Nightbred

Stop behaving like some idiot love-struck mortal. If she messed this up, he’d never want her for his tresora, so she’d go by the book. A Kyn lord has complete dominion over the mind and body of his tresora, Burke’s voice echoed in her mind. Whatever their wishes may be, we submit to their will entirely, and make no demands of our own. . . .

The kiss that she wished would last forever ended after four heartbeats. It might have been because she was starting to slither through his arms, Chris thought, astonished now by her legs, which she could no longer feel. The room turned on end, and then righted itself halfway as Jamys lifted her off her feet.

“I haven’t fainted since the last time you were here,” she murmured to his shirt buttons. “You should carry smelling salts or something.”

Jamys put her down on a black cloud, and sat beside her. “Too much.” He touched his temple, and then hers.

“Oh, right.” She’d forgotten the price tag of being his thought receiver. “Sorry. I have to take a nap now.” When he started to stand, she clutched his hand. “Don’t tell anyone, please.” As he frowned, she closed her eyes. “They’ll give you the redhead. I just know it. . . .”

The black cloud shifted, and strong, cool arms came around her. As long silky hair fell across her cheek, Chris smiled.

* * *

As soon as the sun set, the Treasure Palace opened its gilded doors to the hordes of patrons clever enough to secure an invitation to the exclusive casino. No one quite knew where the Palace was located; the only way to reach it was by taking a ferry with black-painted windows, on which silent, stone-faced guards prevented any curious passenger from stepping out on deck. Once inside the club, the lure of the free booze and the riches waiting to be won at the high-stakes gaming tables and in the poker rooms made it worth the unsolved mystery.

As one of the Palace’s special perks, the casino’s staff was exclusively female. Many of the stunningly beautiful women who were not working the tables or bars mingled with the patrons, their hostess status designated by the demure gowns of satin and silk they wore. These lovely ladies brought drinks, converted cash into chips, fetched snacks, and, for the right price, would escort a patron back to one of the private encounter rooms, where it was rumored they would perform any sex act that the guest desired. The ladies’ myriad talents had earned the casino a long-standing nickname as the Pleasure Palace.

Werren made her way across the crowded casino floor, pausing now and then to accept compliments and gently refuse offers from various patrons. She wore a simple winter-blue satin sheath dress that matched her eyes and complemented the upswept coil of her fair hair. The only jewelry she wore was a necklace, which lay out of sight beneath her bodice.

Two of her ladies came to join her, and she took them for a turn around the blackjack tables so they might talk without being overheard by one of the guards standing by the exits. “Has the master returned?”

“Not as of yet, lady.” Claudea, a slender waif in a child-size gown of red, returned the appraisal of an older man with an innocent smile. “But two of his bodyguards left before midnight.”

“They may have gone for supplies.” Werren nodded to a passing socialite carrying a small, bored-looking dog in her enormous designer bag. “Has anyone found out anything from the crew?”

“There has been mention of a nightclub and a policewoman,” Claudea said.

“We’ve only four hours left.” Analise, one of her older ladies, touched a plump beringed hand to her silver-streaked black curls. “Or perhaps he won’t arrive until after dawn.”

Claudea sighed. “If he’s wanting sport, he’ll not wait. He’ll send the guards to drag us from our beds. But could be that he’s become infatuated with someone in town. He always takes his time when he is.”

“What if he doesn’t return?” Analise said, a wistful note in her voice. “What will happen to us? Who will look after us?”

Werren saw one of the guards heading toward them. “I will. See what more you can learn from the crew. Now go and find some business.”

She waited for the guard, a spiteful brute named Ralston, who took her arm and marched her to an unoccupied corner. “You have a nice chat with your friends, Duchess?”

“I was suggesting some suitable companions for them.” She nodded toward the blackjack table, where her ladies were already engaging the two men with the most chips.

“Looked more like you three were scheming up something.” His grip tightened. “Dutch will hear about it, too.”

“I’ve nothing to hide,” Werren said, and reached up to center the knot in his tie. “Does your shift end before dawn, Mr. Ralston?”

“You think I’m that stupid? That I don’t know what you are?” He shoved her away from him. “Get back to work.”

