Narcissus In Chains


  by
  Laurell K. Hamilton



  Chapter 1

  June had come in like it's usually hot, sweaty self, but a freak cold front had moved in during the night. The car radio had been full of the record low temperatures. It was only low sixties, not that cold, but after weeks of eighty, and ninety plus, it felt down right frigid. My best friend, Ronnie Sims, and I were sitting in my Jeep with the windows down letting the unseasonably cool air drift in on us. Ronnie had turned thirty tonight. We were talking about how she felt about the big 3-0, and other girl talk. Considering that she's a private detective and I raise the dead for a living it was pretty ordinary talk. Sex, guys, turning thirty, vampires, werewolves. You know, the usual. 

  We could have gone inside the house but there is something about the intimacy of a car after dark that makes you want to linger. Or maybe it was the sweet smell of spring like air coming through the windows like the caress of some half-remembered lover. 

  "Okay, so he's a werewolf. No one's perfect," Ronnie said. "Date him, sleep with him, marry him. My votes for Richard." 

  "I know you don't like Jean-Claude." 

  "Don't like him!" Her hands gripped the passenger side door handle squeezing it until I would see the tension in her shoulders. I think she was counting to ten. 

  "If I killed as easily as you do I'd have killed that son of a bitch two years ago and your life would be a lot less complicated now." 

  That last was an understatement. But . . . "I don't want him dead, Ronnie." 

  "He's a vampire Anita. He is dead." She had turned and looked at me in the dark. Her soft grey eyes and yellow hair had turned to silver and near white by the cold light of the stars. The shadows and bright reflected light left her face in bold relief like some modern painting. But the look on her face was almost frightening. There was a fearful determination there. 

  If it had been me with that look on my face, I'd have warned me not to do anything stupid, like kill Jean-Claude. But Ronnie wasn't a shooter. She'd killed twice both times to save my life. I owed her, but she wasn't a person who could hunt someone down in cold blood and kill them. Not even a vampire. I knew this about her, so I didn't have to caution her. "I used to think I knew what dead was, or wasn't, Ronnie." I shook my head. "The line isn't so clear cut." 

  "He seduced you," she said. 

  I looked away from her angry face. Staring at the foil wrapped swan in my lap. Deirdorfs and Hart where we'd had dinner got creative on their doggy bags; foil wrapped animals. I couldn't argue with Ronnie and was getting tired of trying. 

  Finally, I said, "Every lover seduces you, Ronnie, that's the way it works." 

  She slammed her hands so hard into the dash board it startled me and must have hurt her hands. "Dammit, Anita, it's not the same." 

  I was starting to get angry and I didn't want to be angry, not with Ronnie. I had taken her out to dinner to make her feel better, not to fight. Her steady boyfriend Louis Fannon was out of town at a conference, and she was bummed about that, and turning thirty. So I'd tried to make her feel better and she seemed determined to make me feel worse. 

  "Look, I haven't seen either Jean-Claude or Richard for six months. I'm not dating either of them so we can skip the lecture on vampire ethics." 

  "Now that's an oxymoron," she said. 

  "What is?" I asked. 

  "Vampire ethics," she said. 

  I frowned at her. "That's not fair, Ronnie." 

  "You are a vampire executioner, Anita. You are the one who taught me that they aren't just people with fangs. They are monsters." 

  I'd had enough. I opened the car door and slid to the edge of the seat. Ronnie grabbed my shoulder. 

  "Anita, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad." 

  I didn't turn around. I sat there with my feet hanging out the door, the cool air creeping into the closer warmth of the car. 

  "Then drop it, Ronnie. I mean drop it." 

  She leaned over and gave me a quick hug from behind. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business who you sleep with." 

