“Going once? Going twice? Sold, to the gentleman in the double-breasted suit!”

The auctioneer gestured to the winner with the silver body of the mallet before slamming it against the gray stone of the podium.

“A fine choice, sir; I’m sure you’ll be more than pleased with this, ah, lovely specimen.”

The “specimen” he was referring to was the slim-bodied blonde in red silk bra and panties, and black manacles standing in the middle of the stage. She’s certainly a cute one. Kieran looked at her bare, slender legs, which she crossed as she stood in an attempt at modesty. She was a slip of a girl, her straw-colored hair tied back in a thick French braid and her arms crossed over her small, pert breasts.

But, just like all the others, not my type.

With a slow, sweeping gesture of his arm, the auctioneer beckoned the girl to leave the stage. She nodded. Her face was tight with fear; her blue eyes were wide and shimmering, which Kieran could see from his seat dozens of feet back from the stage.

Docile, timid, and willowy. He traced the circular rim of his drink with a long, graceful finger. I’ll leave those girls for the Ukrainians.

And, as though on cue, the buyer, a stocky man wearing a pin-striped double-breasted suit and with oil-black hair slicked into a tight sheen stood from a seat closer to the front.

I should’ve known when he said “double-breasted;” only the Ukrainians would be tacky enough to go for a look like that.

The Ukrainian walked toward the stage and extended his hand toward the woman he had just purchased. By polite instinct, the girl, who couldn’t have been far out of her teens, extended her own, but was abruptly stopped by the lack of length in her chains. A murmur of laughter swelled from the crowd.

“No matter,” said the Ukrainian in a thick accent, his low, bass voice tinged with a rich, Slavic accent echoing through the hall, “there will be plenty of time for formalities later.”

He then gestured toward one of the guards in slim-cut, tailored suits who stood on either end of the stage. They dashed over and undid the chains; the manacles fell to the stage with a heavy thunk. The girl stretched her now-free arms and legs.

“Come, child,” said the Ukrainian, pointing to the empty chair at his table.

She nodded with apprehension before stepping off the stage with the timid, shy steps of a baby deer and taking her seat next to her new owner, who put his heavy, burly arm around her and pulled her close.

Leave it to the Ukrainians to be unable to wait even a minute before getting their hands all over the fresh meat. Kieran shook his head and took a slow draw of his drink.

“And for our next item, please welcome this lovely young lady, new to our fair city by way of Des Moines,” said the auctioneer in his clear, buttery voice.

The next girl was brought onto stage by one of the suited guards. Where the previous girl was slim and fair, this girl was shapely, with a rich, olive-colored complexion. Her coal-black hair fell around her face in straight, symmetrical tresses, and her lips were full and painted with a shiny lacquer of dark red lipstick. And unlike the last girl, who seemed fragile and frightened on stage, this one seemed to enjoy the attention; she put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight from one foot to the other while winking and blowing kisses to the audience, the thick metal of her chains clanging together.

Does this girl not understand the nature of the predicament she’s in? She must think we’re some collection of rich dilettantes bidding on a companion for the weekend. She’ll learn.

Kieran then cast his gaze toward the Italians, who chatted in quiet but lively tones among each other, probably deciding who had bidding rights on the young Mediterranean beauty on stage.

Bored, Kieran threw back the last dregs of his drink, letting the bitter tang of blood mixed with rich, caramel-toned whiskey loll over his palate. As he scanned the room, he caught the gaze of Drugi, one of the vampires from the Polish society, and one of Kieran’s only friends outside of his own society of Irish. Drugi raised a slim, small glass of vodka; a crimson streak of blood looked like a small vein in the otherwise clear liquid. Kieran raised his own empty glass, which Drugi noted with a wry grin. Drugi tossed back his shot, and then gestured with sharp points to one of the serving staff, then to Kieran. Within seconds, another drink was in front of him.

Kieran gave a nod of thanks to Drugi, and took a sip. The time seemed to drag; none of these women appealed to him. They were the same collection of dull-eyed Midwestern cast-offs and prissy rich girls living on their father’s American Express cards as every other year.

“Eh? You gonna pick one or not?” Ian slapped Kieran on the side of his thigh with the back of his hand.

Ian was Kieran’s closest friend in the Irish society. They were turned at around the same time, and having someone just as new to the world of the undead as you could be all it took to create a bond like this.

“When I see one I want, I’ll bid,” said Kieran, his voice laced with traces of an Irish brogue.

“Yeah, the same thing you say every year, then you go home with nothing. Such a picky one, you are.” Ian waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

The previous girl had been won and led off the stage; the nods and shoulder-slapping in the Italian group indicated that one of them was her new owner.

“Our next girl, well, she’s really something special.”

Kieran suppressed a yawn and checked his watch, not even bothering to register the time.

“Bring her out!”

The glass of whiskey was in front of Kieran’s face, blocking his vision, when the girl came on stage. When he lowered it, he was struck in his seat. His honey-colored eyes narrowed, and his slim, but full, lips curled up in one corner.

Something special, indeed. Kieran reached for the polished ivory handle of his bidding sign. There’s a first time for everything…

Four Hours Earlier

The boy’s finger was cool to the touch as Nora moved it along the bumpy texture of the Braille text.

“And what does that part say, little man?” Nora asked, her voice low and sweet.

“The… zems… zeps…” The boy’s voice trailed off, confused.

“Try again,” said Nora, not a trace of impatience entering her tone. “I’ll give you a hint: It’s like a horsie, but all striped.”

The boy’s face flashed with recognition. “A zebra!” he said, speaking through a broad, silly smile.

“Very good! A zebra is absolutely right,” Nora said, tussling his thick, mustard-yellow hair. “Try again.” She moved his finger back to the beginning of the sentence.

“The zebra,” he said, placing extra emphasis on that word, and looking up in the general direction of Nora’s face with a proud smile, “lived at the zoo with its friends, the hipa… hipi…”

“Hippo…”

“Hippopotamuses!”

“Very good.”

“And the hippopotamuses were very big, and very—”

A low, warm bell tone chimed through the expanse of the dining room, accompanied by a slow dimming and brightening of the lights.

“Fat!” he shouted, laughing at the idea of big, fat hippopotamuses.

“Good job, Jacen,” Nora said, “but you know what that sound means.”

“Awww,” he said, frustrated.

“I know, I know,” Nora said, closing the thick, flesh-colored pages of the Braille-typed book.

“And how did my boy do today?”

Surprised, Nora spun around where she stood behind Jacen and was face-to-face with the heavily-made-up face of Amanda Atherton, Jacen’s mother.

“Oh!” said Nora, in a sharp exclamation.

Amanda stepped back, her face marked with a small trace of shock.

“Mrs. Atherton, I’m so sorry,” said Nora, gathering herself.

Amanda’s look of surprised was replaced by one of knowing. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, Nora,” she said, holding up her palms. “I, of all people, should know to keep in mind people’s disabilities.”

“It’s just this thing,” said Nora, pointing to the clear, plastic tubing of the hearing aid in her left ear. “It works, except when it doesn’t want to.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Amanda said, each syllable spoken in the crisp diction of the educated Manhattan upper-class.

Amanda then turned to Jacen, who looked up at her with milky-blue eyes and a beaming smile.

“And what did my little man learn about today?”

“Uhm, uhm, we learned about animals at the zoo, like zebras, and, uhm, birds, and hippo-uhm.”

“Hippopot…” said Nora, raising a slim, delicate finger.

“Hippopotamuses!” he said, smiling again, imagining what these strange animals must look like in person.

“Isn’t that exciting!” Amanda smoothed Jacen’s hair.

“Nora, I just want to tell you how impressed I’ve been with what you’ve been able to accomplish with Jacen these last few months.” Amanda’s brow lowered in earnestness. “We couldn’t get this little guy to sit still for five minutes before, but you’ve got him reading books for fun.” She shook her head in pleased disbelief. “So thanks, again.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure,” said Nora, a florid blush spreading across her complexion of rich cream. “I’m happy to do what I can for the little man.”

Amanda gave her another warm smile.

“Well, I’ll see you out.”

“Bye, little man,” said Nora, giving Jacen’s shoulder a light squeeze. “I’ll see you next Tuesday.”

“Bye, Ms. O’Brien,” he said, before turning his attention back to the book.

With that, they strolled through the vast, open rooms of the Atherton’s Tribeca townhome. Although Nora had been in this home three times a week for the last two months, she was still floored by the opulence. The ceilings were vaulted and painted bone-white, the walls were made of rich, lacquered wood, and the living room was dominated by a massive fireplace that crackled with a warm, inviting fire. It was a far cry from the Harlem studio where she lived.

Amanda stopped when they reached the twin, glass-paneled front doors of the home.

“Nora, I just want to thank you again. I don’t know what you’ve been doing with Jacen, but things have been peaceful around here now that he isn’t just, you know, running around screaming his head off whenever he got frustrated. Which was, just, all the time.”

Nora’s face flashed with blooms of red, just as the previous blushing was beginning to fade. She turned her head down in slight embarrassment.

“I’m happy to help,” she said, turning her body toward the door, eager to step away from the compliments she felt undeserving of.

“And…” Amanda’s voice trailed a bit. “I know you’re new in the city, and I know how hard that is. Believe me,” she said, pressing her palm against her chest, “I’ve done it, too. It’s lonely and scary. So, if you ever want to stop by for dinner, or just to have a cup of coffee, you’re always welcome.”

A warm rush emanated from Nora’s chest and out to the tips of her limbs. She was never able to handle kindness very well.

“Oh, why thank yeh, Mrs. Atherton,” she said, immediately bringing her fingertips to her mouth in embarrassment. Nora was American by birth, but her mother and grandmother were as Irish as they come, and Nora found their accent slipping out of her mouth when she was angry, or in this case, flustered.  

“Amanda!” she said, giving Nora a playful push on the shoulder.

“Amanda,” Nora stammered out.

With that, Amanda opened the door, causing the chill of the night air to slip in through the entryway.

“Have a good night, sweetheart. Get home safe.”

“Good night, Mrs… I mean, Amanda.”

