping to remove the ankle cuffs, then he stood and ushered the two of us out the main room into a dim hallway. There were doorways off the hall, some open and some closed. This was a place for buyers to take potential purchases. So they could decide if they wanted them or not. I had never been to the rooms.
The end of the hall stopped at a closed door. Jerome opened it and allowed Jason and I to go in. It was a large bathroom, obviously a private one, as there was only one toilet and one tub. Jerome glanced meaningfully at me, then turned to the blonde with me. "Fifteen minutes. No more. No less. I don't care if God is your Master."
"Thanks, Jerome. That's all I'm asking for. Time enough to wash the stench of the pens off her. You know it will offend his tender sensibilties. Come on, Tempest," Jason nods toward the shower. I smiled at him, then moved into the room past him. The door shut behind us, and it was then I realized that I was still bound at the wrists. I turned to look at Jason.
"I can't shower in these," I held my hands up. He smiled, then stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around the cuffs. With the slightest of jerks, the metal snapped and my wrists were free. I tore the rag I was wearing off my body and turned back to the shower. A twist of one hand saw the hot water pouring out into the porcelain basin. I set the cool water, then stepped in. And was startled out of my wits by the press of naked flesh at my back. "What the fuck?" I looked over my shoulder at Jason.
"I was told I can't let you out of my sight. Sorry, honey. You're going to have to deal with it," he smirked. I frowned at him, but gave all my attention back to the shower. The feel of water cascading over my body held me captivated. For all of five minutes. Until I felt Jason's erection prodding my back. I tried to concentrate on soaping up, as I only had a few moments. But my efforts were thwarted when a pair of hands reached up and cupped my soapy breasts. I turned to look over my shoulder and he merely grinned. "Payment."
"And your Master will allow this?" I asked him, hissing out a sigh when his fingers squeezed. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched me. In any way.
"So long as I don't put any more of me on you than this," his hands squeezed my breasts again. "I'm fine. He might get pissy if I were to put any other part of me anywhere else." I tried to push the feel of his hands on my body away from me, tried to concentrate on cleaning myself up. But his fingers kept playing with their captured booty, his hips rocking up against my bottom provacatively. I stifled the moan and pulled away.
"I need to wash my hair," I said, turning while explaining my actions. He smiled and inched closer until his hardness prodded my belly. With my hands up, my breasts were lifted. I shuddered to feel his mouth cover one nipple and suck lightly. I was barely able to finish rinsing the conditioner from my hair when a fist pounded on the door.
"Time's up, Jason!" Jerome's voice boomed. I jerked away from the blonde and turned, shutting the water off. I scrambled from the tub, reaching for a towel to dry myself off with. I was busy rubbing my hair briskly with the soft rectangle when Jason spoke.
"I know where I've heard that name before," Jason said, his hand settling over my back to trace the lines of the tattoo just above my rear. "You're Tempest the Temptress."
"Guilty," I replied, then looked up. That had been my stage name, the temptress part. My boss at the gentleman's club I'd worked for had insisted on it, then had decked me out in some multi-layered belly dancer's costume in shades of black and green to compliment my hair and eyes. Until I'd been snatched, I'd been his most popular dancer and I'd made an assload of money at it.
I sighed when I looked down, realizing that I had nothing to put on. The only garment I had to wear was in shreds on the floor. I cursed softly. Jason shoved his button down shirt into my hands. I looked up at him in confusion. He smiled and motioned to the garment with one hand, letting me know it was alright to put it on.
"It isn't much. If we had time, and it was earlier," he told me, watching as I slipped the shirt on and began buttoning it. "We would stop some place and get you some things. As it is, this will have to do."
"This is more than I hoped for," I smiled up at him, then moved to the mirror to finger comb my hair. It felt wonderful to have clean hair again. Without the dirt in it, it shone in the light. It took Jason a matter of moments to get back into his jeans and his tank top. When he was dressed and I was covered, he took my arm in his hand and lead me toward the door. It opened to show Jerome's standing almost directly in front of it. He glanced from me to Jason, then back again.
"She has to wear cuffs out, Jason. Rules," Jerome told us. I tamped down on my anger, trying very hard to keep it in check. I was sick of this place and sick of their rules. I hadn't done anything wrong. My only misfortune in life was to have been born different than the rest of the world. And yet, I was the one being punished. Jason seemed to understand what I was thinking and feeling. He turned and gave me a smile. Jerome watched us a moment, then turned and took a set of cuffs off the wall behind him. He faced the two of us and waited for me. I lifted my hands, cringing when he locked the cuffs in place around my wrists. Jerome looked at us one last time, a faint smirk on his face. "Have fun, bitch. You're going to love his Master."
Jerome had a look on his face that made me feel ill at ease. He grinned at me, then moved to the side and let us pass. Jason nodded to him, then lead me back up the hall and into the room where the pens were.
The smell hit me hard and I fought not to gag. The stench of unwashed flesh, of dirt and sweat and stale sex, of old smoke and older death, slammed into me hard. I turned my head, tucking it into Jason's still damp arm. He smelled of soap and shampoo and helped ease down the need to retch. It had been so long since I'd been brought into the pens, I'd forgotten what clean smelled like. Fifteen or twenty minutes in that bathroom had changed that. I'd been in the pens so long, I'd forgotten what a dirty body smelled like against a clean one. Until the door to the establishment closed behind me, I kept my nose pressed to his arm. Then we were outside and the sweet smell of early summer air washed over me.
I lifted my face, turning it up to the night sky. The sun had set not that long ago, a thin line of blood red still visible on the horizon. Stars twinkled down at us while a cool breeze wafted across my upturned face. It was still early in the year, so it wasn't hot yet. But it wasn't cold, either. Jason stopped walking and let me soak up the surrounding night, content to watch me. I could hear the rustling of the leaves on the trees as the wind blew through them. I could feel the magic in the air. Not my magic or anything like it. The magic of Mother Nature. It was there in the green of the grass, the pale silver-green of the leaves on the tree.
It was life. I was alive and so was the night and I suddenly felt wonderful. To hell with the fact that I was now owned property. To hell with the last four months. I was alive and that was all that mattered. As if he knew when it was the right time to burst my bubble, Jason pulled on my arm. "Come on. We have to get going," he told me. Reluctantly, I followed him to his car.