  I leaned into the hug for a moment. "That's right, it's not." Then I pulled away and got out of the car. My high heels crunched on the gravel of my driveway. Ronnie had wanted us to dress up, so we had. It was her birthday. It wasn't until after dinner that I'd realized her diabolical scheme. She'd had me wear heels and a nice little black skirt outfit. The top was actually, gasp, a well-fitted halter top. Or would that be backless evening wear? However pricey it was, it was still a very short skirt and a halter top. Ronnie had helped me pick the outfit out about a week ago. I should have known her innocent, oh, let's just both dress up, was a ruse. There had been other dresses that covered more skin and had longer hem lines, but none that camouflaged the belly band holster that cut across my lower waist. I'd actually taken the holster along with us on the shopping trip, just to be sure. Ronnie thought I was being paranoid, but I don't go anywhere after dark unarmed. Period. The skirt was just roomy enough,   and black enough to hide the fact that I had the belly band and a Firestar 9mm. The top, I wouldn't exactly call it a blouse, was heavy enough material, what there was of it, that you really couldn't see the handle of the gun under the cloth. All I had to do was lift the bottom of the top and the gun was actually right there, ready to be drawn. It was the most user friendly dress outfit I'd ever owned. Made me wish they made it in a different color so I could have two of them. Ronnie's plan had been to go to a club on her birthday. A dance club. Eeek. I never went to clubs. I did not dance. But I went in with her. Yes, she got me out on the floor, mainly because her dancing alone was attracting too much unwanted male attention. At least with both of us dancing together the would-be cassanovas stayed at a distance. Though saying I danced was inaccurate. I stood and sort of swayed. Ronnie danced. She danced like it was her last night on earth and she had to put every muscle to good use. It was spectacular,     and a little frightening. There was something almost desperate to it, as if Ronnie felt the cold hand of time creeping up faster and faster. Or maybe that was just me projecting my own insecurities. I'd turned twenty-six early in the year, and frankly at the rate I was going, I probably wouldn't have to worry about hitting thirty. Death cures all ills. Well, most of them. 

  There had been one man who had attached himself to me instead of Ronnie. I didn't understand why. She was a tall leggy blond and dancing like she was having sex with the music. But he offered me drinks. I don't drink. He tried to slow dance. I refused. I finally had to be rude. Ronnie told me to dance with him, at least he was human. I'd told her that birthday guilt only went so far, and she'd used hers up. 

  The last thing on God's green earth that I needed was another man in my life. I didn't have a clue what to do with the two men already in my life. The fact that they were, respectively, a Master Vampire, and an Ulfric, werewolf king, was only part of the problem. That that was only part of the problem let you know just how deep a hole I was digging. Or would that be, already have dug? Yeah, already dug. I was about half way to China and still throwing dirt up in the air. 

  I'd been celibate for six months, so, as far as I knew, had they. Everyone waiting for me to make up my mind. Waiting for me to choose, or decide, something, anything. 

  I'd been a rock for half a year, because I'd stayed away from them. I hadn't seen them, in the flesh anyway. I had returned no phone calls. I had run for the hills at the first hint of cologne. Why such drastic measures? Frankly, because almost every time I saw them I fell off the chastity wagon. They both had my libido, but I was trying to decide who had my heart. I still didn't know. The only thing I had decided was that it was time to stop hiding. I had to see them, and figure out what we were all going to do. I'd decided two weeks ago that I needed to see them. It was the day that I'd refilled my birth control pill prescription, and started taking it again. The very last thing I needed was a surprise pregnancy. That the first thing I thought of when I thought of Richard and Jean-Claude was to go back on birth control tells you something about the effect they had on me. 

  You needed to be on the pill for at least a month to be safe, or as safe as you ever got. Four more weeks, five to be sure, then I'd call. Maybe. 

  I heard Ronnie's heels running on the gravel. "Anita, Anita, wait, don't be angry." 

  The thing was, I wasn't angry with her. I was angry with me. Angry that after all these months I still couldn't decide between the two men. I stopped walking and waited for her huddled in my little black skirt outfit, the little foil swan in my hands. The night had turned cool enough to make me wish I'd worn a jacket. When Ronnie was up even with me I started walking again. 

  "I'm not mad, Ronnie, just tired. Tired of you, my family, Dolph, Zerbrowski, everyone, being so damned judgmental." My heels hit the sidewalk with a sharp clack. Jean-Claude had once said he could tell if I was angry just by the sound of my heels on the floor. "Watch your step. You're wearing higher heels than I am." Ronnie was 5' 8" which meant with heels she was nearly six feet. 