Amanda held the door open while Nora slipped out, then down the gray granite steps, and out onto the sidewalk. Amanda gave a finger-wiggling wave and closed the door.

Nora pulled her pea coat tight against the cool breeze of the late-September air and fastened the buttons. Heading toward the subway, she found her eyes wandering, as usual, to the windows of the expensive townhomes, looking in to catch glimpses of the lives of people who could afford multi-million dollar homes. She sighed, envying the spacious interiors, exquisite, hand-crafted furniture, and expensive, original prints of art. Nora knew that there was money in New York, but seeing it on every street corner only made her more conscious of what she didn’t have.

Maybe someday. She passed one window through which she could see a family dining at a long, wooden table that would have a hard time fitting in her apartment.

Turning onto the main road from the quite street where the Athertons lived, Nora dialed her hearing aid down to its lowest level. The thing worked, but almost too well. The din of cars, with its constant horn-blaring, could be amplified loud enough to feel like a spike going through her head. And the less said about the ear-splitting wailing of the fire trucks and ambulances that raced down the street seemingly every few minutes, the better.

With the sound lowered, leaving her with only her sight, the city was almost peaceful. The air was calm and cold, and the towering, glittering buildings of the Financial District loomed overhead. The Empire State Building, its lights orange and red for fall, could be seen off in the distance.

Nora continued down the sidewalk, she stopped at the intersection. Only a couple more blocks before she was at her stop.

Oh, fuck yeah, that’s nice.

Nora snapped into alertness and looked around. To her left was a middle-aged man in a long, beige trench coat. It must’ve been him. But her hearing aid was off; how could she have heard him? Nora watched him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye, holding her purse close to her body and hoping the light would change soon. Between catcalls from passing cars and the occasional grope on the subway, the perverts in this city were almost too much for Nora.

Mmm, I gotta see her from the back now.

Again! Nora heard the man’s voice, but this time one eye was on him, and she saw that his mouth didn’t move. What was she hearing?

She then looked down at the phone the man was holding close and looking at, a wry smirk on his face. She leaned a bit, enough to see what was on the screen: It was a woman wearing nothing but white panties, her arm crossed over her very full breasts, a sly grin on her face.

Then the man caught Nora’s side-eye. He became flustered, turning the display off on his phone and shoving it in a clumsy, haphazard fashion into his front pocket, nearly dropping it onto the pavement.

Nora couldn’t make out what he was saying exactly, but given his flummoxed, wide-eyed expression, she was sure it wasn’t anything kind; one word was unmistakably the lips-behind-lower-teeth mouthing of the “F’ word. Nora looked away as fast as she could, though it was clear that she had seen something she shouldn’t have.

And what’s more, she sensed something from the man, a color emanating from him. Light red, almost a dark shade of pink, like the color of her cheeks when she became nervous or flustered. The color seemed to come from the man in waves, like the air over a street on a hot summer’s day.

Fortunately for Nora, the man was more concerned with the immediate shame, and once the crosswalk light changed, he traversed the intersection with quick, frantic steps.

Nora took a moment to collect herself before crossing the street. Her steps were slow and deliberate. She was trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened, that she had been able to hear the man’s thoughts.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened. It had begun a few years ago, after she turned eighteen. She started hearing the thoughts of those who stood close to her; just words here and there, like a radio tuned into a weak signal.

And the colors, too, began to appear; strange, shifting waves of color that were the general shape of the person. Nora wasn’t sure what they meant, why they were different, but she was noticing that certain colors seemed to match certain moods. Someone who was sad would be a shade of blue, depending on the exact nuance of their emotion. A person in a deep depression would be a deep, Prussian blue, almost a black. A person in an erratic, paranoid mood would be yellow. And someone in a strange melancholy would be a mixture of the two, resulting in an unsettling, sickly shade of green.

But these gifts, if she could call them that, only seemed to manifest under two conditions: One, being in close proximity to the person, and two, that her hearing aid was turned off.

The experience with the man was still running though her head as she stepped down the stairs of the Chambers Street station. As she walked into the station and its dirty stone walls and ceilings and harsh lighting, she noticed that something was off. No one else was there. Not even an MTA employee in the booth. Not wanting to miss the train, she swiped her card through the reader and stepped through the turnstile.

She reached the platform and the story was the same. No one was there. The low rumbling of a departing train vibrated through her body. Nervous, Nora reached for her hearing aid and turned the small, ridged knob.

“— an uptown, three train, approaching the station. Please step back from the yellow line,” said the pre-recorded announcement from the loudspeaker in its stilted, chipper voice. 

“Hey, miss.”

Nora turned on her heels, shocked. Now there was someone, a homeless man in a tattered parka and dirty workpants, his face smeared with grime. Nora was shocked; either she hadn’t noticed the man when she arrived at the platform, or—

“Got anything you could spare?” he said in a ragged voice, shaking one of the ubiquitous blue-and-white coffee cups every vendor used in New York.

Nora reached into her purse. She knew that she couldn’t give change to every homeless person, but the Midwest courtesy had yet to be completely driven from her. Withdrawing a quarter, she approached the man and dropped it in his cup. It landed with a hollow thud against the bottom.

“Why, thank you, ma’am, God bless,” he said.

“Sure,” said Nora, noticing that the man was looking her over with hard, inspecting eyes.

He then pulled the collar of his parka up, and spoke into it. “We’ve got a positive,” he said. But now his voice was different. Clear and professional.

Then, with inhuman speed, he withdrew a small, silver item from his parka pocket and jabbed it into Nora’s hand. Shocked, she pulled her hand back and held it close.

“What did you do to me?” she asked, her voice frantic.

But then her vision began to blur; her limbs felt weak and wobbly.

Two pairs of heavy, firm hands grabbed her arms before the darkness swimming in from the borders of her vision consumed her completely.

When Nora came to, the first thing she noticed was that she was restrained. Her wrists and ankles were clad in manacles of wrought-iron, and as her head began to clear, she noticed that the chains were extremely old. She pulled and yanked at them, but they were hooked into some kind of fastening in the wall behind her. She tried to scream, but her mouth was covered with  cool, tight fabric.

Along the wall to her right and left were maybe two dozen other young women, all bound in chains, their mouths covered like hers with something that looked like a leather bandana, like an Old West bandit would wear, but bondage-style. The girls all searched the room with panic-stricken eyes, all, like Nora, trying to determine where exactly they were, and why. They all looked as if they had come out of their stupor at about the same time as Nora.

She was in a long, open room with high ceilings and wooden walls of dark oak. Farther down the room she saw racks of women’s underwear; lingerie, bra and panty sets, and leather kink-wear. Across the room were rows of vanity mirrors in front of chairs of soft-looking leather. The room was two-parts dungeon and one-part fashion show backstage.

Where the hell am I? A drip of nervous sweat darted down her forehead. Nora made eye contact with the girls to her immediate left and right, but bound the way they were, all they could do was share terrified expressions.

Nora then heard a loud thunk from the end of the room on her right. The massive, wooden door opened with a sharp, quick creak, and five men poured in, all clad in slim black-and-white suits, sunglasses, and short, cropped hair. They looked like Secret Service agents, but with one minor difference: Their skin was bone white.

The girls turned their heads to the men. Nora did the same, anxiety forming into a tight hot knot in her stomach. Whatever was going to happen, it was going to happen now.

The men looked over the women as though surveying merchandise. Then one turned to the other, nodded, and the five men split apart, each heading to different girls along the wall. But not Nora.

Nora looked at the man nearest to her, who went to the girl two spaces to Nora’s left. He regarded the woman, then kneeled and flicked off his sunglasses, revealing a pair of shimmering yellow eyes. He took the chin of the fearful, squirming girl into his hand in a gentle scoop and looked into her eyes, his own eyes wide and fixed. He stayed like this for a moment, mouthing something that Nora couldn’t hear. Then, the girl slackened, her body calm.

The man waited a few more seconds to confirm that whatever he had done worked, then reached behind her, unhooked her chains from the wall, and led her to one of the makeup chairs on the other side of the room. The girl went with him without protest, her steps smooth, but unnatural, her face still and calm as a doll’s. She took her place in the chair, her beautiful face illuminated by the bright bulbs of the vanity mirror. The four other girls the remaining men went to all did the same. It was then that Nora noticed that there were as many chairs as there were girls, and that whatever the men had done to the first girls would likely be done to her soon.

The men, after making sure their girls were still in their seats, then went to another set of girls and repeated the process. Again, Nora wasn’t one of them, though the girls to her immediate right and left were. She watched the process repeat itself: the men kneeled, looked deep into the girls’ eyes, said something in a low murmur, then led the now-docile girls to their chairs. Again, the girls were watched for a moment, then the men went off to a new set.

This time, Nora was one of them.

The suited man squatted in front of her, and looked into her eyes. His face was as slim and angled as his suit, and at this distance, his brilliant yellow eyes looked like tiny blazing suns, and Nora could’ve sworn that she saw the colors swirl and roil. He locked eyes with her in this fashion for several heartbeats and spoke.

“You’re going to get up and go over to that chair. You’re going to sit down and wait until we tell you what to do next.”

Then he reached behind her, undid the lock that connected the chains to the wall and then waited.

Judging by the way the other girls complied, Nora assumed that she would’ve felt some strange sort of compulsion to get up. But she felt nothing.

The eyes of the man narrowed in suspicion. “I said, you’re going to get up and go over to that chair. You’re going to sit down and wait until we tell you what to do next.”

Nora then realized that whatever he was trying to do, whatever sort of hypnosis he was trying, wasn’t taking hold. But unless she wanted to arouse suspicion, she knew that she needed to act like it did. So, she stood, making her face appear blank and compliant, walked past the man, and sank into the soft, cool leather of the chair in front of the mirror.

Nora wanted to turn and look around, to see if she could figure out where she was, and to try to figure out what was in store for her, but she knew that such behavior would be noticed. So instead, she regarded herself in the mirror.

