Page 3 of The Biting Bargain

"Don't worry." She waves it off and checks something on the iPad while I involuntarily slide the hem of my sleeves over my knuckles until only my fingers are peeking out.

The bruises have almost healed, and yet they were still so clearly visible this afternoon, as if someone had put my wrists in a vise and screwed them shut.

But I can't very well tell Jasmin that it was an irascible, 300-pound loan shark with a masochistic streak who nailed me to the wall with two meaty paws, while his boss, the guy with a weasel face and the mustache, told me in a bored voice what they would do to me shouldn’t I pay them out. I'm probably lucky that all I got out of it was a set of purple-green wrists.

Damn Patrick!

"And you know all about the Master Rule, of course?" Jasmine asks now, giving me a look through her thick lashes. It's supposed to seem casual, I can tell, but my breath catches for a moment.

"Of course," I then hurry to say.

The Master Rule prompted the lengthy discussion with Marigold about whether I should do this at all, or just give up and just go and grind the dancing pole at DiMartino’s strip club.

The most important rule in Club Sanguine: the master runs the show.

The master commands, the drone has to submit.

The terminology is as old as the custom of a vampire master ruling his little flock of willing drones.

In the old days, when there were no drone services, no blood banks, no anonymous allocation system through which normal vampires are safely and reliably supplied with blood these days, vampires still hunted their prey.

The more civilized — and wealthier — among them kept drones.

Some even had favorite drones, as Marigold read to me with a wry grin from a scandalizing fetish blog a few days ago. They kept their beloved drone as a pet, taking care of it, being its guardian and protector. The drones led privileged lives, in some cases they even became famous members of society, in and out of the French royal court. But the drone always owed obedience to the vampire in return.

Always.

For everything he demanded.

Even now I fight down the twinge of excitement that rises up in me at the thought of it.

"Some relationships became so intimate, so deep in some cases, that the vampire renounced all other drones and kept a permanent Master Drone. A so-called companion," the blog said. "Even to this day it’s still practiced in certain circles. Although technically illegal, it is considered privileged and an expression of a special luxury. However, the drones certain vampires keep today are not bonded to their master for the rest of their lives."

Jasmin ticks something on her iPad.

"That's the most important rule, Polly," she says in a more serious tone than before. "The rules you signed ensure that you can confide in your client within a certain framework. That is a requirement of this transaction. Can you do that?"

Translation: I have to submit to the will of a vampire, have to follow whatever he says — except sex — and let him drink my blood. Of course, I understand that. Can I do that? I fiddle with my sleeve and nod.

It’s not like I have any other options left.

"Yes," I add for good measure. Focus on the fancy blood donation, Pollyanna.

"Great." Jasmin beams, scribbles something on the iPad and then leans over the table, holding out the tablet and pen to me. My hand doesn't shake as I sign, deep inside I feel like I'm paralyzed. I'm really doing this.

"Your client will be here in a few minutes," Jasmin says as she rises and heads for the door. "Have fun."

She smiles at me, then she's gone. And I'm alone in the fancy penthouse with a heart rate as if I'm sprinting up a mountain.

Okay. Okay. Breathe. You can do this. I can do this. No problem at all. I just need to calm the fuck down.

I swallow, stand up, kneading my hands, and start pacing the room.

The master runs the show.

This rule should scare me more. I shouldn't find this particular rule hot. But apparently I have a twisted dark side within me that doesn't match my bubbly, colorful exterior. And that side has gotten me into trouble more than once.

"Stop it," I half mutter, giving myself a shake. Don't think about the past. Just go through with…whatever the hell comes next. And tomorrow, I will go to the bank and wire DiMartino the money, and then I can finally get on with my life.

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