I didn't argue as he helped me into the front seat. I managed the seat belt on my own, but he had to close the door for me. I watched him go round the car and get in on the driver's side. He slipped the keys into the ignition and turned the engine over. I watched him in silence, how smoothly he shifted into reverse and pulled from the parking place. How the motion to put the car into gear and roll forward was just as easy. He flicked on the radio and tuned it to a station that played music I liked. I relaxed into the leather of the seat, closing my eyes as the feel of the tires turning over the street lulled me into a sense of security. I was so content, I didn't see sleep claim me.
~*~
When I awoke, I found myself spilled almost carelessly across a large bed. It was one of the biggest I'd ever seen, and so soft. The mattress was like a cloud, cradling my form and holding me secure in its embrace. The sheets under my cheek were of the finest silk I had ever felt. They were black as pitch, blacker than a night without moon and stars. I still wore the blue shirt, though the tails were tossed up over my hips in a manner that suggested I had been dumped onto the bed without thought.
My hands were before me, still bound by the cuffs slapped on by Jerome before leaving the pens. I remained still, silent, listening for some sound to let me know if someone was watching me. I could hear nothing, so I used other senses. There was nothing to feel. I sat up, slowly, taking in more of the room. The walls were stone, a dull gray that seemed somehow obscene against the opulence of the bedding. The foot board was of some dark wood, the posts at each corner thicker around than my body. They were carved with images of people. People who were entwined about one another in what was only a sexual way. There were other beings. Daemons, if I wasn't mistaken. Faces that were long and foul looking. Faces that were smooth and cherubic. Leering and crying and smiling faces that bespoke more eloquently of the state of humanity than a few words could ever do.
The headboard was embellished with a scene of such artistuc reverence that my breath stilled in my throat. Two angels took up either side of the large panel, both staring at the figure between them. A woman of unsurpassed beauty knelt between them. Her hands were clasped in prayer, the ultimate in a repentant pose, but her face was turned up to look at the two angels surrounding her. Their wings spread out behind them like cloaks billowing in the wind. They seemed to be gazing at the woman with love burning in their beautiful faces. As I looked closer, I saw that the angels had fangs. My eyes went wide.
"You're awake," a voice said behind me and I turned to look. Jason was strolling into the room, a tray in his hands. He was down to only his jeans, the button on the waistband undone. He smiled at me, then moved over to sit on the bed. He set the tray down before me, his hands reaching for mine. In the blink of an eye, the metal that held me bound was snapped in two. I offered him a smile before reaching for the tray of food set between us. "I thought you'd be hungry. I know how they don't feed the slaves in the pens. Besides, you're going to need your strength when you finally meet my Master."
I didn't like the sound of that, so I kept my mouth shut and nibbled at the sandwich I had picked up. It was ham and cheese, and it tasted so good after the bland and boring food we'd been given in the pens. Now I was apprehensive about meeting this man who had paid a lowly five thousand for me. I knew the other slaves went for a normal minimum of ten thousand. Some of the more exotic or more highly sought after ones went for anywhere from twenty to fifty thousand. Money seemed to be no object for the men who bought people like toys. And I was only worth five thousand. Somehow, that didn't seem right.
After a few moments, I pushed the tray aside and settled my hands in my lap. What little appetite I'd had was gone with the worrying fear that gnawed at me like a dog with a bone. Jason seemed to sense this and leaned closer to take my hands in his. "Don't worry. He's not going to hurt you. That isn't his style. But, if you're done eating, its time."
"Can't we put it off for another fifty years or so?" I asked nervously. Jason chuckled and got off the bed, shaking his head. He held out a hand to me, his fingers waggling. I sighed and slid off the haven of the mattress, giving him my hand. He pulled me toward a second door and I found myself in a lavish bathroom. A hook was mounted on the back of the door. Hanging from that was a garment bag. Jason reached for it, handing it to me.
"Put this on. I'll be waiting outside for you," he smiled at me, leaning in to drop a quick peck on my cheek. Then he was out the door, pulling it shut behind me. I stood there a moment, staring at the bag, then shrugged and laid it across the vanity. There really was no point in putting off the inevitable. I was now this man's legal property and he could force me to do whatever he liked. I pulled the zipper down and stared at what was inside the bag.
The dress was of silk, soft and slippery under my fingers when I touched it. Slowly, I pulled it out of the garment bag and held it up. It looked as if the dress would be a perfect fit. It was black, what there was of it. It was not meant to cover very much. A small bag was clipped to the hanger, the pink and white stripes telling me it was from Victoria's Secret. I rolled my eyes, wondering why it was that men thought that all women should wear that kind of underwear. Pushing my thoughts aside, I went about readying myself.
It was some ten minutes later that I stared at myself in the mirror and wondered what the hell I'd gotten myself into. The dress, if that is what one would call it, was definitely not meant to cover much. The bodice was a halter style that had some how been created so that there was no need of a bra beneath it. It held every bit of my chest up and in place, it was so tight. The skirt hung to just above my knees, flared ever so slightly to give the illusion of being full when it wasn't. My back was left exposed with the cut of the garment. Beneath it, I was wearing a pair of lace thongs that rode low in on the hips. A lace garter belt that matched the panties held up the silk hose I wore, black with a Cuban heel and seams up the back. A pair of leather heels sat on the floor, waiting for me to put my feet into them.
When I swung the door open, Jason opened his eyes to look at me. Those pretty blue orbs nearly popped out of his head a moment or two, then he smiled a smile that was pure man and lust in one. "Damn, that man has good taste. Come along. Its time to meet your Master," he told me, holding a hand out to me. I took it slowly, wondering what kind of Master would dress his slave in such a rich manner.
We left the lavish bedroom, turning out into a hall that seemed to go on forever. It was gray stone, like the walls of the bedchamber had been. The floor was uncovered and the heels I wore clattered against the stone with every step I took. It seemed an eternity before the hall opened into a large room with ceilings so high, I had to wonder what kind of building I was in. It was of stone, as was the rest of the place. But there were long, diaphonous panels of white material that hung from the ceiling that created a series of false walls. It was toward these panels that Jason lead me, his hand warm and firm around mine.
We pushed through the material into what could only be described as a living room. Carpeting covered the area within the flowing panels. A pair of lving room suites took up the space, set on either side of the square before a mock fireplace. The couches and chairs were white, decorated with black and blood red throw pillows. The area was devoid of anyone, but Jason motioned for me to sit. I folded myself neatly into one of the chair, trying in vain to keep my skirt down low enough so that nothing was exposed. So I'd been a dancer. But that didn't mean I did nudity as casually as some people thought.
