Shamira absolutely did not want to open her eyes. She was still surrounded by silk so she figured that she was still in that coffin.
Except that her eyelids seemed warm. She remembered seeing someone or someone. . . a beautiful Native American homeless girl and a lip-bitingly gorgeous blond-haired guy.
'Wait. The silk, it's against my skin!' She opened her eyes and saw a lovely crystal chandelier-looking thing. She was in a bedroom the size of her parents' whole house, and it seemed decorated in the same black and gold scheme that the club had been.
She was in some super freak's bedroom. And she was naked. That fact just caught up with her. She was naked between black silk sheets in a strange room.
She yipped and pulled the sheets up around her artificially large bosom. One of the problems when becoming a bodybuilder was the loss of breast mass, so she had compensated with fake tits when she turned twenty-one.
That left her with a set of measurements that one would think would garner her more attention, namely 38DD-26-34.
During the competition, she had gotten her body fat down to nine percent, but otherwise, she kept it up at twelve percent.
She had 15-inch arms, 16-inch calves, and 23-inch legs, and she could bench press more than most of the guys she had worked with.
When she had been younger, she encountered a need to grow stronger. She'd admired the way those women looked and how they seemed strong enough to take on anything.
Women like that could stand up to anyone; they might have been able to help Jimmy Fisk.
But boys, apparently, didn't like a woman who could out-arm-wrestle them. They didn't like "barbarian" women. It was not that she was ugly or an eyesore. Not at all. Put a face picture up on the dating website, and she got plenty of responses.
She had high cheekbones, perfect skin, and big amber eyes that got people's attention. She had long black hair that she kept in a single braid most of the time.
Her mom thought she was pretty. But getting that second date just never seemed to happen.
She felt something cool against her arm. No, not against . . . IN her arm. She was hooked up to an IV that was dripping some red liquid. She felt vomit trying to build up inside her. 'That's not --'
"Blood?" asked a voice from the door. It was that Native American girl, but she hardly seemed homeless.
She was slim but not emaciated, standing just a bit taller than Shamira's five-foot-seven-inch frame, she seemed mostly leg. And those legs were exposed. She wore a loincloth of leather that hung down to her knees but wasn't more than four inches wide.
It covered her privates on the way down, but her toned legs and hips were on display. She wore leather moccasins that reached up to just below the knee, and a strange semi-circular neck dress made of strips of wood and beads. She wore black lipstick and heavy black eyeliner.
'Okay, I get it. You're some kind of weird goth babe,' Shamira thought. 'A delicious looking --' She stopped that train of thought. She preferred guys, she had to remind herself.
She'd had thoughts about what it would be like to be with a woman all her life, but she'd always managed to push that part of her down somewhere and tried to drown it. She was enough of a freak without worrying about that.
Or the many other dreams and fantasies that had graced those secret parts of her mind that she never shared with anyone.
The girl strode forward, a sway in her hips that demanded attention.
"Where the fuck am I?" Shamira said, looking around instinctively for a weapon of some kind. She didn't want to start a knife fight with this woman, though she wasn't behaving particularly hostile.
Actually, she was smirking a bit. She sat on the edge of the bed, and Shamira was pretty convinced the girl wasn't wearing a damn thing under that loincloth.
"You," the girl said, "have the most unfortunate timing of anyone I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot."
"Who . . . the fuck . . . are you?"
"Watch it, potty mouth. A little decorum wouldn't hurt, seeing as we just saved your life. Okay, technically you saved one of ours first and maybe saved Shane too, but that doesn't change the fact --"
"Who . . . the . . . heck . . are you?!"
"That's better I suppose," the woman said. "My name is Clara Yellowtail, and I've volunteered to be your guide in your new life.
Shamira blinked. She blinked again. "Oh-kay," she muttered. "I'm drugged. That's gotta, be it. What the hell is this?" she asked, looking at the IV.
"Blood."
Shamira blinked. "Blood?"
"You're going to freak out on me aren't you?"
"Blood?!"
"You lost a lot when you died, and we weren't able to give you anything extra until after your funeral."
"Died?"
"You're good with the one-word responses thing." The girl smiled. "Can't say I blame you. You've gone through a lot this week. It was a lovely funeral, by the way."
"DIED?!" Shamira pulled the IV out, applying pressure so she didn't start bleeding all over the place. This was too wrong, and she wanted out.
She wanted to go find her parents and her siblings and her nephews and tell them everything was okay and that there was a misunderstanding. She hadn't died. So why had she been in a coffin, and why hadn't she had a pulse?