Werren left the hot, smoky confines of the casino and walked out onto the observation deck for some air. She’d hoped that Ralston would not have believed anything said about her and the other women—a few of the guards hadn’t, which had proved extremely useful—but lately Dutch wasn’t taking any chances. He had recently become wildly obsessed with his search for the treasure that long ago had been stolen from him, pouring much of their profits into hiring investigators and researchers. He’d also begun leaving behind his bodyguards and making trips by himself into the city. Whatever he was doing there made him frustrated and angry, for he always returned to the Palace in a seething, vicious mood. Once Ralston reported to him tonight, Dutch would probably let him watch as he punished her or the women. This time it would probably be her.

She didn’t mind the beatings so much anymore. It was the inventive humiliations Dutch inflicted that tore at her soul. One day he would shred what was left of it, and then her ladies would have to look after themselves.

Werren avoided looking at the sea and lifted her eyes to the midnight sky, where the moonlight had silvered the dark clouds. Sometimes, if she stared long enough at the moon, she could remember her mother’s face.

It, too, had been round and pale, often ashen with exhaustion from the long days and nights she spent tending the cook pots on the stoves and hanging over the hearths in the duke’s kitchens. But when Magda finally came home to their cottage, she had never been too tired to smile on Werren, or brush out her hair, or tell her how lovely she was.

“My little fortune in waiting,” Magda would croon. “One day, when you’re old enough to marry off, you’ll make us so rich, Werry. Then I’ll never have to lift another pot again.”

How proud would Magda be, to know how many fortunes had been poured into Werren’s hands? How aghast, if she knew how Werren had earned them?

The sound of men speaking in low voices drew Werren’s gaze across the deck. Dutch stood with two strangers in dark suits, and nodded as one of them gestured to the north. The lights from overhead illuminated a strange design tattooed in a circle around an unsightly scar on the stranger’s wrist.

She moved closer.

“You say the one who brought the summons looks like an adolescent,” the tattooed man said, speaking in heavily accented English. “He is not a courier or anyone known to us. He could be a spy.”

“I will dispose of him soon enough.” Dutch didn’t seem concerned. “What about the girl?”

“We intercepted a communication between her and the council,” the man told him. “They have ordered her to find the emeralds. Alenfar may be having his own men search for them. We will take her, and after we interrogate her–”

Her master grabbed the man by the lapels and jerked him close. “Did I ask you to touch her?”

The other man lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “We wish only to assure that your property is returned to you, signore. Once you eliminate Alenfar, you will have the jewels as well as the command of an army of warriors to do your bidding.”

“That I will.” Dutch dropped the man, who staggered a little. “You will not harm the girl. Follow her, see how much she knows, and report back to me. Now get out of my sight.”

Werren slipped back, and waited there until she saw the two strangers disappear. She didn’t know whom they served or what they had promised Dutch, and she had never heard of Alenfar, but their conversation troubled her.

“You think I would not know you were watching?”

Werren braced herself before she turned around, and thus was able to accept without a sound the clout of her master’s hand. The ferocity of the blow nearly knocked her off her feet, but she caught the railing at the last moment and stayed upright. Her cheek swelled for several moments, and then smoothed out to its usual flawless perfection.

He’s still angry.

Werren immediately lifted her satin skirts and lowered herself to her knees. “Forgive me, Master.” She stared at the tips of Dutch’s boots. Boots she had spent an hour polishing, now caked with damp sand.

He used one to prod her. “Get up.”

Werren stood, making sure to hunch over slightly to eliminate a crucial difference in their height. Once, when she had forgotten, Dutch had noticed she stood two inches taller than him, and after beating her bloody had ordered her stripped and whipped in front of the other women.

Dutch lit one of his Cuban cigars and puffed on it. “How much has the house taken in?”

“The count at ten this evening was over two hundred thousand.” She tried not to look at the glowing tip of his cigar. “I’m sure we’ve brought in at least another hundred since.”

“What about the whores?” His eyes searched her face, waiting for any flicker of emotion in response. “What have they done for me?”

“The crew kept my ladies occupied for the first several hours.” Oh, if she could only cut out her tongue and throw it in his face. “They are now servicing the patrons at a steady pace.”

He grunted. “And who have you serviced tonight, you idle slut?”