Jason took a seat on the couch closest to the chair. I watched him, not sure what was going to happen or what else I was supposed to do. The awkward silence didn't last long. In a moment, I heard voices. They were soft and full and rubbed my skin like velvet. I shuddered, wondering why they had brought on that feeling. Then the sea of white parted near the mock fireplace and a pair of men entered. I felt my eyes nearly spill from my head as I stared at them. The angels from the headboard come to life stood before me. Jason stood and moved toward them. "This is Tempest. Everyone I talked to said she was the strongest magic user in the pens."
Two pairs of eyes turned to pin themselves to me. One set a blue so blue, it was like getting lost in midnight. The other set was the blue of long frozen ice. Both looked over me like I was an hors d'oeuvre on the table. The last hors d'oeuvre on the table and they were trying to figure out which of them would get to me first. I shuddered from being the sole recipient of such single-minded visual intensity.
One was golden while the other was dark as sin. I could tell they were Vampires. I could feel it. That part of me that wasn't strictly human, wasn't completely normal, could feel the preternaturalness about them in the same manner it could sense a shifter in a throng of mortals. And then it struck me, slowly, so I could see the collision coming at me like some sort of bad thing you knew would happen but couldn't stop. Jason was a werewolf. I knew it by the energy he gave off. I was in the presence of two very old, very powerful Vampires. One of them was so powerful, the city at large feared him. The Master of the City. Shit, I was now the property of the Master of the City. Which meant I was standing in his personal sanctuary. The Circus of the Damned.
I knew of the Master of the City, had heard of him from other sources. What I had heard had been a mixture of flattery and fear. He was powerful enough to break from the head of his line and form his own line, become the fountain head of his own line of Vampires. He was rumored to be beauty personified and women loved him. Looking at the two men across from me, I could see that this was truth. He was supposed to be ruthless when he had to be, yet generous with his people to a fault. He could call the wolf, which explained Jason being sent to pick me out. He owned businesses all over town and was pretty much his own corporation.
"Son of a bitch," I whispered, dropping my head into my hands.
"What ever is the matter, ma petite?" the voice wrapped itself around me, rubbing against my insides like a cat rubbed against a person's legs. I bit my lip to keep from moaning, all of my magic useless against the power of a Vampire's voice. I was surprised to feel a hand slip under my chin, drawing my face out of my hands so that I was looking at the speaker. The dark Vampire stood before me, smiling down at me almost imperceptibly. I made sure to look slightly to the side, my eyes seeing his but not ensnared by them.
"No one told me that my Master was the Master," I replied, glancing sideways at Jason. He grinned and shrugged nonchalantly. A low chuckle brought my attention back to the man in front of me. His voice was like velvet even though it coiled about me like a serpent, wrapping me up in its warmth and tightening his hold on me. My magic fought back, trying to pull me from the snare of his voice. Of his power. It was no use, though. My magic, all of it, could not compete with the power of the Master of The City.
"Jason was instructed to keep my identity a secret from those who did not know it," he replied.
"Which was pretty much me. Everyone in the pens knew who his Master was. So," I managed to get out evenly, though my body was a blinding mix of fear and lust and confusion. Up until a few months ago, the Master of the City had been linked with the most powerful Necromancer the world had ever seen. Anita Blake had been his human servant. How that tie had been broken, no one knew. One night, she'd been on his arm at the opening of a new club. The next, she'd been gone and no one knew where she'd gone or how either of them had survived. Because it had been made clear that Anita Blake was no longer the human servant of the Master of the City. And the fact that both of them had survived the breaking of the marks was absolutely astounding. "Just what did you want me for?"
"I need someone who can use magic. I need a new human servant. You are my choice," he told me. I laughed outloud, not believing him. His face remained pleasant, but it was now neutral. I wondered what I had done wrong. Surely he didn't mean me?
"Why do you laugh?" the other Vampire, the blonde, asked me softly. His voice was as deadly as the Master's was. I couldn't hold back the groan this time. It was like liquid silk, liquid velvet, was being poured over me. The touch of his voice brought goose pimples to my flesh, sending shudders of awareness down my spine. My eyes rolled back into my head as my body was wracked with pleasure. "His explanation is not so funny as you think it is."
"But it is. Don't you see that?" I tried to explain to them both. "I was in the pens for four months. No one wanted me for anything. My reputation as a magic user has condemned me. Like Jerome told Jason. I don't even know what my magical abitlities are. How can I be of any use to you when I don't know what I can do until I do it?"
"We shall discover those talents together,' the dark one told me. I looked at him for a moment, then shook my head. He stared at me, obviously wondering what I was objecting to.
"Everyone considers me a wild card. Since I can't be sure of what I can do, what happens if I do something that hurts you or someone else? What then?" I asked him, now in a near panic. The man was serious. He wanted me as his human servant, despite the fact that no one could tell me what I could and couldn't do with my magic.
"You will not," he replied confidantly, as if he knew how to control me. As if he could be sure I wouldn't do just that. I frowned at him, not at all sure I liked his cocky attitude. "Even though you may not believe this, I had Jason research you extensively before I made the decision to purchase you."
"Researched me? Like a book report?" I asked, now starting to get pissed off.
"Oui," he nodded at my questions. I glared at him, my temper starting to boil. "We have known of your presence in the pens for some time. When no one wished to purchase you, I made inquiries into the reasons why. It was the answers given me that decided me on purchasing you."
"You knew I was there and you had your furry flunkie look into me like I was some kind of antique?" I asked, my voice so low that I knew I was truly enraged. I could feel the center of me open up, magic rushing forth like a fountain, rocketing to the top of my head. My hair lifted, crackling with energy. My hands warmed slightly, power preparing to pour out of them. My vision went a bit fuzzy, as if I were looking at the scene through a fog. In essence, I was. I was staring at everything through my magic.
"Oui," he nodded again, seemingly unaware of my power surge. My fingers were cramping from trying to hold in the magic, to keep it from spilling out of me and into the man before me. I was angry and jacked up on my own power and I didn't know what it would do if I let it out.
"Jean Claude," the voice was a low growl, and it took me a moment to realize that it was Jason. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, surprised to see that he was partially shifted, his legs and lower chest covered in a golden brown fur. His eyes held fear. I couldn't fathom why he'd be afraid until it hit me that I was making him shift. My power was doing that. From what I knew of shapeshifters, only thier Ulfric could force the change on them and only if he was powerful enough to do so.