Nora’s eyes were big, which was a source of insecurity for her; she always felt that they gave her a constant look of surprise. The irises were the watery green of a freshly-dewed Longford dale. Her nose was small and pointed a bit upward, and her lips were a deep red with a full shape and the subtle turns of cursive handwriting. Her hair, which was the color of a polished copper pot, was tied in a thick French braid, which she now had draped across her left shoulder. Her coat was missing, and today she was wearing a knitted, oatmeal-colored cardigan over a fitted V-neck t-shirt, and a pair of unassuming blue jeans. She was always told by friends and family that she dressed too plain, too drab, and that her slight, lissome frame seemed to always be lost in the folds of heavy fabric that she typically wore. But this was how she liked it. Her hearing always made her feel like she was disconnected from the world at large, and so she liked to dress the part, like someone who wouldn’t be noticed.

Keeping her head still, she looked to her right and left as best she could. As far as she could tell, all of the girls were in their seats.

Then the doors opened again, and a frenzy of feminine chatter filled the room. The pin-point clicking of high heels echoed through the open space. Nora allowed herself to turn just an inch to her right, to see what she could, which was a gaggle of coifed and made-up women in simple, form-fitting clothes; fashionable, but practical. Once the group reached the center of the row of girls, they looked the line up and down, made some counting-off gestures, and split off, one girl to each captive.

The one who came to Nora was tall, slim, and had a severe Slavic face of jutting cheekbones, ice-blue eyes narrowed to a laser point, and platinum-blond hair tied back into a tight ponytail. She looked Nora up and down, mouthing words to herself and making mental notes. Then she turned to the vanity, opened some drawers, and withdrew some items.

Makeup? Nora looked at the small cases lined along the edge of the vanity. What’s going on here?

The woman looked the items up and down one last time and went to work. She started by undoing Nora’s thick, simple braid and pinning it up above her head. Then, she applied the makeup in quick, precise movements—a little blush here, some eyeliner there, a little smokiness there. Nora stayed as still as death during the process, giving no indication that she wasn’t under the hypnotic spell that the rest of the girls were in. The woman was in front of the mirror, and Nora couldn’t see what kind of look she was giving her.

After a few minutes, she was done with the makeup, and set to work on Nora’s hair.

That was fast. Nora allowed a light-hearted thought to well up through the pool of anxiety in her stomach. I wouldn’t mind taking some notes from her; it would save a little time in my morning routine.

The woman went at Nora’s hair with stabbing motions, sticking pins here and tying braids there. Her face was lowered in concentration, and Nora could see that, like the men in the suits, her eyes were that same brilliant burnt orange.

“What you got over there, divchyna?” said Nora’s girl in a voice tinged in a Slavic accent to the makeup girl next to her, her own eyes not leaving Nora’s hair for a second.

“Another cow from one of those shitholes in the middle.”

I take offense to that, thought Nora, still not armored against the “flyover state” jokes.

“This one here is pretty; doesn’t look like she is from here.”

There was a pause while, Nora presumed, the other makeup girl gave Nora a look-over.

“Tak, yes, I see what you mean. Beautiful skin. And I am wondering if that hair is a natural color.”

“I think so,” said Nora’s girl. “I can spot a shitty red dye-job from a mile off.”

“Fair skin, red hair. I bet we get a nice little bag of coins for her.”

Bag of coins? What is she talking about? Where am I?

After a few minutes, the work was done, and the girl stepped back and around Nora, standing behind her in the chair to get a look from a few feet away. Nora could finally see what she had done. Her eyes had a slight wisp of smokiness, which set off their brilliant green; her fair skin was brushed with just enough blush to give her the appearance of being in a state of coquettish surprise, and her red hair was done up in twin braids that were twisted up and behind her head in an intricate pattern that reminded Nora of some kind of rolled and curled pastry. The look seemed to Nora like an innocent peasant girl with the smoky, sexy eyes of a girl in the city. Definitely not Nora’s style, but she liked how attractive she felt. She had always considered herself to be plain and unremarkable, but now she felt a little different about how she looked.

“You done over there? I think I am done with mine,” said Nora’s girl, looking her own work over in approval.

“Ohhh, very nice,” said the other girl, impressed. “Innocent but a little slutty. But the good kind of slutty,” she added after a beat.

“I am good at my job. What can I say?”

“Okay, I think it’s time to get these little chickies all dressed up and ready to go.”

Wait, what? Nora was still nervous, still scared, but also completely confused.

“Everyone to your feet!” shouted one of the women from a position toward the front of the room.

The girls complied, all standing in unison, their chains clinking and clanging together. Nora stood, too, though she was worried that the lag in her motions would be noticed by someone.

A moment passed, all of them standing stone-still and silent. Then Nora could hear the unfastening of chains farther down in the row. She gave silent thanks that these heavy metal things would soon be off her aching limbs. Sure enough, one of the suited men was moving down the line, undoing the chains with a quick turn of a key.

When the suited man got to Nora, he repeated the process, and the chains fell from Nora’s wrists and ankles, landing on the ground with a metallic thunk. She wanted badly to rub the now-free skin, but she could see that none of the girls were reacting to their chains being removed, so she didn’t either.

After a few more minutes, the man finished removing the chains from the line of girls.

“Now, undress!”

Chapter 4

What? Are they serious?

Nora realized that they were. The girls to her right and left complied without a single bit of protest, first stepping out of their shoes, then shimmying out of their jeans and skirts, followed by whatever tops they were wearing, until they stood in nothing but their underwear.

Though her internal sense of modesty screamed objections, Nora knew that she had no choice but to do the same, and now, if she didn’t want to get spotted. She kicked off her black Toms flats, slid out of her nondescript slim-cut jeans with quick wiggles of her hips, took off her cardigan, then pulled the men’s Hanes V-neck off and over her head. She spent a moment looking in the mirror at her slim frame clad in nothing but a black bra and sky blue boy shorts, feeling that she was too slight, that her breasts were too small, that her arms and legs were too stick-like. These were the same self-criticisms that she subjected herself to whenever she stood in front of the mirror, even in a context like this.

“And the rest!”

Nora felt a wave of hot anxiety wash over her. As she unfastened her bra and stepped out of her underwear, she was glad for the blush on her face. It would cover up the real blushing she could feel spreading across her cheeks.

As she stood completely unclothed in front of the mirror, she fought the strong urge to cross her arm in front of her breasts and put her hand over her sex, so that, at the very least, her small pink nipples and red tuft of public hair could be obscured. But she knew better, and stood as still as she could, her arms against the sides of her hips.

Another series of steps could be heard from down the line. It was a quick rapping of a few sets of feet, then stopping, then moving, and then stopping once more. As the noises grew closer, Nora could see that it was a tight cluster of women, two of the makeup girls with one woman, someone new, in between the two.  Even from this far away, Nora understood that the taller woman was in an authority position. She stood with poise and grace, and the other girls surrounded and moved around her like little planets, their wide eyes scouring the taller woman’s face for her reaction to whatever she was judging.

The little procession moved then stopped, moved then stopped, until they were at the girl to the right of Nora. The girl was a slight, delicate thing, with eyes wide and innocent like Nora’s, and a body of comparable tone; though her breasts were even smaller than Nora’s, and her hips were narrow, like a boy’s.

“Christ, look at this girl,” said the tall woman in a rich voice, her words heavy with Slavic intonation. “Tiny tits, blond hair, eyes like scared deer; the Ukrainians will gobble her up like cow with steak necklace thrown into shark tank.”

A moment passed, and Nora could see that the woman was scanning the girl’s body with the keen, inspecting eyes of a salesman judging the value of merchandise.

“Put her in skimpy little red set; show off muscle tone. And tell her to up the coy routine; suits her.”

And with that, the girls raised the girl to her feet, pointed to the section of the room with the racks of clothing, and the seated girl walked with deliberate, obliging steps in that direction.

The woman then moved over to Nora, and began the same process of looking over her body, inch by inch. Now that the woman was closer, Nora could see the features of the woman’s face. She appeared to be in her late forties. Her eyes were a limpid pale blue, her nose was pointed and had a strange texture to it, almost like it were sculpted out of clay. Her mouth was a thin line painted into a glossy red, and her hair was a blond color of such vibrancy that it was like turning a corner and being blasted with a summer sun heretofore hidden behind buildings. She was dressed in slim black pants and a black, button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which exposed a tattoo of a rose that traveled up along the length of her right forearm.

Nora felt herself withering under the glare of the woman, the effort of trying to appear hypnotized beginning to wear on her. She felt a drop of sweat form near her ear before moving down her neck in erratic angles. Nora hoped the woman didn’t notice.

“My, what a pretty one, this girl,” the woman said, her features cold. “Winsome little face, slim body, but still with breasts. And that hair. Oh, and look at that little ass of hers.”

A moment passed.

“I turn to you, girls. Alla, what you think we dress this little tart up in?”

One of the blonde makeup girls at the woman’s flank stepped forward, her face nervous. “Well, Miss Serko, I think, for her, something simple,” said Alla, in an American accent, “to show off her body. Red thong, and maybe a, I think, see-through bra.”

“Hmm,” said Miss Serko. If she was impressed by this answer, she didn’t show it. “Alyona, your turn.”

“Something classic. She’s got body like a little boy, like other girl. Put her in a corset, maybe squeeze some curves out of her.”

A moment passed.

“Both stupid answers. First is stupid because this girl wholesome; you don’t put wholesome girl in whore’s get-up. Second is stupid because she does have body. Look at her. Alyona, you think any girl without your cottage-cheese ass is pile of sticks and hair.”

Both girls looked down, the one on the left pivoting her foot on the tips of her mirror-polished black heels.

Geez, some boss, Nora thought, letting a thought slip past the immense effort she was putting forth to stay still. Now that she was under the eyes of the women, she couldn’t let her eyes move a millimeter.

“This girl need something sexy, but classy. Put her in the black high-waisted panties. Black bra. Nothing see-through,” she said, pointing a finger at the first girl. “I can see that this one is going to get a high price. But you give too much away on the stage and the men aren’t wondering what they’re not seeing, no?”

The two girls nodded in eager agreement.

Stage?