Clara sighed. She wasn't doing this right. Shane had offered to guide the girl, but she HAD to volunteer.
Something about the way she had been so kind when most people wouldn't have been, even though she didn't have any idea of what had really been going on. And she had done her job, even though it had cost her her life. Compassion, pride, loyalty, and she was smoking hot.
Some people might get turned off by a build like hers, but not those that dwelt in this house. The strength in that body and the skill and dedication it took to sculpt it were both admirable.
"Do you remember what happened?" Clara asked. "Before waking up here? Let's start with that."
"Uhm . . . okay. Can I have some clothes first?"
"Why?" Clara cocked her head. "With a body like that, why would you ever WANT to wear clothes? You're certainly not obligated to, at least not around here."
"Hey, I don't know what you and whoever else is around here like, but I'd really feel more comfortable with something to wear."
The other woman shrugged. "We can find you something." She walked over to an intercom unit, pushing a button. "Monique?"
"Yes?" (click) came a new voice.
"Our new guest was looking for something to wear."
"Why?" (click)
"I asked her that. She seems to think she should be clothed."
"Wait . . . do I get to measure her now?" (click) The woman on the other end sounded eager.
"Measure? For what?" Shamira asked.
"I don't think she's ready for that quite yet," Clara said, sounding amused.
"Damn! I have some good ideas for that body!" (click)
"Don't we all."
"Hey, I'm sitting right here!" Shamira said. She felt like she was blushing a bit, and no less confused than she had been earlier.
"Okay. Sweats it is," (click) the other girl replied, sounding quite down.
"Measure for what?"
"Oh and Monique, when you arrive I expect that you will show me the respect I deserve."
The girl at the other end spoke again, and this time she sounded demure. Shamira hadn't known what that sounded like, but this was it. "Yes, Mistress Clara."
Clara turned and sat back down. "We have a slightly unusual dress code around here." She paused, looked Shamira in the eyes, and asked again what the woman remembered.
Shamira decided there was really no reason to lie or withhold information, so she recited what she could. Everything from seeing Clara on the street to seeing faces staring down at her from outside her coffin.
Clara went over to the dresser and grabbed a handheld mirror. "You were shot in the face, correct? And the neck? Your vest protected your chest, but not anything else." She handed Shamira the mirror. "Where are the wounds?"
Shamira was confused but took a look regardless. There was a slight indention in her neck that she hadn't seen before, but that was it. Her skin was flawless and smooth everywhere. "That's not right. It should take months to heal from stuff like that."
"You died four days ago. You were buried yesterday. That's fast healing, even for us," Clara explained.
"Us?"
Clara smiled. "You have risen from the dead and have healed all your wounds. You have no pulse. You do not breathe, and we've been giving you blood so that you can survive. And the last thing you can remember is a tingling in your neck before you died." She clasped her hands together. "I've read your personnel file, Shamira. I know you're not stupid, even if your former bosses thought you were. You can figure this --" "Vampire? You're kidding, right? You have to --" "Wanna go ahead and say 'But there's no such thing as vampires' so we can get that out of the way?" "There's no such thing as vampires!" "Thanks. Vampires do exist. So do werewolves and other lycanthropes, and magic and all that stuff. Not everything you've heard is correct, but there are blood-sucking creatures of the night that inhabit this world. I'm one of them and now so are you. And don't start looking around for hidden cameras or anything like that. Here, maybe this will help." She opened her mouth, pointed t
"That's . . . unfortunate," Clara said, running her gaze up and down that magnificent body. Oh, the things she could do with a woman like this. "I realize this is a lot to take in, and Shane will want to talk to you before morning. Yes, vampires sleep during the day. Daylight doesn't kill older vamps, but it definitely weakens them. Fledglings can actually move about during the day or night, depending on their preference." She folded her hands in front of her. She was actually surprised that Shamira was handling it so well. "Do you have any questions?" Shamira scratched the wolf behind the ears. The wolf seemed to like it. "I don't even know where to begin," she muttered. "Well as I said, I'm going to be your guide, but you can ask questions of anyone in the house. I'll introduce you in a little while. Monique, change!" She waited until the wolf was once again a gorgeous naked black woman, who still sat at Clara's feet. Clara grabbed her hair and yanked her head backward, plantin
"Oh, you can't see him. He's a poltergeist. Actually, he's part of the security team too . . . in a way. He's somehow attached to the land this house is built on, but don't worry. If you have permission to be here, he'll leave you alone." Shamira gulped. "Great. Poltergeist." "Yeah. So if you see the television on in the break room, don't turn it off. He loves soap operas." Then, as if that wasn't a weird conversation stopper, Clara continued. "Cowboy guy there is Henry. He's a dom. The ones standing are doms if you haven't figured that out, and the kneeling ones are submissives. Lillian and Renata are the only two switches." "Anyway, Henry and the blond guy on his knees, whose name is Bjorne, are both enforcers. Means basically they run errands, interact with the public and help keep the peace. You and Henry have a lot in common. He was a sheriff back in his mortal days. Both he and Bjorne are vampires: Bjorne is a shadow and Henry is a fledgling, but only for another six months.