So why was it that I could do it?
Title: The Master's Slave
Fandom: the Anita Blake Universe
Rating: no one under 18. there will be blood and gore, sex and violence. dirty language and whatever else i feel like tossing in here.
Warning: as i said, sex and violence and dirty words. said sex will include, but not be limited to, M/F, M/M, M/M/F and probably any other combination i can work out. weak stomach, not my fault. you have been warned.
Disclaimer: i do not own anyone from the Anita Blake universe. the only one here i do own is Tempest and i haven't even played with her in a while. i swear i'm not making any money from this. i just do what the sick voices inside my head tell me to. i write purely for my enjoyment. and possibly the comments. please don't sue, harass or bother me. i have no money to pay you, but i do have a really nasty temper. and i know some good cuss words.
Author's Notes: yes. this character is likely really Sue-ish. i apologize for that. i had plans for this way back when, but now i think most of them have fizzled out. dunno if i'll ever finish, but at least posting it here gives me a place to hold on to it. go easy on me, please.
The slave pens were full. The slave pens were always full. Crammed tight with men and women who were bought and sold like cattle at auction. Not a bad comparison, really. It was a part of the magical world that no one wanted to admit to. They could accept the Vampires, such a lovely and cold and interesting part of life that Mortals couldn't seem to get enough of. They knew about the shifters, a class of being somewhere between human and undead. They knew about ghouls and zombies and any other thing of magic that existed. But they remained ignorant of this part of the world. This part of life.
It was like sardines being stuffed into a can. There were so many bodies in the pens that there was no room to move. There was barely room to sit without feeling crammed. Most had their legs pulled up against their chest, their arms wrapped around their knees. They even slept like that. All the slaves had their ankles bound together, so that they couldn't run. Not that there was any chance of any of them running. Slaves were guarded during the day by some of the seedier shifters. The ones who didn't care who they served or who they hurt. They just took the money they were paid. At night, there were Vamps who watched over the slaves. There was no chance of escape.
Some slaves had their hands bound, too. They were the special cases. They could do things with their hands that others couldn't. Things like work magic. There were few of them, but there were some in the cages. They were generally kept separate from the other magic workers. The thought being that they could combine their magicks and break free. Not many people understood those people. They didn't know what it meant to be magical.
People ended up in the pens for any number of reasons. There were criminals who'd made deals with the law. Either prison or the pens. Most of them didn't know that if they took the pens, it usually meant they wouldn't come back. There were people who had ended up here as a result of their debts. They'd sold themselves into slavery to pay their debts. These people usually ended up making a new start with their life once they'd paid off their debts. There were people who'd been taken off the streets. No one would miss them and they would disappear into the slavery system, never to be see again. There were those who had done nothing more than piss someone off, so they'd been snatched with the hopes that the Vampires who frequented the pens would end their lives.
And then there were the magic users. They were tossed into the pens simply because they could use magic. Because no one understood them. They were feared and shunned. As open as people were about the Vampires and the shifters, they still had a hard time with those people who could honestly use real magic. So they were reported to the slave scouts. They were grabbed out of their beds in the middle of the night. Snatched on lunch. Stolen from the grocery store. They were brought to the pens and bound and put up for auction like a prize mare or milk cow. They were treated like less than livestock.
They were people like me.
I had so many deeply latent magical abilities that I couldn't tell you what all I could do. I'd been a dancer in a club at night. An exotic dancer. But I'd also worked during the day as a tarot reader. People had come to me to find out their futures. And it had been a good, lucrative job. Until one of my clients had met a rather sticky end and his wife had accused me of being responsible for his death. And she'd had enough money to pay the slave scouts to find me and grab me. I'd lost everything when I'd been thrown into the pens. Even if I'd managed to get auctioned off, I would never have the life I'd once had. Magic users who were sold into slavery generally never got out of it.
So far, I'd been in the pens longest of any of the magic users brought in. The normal humans came and went like storm clouds. They were barely in the pens before they were sold off. The magic users like me were not as popular. We were feared. Sometimes, the occasional business man came through and bought one of us. But this was someone who knew the trick to keeping us bound. Not many people knew that trick.
By my calculations, which were fairly accurate even without a calendar, I figured I'd been in the pens for almost four months. I had some kind of standing seniority with the slavers and the slaves. I was given a small amount of preferrential treatment, though not much. I got to lay down to sleep at night where the others had to sit with their heads on their bent knee, though we all slept on straw like animals. All slaves were given a single meal. A single full meal. The other times we were fed, it was something small. But enough to keep us from losing too much weight. Or strength or stamina. I was not given anything extra. It was believed that food only helped maintain the strength of the magic. No one understood that it was so much a part of us. Like our heart or a lung. It was just there. And nothing they could do really changed that.
It was a night like any other. Humans and Vampires alike strolled the slave floor, searching through the pens for the perfect slave. Either for pleasure or blood play, it didn't matter. The slavers didn't care what they were used for. Food or fun, it was all the same to them. So long as they got their money, they would sell a baby to a child molester. They were only in it to make a profit. The slavers stood over the pens, watching slaves and buyers alike. To make sure that nothing... untoward happened. As was usual, I sat in a back corner, pretty much ignoring the things happening around me. I doubted I would get picked this night. I hadn't been picked any other night.
There were people talking, picking some of the women in my cage. That was an unspoken rule. The sexes were kept separate. Men with men and women with women. The slavers had found out, early on, that it was best to do it that way. Those slaves that were sold for sex needed to be kept hungry. Needy. Horny. Those things were important to the buyers. If they were bought to be a pleasure slave or a sex toy, they wanted to have them ready for their new life. Their new masters. I ignored them, knowing that none of them would do this with me.
Not that I wasn't pretty. I'd had my share of men when I'd been part of the real world. I'd been courted by rich men and poor men alike. I'd had my pick of them at one time. With flaming red hair that looked like split blood and a pale complexion that had lead more than one person to ask me if I was a Vampire or not, I was considered beautiful by some. Eyes as green as the finest and most sought after emeralds in the world. With a figure that was as much eye popping as it was dangerous in the clubs, I'd been popular with men and women alike. Here, I was ignored. The cuffs about my wrists marked me as a freak. A magic user. No one really wanted to take on one of us. We could use that magic to escape. Or so they thought.