“Okay, get her over there and let’s finish up with the rest of these little tarts.”

With that, the two girls moved to Nora’s flanks, placed their palms upward under her forearms, and pressed. Nora understood right away that she was being compelled to stand, so she did.

“Go to the clothing racks. Put on number… ah, shit; what is number?” said the girl with the accent.

“Forty-seven!” Miss Serko’s voice brimmed with impatience. “We do this every year, and you girls don’t even have the wardrobe memorized. You two are lucky your lords are who they are, you know.”

“Yes, Miss Serko,” the girls said, speaking at the same time.

One of the girls nudged Nora off in the direction of the racks. Nora committed the number to her memory, understanding that coming back to Miss Serko for a reminder wasn’t an option.

Once at the racks, she found the outfit. It was what Miss Serko described: A matching black bra and panty set, very simple, and with a little bit of see-through fabric running up the hip of the panties. Nora stepped into them and took her place in the line of girls that had formed at the door.

After a time, all the girls were waiting in line, all wearing some manner of lingerie. Miss Serko and the girls passed the line, giving the girls a final, hurried once-over.

“Get them out there,” said Miss Serko in a frustrated voice. “They’re starting now!”

And with that, one of the girls moved over to the door with hurried steps and swung it open. Nora couldn’t see beyond, but it seemed to lead into a long, dark hallway.

The girl at the front tapped the shoulder of the girl first in line, and the line began to move. The girls all walked at the same pace, which Nora matched. Knowing that whatever purpose she was here for was about to happen, her stomach began to tremble with anxiety, and she could feel a line of perspiration form at the top of her brow.

The hallway that they moved into was hardly lit; only a few lights casting a low, orange glow lined the length of it. They stopped at another door, this one smaller, metal; like a stage door. Nora then saw the girls split off; one moved to the front of the line, the other moved to the back. They were whispering something to the girls in line.

“Put on a wholesome act. Look sweet, but shy,” someone said to one of the girls in a low, rhythmic voice; that same hypnotic, insisting tone.

Then the door opened. The first girl went, then, after five minutes or so, the second. Then the third. Nora was next. She had no choice. She stepped through the door and was blinded by the beaming lights above the long, wooden stage.

Kieran clasped the cool ivory of the antique bidding sign as he looked with approval at the girl on stage. She was beautiful, with innocent features and a lithe, graceful body. And her hair… strikingly red.

“What do we think, boys? Was I right, or was I right?” the auctioneer said, not a little impressed himself with the specimen on stage. “Like something from the old country.” He winked in the direction of the Irish group.

There was something else about her, thought Kieran, waiting with eager impatience for the bidding to begin; something different from the other girls. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Aye,” said Ian, his voice low and whispered, “you finally see something you like up there?”

Kieran said nothing, but his mouth curled into a slight smile.

“About damn time,” said Ian with a smile of his own before turning back toward the stage.

“Bidding for this lovely young thing will start at…” the auctioneer’s voice trailed off. It seemed that he had been given a number to start, but was doing mental calculations to determine a higher number now that he was seeing her in the flesh.

“Fifty thousand!”

A brief chattering spread through the crowd. They didn’t see numbers like this very often, but the auction house knew when they had something on their hands that could fetch such a high price. With a lackadaisical raise of his arm, Kieran placed his bid.

“We have fifty thousand to the Irish gentleman in the back. Do we have fifty-five thousand?”

Kieran spotted a flash of white out of the corner of his eye from the Ukrainians. It was Drugi.

“Fifty-five thousand to the Ukrainian gentleman!”

Kieran shot a look to Drugi, who responded with a shrugged shoulder look that seemed to say, “Can you blame me?”

Kieran’s expression softened. No, he couldn’t. He raised his sign once more.

“Sixty thousand to the Irish gentleman!”

Kieran did some quick calculations, thinking how much money he could spend. He had yet to purchase a girl from any of the annual auctions, which gave him a substantial amount of cash to play with. And he knew he’d need it all.

“Do we have sixty-five thousand?”

Another sign shot up, and Kieran’s eyes tracked it. It belonged to someone in the Polish society, but he couldn’t see who.

“That is sixty-five thousand! Do we see seventy-five thousand?”

Drugi’s sign went up.

“Seventy-five thousand to the gentleman in the navy suit. Do we have eighty-five thousand?”

Kieran moved to raise his sign.

“One hundred thousand!” a voice called out in silken, allegro tones.

Murmuring erupted through the crowd of seated men. The six-digit ceiling was rarely cracked.

Kieran craned his neck and moved in his chair to see who the voice belonged to. Sure enough, it was Marcus Ricci, one of the newest members of the Italian society. Though he was only recently turned, his ostentatious, flamboyant nature was already making waves. He was bold, brash, and above all, impudent. Already wealthy from before his turning, Marcus had wasted no time in using the elevated levels of energy that came with being a vampire to increase his fortune even further. Kieran had heard rumors that Marcus had recently purchased one of the most expensive penthouses in the East Village, where the Italians lived, but it had to be merely rumors. Kieran knew there was no way the status-conscious Italians would allow an upstart to pull a move like that.

Kieran looked at Marcus, noting his curled and swept-back coal-colored hair, his aquiline nose with long nostrils, and scheming, scouring eyes. His lips were tomato-red and curled into what seemed like a permanent smug sneer.

“One hundred thousand!” called the auctioneer.

“One-ten,” called Drugi.

The auctions tended to move like this: Gentlemanly, incremental increases of five thousand until the hundred mark was hit, then it was a slug-fest.

Kieran looked again at the girl on stage, at her comely face and slender body, and asked himself if she was worth it.

Yes, she is.

“One-twenty-five,” he called.

Drugi shot him a surprised look, then waved his hand toward Kieran in a motion that seemed to say, fine, you want her? She’s all yours. He then tossed his sign onto the table and finished his vodka with a quick swig.

“One-fifty,” called Marcus.

“One-seventy-five,” said Kieran in response, not missing a beat.

“Hey, I know you’re sweet on this one, but you got the funds for this?” asked Ian, leaning in and talking in a low whisper.

Kieran said nothing in response.

“Two hundred,” said Marcus.

Now the room was in a mild commotion. Vampires from each society were talking amongst themselves, gesturing to Kieran and Marcus with hands holding drinks, trying to figure out who these two men were, exactly, and just what was so exceptional about this girl on stage beyond her obvious beauty. The rest of the vampires of the Irish society looked toward Kieran with worry; they were pleased that one of their own could throw money around like this, but the question of whether he had it to spend was another matter entirely.

Kieran thought for a moment, rubbing the tip of his index finger against the cool, polished ivory handle of the bidding sign. He knew that all the eyes of the room, the hundreds of men of the society of vampires, were on him.

“Two-twenty,” he said, his voice loud, but impassive.

More murmurs and chattering rippled through the crowd.

“Two-fifty,” said Marcus, his eyes flicking over to Kieran for a brief moment. He wanted to see how Kieran would react, but didn’t want him to see that he was looking. But Kieran saw.

The room was quiet and gripped with anticipation. The auctioneer maintained his professional demeanor, and awaited the next move from either of the two men. Kieran could see Drugi’s face painted with a wide-eyed expression of incredulity.

“The fuck’re ya doin’, man? You got this kind of money?” said Ian, keeping his voice to the same low whisper.

“Three hundred,” Kieran said.

Upon hearing these words, many men in the room dropped the cool façade and began to outright talk amongst themselves, wondering in confused, expletive-laced terms what was going on, who was this this Irish upstart and the redhead he was bidding on, where, exactly, did he get all this money, and so on.

Kieran waited for Marcus to react. He knew that he had the money, if he wanted to spend it. But was he acting with the same strange impulse to buy this girl that Kieran was?

His question was answered by Marcus tossing his bidding sign on the table and throwing up his hands in an exaggerated, open-palmed gesture of defeat.

“She’s all yours, my friend, for whatever good it does you,” he called out before taking a slow sip from his glass of bloodwine.

“Sold for three hundred thousand dollars to the Irish gentleman,” said the auctioneer in a grand, proclaiming voice, followed by a slamming of the mallet on the podium.

The girl was led off the stage, the soft tinkling of her chains audible in the silence of the hall. Despite the drama of the girl’s auction, there was no pause in the events of the evening. After she was taken from the stage, the next girl was brought on, bid on, and sold off… for a price much lower than three hundred thousand dollars.

When Nora’s bidding was done, she was rushed from the stage and into a small, room appointed with elegant, Louis XIV-style furniture. She took a seat on the couch, and sat in silence, her head still swimming from what had just happened.

Some kind of bidding, that was? She could hear the Irish come out, even in her own head.

She realized that it was an auction of some kind, though for what, exactly, she didn’t know. Who were those strange men, all clad in expensive suits, and all seeming to wear the same expressions: Serious, but trimmed with the haughty arrogance of aristocrats.

The thought of what they were bidding for made her stomach tie into tense hot knots. She thought of the likely answers: Sex slave, live-in maid… organ harvesting. Her stomach became sick at the thought of that last option, and she crossed her delicate arms over her smooth, flat stomach.

No, if that’s what they wanted, they wouldn’t go to all the trouble of dressing us up like this.

But that just made her more certain that this was some kind of black market sex slave operation, which only made her a bit less fearful.

And the price that she’d fetched; why? She couldn’t understand what caused those men to bid such large amounts of money. She had always considered herself, at best, cute. And that was on a good day. Never would she have priced herself in the hundreds of thousands of dollars, were she told to do such a thing.

She stood up and began pacing back and forth, her heels landing on the carpet with thin thuds. There was a mirror in the room, and she caught a glimpse of herself as she paced. The high-waisted black panties hugged her hipbones, accentuating her curves. The bra pushed her modest bosom up, but not in the in-your-face, look-at-me way that Nora was used to seeing among the middle-aged housewives who were the mothers of her students.

That Mrs. Serko seemed like a bit of a bitch, but she knew what she was doing. Nora looked over her shoulder and admired the fullness of her rear end in the mirror.

