The woman hadn't realized that she'd dropped her purse as she fell under the nightwalker's influence. It was doubtful she would even miss it. No, the lovely nightingale would have much bigger problems in the days - or rather nights - to come.
Wolfgang "Wolf" Jager didn't look like a vampire hunter. He looked like thousands of other guys in their mid-twenties. His short, spiky hair was dyed a bright, fire engine red, clashing with the scraggly blond goatee at his chin. He wore threadbare concert tees under rumpled flannel, and baggy carpenter jeans too large for even his short, muscle-laden frame. He preferred heavy combat boots in even worse shape than his shirts. He looked like a punk and preferred it that way. It made people underestimate him.
Wolf dumped the items inside the black drawstring purse on the old beaten table, then sorted through them carefully: a small billfold, a cellular phone, a tube of bright red lipstick, keys, and pepper spray. All necessities of the modern woman. He picked up the billfold and opened it, taking out the driver's license.
Celeste Carroll. Date of Birth: 5-16-78. Height: 5-04. Eyes: Blue. Sex: Female. And an address. There was the government summation of a human being. He looked at the picture and had to smile. The woman looked as if a sudden thunderstorm had soaked her between her car and the DMV. Her blond hair was plastered to her head and her mascara had run.
He tapped the laminated card against white teeth, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. The minute he'd heard the first note out of her mouth, he knew she was his type of victim. Her voice had been - incredible. Pure and clear as a bell. There had been years of training in that voice, but it would have taken a truly talented ear to hear the despair in every note. Celeste was a woman who resented her gift. She had probably been forced to develop it out of no care of her own, but those around her.
Celeste Carroll. Wolf frowned, the card stilling against his lips. Why did that name sound familiar? He rooted around his mind, flipping through his mental rolodex gathered over the years. He knew hundreds of singers, had studied every genius he came across as he tried to discern which one might make Damian's obsession list. Of course, he always had several at a time, which made it both easier and harder to find the vampire. Easier, because he had more bait to choose from, and harder because it was difficult to save them all.
His track record in that respect wasn't the greatest. His track record trying to catch Damian wasn't any better, however. The Kithain were starting to grumble against him. True, he had gathered every other vampire he'd been sent to find, but Damian eluded him time after time. It was getting embarrassing. Being shown up by a pansy-ass musician? If this went on, Wolf wouldn't be able to show his face to his father for centuries.
"Shit," he groaned, tossing the license aside and dropping his face in his hands. "I am so screwed."
"Wishful thinking?"
Wolf parted his fingers just enough to see one of the other Gatherers walk through the kitchen door, carrying a load of wood in her arms. "Bite me, Sachi."
"Is than an invitation?" The slight Japanese girl dropped the logs onto the table, one rolling free and nearly crushing the cellphone. "You're helping me with wood duty tonight, right?"
"I think I've got a lead on Damian."
"Good for you," she stated blandly. "You're helping me, right? I'm not doing this by myself, Wolf. You're on the roster for stake make, and dammit, you're not wiggling out of it again!"
"All right, all right. I'm just saying I saw Damian last night."
Sachi relaxed slightly and brushed one long black pigtail behind her shoulder and picked up a Coke lying on the counter beside the refrigerator. "Oh yeah? Where this time? He find himself some pretty young diva picked out at the opera or what?
"Karaoke bar."
Coke sprayed across the table in a fine mist. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Damian abducted someone from a karaoke bar? Geez, maybe he's started losing it after all these years. Or else she must have sang the hell outta 'Kharma Chameleon.'"
"It was 'Blowing Kisses in the Wind' and she - " he paused, blinking thoughtfully. "Incredible. She was incredible. She should have been in an opera house somewhere, not singing old pop rock while three sheets to the wind."
Sachi snickered rudely and took another gulp of Coke to replace what had been lost in her spit take. "Damian's obviously lowering his standards. Are you sure he took her for the birdcage? She may have been nothing more than a meal for him last night."
"No..." Wolf groaned and ran a hand over the top of his head, mussing the spikes. "You would have had to have seen his face. Catholics who claim to have seen the Virgin have that look. And music has always been his god."
"He's found his virgin?"
He laughed at the confusion in Sachi's voice and shook his head. "I seriously doubt this chick was untouched. I was watching her before she got up to sing. Every thought in her head was, 'Here I am, looking so completely fuckable, and that jerkass stands me up?' Virgin, doubtful. But another prize for Damian? Oh yeah. Hell yeah."