"Pay attention, you stupid witch!" a voice snarled at me. One of the shifters prodded me with the long pole they all carried to poke at the slaves with. I winced as I felt the sharp end of the pole pierce my flesh. I looked up to see someone staring at me. I was shocked to find that he was a shifter, with boyish good looks that hid a seriousness and intelligence that many would never possess. He smiled at me, that kind of smile that made you want to smile back, no matter what kind of day you were having.
"There's no need to hurt her," he told the other shifter. The two men sized each other up and down and I could feel the anger levels rise along with their powers.
"You're no alpha," the slaver growled.
"That may be so, but I come with the good will of my Master. If I'm unhappy, he's unhappy," the blonde said. By the way he spoke the words, I could tell his Master was someone of great importance. I took a moment to study the blonde. He wore a blue, long sleeved shirt over a tank top in a light gray, a pair of denim jeans fitting his lean frame snuggly. He was handsome, in a boyish kind of way that likely endeared him to any one he got close enough to. I offered him a faint smile, wondering why he was here.
"She's been here the longest. I don't know why you would want this one. I've been told this one is the worst we've ever had. They don't even have a name for what she is," the slaver snarled at me. I could hear the growl in his voice. The one that said he was really more animal than person now.
"My Master said he wanted a magic user. He said to purchase the strongest one. From everyone I've spoken with, that's her. What's her name?" the blonde asked him. The slaver laughed, throwing his head back as he chortled out his laughter.
"The slaves have no names here," he finally replied, gasping for breath as he did so.
"What's your name?" the blonde looked at me.
"Um..." I cleared my throat, my voice hoarse from not being allowed to talk very much. "My name is Tempest." I got a funny look for that. But it was true. It wasn't a stage name or my adopted witch name or anything like that. It was my honest to gods name. My mother had been a throwback from the hippie era and had taken a liking to anything not of the normal world. So I had been christened Tempest Storm O'Hara.
So the last name didn't fit. What could I say? My dad, rest his soul, had been full blooded Irish. My mother, still out there somewhere with her peace signs and love beads and tie dyes, was a mix of cultures and claimed none of them as her own. So I was half Irish and half mutt. The blonde looked at me curiously. "I swear I know that name," he said, mostly to himself. Then he shook his head and looked at the slaver. "How much is she?"
I hid my frown, deciding it would be prudent to not let them see my anger over the question. The slaver glanced down at me, a smirk curling his lips up. I knew I wouldn't like what he had to say. "Mr. Figg says since she's so undesirable, she isn't worth much. He's only asking five for her."
"Five thousand is reasonable," the blonde said, dipping one hand into his pocket. He came out with a small wad of cash and unfolded it, counting bills out quickly and efficiently. When he was done, he handed the cash to the slaver, then tucked what was left into his pocket. The slaver leaned over the pen, his big hands closing over my wrists. He jerked me up rather roughly over the top of the pen to stand beside him. I knew there would be bruises there before the night was over.
The blonde stepped up to me and stared. He wasn't much taller than I was and he could look me in the eyes. When I met his stare, the slaver slapped me in the back of the head. "Eyes down, you bitch," he snarled at me. I glared at him a moment before dropping my gaze. Only to feel the blonde's hand under my chin. His hand brought my eyes back up to his and he smiled before turning a cold stare at the slaver.
"My Master is the only one who orders her to do anything now," he told the other shifter with a low, even voice. The tone stated that the slaver didn't want to meet his Master on just about any day. The blonde took my hands, then stopped and sniffed loudly. "She needs a shower," he said evenly.
"Showers are for buyers. Not slaves," the mean shifter snapped.
"Want me to call my Master? I'm sure he'll be more than happy to find somewhere else to buy his humans," the blonde asked, his hand reaching into another pocket for a cell phone. The slaver suddenly looked a little scared. "She needs a shower. I'm not taking her back to him with the stench of the pens on her."
"You can take that up with Jerome," the slaver said, then turned and walked away. I stared at the blonde, confused about the entire episode. There wasn't anyone in the city with the clout he was implying his Master had. At least, no one I could think of. The Mayor even came in and browsed, but he couldn't do the things the blonde intimated his Master could. Before I could find my voice to ask questions, the slaver returned, a bigger man following behind him.
Jerome Neely was the main slaver on the floor. He always worked the night shift, as that was when most of the business happened. He was also one of the biggest shifters I had ever seen. The man was built like a brick shit house, muscles bunching and rolling with each movement. He had a flat face with a pair of beady eyes that made him look very stupid. He was anything but. As it stood, Jerome was a smart man. He was shrewd and he knew how to make the most of the slaves. He was Mr. Figg's best employee because of that. When he stepped up to where I stood with the blonde, his presence filled the area and I shrank back from him, moving behind my purchaser.
"Jason, I'm surprised to see you here," Jerome intoned, his gaze flicking briefly to me.
"He wanted a magic user. I was the only one not busy," the blonde shrugged.
"I know he has good taste and all, but...." Jerome's hand gestured to me. "Honestly, Jason. Her?"
"He wanted both looks and ability. She seems the be the only one here who fit the bill well enough," the blonde, Jason, replied easily. "I checked with everyone. They all said the same thing."
"She's been in the pens for four months. No one wants her. She's unreliable. No one knows what her real talents are," Jerome told him. A half smile lifted his lips. "Not even she knows what her talents are. And she's the one who carries them."
"It doesn't matter. She fits his requirements. But I can't take her to him like this. She smells and she needs new clothes badly," Jason replied. Jerome looked at Jason as if he was mad. "If you don't want to let me use the showers here, I'll just tell him that he can start shopping somewhere else for his humans."
"She isn't human," Jerome snapped, but then smiled and motioned to a doorway. "But as this is your Master, I'll make an exception about the shower. So long as you intend to be responsible for her. She is a magic user, after all. I won't have her running about my pens, hexing people left and right."
"She won't do that," Jason assured him. Then he turned to look at me, a winsome smile on his face. "Will you, Tempest?"
"Of course not," I whispered, wondering if Jerome would take his fist to me for speaking. He merely nodded at me before dropping to remove the ankle cuffs, then he stood and ushered the two of us out the main room into a dim hallway. There were doorways off the hall, some open and some closed. This was a place for buyers to take potential purchases. So they could decide if they wanted them or not. I had never been to the rooms.