Then she froze, remembering that she was supposed to be pretending to be in some kind of zombified state and wondering if there were cameras watching her every move. With the same slow, deliberate steps that she had been taking throughout the evening, she walked back to the couch, sat down, and folded her hands across the rosy-white skin of her thighs.

The door flung open, and two of the suited men entered and looked Nora over. She kept her eyes forward, her head as still as a stone.

“This the one?” said one of the men, his voice crisp and professional.

“Yeah, Miss Three Hundred K,” said the other.

“What do you think; worth it?” asked the first man.

“When I’ve got that much money to spend on fresh meat, I’ll let you know.”

Fresh meat?

“Okay, let’s get her to the buyer.”

The first man kneeled in front of Nora, removed his sunglasses, and spoke in the low, suggestive tone that she had been hearing all night. “Stand, and come with us. Follow three steps behind us.”

She complied, and rose.

The men filed out of the room, and Nora followed. She wondered who this buyer was. Just who was this man who saw her on stage for, at most, five minutes, and decided to spend what Nora would be lucky to make in half a decade? Her heels clicked on the stone floor of the hallway, and the air was damp with a strange, musky smell, like a wine cellar, or a cave. The hallway seemed to go on forever, just a thin hall with doors evenly-spaced and across from each other; green rooms for all the girls as they awaited their buyers.

After a time, they reached the end of the hallway, which was capped with a door of the same exquisite, crafted quality that Nora had grown used to seeing in this strange place. She wondered where she was, if she was even still in New York. If so, she wondered who, exactly, was paying for this massive establishment. There were clearly deep pockets behind this enterprise.

One of the men opened the door, and, with a quick, stabbing gesture, indicated for Nora to pass through. Once she entered, the door was shut with a low, slow creak.

The room she entered was large, with walls of mirrors, and lined with flowers that sat in pots atop golden pedestals of varying height. The room smelled of a swirl of floral scents, and strange warmth seemed to emanate from a source that Nora couldn’t determine. Aside from the large door that she entered from, another door, this one simpler in design, was on the other side. Above her, an ornate chandelier of dangling crystals hung from the vaulted ceiling.

Nora could see herself from every angle in this mirrored room, and the lighting was warm, soft, and flattering. Everything about the room seemed to be designed to appeal to the senses. Nora stood still among the opulence, wondering how much longer she would have to maintain this charade of hypnosis.

Then, the door on the opposite side she entered from clicked and opened in a slow sweep, and a man stepped through.

He was so strikingly beautiful that Nora’s knees weakened. He was tall, nearly a head taller than Nora, and his face was white, even paler than Nora’s skin, the color of a fresh sheet of snow. His nose was slim but strong, his jaw was wide and angled, and his lips were red, as though filled full with rich, pulsing blood. His hair was long, resting on his shoulders with the weight of crushed velvet curtains and capped his head in a deep, chestnut brown. He was dressed in a suit tailored with immaculate craftsmanship; it emphasized every angle of his lean, but muscular, body.

He strode over to Nora with imperious steps, his polished black dress shoes clicking on the smooth stone floor. As he closed in on Nora, her eyes were drawn to his. They weren’t the hot gold color of the other men. This man’s eyes were a brilliant shimmering green, lush, like thick rainforest leaves glistening with a morning rain.

The man walked around her in a slow lazy circle, one hand in a pants pocket and the other clasped-shut in front of his mouth, the tips of his thumb and index finger against his pillowy lips. He looked with the inspection and scrutiny of an art collector confirming the quality of his latest acquisition. And through this all, Nora stood still, though she could feel the tight knot of anxiety in her stomach unwinding and dissipating in a warm pool of strange, tight heat that radiated lower in her body. Much lower.

As he walked around her, a strange scent trailed behind him, a smell that was heavy with musk, but clean, like raw cloves. Nora found the smell to be irresistible and had to fight the urge to bring in a deep inhalation through her nose. He stepped close only once, to take a look at Nora’s hearing aid, which he regarded with an indifferent “hmm.”

After a time, he came to a stop behind her. Nora could feel his presence, and a wave of pinpricks traveled down her neck and back.

“You may be free, now,” he said in a low, sonorous voice, as he withdrew a small, bronze key from his suit jacket pocket and undid her chains, which clanked onto the ground in an irregular pile.

Nora tensed, unsure how to imitate the hypnosis dropping her from its grip. She decided to loosen her body, like a puppet whose wires had been snipped. But she caught herself before the feint would’ve required her to drop her body onto the ground in a heap. She then stood up in her normal posture. Then she allowed her panic to flash across her face.

“Who are you? Where am I? What the fuck is going on?” she said, turning to the man and speaking in frantic, hurried tones.

He responded by holding up one hand, his palm toward her. “Calm down,” he said, annoyed by her sudden turn from docile statue to panicked woman. “You’re in Brooklyn.”

“That doesn’t do me much good,” said Nora, scanning the man with frightened eyes. Even in the midst of her fear, her immediate attraction to this man occupied a not-insignificant portion of her conscious thoughts.

“The exact address isn’t important; we’ll be leaving in a few minutes, and you’ll never see this place again.”

“But—”

He raised his hand again, and with the other, reached into his suit jacket interior pocket, withdrew his phone, and dialed in a number.

“I’m ready,” he said, before hanging up and replacing his phone.

He looked over Nora once more, a look on his face that she couldn’t quite understand. It was that same expression of professional assessment, but now laced with something else. She took advantage of her freedom to not have her eyes locked forward to search him with her gaze, hoping to find something out about this man who had purchased her, but to no avail. His face was inscrutable.

“Please,” she said, a whimper escaping her throat, “just tell me what’s going on.”

“What is your name?”

“Nora,” she answered reluctantly.

“This is the assessment room, Nora,” he said, turning toward the door that he’d entered from. “It’s bad form to converse with the merchandise here.”

“The ‘merchandise?’” she said, feeling weak in the knees.

Then, the door opened again, and Mrs. Serko stepped through, her long, heel-clad leg slicing in through the darkness. She approached Nora and the man, and joined him in looking over Nora.

“Everything you thought she’d would be, Mr. O’Brien?”

“Yes. I’m pleased with my purchase,” he said, before adding a terse, “so far.”

“Well, good. Highest price of evening, this one. I trust your payment for this little number will be prompt and in full?” she said, a trace of uncertainty hanging from her words.

“Of course,” he said, not removing his eyes from Nora.

“Very good. I check the records and see that this girl your first purchase since, ah, joining our organization. So protocol is this: You have any problem, you let us know. But within twenty-four hours. After that, your problem.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, growing impatient with the formalities.

“Very well, then. The post-auction events are underway, if you’d like to partake.”

She then stepped around Nora, giving her a pleased once-over. “And do enjoy,” she added, before leaving through the door.

He said nothing to Nora, instead beckoning her to follow him with a flippant over-the-shoulder gesture that made her feel like a troublesome child. But, having no other options, she complied, following him into another long hallway, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

After a time, they reached a set of massive, wood double doors with ornate gold handles and flanked by two of the men that, by now, Nora had grown accustomed to. A long tapestry of swirling red, black and gold patterns seemed to reach out to them before terminating at the door. The hallway was lit with hanging wall candles and lined with tall portraits of stern-faced patriarchs clad in clothing from various periods of history.

The men nodded to Mr. O’Brien as they approached, reached for the door handle on their respective sides, and pulled the doors open.

As they opened the doors, the hall that she recognized from the bidding was revealed to her. Though now, instead of being filled with tables of men in a strict arrangement, it was a scene of a lively cocktail party. As Nora and Mr. O’Brien entered, she looked up and around herself, feeling small and vulnerable amidst the vast expanse of the room.

Men clad in suits stood here and there in clusters beneath massive chandeliers, which hung from the seemingly endless height of the ceiling. The men were all engaged in conversation and taking sips from glasses that they all held. The mellow sounds of jazz flowed through the room and over the low din from a quartet of players on the same stage where Nora had recently stood. Waiters all in black darted here and there, removing empty glasses and placing fresh ones in the hands of the men, who didn’t deign to turn and acknowledge the help.

At the men’s sides, most of them, at least, were young women in various stages of undress, many of whom Nora recognized from the dressing room. Some of the girls looked wide-eyed and fearful, others remained statue-still and compliant, and others looked to be taking to their role of arm-décor for their purchasers. It seemed to Nora that it was the buyer’s choice whether to take the girls out of their hypnotized, entranced state. And something else struck Nora as well: The girls’ skin, in comparison to the men. The men, like Mr. O’Brien, were all of wan complexion, ranging from gray ash to ivory white. But the girls, like her, had radiant, healthy complexions. Normal, but a sharp contrast to the skin of these strange men.

Nora stayed close to Mr. O’Brien’s side. Though she barely knew him, it was still more familiarity than she had with any of these other men. As they moved into the room, a young-looking man in a crisp, dark suit hurried over to Mr. O’Brien, an eager, excited look on his face as he weaved through the crowd.

“Aye, this is her,” he said, his accent a lilting brogue that stood out to Nora immediately, “Mrs. Three-K, in the flesh.”

“This is her,” said Mr. O’Brien, the slightest hint of a smile drawing up one of the corners of his mouth. Though Nora was still desperate for any explanation of her current situation, she couldn’t help but feel herself drawn to this strange, handsome man. Sexual heat seemed to radiate from him like a roiling fire.

The other man looked her over. “Yeh, she’s a beauty; you don’t see many girls in this part of the world with this kinda look,” he said, extending his hand and taking one of the tight, coiled braids of Nora’s crimson-orange hair between his index and middle fingers.

Mr. O’Brien shot out his hand with what seemed to Nora to be inhuman speed, and took the other man’s hand away from her hair in a manner that was firm and insistent.

“Hands to yourself, Ian,” he said in a chiding tone.

“Aye, as ye like,” Ian said, raising his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “By the by,” he said, leaning and speaking in hushed, conspiratorial tones, “did you, ah, can she hear us?”

“You could just ask me,” said Nora, growing irritated at being spoken around like she was a dog, or a child.

“That answer your question?” Mr. O’Brien looked away and held up three fingers to one of the serving staff, who nodded in acknowledgement.