Sachi finished off the Coke and chucked the can into the garbage then started to gather the logs again. "So what's your next move, genius? I mean, he's probably got the woman off in his lair by now - and you don't have a clue where that is. I'd say you've just screwed up again. You should have taken him down at the bar."
"Surrounded by humans... right. I couldn't take the chance of getting jumped by a bunch of do-gooder bystanders. The last thing I need is Damian knowing I'm this close again. If he pulls another disappearing act, the Council's gonna boot me out on my ass."
"And what a pity that would be," the girl simpered playfully, sashaying out the kitchen door. "What with it being such a cute little ass."
Wolf scowled after her, then glared at the small pile of Celeste's belongings again. Damian's presence at the bar couldn't have been a coincidence. The vampire's musicals tastes were far too refined for that pop shit. And he would have no way stomached all the horrible singing in the meager hopes of hearing one ingénue in the crowd. Surely he had followed Celeste there. There wasn't any other explanation for his attendance there.
His gaze fell on the license again.
On the address.
Maybe he could find a clue in the woman's home...
"Dammit, Wolf!" Sachi howled from a room over. "Get your ass in the workshop now! You're not getting out of this again. Don't make me come in there and plant my slipper up your ass!"
Wolf groaned and pushed away from the table, grabbing the license and sliding it into his pocket. "Coming, my delicate Oriental flower! Please let me spare you the bother."
"Smart ass."
"Skank."
<><><><><><><><><>
Celeste awoke slowly, groggy and unsure for a brief moment of her surroundings and even her identity. All she could see for what seemed like miles was black silk. Then she blinked, and all came into focus. She was lying on a bed with black silk sheets, and there was far too much bare skin touching them. Jerking up into a sitting position, she stared down at herself, horrified by her lack of clothing.
"Oh shit," she gasped desperately, clutching the top sheet to her bare breasts while glancing around wildly for her clothes. "What did I do, what did I do, what did I do... damn you, Bacardi." She scrambled to the edge of the bed and peered over the side, hoping for a glimpse of the dress. "Dammit, this is how I met Jeff. And look how well that turned out. Shit!"
The dress, her shoes, her underclothes - all of it was missing. She was in a windowless room, the walls and floor covered in black marble. Several brass fixtures along the walls held lamps whose lights flickered behind glass globes. It gave the marbled room a very vault-like appearance. The shadows far outweighed the paltry lighting.
Celeste pushed herself back against a dark mahogany headboard, biting her lower lip. She was scared of the dark and had always been. She was also scared of graveyards, horror movies, and noises she couldn't identify. The room was serving to stir up two out of the four.
There was a leather and mahogany chaise lounge sitting along the far wall by a large wardrobe. A large bookshelf filled with books sat against another wall and a small ornate table with two matching chairs sat in front of it. There were two doors: one large one that had a wall to itself and a smaller one beside the chaise.
Quickly pulling the top sheet free of its tucking, she formed a hasty toga and tiptoed quickly across the cold floor to the wardrobe, trying its doors. There were clothes in there, all of them either black or dark jewel tones. She spotted a long silk robe among the garments and pulled it off its padded hanger, slipping it on. Then she tried the doors.
The first had no knob on the inside. She ran her hands over the smooth surface unbelievingly, then whirled and tried the other. It had a handle, but upon turning it and opening the door found it led only to a large and sumptuous bathroom. She stared at it blankly, her mind spinning with the implications.
She caught sight of herself in a long, mirrored wall inside the bathroom, saw something glinting at her neck. Stepping inside, she inspected her throat and found a band of smooth white leather encircling it. A large oval-shaped sapphire in a silver setting was attached to the front of it. She raised a hand and felt around to the back of it, her fingers touching a strange clasp. A little more examination and she realized it was a tiny lock. The damn thing was some kind of collar!
"Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod," she whimpered frantically, backing away until she ran into the pedestal sink behind her. She turned and found another mirror over it that showed her wide and staring eyes. "What did I do? What's going on?"
Frantically, she tried to think about last night. Okay, she had been at the bar waiting for Jeff - who never showed. She'd had several drinks. She had, oh God, she'd wasted her voice on karaoke, then - what? Had she met someone? Had she gone home with some psycho that now had her trapped in this well decorated tomb? She pounded her temples with her fists, her eyes squeezed tight. She couldn't remember!