The end of the hall stopped at a closed door. Jerome opened it and allowed Jason and I to go in. It was a large bathroom, obviously a private one, as there was only one toilet and one tub. Jerome glanced meaningfully at me, then turned to the blonde with me. "Fifteen minutes. No more. No less. I don't care if God is your Master."
"Thanks, Jerome. That's all I'm asking for. Time enough to wash the stench of the pens off her. You know it will offend his tender sensibilties. Come on, Tempest," Jason nods toward the shower. I smiled at him, then moved into the room past him. The door shut behind us, and it was then I realized that I was still bound at the wrists. I turned to look at Jason.
"I can't shower in these," I held my hands up. He smiled, then stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around the cuffs. With the slightest of jerks, the metal snapped and my wrists were free. I tore the rag I was wearing off my body and turned back to the shower. A twist of one hand saw the hot water pouring out into the porcelain basin. I set the cool water, then stepped in. And was startled out of my wits by the press of naked flesh at my back. "What the fuck?" I looked over my shoulder at Jason.
"I was told I can't let you out of my sight. Sorry, honey. You're going to have to deal with it," he smirked. I frowned at him, but gave all my attention back to the shower. The feel of water cascading over my body held me captivated. For all of five minutes. Until I felt Jason's erection prodding my back. I tried to concentrate on soaping up, as I only had a few moments. But my efforts were thwarted when a pair of hands reached up and cupped my soapy breasts. I turned to look over my shoulder and he merely grinned. "Payment."
"And your Master will allow this?" I asked him, hissing out a sigh when his fingers squeezed. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched me. In any way.
"So long as I don't put any more of me on you than this," his hands squeezed my breasts again. "I'm fine. He might get pissy if I were to put any other part of me anywhere else." I tried to push the feel of his hands on my body away from me, tried to concentrate on cleaning myself up. But his fingers kept playing with their captured booty, his hips rocking up against my bottom provacatively. I stifled the moan and pulled away.
"I need to wash my hair," I said, turning while explaining my actions. He smiled and inched closer until his hardness prodded my belly. With my hands up, my breasts were lifted. I shuddered to feel his mouth cover one nipple and suck lightly. I was barely able to finish rinsing the conditioner from my hair when a fist pounded on the door.
"Time's up, Jason!" Jerome's voice boomed. I jerked away from the blonde and turned, shutting the water off. I scrambled from the tub, reaching for a towel to dry myself off with. I was busy rubbing my hair briskly with the soft rectangle when Jason spoke.
"I know where I've heard that name before," Jason said, his hand settling over my back to trace the lines of the tattoo just above my rear. "You're Tempest the Temptress."
"Guilty," I replied, then looked up. That had been my stage name, the temptress part. My boss at the gentleman's club I'd worked for had insisted on it, then had decked me out in some multi-layered belly dancer's costume in shades of black and green to compliment my hair and eyes. Until I'd been snatched, I'd been his most popular dancer and I'd made an assload of money at it.
I sighed when I looked down, realizing that I had nothing to put on. The only garment I had to wear was in shreds on the floor. I cursed softly. Jason shoved his button down shirt into my hands. I looked up at him in confusion. He smiled and motioned to the garment with one hand, letting me know it was alright to put it on.
"It isn't much. If we had time, and it was earlier," he told me, watching as I slipped the shirt on and began buttoning it. "We would stop some place and get you some things. As it is, this will have to do."
"This is more than I hoped for," I smiled up at him, then moved to the mirror to finger comb my hair. It felt wonderful to have clean hair again. Without the dirt in it, it shone in the light. It took Jason a matter of moments to get back into his jeans and his tank top. When he was dressed and I was covered, he took my arm in his hand and lead me toward the door. It opened to show Jerome's standing almost directly in front of it. He glanced from me to Jason, then back again.
"She has to wear cuffs out, Jason. Rules," Jerome told us. I tamped down on my anger, trying very hard to keep it in check. I was sick of this place and sick of their rules. I hadn't done anything wrong. My only misfortune in life was to have been born different than the rest of the world. And yet, I was the one being punished. Jason seemed to understand what I was thinking and feeling. He turned and gave me a smile. Jerome watched us a moment, then turned and took a set of cuffs off the wall behind him. He faced the two of us and waited for me. I lifted my hands, cringing when he locked the cuffs in place around my wrists. Jerome looked at us one last time, a faint smirk on his face. "Have fun, bitch. You're going to love his Master."
Jerome had a look on his face that made me feel ill at ease. He grinned at me, then moved to the side and let us pass. Jason nodded to him, then lead me back up the hall and into the room where the pens were.
The smell hit me hard and I fought not to gag. The stench of unwashed flesh, of dirt and sweat and stale sex, of old smoke and older death, slammed into me hard. I turned my head, tucking it into Jason's still damp arm. He smelled of soap and shampoo and helped ease down the need to retch. It had been so long since I'd been brought into the pens, I'd forgotten what clean smelled like. Fifteen or twenty minutes in that bathroom had changed that. I'd been in the pens so long, I'd forgotten what a dirty body smelled like against a clean one. Until the door to the establishment closed behind me, I kept my nose pressed to his arm. Then we were outside and the sweet smell of early summer air washed over me.
I lifted my face, turning it up to the night sky. The sun had set not that long ago, a thin line of blood red still visible on the horizon. Stars twinkled down at us while a cool breeze wafted across my upturned face. It was still early in the year, so it wasn't hot yet. But it wasn't cold, either. Jason stopped walking and let me soak up the surrounding night, content to watch me. I could hear the rustling of the leaves on the trees as the wind blew through them. I could feel the magic in the air. Not my magic or anything like it. The magic of Mother Nature. It was there in the green of the grass, the pale silver-green of the leaves on the tree.
It was life. I was alive and so was the night and I suddenly felt wonderful. To hell with the fact that I was now owned property. To hell with the last four months. I was alive and that was all that mattered. As if he knew when it was the right time to burst my bubble, Jason pulled on my arm. "Come on. We have to get going," he told me. Reluctantly, I followed him to his car.
I didn't argue as he helped me into the front seat. I managed the seat belt on my own, but he had to close the door for me. I watched him go round the car and get in on the driver's side. He slipped the keys into the ignition and turned the engine over. I watched him in silence, how smoothly he shifted into reverse and pulled from the parking place. How the motion to put the car into gear and roll forward was just as easy. He flicked on the radio and tuned it to a station that played music I liked. I relaxed into the leather of the seat, closing my eyes as the feel of the tires turning over the street lulled me into a sense of security. I was so content, I didn't see sleep claim me.