“Aye, I supposed it does. To each his own,” Ian said, his eyes lingering on Nora’s curves in a manner that made her feel self-conscious, “though if I were paying what you did, I’d be sending her home with an armed guard.”

“I suppose I’m a little more trusting than most,” Mr. O’Brien said in a sardonic tone.

The waiter returned with three flutes of champagne, one of which Mr. O’Brien slipped into Nora’s hand without looking. Nora then watched something strange. From off the tray, Mr. O’Brien took two small capsules, both the same color of dark cherry red. With a pair of plops, he dropped one into his glass, then Ian’s. The capsules broke apart instantly upon touching the golden bubbly liquid, and spread into it, turning the color of their drinks from a sparkling, light yellow to a murky red.

“To new investments,” said Ian with a smirk as the two men touched their glasses. Nora wasn’t sure if she was invited to this toast, but Mr. O’Brien’s insistent, beckoning eyes let her know that she was.

The three clinked their glasses, though Nora did so with some apprehension.

“And not to mention Marcus scampering about here and there. You got him all cheesed off with that little out-bidding you did. You know how prideful the Booties can be.”

Mr. O’Brien responded with a small flick of his eyebrows as he took a small sip from his glass. Nora drank from her own, and the fresh sparkling wine flowed over her tongue, beginning with a subtle pear flavor and ending with the taste of rich baking apples and the lingering scent of summer grass. It was delicious.

But before the conversation could continue further, a trio of older, distinguished-looking men appeared from the nearby throng of party-goers, who parted like water around a stone as the men walked through.

The men looked strikingly different; one was tall, slim, with a pointed goat’s-beard, another was all brawny muscles under his suit, and the middle was trim, long-limbed and serious-eyed, but all had the same general aesthetic of class and sophistication amid their wrinkles and graying, balding hair. Like everyone else in the crowd, their skin was the same wan white color. They each held a small crystalline glass of the reddish liquid, and they looked over the three of them, paying special attention to Nora and Mr. O’Brien.

“Kieran O’Brien, is it?” asked the balding man in a light, melodic voice that flowed on an Irish accent.

Kieran! Finally, a first name.

“It is,” said Kieran. Nora noticed his body tense into a state that resembled readiness as the men spoke. Ian seemed to be shocked into silence.

“When we saw the events of the evening unfold, we made a little note amongst ourselves to stop by and speak to the man who could spend so very much money on one of the evening’s young ladies,” said the brawny man, looking over Nora as though she were a light snack.

“Manners, Simon,” said the middle man, his voice deeper but rich with those same dulcet, emerald tones. “Introductions first.”

A sly smile appeared on the red lips of the brawny man. “Of course,” he said.

“The tall gentleman is Mr. Murphy; the tough-looking fellow here is Mr. Kelly. And I’m Mr. Walsh,” he said, his hand moving in front of his chest in a swirling, formal gesture.

“Aye,” said Ian, his voice wavering with child-like excitement, “of course we know who yeh are.”

Kieran shot a quick, withering look to Ian, who noticed and responded with a look of embarrassment. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet the three of you,” said Kieran. No handshakes were exchanged among the men.

Nora wanted to speak, to blurt out the questions that were racing through her mind, but something about these three and their bearing, their formality, everything, instilled in her a sense of menace and dread.

A silence hung in the air as the three men looked at Kieran and Nora, sizing the two of them up.

“Well,” said Mr. Walsh, after tipping the last bit of his drink back, “I’ll let you three get back to it.”

The three turned to leave, but just before disappearing into the crowd of pale-skinned, suited men, Mr. Walsh turned back, his eyes closed and finger in the air, as though remembering something. 

“One last thing, Mr. O’Brien,” he said, “do be wary about spending such, well, exorbitant amounts of money in such a pubic venue. You might attract the wrong kind of attention. Not to mention the fact that some of us are… sticklers, for proper protocol.”

And with that, they vanished into the crowd. 

“Who were those three?” asked Nora, still afraid, and now keenly aware of how exposed she was.

“Very important people,” said Kieran, his voice dry and grim.

“Why, the three most important men in the Irish society!” said Ian, his voice charged with adrenaline. “They don’t talk to just anyone, especially newcomers like us!”

Kieran shot Ian another silencing gaze. Ian cut himself off, now aware of just how loose his tongue had become.

“I think I’m ready to leave,” said Kieran, finishing his drink.

“Aye,” said Ian, “I’m sure you’re ready to get home with that little number.”

“I’ll see you at the next gathering,” said Kieran.

With that, Ian raised his glass and nodded in farewell. Kieran then took Nora by the hand, turned, and began to lead her toward the door that they entered from.

Nora and Kieran weaved through the tight knots of the crowd, but when they reached the door, they encountered another group of men who stood before them, blocking their path.

These men were different from the elegant older gentlemen who’d spoken with Kieran. They were younger, dressed in flashy suits of jackets with paisley inlays and shirts of bold reds and greens. They wore watches and necklaces of gleaming gold, and black loafers all polished to a mirror-shine. One of the men stood in front of the group, his curled hair slicked back, and his face wearing the same impudent smirk as the rest of them.

Nora, after a brief moment, recognized the man: He was the other man who’d bid on her.

“Three hundred thousand?” he said, walking toward them with a short-stepped strut. “I don’t know about that. But a fine little chickadee nonetheless.”

“I don’t have time for this, Marcus,” said Kieran, his voice low, nearly a growl.

“Hey, no need to get hostile on me,” he said, moving in a loop around Nora, looking her over in a way that made her feel exposed and uncomfortable. “I just wanted to make sure to congratulate the man who so completely outbid me.”

But when he moved behind Nora, he stopped, moved in, and took a closer look at the side of her head. At her hearing aid. “Ah, but what is this? It looks like this girl of the night is, ah, defective merchandise.”

Nora’s hand shot up, covering her hearing aid with a cupped palm.

“Maybe if you talk to the daddies in charge, they might, ah, let you swap her out for store credit.” His voice was muffled through Nora’s covered hearing aid.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but he didn’t have the chance. With blinding speed, Kieran moved to Marcus, stopping only when he was mere inches from his smirking face.

“Last chance to get out of the way,” said Kieran.

The two men stood like this for what seemed like hours.

Finally, Marcus stepped back, his hands raised in mock defeat. “Always so serious, Kieran. I say you come out with us some night, enjoy the city. Maybe bring this little one along before, well, you do with her what will need to be done.”

Nora looked at Kieran, shock on her face. He said nothing, still glaring at Marcus, his jaw tensing and releasing.

What does he mean by that?

Not saying another word, Kieran grabbed Nora by her slender wrist and led her through the throng of Italians. This was the first time that Kieran had touched her since the auction, and the sensation of his skin, cool and smooth, against hers sent a surge through her body like electricity as they strode down the amber lights of the hallway.

Eventually, after turning a few corners, they reached a small, steel door. Nora could feel the air grow colder as they approached it and knew that they had reached the exit. Kieran leaned forward and pushed the door open, and a whoosh of chilly evening air rushing into the hallway. Nora braced against the cold, which Kieran noticed. A twinge of annoyance on his face, he slipped off his suit jacket and draped it over Nora’s shoulders. The silk lining felt luxurious on her cold skin, and that same musky scent rushed up and around her face. The scent was so overwhelming that the discomfort of the cold slipped her mind for a moment.

When the intoxication from his scent faded, Nora looked beyond the door and saw that a sleek black car was waiting for them, another one of the suited men standing in front of the passenger’s side door. They stepped out into the parking garage, which was lit with long lines of soft orange lights that lit the area without giving the feel of a dirty concrete parking area. This was clearly, to Nora, the luxury edition of parking garages.

The man gave a soft nod as he handed Kieran the keys. Kieran unlocked the doors with a button press on the fob, opened the driver’s door, and, with a gesture to Nora, got in. She slid into the soft, leather seats of the car, and noticed right away that they were heated. The car’s dashboard was crossed with various numbers in soft, blue LED lighting and made of polished dark wood. It was a luxury sports car, and Nora wondered what was worth more, it or her apartment.

Kieran revved the engine before proceeding. As they made their way to the exit, Nora noted the other cars in the garage. All were expensive, sleek, and dark-colored.

What’s going on here? What the hell is this society? she wondered as they passed the rows and rows of toys for wealthy, elite men.

They exited and pulled out into the cool New York evening.

Not wanting to wait another moment for answers, she turned to Kieran, his handsome face in a tight, focused glower as they turned down the city streets.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Nora said.

“I’ll explain when we’ve arrived,” he said, still looking forward, his voice terse.

“Explain now,” she said, her voice a firm tone that she wasn’t used to hearing coming from her mouth.

Silence filled the air as Kieran drove down the Brooklyn streets. The orange lights of the city night went up and down the towering buildings on both sides of the road, and through the grid of the city Nora could occasionally see the twinkling waters of the East River as they reflected the light of the full moon above. The amber rows of the buildings around them were a soft blur as Kieran peeled through the lanes of Williamsburg.

“It’s a gentleman’s society,” he said, his voice calm atop buried frustration from the encounter with the Italians.

“Bullshit,” said Nora, “tell me what kind of society.”

Kieran said nothing, instead keeping his eyes forward as the sports car made the turn from the Williamsburg Bridge onto FDR drive. Now the East River was completely visible to Nora’s right, the Brooklyn skyline now fading into a mass of twinkling rows behind them. Driving was a luxury that she couldn’t afford in New York, and part of her wanted to simply sit back and enjoy the ride. But the need to know where she was, where she was going, and just who this man driving her was won out over any other desire.

“I’ll tell you when we get to my apartment,” he said, “but right now I need to focus.”

“Your apartment?” said Nora. “What makes you think that I want to go to your apartment? Or that you have any right to take me there?”

“Well,” he said, his voice lowering to a smooth honeyed tone, “in case the events of the last few hours were unclear to you, you’re now my property.”

“Well, in case what country you’re in is unclear to you, you can’t own someone as property. All I need to do is find the nearest NYPD officer and tell him that some psycho thinks he bought me and I’ll be back home, and you’ll be in jail.”