  I was wearing two inch heels which put me at 5' 5". I get a much better work out when Ronnie and I jog together than she does. 

  The phone was ringing as I juggled the key and the foil wrapped leftovers. Ronnie took the leftovers, and I shoved the door open with my shoulder. I was running across the floor in my high heels before I remembered, I was on vacation. Which meant whatever emergency was calling at 2:05 in the morning was not my problem not for another two weeks at least. But old habits die hard, and I was at the phone before I remembered. I actually let the machine pick up while I stood there heart pounding. I was planning on ignoring it but . . . but I still stood ready to grab the receiver just in case. 

  Loud, booming music, and a man's voice. I didn't recognize the music, I recognized the man's voice. "Anita it's, Gregory. Nathaniel's in trouble." 

  Gregory was one of the wereleopards that I'd inherited when I killed their alpha, their leader. As a human, I wasn't really up to the job, but until I found a replacement, even I was better than nothing. Wereanimals without a dominant to protect them were anyone's meat, and if someone moved in and slaughtered them, it would sort of be my fault, so I acted as their protector, but the job was more complicated than I'd ever dreamed. Nathaniel was the problem. All the others were rebuilding their lives since their old leader had been killed, but not Nathaniel. He'd had a hard life; abused, raped, pimped out, and topped. Topped meant he'd been someone's slave as in sex and pain. He was one of the few pure submissives I'd ever met, though admittedly my pool of acquaintance was limited. 

  I cursed softly and picked up the phone. "I'm here, Gregory, what's happened now?" Even to me my voice sounded tired, and half-angry. 

  "If I had anyone else to call, Anita, I'd call them, but you're it." He sounded tired and angry, too. Great. 

  "Where's Elizabeth? She was supposed to be riding shotgun on Nathaniel tonight." I'd finally agree that Nathaniel could start going out to the Dominance and Submission clubs if he was accompanied by Elizabeth, and at least one other wereleopard. Tonight it had been Gregory riding shotgun, but without Elizabeth, Gregory wasn't dominant enough to keep Nathaniel safe. A normal submissive would have been safe in one of the clubs with someone there to simply say, no thanks, we'll pass. But Nathaniel was one of those rare subs that were almost incapable of saying no, and hints had been made that his idea of pain and sex could be very extreme, which meant that he might say yes, to things that were very, very bad for him. Wereanimals can take a lot of damage and not be permanently damaged, but there is a limit. A healthy bottom will say, stop when they've had too much, or they feel something bad happening, but Nathaniel wasn't that healthy. So he had keepers with him to make sure no one really bad got hold of him. But it was more than that. A good dominant trusts their sub to say, when, before the damage is too great. The domm trusts the sub to know their own body and have enough self-preservation to call out before they are in past what their body can take. Nathaniel did not come with that safety feature, which meant a dominant with the best of intentions could end up hurting him badly before they realized he wouldn't help himself. 

  I actually accompanied Nathaniel a few nights, as his Nimir-ra it was sort of my job to interview perspective . . . keepers. I'd gone prepared for the clubs to be one of the lower circles of hell and been pleasantly shocked. I'd had more trouble with sexual propositions in a normal bar on a Saturday night. In the clubs everyone was very careful not to impose themselves on you, or be seen as pushy. It was a small community, and if you got a reputation for being obnoxious you could find yourself black-listed and with no one to play with. I'd found the people in the scene were polite, and once you made it clear you were not there to play they left you alone. Like I said, a bar on Saturday night was harder. If you wanted to sit alone in a corner, no one bothered you, except tourists. Tourists were poisers, people not really into the scene, but liked to dress up and frequent the clubs. They didn't know the rules, and hadn't bothered to ask. They treated it as if a woman that would come to a place like this would do anything. I'd persuaded them differently. But I'd had to stop to going with Nathaniel. The other wereleopards said I gave off so much dominant vibe that no dominant would ever approach Nathaniel while I was with him, though we'd had so many offers for menage a trois of every description that I'd felt like I needed a button that said, "No, I don't want to have a bondage three-way with you, thanks for asking, though." 