~*~
When I awoke, I found myself spilled almost carelessly across a large bed. It was one of the biggest I'd ever seen, and so soft. The mattress was like a cloud, cradling my form and holding me secure in its embrace. The sheets under my cheek were of the finest silk I had ever felt. They were black as pitch, blacker than a night without moon and stars. I still wore the blue shirt, though the tails were tossed up over my hips in a manner that suggested I had been dumped onto the bed without thought.
My hands were before me, still bound by the cuffs slapped on by Jerome before leaving the pens. I remained still, silent, listening for some sound to let me know if someone was watching me. I could hear nothing, so I used other senses. There was nothing to feel. I sat up, slowly, taking in more of the room. The walls were stone, a dull gray that seemed somehow obscene against the opulence of the bedding. The foot board was of some dark wood, the posts at each corner thicker around than my body. They were carved with images of people. People who were entwined about one another in what was only a sexual way. There were other beings. Daemons, if I wasn't mistaken. Faces that were long and foul looking. Faces that were smooth and cherubic. Leering and crying and smiling faces that bespoke more eloquently of the state of humanity than a few words could ever do.
The headboard was embellished with a scene of such artistuc reverence that my breath stilled in my throat. Two angels took up either side of the large panel, both staring at the figure between them. A woman of unsurpassed beauty knelt between them. Her hands were clasped in prayer, the ultimate in a repentant pose, but her face was turned up to look at the two angels surrounding her. Their wings spread out behind them like cloaks billowing in the wind. They seemed to be gazing at the woman with love burning in their beautiful faces. As I looked closer, I saw that the angels had fangs. My eyes went wide.
"You're awake," a voice said behind me and I turned to look. Jason was strolling into the room, a tray in his hands. He was down to only his jeans, the button on the waistband undone. He smiled at me, then moved over to sit on the bed. He set the tray down before me, his hands reaching for mine. In the blink of an eye, the metal that held me bound was snapped in two. I offered him a smile before reaching for the tray of food set between us. "I thought you'd be hungry. I know how they don't feed the slaves in the pens. Besides, you're going to need your strength when you finally meet my Master."
I didn't like the sound of that, so I kept my mouth shut and nibbled at the sandwich I had picked up. It was ham and cheese, and it tasted so good after the bland and boring food we'd been given in the pens. Now I was apprehensive about meeting this man who had paid a lowly five thousand for me. I knew the other slaves went for a normal minimum of ten thousand. Some of the more exotic or more highly sought after ones went for anywhere from twenty to fifty thousand. Money seemed to be no object for the men who bought people like toys. And I was only worth five thousand. Somehow, that didn't seem right.
After a few moments, I pushed the tray aside and settled my hands in my lap. What little appetite I'd had was gone with the worrying fear that gnawed at me like a dog with a bone. Jason seemed to sense this and leaned closer to take my hands in his. "Don't worry. He's not going to hurt you. That isn't his style. But, if you're done eating, its time."
"Can't we put it off for another fifty years or so?" I asked nervously. Jason chuckled and got off the bed, shaking his head. He held out a hand to me, his fingers waggling. I sighed and slid off the haven of the mattress, giving him my hand. He pulled me toward a second door and I found myself in a lavish bathroom. A hook was mounted on the back of the door. Hanging from that was a garment bag. Jason reached for it, handing it to me.
"Put this on. I'll be waiting outside for you," he smiled at me, leaning in to drop a quick peck on my cheek. Then he was out the door, pulling it shut behind me. I stood there a moment, staring at the bag, then shrugged and laid it across the vanity. There really was no point in putting off the inevitable. I was now this man's legal property and he could force me to do whatever he liked. I pulled the zipper down and stared at what was inside the bag.
The dress was of silk, soft and slippery under my fingers when I touched it. Slowly, I pulled it out of the garment bag and held it up. It looked as if the dress would be a perfect fit. It was black, what there was of it. It was not meant to cover very much. A small bag was clipped to the hanger, the pink and white stripes telling me it was from Victoria's Secret. I rolled my eyes, wondering why it was that men thought that all women should wear that kind of underwear. Pushing my thoughts aside, I went about readying myself.
It was some ten minutes later that I stared at myself in the mirror and wondered what the hell I'd gotten myself into. The dress, if that is what one would call it, was definitely not meant to cover much. The bodice was a halter style that had some how been created so that there was no need of a bra beneath it. It held every bit of my chest up and in place, it was so tight. The skirt hung to just above my knees, flared ever so slightly to give the illusion of being full when it wasn't. My back was left exposed with the cut of the garment. Beneath it, I was wearing a pair of lace thongs that rode low in on the hips. A lace garter belt that matched the panties held up the silk hose I wore, black with a Cuban heel and seams up the back. A pair of leather heels sat on the floor, waiting for me to put my feet into them.
When I swung the door open, Jason opened his eyes to look at me. Those pretty blue orbs nearly popped out of his head a moment or two, then he smiled a smile that was pure man and lust in one. "Damn, that man has good taste. Come along. Its time to meet your Master," he told me, holding a hand out to me. I took it slowly, wondering what kind of Master would dress his slave in such a rich manner.
We left the lavish bedroom, turning out into a hall that seemed to go on forever. It was gray stone, like the walls of the bedchamber had been. The floor was uncovered and the heels I wore clattered against the stone with every step I took. It seemed an eternity before the hall opened into a large room with ceilings so high, I had to wonder what kind of building I was in. It was of stone, as was the rest of the place. But there were long, diaphonous panels of white material that hung from the ceiling that created a series of false walls. It was toward these panels that Jason lead me, his hand warm and firm around mine.
We pushed through the material into what could only be described as a living room. Carpeting covered the area within the flowing panels. A pair of lving room suites took up the space, set on either side of the square before a mock fireplace. The couches and chairs were white, decorated with black and blood red throw pillows. The area was devoid of anyone, but Jason motioned for me to sit. I folded myself neatly into one of the chair, trying in vain to keep my skirt down low enough so that nothing was exposed. So I'd been a dancer. But that didn't mean I did nudity as casually as some people thought.