Shamira could see the cogs turning in Shane's head, figuring out how she could be useful to him. "Listen, I guess I owe you thanks for . . . doing what you did. I guess I'm just not sure why you did it or what you expect of me?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a couple of the other residents arrive and be seated. She guessed it was close to dinner. "Hey . . . Uhm . . . dinner --" Clara placed a hand on her young charge's arm. "Fledglings can eat normal food or consume blood. Feeding is an art, so Shane thought it would be wise to present you with a normal meal this evening. Personally, I prefer to drink blood, but I'll be dining on solid food today. Make you feel more at home." "As for what I want from you and why I changed you --" Shane paused. "First, I owed you something for helping us out that night. I had agents in place that you couldn't have known about, but we had still found ourselves in an awkward predicament where innocents might have gotten hurt. You showed great
They got to the garage and Shamira's heart and mind took another shock. The garage was an attached building, and inside was every kind of vehicular toy you could imagine. Truck, cars, motorcycles . . . hell, there were even golf carts. "Damn, now all I need is a golf course," she murmured. Clara smiled. "Shane has a nine-hole course on the property. He turns on the night lights and plays to unwind sometimes. You play?" "A bit. I'm not great." "Shane would be thrilled to have someone to play with," Clara replied. "The only other person who plays is Banshee and well, she's a sore loser. Love her to death, but don't ever get competitive with her." "I'll keep that in mind." Normally, Shamira wasn't a car person, but she couldn't help but drool over the selection she was looking at. "Which one are we taking? Oh my God, he has a Prius?!"
"It's a magical drug. It's a mixture of vamp blood, were blood, and some faerie blood to bind it. Makes the user pretty much God-like for about thirty minutes before the crash. Unless they're in good shape, it might collapse their heart and make their brains leak out their ears. It's the most illegal drug in the underworld of course, but that doesn't stop people from dealing with it. It's death to be caught carrying or distributing.""Death?!""Considering the blood has to be harvested from a dying host, yeah. Our world is dangerous," Renata said, looking a bit impatient. "Keep that in mind."Shamira realized that not everyone in Shane's brood was necessarily happy about her being brought over. She wondered if she'd done something to offend this woman. She had seemed nice earlier, and Clara had said she was normally perky. "How many doses per vial?""One."
Travis motioned for her to follow, so the three of them went charging through the bar, through another door, and into what looked like a holding cell. A single light swung overhead, making the room seem even more ominous by casting shadows in the corners. There was also a drain in the middle of the floor. Shamira didn't want to think about that. The security forces were backed up against one wall; one perpetrator sat cowering in a corner, and the other held a young woman by the throat. "Don't come any damn closer!" the man said, snarling like an animal. His eyes were as red as a sunset and his face had lost all vestiges of humanity. "Clear the damn way! I'm taking her and leaving. Anyone tries to stop me and she dies, along with the would-be hero. Got that?" Travis motioned for Renata and Shamira to move back. They wer
'Screw him,' she thought. 'This is his fault, so he doesn't get a break.' She threw a punch as his too-damn-pretty-anyway face, but she missed by a country mile. He had moved so quickly that it was as if she had swung at him in deep water. Her next swing missed as well, as did her attempt to kick him in the knee."Fight me damn it," Shamira growled when she realized that Shane wouldn't fight back. She stood there for a moment, wanting badly for him to swing. She wanted him to hit her so hard that she didn't wake up again. She wanted anything but to feel the way that she did at that moment. "You should have just let me die. Why couldn't you just let me die?"He sighed. "Because I saw someone I thought would be worth saving. I don't regret it. You saved an innocent life tonight. Doesn't that count in your mind?""I killed someone!" she hissed violently. "I don't even know what the hell I am. I d