“Try that, see how far it gets you,” Kieran said, with a condescending tone, as though speaking to a stubborn child. “You’d be hand-delivered by the city’s finest to my apartment within an hour.”

“What are you talking about?” Nora asked as they peeled off FDR Drive and entered the maze of glistening skyscrapers of Midtown.

“This isn’t some gentlemen’s club you’ve gotten involved with; this is something bigger,” he said, whipping onto 42nd Street and weaving around the slower-moving cars, who honked at him as he passed.

“Then tell me.”

“In time.”

Nora was brimming with frustration, but she sensed that continuing to press Kieran for more information before he was ready to give it would be like wringing water from a dry towel. Instead, she slumped back into her seat and crossed her arms over her breasts, feeling a combination of scared, angry, and ridiculous.

They went along 42nd until they reached 8th Avenue, which Nora recognized from the glittering marquee of the Majestic Theater.

Yeah, I could really go for a Broadway show right about now. Nora kept her thoughts dry in order to avoid sinking into the feeling of terror that bubbled like a swamp at the pit of her stomach.

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” she asked.

“Hell’s Kitchen.”

Nora didn’t know much about this part of town. She knew from stories her grandmother told her about the history of her Irish immigrant relatives that it was a hotbed for crime and violence back in the 18th century. Gangs like The Gophers and The Parlor Mob kept a strict, if blood-soaked, order around the area back when the police didn’t have the manpower to be everywhere at once. Though make no mistake, she remembered her grandmother telling her, this kind of order had nothing to do with the justice system.

But Hell’s Kitchen was a different story now, and Nora could tell this by the clean manicured look of the streets as they made their way into the neighborhood. The area was a different sort of hotbed now: One of gentrification. The few times Nora had been here, she’d seen that the gangs of her grandmother’s stories had been replaced by attractive young couples pushing strollers. It was a prime spot for the gay community as well; Nora sometimes wondered if there were more French Bulldogs and Shih Tzus here than people.

Nora gazed out the window at the reflection of the amber lights of the city on the random puddles of water on the streets and sidewalks. Eventually, Kieran made a sharp turn into a small side street. Then they stopped, and before them was a massive, metal door. Kieran reached up, pressed a small button on the sun flap, and the door rumbled up and into the roof of the building.

 Of course, this guy’s got a private parking garage. Nora realized that she’d seen more wealth up close in the last few hours than she’d probably seen over the course of her life up to that point.

Kieran slid into his parking spot, and they both exited the car. She followed him to the dark mahogany doors of a private elevator, which slid open as they approached. The elevator walls were lined with red satin that was soft against Nora’s still-bare shoulders. The doors slid shut, and the elevator began to rise with a hum that increased in volume. Nora looked over at Kieran as the elevator ascended; the tension that marked his face during the drive over seemed to be dissipating, though his brow remained tight and knitted.

The next seconds passed in silence as the elevator rose, and the questions that Nora had were roiling in her like crashing waves. Now that they were about to be alone, he had to explain to her what was going on, why she was kidnapped, why she was put in lingerie and made to walk a stage in chains, why this strange, handsome man leaning against the elevator wall spent so much money on her to… what? Have a live-in maid? Or a sex slave? But as those last words crossed her mind, as she spoke them in her mind’s voice, she felt that same hot, tight feeling, the words lolling in her mind as she looked at his outline out of the corner of her eye—the strong, jutting jaw, the piercing gaze that could melt steel, the body of dense, taut muscle obvious under his suit.

Then the elevator emitted a soft ding, and the doors slid open.

Nora’s apartment was small, cozy, and, though she had only been there for a time, was on the verge of feeling like home. But it wasn’t much, just a studio of a few hundred square feet, a simple bed, a small TV, and a handful of Ikea furniture that she was able to buy with the money she scraped together before moving here. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. 

Nora’s cozy little apartment, however, could’ve easily been tucked away into a small corner of Kieran’s penthouse home and forgotten.

The first thing she noticed when the gold doors of the apartment slid open was the view. The walls to Kieran’s apartment were glass from top to bottom, and the glittering, golden skyline of lower Manhattan seemed to sprawl on forever against the deep black of the night sky. Then, when the automated lights of the apartment blinked on, the rest of the home became visible to her.

The apartment was a wide, open room, decorated in a clean, simple style. In the center of the room was a recessed middle wherein sat several couches of deep, black leather. The ceiling was high and flat, and traced with lines of soft, clear lighting fixtures, and when the lights turned on, the black marble fireplace crackled to life. There were a few pieces of minimalist art here and there, along with sculptures of designs of strange, hard angles, but beyond that, there was very little in the way of adornment, as though Kieran realized that nothing he could put on the walls would match the splendor of the view.

Kieran strode past her and into the open expanse of the apartment. He rolled his sleeves up, exposing his forearms, which were as white as cotton, but thick and toned. He turned to Nora and beckoned her with a flippant “come here” flick of his fingers.

Her eyes still wide from the view, she obliged, moving into the space with small steps.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice a low purr.

Nora said nothing, instead walking around, her mouth agape.

Who is this guy? Nora wondered, looking over Kieran as he fixed a pair of drinks. He can’t be any older than thirty; how could someone so young afford a place like this? Is he one of those finance guys? Or maybe just someone with a lot of family money.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, placing another one of those small, red capsules in his drink before gesturing to the longer of the couches in the recessed section of the room. Nora obeyed and slid into the soft leather, which was cool against her skin. Kieran came over and handed her a drink, which she took, against her better judgment.

She took a small sip; it was vodka and some kind of lime flavoring. She allowed the sweetness of the lime and the sharp astringency of the vodka to wash over her palate for a moment. But as soon as she drew it down with a heavy swallow, she snapped into awareness of her situation, and her eyes began to narrow.

“Okay,” she said, setting down the drink onto the glass coffee table with a clink, “tell me just what the fuck is going on.”

Kieran made a slight exhalation through his nostrils and took a sip of his drink. He reached over to the far end of the coffee table, took a pair of black coasters, and tossed them onto the table before setting his on top of one. He then looked at Nora with an insistent glare, and with a sigh, she placed her drink on the coaster closest to her.

“Sorry,” he said, “but I like my place to be in order.”

“Fine,” she said, “but tell me what’s going on.”

Kieran crossed his legs, exposing his socks, which were black with thin white stripes, and sat back into the couch. “You’re meat,” he said, a slight twinge of pain to his voice, as though admitting a long-kept secret.

Nora’s vision became blurry. She fell back into her seat, a feeling of lightheadedness overwhelming her. “M-meat?” she said, her voice weak. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Where to begin?” Kieran said, his voice trailing off.

Nora regained her bearings, and her eyes went immediately to Kieran’s glass, red-tinged, just like the drinks of everyone else at the gathering.

“Start with that; what’s that? Why is your drink red?”

Kieran leaned forward and traced the rim of his glass with the tip of his index finger. “It’s blood.”

Nora’s eyes widened. “Blood?”

“Yes. A blood extract, essentially.”

Nora leaned forward. “And why are you drinking blood? Is this some kind of fucked-up cult?”

“Something like that,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. “We’re what you humans know as vampires.”

Nora became even more dazed. This must be some kind of joke. “Stop this bullshit right now and tell me the truth.”

His eyebrows raised. “But I just did.”

Nora was unconvinced, but decided to not press the point. “And what was tonight? Why was I kidnapped? Why was I sold? Why am I here?”

Kieran stood up, took his drink, and walked over to the glass wall, the towering spires of the city glowing against his silhouette. “We have something of an arrangement with this city. As I’m sure you know through your movies and books, consuming humans is an important part of the vampire way of life.”

Nora tensed, wondering if running for the door was an option. But she decided to listen.

“We came here from the old world over a hundred years ago, when immigrating to America was the dream of every heart in Europe. And our people had power. We ruled the nights, and our wealth and influence affected the course of nations. But just as we had our lineage, so did the hunters. And their numbers grew with each generation as those who wished revenge for their slain kin joined their ranks.

“And then there were those of us who gave themselves over completely to the blood. They embraced the death, the destruction of life, the light of life draining out of their victims’ eyes as they drank the last drops of blood that coursed through their veins. They had no place in our society. But despite our total disavowal of them and their ways, we were still considered one and the same by the humans who knew of us.”

He took another drink and closed his eyes for a moment, his face cast in a ghostly orange pallor from the city lights.

“So, toward the end of the nineteenth century, many of us, from different nations, decided to start new societies in the New World, to leave the mistakes of the past in the nations of Europe.”

Nora sat back once again, taking a sip of her drink and letting what Kieran was telling her settle in her mind. “And you’re the Irish?”

“Yes,” he said, “the Irish settled in this part of the city, in Hell’s Kitchen. The Italians are in the East Village, the Ukrainians in the West, and the Polish across the river in Greenpoint.”

“And the city knows about you?”

“As much as we wanted to stay hidden, we could only lurk in the shadows for so long. Eventually, those we drained were found in large enough numbers for the police to notice a pattern, and we were discovered.”

“But… why didn’t they just make you leave the city? Or kill you?”

“By the time they learned of us, the wealth that we had brought to New York had already worked its way into the city. We owned property… and politicians. To leave would’ve sent the city into a tailspin. So, we came to an arrangement with humans. We would cease regular feedings. In their place, we would have a yearly auction in which hundreds of humans would be bid upon. And those humans would be the only feedings of the year.”

Nora knew that she should’ve been feeling fear at this revelation. After all, Kieran had just admitted that he’d purchased her for the purpose of killing her and drinking her blood. But something put her at ease. Something in the way he was openly offering this information gave her the impression that he had other plans for her.

“So, that’s what you’re going to do with me? Feed on me?”

He turned to face her, a look of mild uncertainty on his face. “No. At least, I think no.”

Nora took a long sip of her drink. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“It should be. If that other vampire, the Italian, had won the bid, well, let’s say that you wouldn’t be sitting comfortably and enjoying an evening drink.”

Nora was stunned. If it weren’t for Kieran, she would be dead by now.