Jason took a seat on the couch closest to the chair. I watched him, not sure what was going to happen or what else I was supposed to do. The awkward silence didn't last long. In a moment, I heard voices. They were soft and full and rubbed my skin like velvet. I shuddered, wondering why they had brought on that feeling. Then the sea of white parted near the mock fireplace and a pair of men entered. I felt my eyes nearly spill from my head as I stared at them. The angels from the headboard come to life stood before me. Jason stood and moved toward them. "This is Tempest. Everyone I talked to said she was the strongest magic user in the pens."
Two pairs of eyes turned to pin themselves to me. One set a blue so blue, it was like getting lost in midnight. The other set was the blue of long frozen ice. Both looked over me like I was an hors d'oeuvre on the table. The last hors d'oeuvre on the table and they were trying to figure out which of them would get to me first. I shuddered from being the sole recipient of such single-minded visual intensity.
One was golden while the other was dark as sin. I could tell they were Vampires. I could feel it. That part of me that wasn't strictly human, wasn't completely normal, could feel the preternaturalness about them in the same manner it could sense a shifter in a throng of mortals. And then it struck me, slowly, so I could see the collision coming at me like some sort of bad thing you knew would happen but couldn't stop. Jason was a werewolf. I knew it by the energy he gave off. I was in the presence of two very old, very powerful Vampires. One of them was so powerful, the city at large feared him. The Master of the City. Shit, I was now the property of the Master of the City. Which meant I was standing in his personal sanctuary. The Circus of the Damned.
I knew of the Master of the City, had heard of him from other sources. What I had heard had been a mixture of flattery and fear. He was powerful enough to break from the head of his line and form his own line, become the fountain head of his own line of Vampires. He was rumored to be beauty personified and women loved him. Looking at the two men across from me, I could see that this was truth. He was supposed to be ruthless when he had to be, yet generous with his people to a fault. He could call the wolf, which explained Jason being sent to pick me out. He owned businesses all over town and was pretty much his own corporation.
"Son of a bitch," I whispered, dropping my head into my hands.
"What ever is the matter, ma petite?" the voice wrapped itself around me, rubbing against my insides like a cat rubbed against a person's legs. I bit my lip to keep from moaning, all of my magic useless against the power of a Vampire's voice. I was surprised to feel a hand slip under my chin, drawing my face out of my hands so that I was looking at the speaker. The dark Vampire stood before me, smiling down at me almost imperceptibly. I made sure to look slightly to the side, my eyes seeing his but not ensnared by them.
"No one told me that my Master was the Master," I replied, glancing sideways at Jason. He grinned and shrugged nonchalantly. A low chuckle brought my attention back to the man in front of me. His voice was like velvet even though it coiled about me like a serpent, wrapping me up in its warmth and tightening his hold on me. My magic fought back, trying to pull me from the snare of his voice. Of his power. It was no use, though. My magic, all of it, could not compete with the power of the Master of The City.
"Jason was instructed to keep my identity a secret from those who did not know it," he replied.
"Which was pretty much me. Everyone in the pens knew who his Master was. So," I managed to get out evenly, though my body was a blinding mix of fear and lust and confusion. Up until a few months ago, the Master of the City had been linked with the most powerful Necromancer the world had ever seen. Anita Blake had been his human servant. How that tie had been broken, no one knew. One night, she'd been on his arm at the opening of a new club. The next, she'd been gone and no one knew where she'd gone or how either of them had survived. Because it had been made clear that Anita Blake was no longer the human servant of the Master of the City. And the fact that both of them had survived the breaking of the marks was absolutely astounding. "Just what did you want me for?"
"I need someone who can use magic. I need a new human servant. You are my choice," he told me. I laughed outloud, not believing him. His face remained pleasant, but it was now neutral. I wondered what I had done wrong. Surely he didn't mean me?
"Why do you laugh?" the other Vampire, the blonde, asked me softly. His voice was as deadly as the Master's was. I couldn't hold back the groan this time. It was like liquid silk, liquid velvet, was being poured over me. The touch of his voice brought goose pimples to my flesh, sending shudders of awareness down my spine. My eyes rolled back into my head as my body was wracked with pleasure. "His explanation is not so funny as you think it is."
"But it is. Don't you see that?" I tried to explain to them both. "I was in the pens for four months. No one wanted me for anything. My reputation as a magic user has condemned me. Like Jerome told Jason. I don't even know what my magical abitlities are. How can I be of any use to you when I don't know what I can do until I do it?"
"We shall discover those talents together,' the dark one told me. I looked at him for a moment, then shook my head. He stared at me, obviously wondering what I was objecting to.
"Everyone considers me a wild card. Since I can't be sure of what I can do, what happens if I do something that hurts you or someone else? What then?" I asked him, now in a near panic. The man was serious. He wanted me as his human servant, despite the fact that no one could tell me what I could and couldn't do with my magic.
"You will not," he replied confidantly, as if he knew how to control me. As if he could be sure I wouldn't do just that. I frowned at him, not at all sure I liked his cocky attitude. "Even though you may not believe this, I had Jason research you extensively before I made the decision to purchase you."
"Researched me? Like a book report?" I asked, now starting to get pissed off.
"Oui," he nodded at my questions. I glared at him, my temper starting to boil. "We have known of your presence in the pens for some time. When no one wished to purchase you, I made inquiries into the reasons why. It was the answers given me that decided me on purchasing you."
"You knew I was there and you had your furry flunkie look into me like I was some kind of antique?" I asked, my voice so low that I knew I was truly enraged. I could feel the center of me open up, magic rushing forth like a fountain, rocketing to the top of my head. My hair lifted, crackling with energy. My hands warmed slightly, power preparing to pour out of them. My vision went a bit fuzzy, as if I were looking at the scene through a fog. In essence, I was. I was staring at everything through my magic.
"Oui," he nodded again, seemingly unaware of my power surge. My fingers were cramping from trying to hold in the magic, to keep it from spilling out of me and into the man before me. I was angry and jacked up on my own power and I didn't know what it would do if I let it out.
"Jean Claude," the voice was a low growl, and it took me a moment to realize that it was Jason. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, surprised to see that he was partially shifted, his legs and lower chest covered in a golden brown fur. His eyes held fear. I couldn't fathom why he'd be afraid until it hit me that I was making him shift. My power was doing that. From what I knew of shapeshifters, only thier Ulfric could force the change on them and only if he was powerful enough to do so.
So why was it that I could do it?