Her eyes suddenly flew open. Oh hell, she'd woken up naked. Had she...? No way. She'd never been drunk enough that she couldn't remember sleeping with someone. But just to be on the safe side, she slid a hand between her upper thighs. Well, she didn't feel sticky. But maybe he had cleaned her off before leaving and locking her in the marbled vault? Maybe she had fucked some sort of serial killer that was going to keep her locked up in the room like a bird in a cage until he got bored and -
"Oh... God," she murmured weakly, putting a hand over her mouth. "I think I'm gonna - "
There was a sleek black toilet beside the sink. Luckily, its lid was open as she sank to her knees beside it and lost what contents her stomach still held. Frightened tears poured down her cheeks as she heaved. So wrapped up in her fear and misery as she was, she never heard the other door open quietly or felt someone enter the bathroom. She didn't hear water run in the sink. She was only aware of the intruder when a cold washcloth was suddenly pressed to her forehead and a voice by her ear murmured, "Oh, poor poppet."
Shrieking, she pushed away from the toilet and blundered into a body behind her. Hands came up to steady her, but she evaded their reach and tried crawling away as fast as she could, but her knees kept slipping on the soft silk of the robe. She ended up flat on the ground, but planted her hands on the marble tiling and pushed herself around so she could get a good look at the newcomer.
It was a woman, or so she thought at first glance. Hair the color of chocolate pulled away from her face and hanging to her shoulders in glossy sausage curls. Melting brown eyes surrounded by long, thick lashes prettily curled. A soft but pointed face graced by a short, straight nose and full, pouty lips painted a dark red. The old-fashioned silk dress she wore had puffy sleeves and a long, full skirt that must have been supported by a few layers of petticoats. The sleeves, skirt and high neck of the dress were edged in lace, and a pretty brocade corset was pulled tight around her waist and pushed her cleavage into the low neckline. Then Celeste looked at the woman's hands, which were neatly manicured but far larger than a woman's hands should be. Celeste took a closer look and realized that she was staring at a man - a very soft, pretty man.
She-he still had the damp washcloth clutched in one hand. The other was pressed to his lips in a distressed gesture as he stared at her, dismay widening his dark eyes.
"I-I'm sorry," he stammered in a high, soft voice. "I didn't mean to startle you."
Celeste lay on the floor, her body heaving with panicked breaths. She hadn't gone home with this fruitcake, surely! She hadn't been that drunk.
"Who are you?" she spit out, sitting up and scooting backwards until her back hit the mirrored wall. "And where am I? What's going on?"
He sighed and used the sink to pull himself to his feet, then walked over and dropped the washcloth in her lap. "Here. You might want to wipe off your mouth."
Celeste stared the cloth as if he had dropped a dead rat on her, then reluctantly picked it up and ran it over her lips. She glared up at the slender, pretty young man (who had much more skill than she did when it came to make-up, the cross-dressing bastard) and said, "You didn't answer me."
He smiled far too prettily as he dropped an elegant curtsey. "I am Rubeis, Lord Damian's majordomo. You're in his household. And as for what's going on, that's not my tale to tell, but his. I'm simply to make you comfortable until my lord awakes." He clasped his hands behind his back and gave a short little bow. "Would you like some breakfast?"
"No! I want the hell out of here!"
Rubeis sighed and shook his head. "Unfortunately, that is one request I can't grant. I'll go get you something to eat. You can eat it or not. Are you suffering from a hangover? I'm told you drank quite heavily last night and might be feeling the effects." His eyes shifted briefly to the toilet. "Would you like an aspirin?"
"Fuck you, fruit!"
His eyes flickered briefly, his painted lips pushing into a pout. "As you like, madam. I'll return shortly."
He turned and walked swiftly out, faster than she could scramble to her feet. By the time she managed to reach the bathroom door, the majordomo was already gone, the bedroom door closed behind him. She ran and flung herself against the unyielding wood, beating it with her fists and screaming hysterically. She yelled every obscene term she could think of until her voice went hoarse and her legs went weak. She slid down, tears streaming down her face and her breath catching tightly in her chest as she realized, fully realized her situation.
She was a prisoner.