  Elizabeth had supposedly been dominant enough, but not too much to take Nathaniel out and try to pick him up a . . . date. 

  "Elizabeth left," Gregory said. 

  "Without Nathaniel?" I made it a question. 

  "Yes." 

  "Well that just fries my bacon," I said. 

  "What?" he asked. 

  "I'm angry with Elizabeth." 

  "It gets better," he said. 

  "How much better can it be, Gregory? You all assured me that these clubs were safe. A little bondage, a little light slap and tickle. You all convinced me that I couldn't keep Nathaniel away from it indefinitely. You said that they had ways to monitor the area so no one could possibly get hurt. That's what you and Zane and Cherry told me. Hell, I've seen it myself. There are safety monitors everywhere, it's safer than some dates I've had, so what could have possibly gone wrong?" 

  "We couldn't have anticipated this," he said. 

  "Just get to the end of the story, Gregory, the foreplay is getting tedious." 

  "Gregory is indisposed," a man's voice said. 

  "Who is this?" 

"Marco." 

  "New in town are you?" I asked. 

  "Something like that," he said. 

  "We didn't realize it was your pet we had at first. It wasn't who we were hunting for, but now that we have him, we're keeping him." 

  "You can't 'keep' him," I said. 

  "Come down and take him away from us, if you can." That strangely, smooth voice, made the threat all the more effective. There was no anger, nothing personal. It sounded like business, and I had no clue what it was about. 

  "Put Gregory back on," I said. 

  "I don't think so. He's enjoying some personal time with my friends right now." 

  "How do I know he's still alive?" My voice was as unemotional as his, I wasn't feeling anything yet, it was too sudden, too unexpected, like coming in on the middle of a movie. 

  "No one's dead, yet," the man said. 

  "How do I know that?" 

  He was quiet for a second, then, "What sort of people are you used to dealing with that you would ask if we've killed them first thing?" 

  "It's been a rough year, now put Gregory on the phone, because until I know he's alive, and he tells me the others are, this negotiation is stalled." 

  "How do you know we are negotiating?" Marco asked. 

  "Call it a hunch." 

  "My, you are direct." 

  "You have no idea how direct I can be, Marco, put Gregory on the phone." 

  There was the music filled silence, and more music, but no voices. "Gregory, Gregory, are you there? Is anyone there." Shit, I thought. 

  "I'm afraid that your kitty-cat won't squawl for us, a point of pride, I think." 

  "Put the receiver to his ear, and let me talk to him." 

  "As you wish." 

  More of the loud music. I spoke as if I was sure that Gregory was listening. "Gregory, I need to know you're alive. I need to know that Nathaniel and everyone else is alive. Talk to me, Gregory." 

  His voice came squeezed tight, as if he were gritting his teeth. "Yesss." 

  "Yes, what, they're all alive?" 

  "Yess." 

  "What are they doing to you?" 

  He screamed into the phone, and the sound raised the hairs on my neck, and danced down my arms in goosebumps. The sound stopped abruptly. "Gregory, Gregory!" I was yelling against the techno-beat of the music, but no one was answering. 

  Marco came back on the line. "They are all alive, if not quite well. The one they call Nathaniel is a lovely young man, all that long auburn hair and the most extraordinary violet eyes. So pretty, it would be a shame to spoil all that beauty. Of course, this one is lovely, too, blond, blue-eyed, some told me that they both work as strippers? Is that true?" 

  I wasn't numb anymore, I was scared, and angry, and still had not a clue to why this was happening. My voice came out almost even, almost calm. "Yeah, it's true. You're new in town, Marco, so you don't know me. But trust me, you don't want to do this." 

  "Perhaps not, but my alpha does." 

  Ah, shapeshifter politics. I hated shapeshifter politics. "Why, the wereleopards are no threat to anyone." 

  "Ours not to reason why, ours to do and die." 

  A literate kidnapper, refreshing. "What do you want, Marco?" 

  "My alpha wants you to come down and rescue your cats, if you can." 

  "What club are you at?" 

  "Narcissus in Chains." And he hung up. 

End of Chapter One.