“So, what is it about me?” said Nora. “Why aren’t you going to kill me? Why spend so much money on me?”

“I… don’t know,” he said, a pained look crossing his face that seemed to indicate that even he wasn’t sure of why he had done what he did. “I just knew that when I saw you up there, I had to have you. At any cost.”

“Sympathy for a fellow fair folk?” she asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Ha. Who knows,” he said, allowing himself a whisper of a smile.

Nora drummed on the side of her glass with her delicate fingertips. “So… does that mean you’re going to let me go?”

“No,” Kieran said, his face turning grim once again. “Buyers have one week to dispose of their… merchandise. After that, it’s a violation of society law to keep them. The punishment for such a violation is… severe, to say the least.”

“Then just let me leave,” she said, her voice a pleading tone, “I’ll leave the city; I won’t come back.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then what, I have to sit around and wait until you decide whether you’re going to kill me?”

He hesitated for a brief moment, finished his drink, and leaned against the glass behind him. “I’ll figure something out; I need to find out what it is about you. There’s something to you, something that neither of us know about, but can both sense.”

Does he mean my “gifts?” Nora considered telling him, but decided to wait until she could get a better sense of how he’d react.

“But in the meantime, you’re not to leave the apartment. I have several bedrooms; you’re more than welcome to any one you’d like. I’ll be… indisposed during the day. If you give me your word you won’t leave, I can refrain from restraining you.”

She hesitated

“Let me say this: If you left, you would be found. And if you’re found, that means a quick end for both of us, if we’re lucky.”

She realized that as strange and horrible as this situation was, there didn’t seem to be any way out of it. For the time being, at least.

“Fine,” she said, feeling frustrated, but less afraid. “Just as long as you can promise that nothing will happen to me while I’m here.”

His countenance softened at this. “I promise,” he said, his voice warm and comforting.

“Okay, then just tell me where I can sleep.”

At this, he rose and walked past her, gesturing for her to follow him. The walked down a long hallway off the main room, which was just as spare and neat as the rest of the apartment. They reached a door, which Kieran opened.

“This should be suitable for tonight,” he said, as the door opened and revealed a massive bedroom. It had the same glass walls as the rest of the apartment, and the east side of Manhattan and Long Island beyond were visible.

“Yeah, this should be okay,” Nora said, stepping into the room.

“If you need anything, please, help yourself,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

Nora, alone for the first time since this strange, terrifying evening began, wanted to sit, collect her thoughts, and formulate a plan for how to get out of this predicament. Part of her wanted to plot an escape, despite the warnings. And part of her just wanted to think, to figure out the best course of action to survive these next few days.

Instead, she collapsed face first on the soft white sheets of the bed, and fell into a restless slumber within seconds.

When Nora awoke, she expected daylight. But when she opened her eyes it was still dark, the city beyond still twinkling with white and honey-colored lights. She reached for her phone, but remembered that it, along with whatever else she had on her when she was taken, was gone. She looked around for a clock, and found one, a simple, black-and-white clock inlayed with Roman numerals, hanging on the wall.

Four o’clock, it read; she had only been asleep for a few hours.

But she felt awake and alert, and her body was still tense from the events of the evening. She stood, placing her bare feet on the soft, plush carpet beneath her. Then, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked out the window. Under any other circumstance, being in a bedroom like this would be an unthinkable luxury for a girl like her, but now it only served to remind her of the situation she was in. Anxiety began to well in her, and any hope of sleep vanished.

She looked out the window, off into the distance, the twinkling oranges and whites of the city lights an endless, stellar sprawl. She thought about what Kieran had told her, about being a vampire. It then occurred to her that there was a very good chance he was making everything up, that he was just as in on it as the rest of them, and this was all some kind of elaborate plot to lull her into a false sense of security before moving into the next stage of his real plan.

But then she thought about the hypnosis that the men performed, about the pallid, corpse-like skin that everyone in the society had, and the red capsules that gave their drinks the color of faded gore. She didn’t know what to believe. She pushed the thoughts of what, exactly, was going on out of her mind as best she could as she stood up and looked around the room.

The bedroom was large, much bigger than her apartment, but like the rest of Kieran’s home, sparsely-appointed. There was a dresser made of white birch, and a walk-in closet that was completely empty.

What a waste. She imagined what it would look like filled with the types of luxurious and elegant clothes that a woman who could afford to live in an apartment like this would wear.

There was nothing in the room with which to occupy herself.

Well, Kieran did say that I could help myself to anything here…

With some trepidation, she left the bedroom and stepped into the hallway, then into the main room. Kieran was nowhere to be found. Though the lights were still on, the apartment was deathly silent. She raised her hand to her ear, to make sure her hearing aid was still in place. It was, and as she touched it, feeling the cool plastic with her fingertips. She wondered if her disability had anything to do with why the men at the auction were unable to hypnotize her.

She put aside these speculative thoughts as she walked toward the space near the window where Kieran had stood earlier. And when she reached the spot, she noticed something that had been blocked from her view before by one of the bookshelves. A small stairway led up, to a door in the ceiling. Deciding that some fresh air would do her good, she moved with quick steps to the liquor cabinet, made herself a small drink, and went back to the stairs, which seemed to me made of simple, clear plastic bordered above by a handrail no thicker than her wrist.

Undoing the latch of the door, she pushed it open, the cool air of the evening rushing in. Though there was a chill to the fall breeze, the cold didn’t bother her. She made her way up the rest of the stairs, and stepped out onto the roof. What she saw forced her to pull in a small, sharp gasp. There was a rooftop terrace, a wide, circular area with a 360-view of the city that was even more spectacular than the one from the apartment. Nora could see everything from here: The magnificent Art Deco spire of the Chrysler Building, the faraway skyscrapers of the Financial District, with the World Trade Center towering above them all with its jutting, angled form, and the endless expanse of lighted grids that was Brooklyn. Then she turned, and the long rectangle of Central Park stretched in front of her, its angled form contrasted by the smooth curves of the water and streets that existed within its sharply-defined space.

And standing with her back toward her, his figure set perfectly within the shape of the park, stood Kieran, his arms stretched outward, his hands clasped on the railing that outlined the terrace, the silver shape of the full moon visible in the sky beyond.

The wind was a low, hollow howl as she moved toward him. She wanted to find some way to get his attention, figuring that sneaking up on a vampire was probably an unwise thing to do.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, turning his head just enough for Nora to see his profile backlit by the city lights.

“Not a chance,” she said, moving toward him with hesitant steps, the fingers of both hands wrapped around her drink.

He turned, seeing that she was still in the underwear that she had been wearing since he bid on her.

“You know, I have women’s clothes here,” he said, a sly smirk forming on his mouth.

Nora looked down at her mostly-exposed body, and immediately became self-conscious. It had been a while since she’d had to worry about waking up and a man being around. “It wasn’t exactly the first thing on my mind,” she said, feeling the skin on her face turn a light shade of red.

He slipped out of his jacket once again, walked toward her, and draped it over her shoulders. “As much as I like seeing you in my clothes, we’ll really need to do something about your outfit situation if you’re going to be staying here.”

Just like before, the warmth of the fine material of the jacket and the rich smell of his scent made Nora’s head swim. She took a sip from her drink, and walked with Kieran toward the railing where he had been standing.

“This is quite the place,” said Nora, the wind blowing around them in soft gusts.

“It is. A gift from someone close to me,” he said, looking off into the distance.

“I think I can see my apartment from here,” she said, pointing toward the north end of Central Park.

A moment passed. Nora took another sip of her drink and found her eyes following one of the orange veins of traffic as it moved along the side of the park. The faint sounds of the city—cars honking, sirens, the clanging of trucks along the road—wafted up to them in soft echoes. She found herself standing closer to Kieran. She couldn’t tell if it was from the chill in the air, or something else, but something pulled her toward him.

“This has been an unbelievable night,” said Nora, hoping to coax some conversation out of Kieran.

“Yes, a fitting introduction to our world.”

“But…” Nora hesitated, then blurted, “but…how much danger am I in? Who is that other vampire who wanted me so badly? I just need to know what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.” She could feel tears of fear and frustrating forming in her eyes.

“You’re safe, for now,” he said, putting his large, firm hand on Nora’s shoulder, “and I’m going to make sure you stay that way.”

He took in a short, shallow breath and measured his words carefully. “Marcus Ricci. From the Italian society. An arrogant, troublemaking fool. Our people live and die by our discretion, and vampires like him threaten that with their very nature. He was a wealthy man before he was brought into our fold, and has become even wealthier since. Our people are very conscious of things like status, and power, and having someone like him enter our world with so much influence has been… destabilizing, to say the least.”

“Then why was he even… turned?” she asked, the terminology of Kieran’s kind sounding strange to her as she spoke the words.

“Hard to say. When we bring in new members, it’s a measured, drawn-out process; some might say too drawn-out. We avoid bringing in new blood, so to speak, from those with established wealth, high status, fame for this specific purpose. Some suspect that Marcus found out about our world and paid one of us to turn him.”

“And what do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s here, and unless he breaks one of our cardinal rules, he’ll be here for a long while.”

Nora took another sip of her drink. And as she looked down at her glass, she saw that the distance between her body and Kieran’s had closed even further. She didn’t know what it was; she should be running in fear from this man. But there was something about him, something about his scent, the way he moved, the way he looked her, almost through her, with those eyes that seemed to glow with heat amidst his pallid, cool skin, like twin campfires in tundra.

“But I’ve seen his type before. Hot-blooded and thin-skinned; a dangerous combination. He must’ve seen the same thing in you that I saw. And it’s only because I hadn’t bid on anyone before that I had enough money to outspend him.”

Nora traced the rim of her glass with the tip of her finger. “And… what was it exactly that you saw in me?” she asked, her voice soft.

Kieran finally turned to face her. “It wasn’t a thing, it was a feeling,” he said, again taking time to carefully choose his words. “When you see something, someone, and you know that you need them to be a part of your life.”

By now Nora was even closer to Kieran, the skin of their arms nearly touching. Whatever feeling she was experiencing that was drawing her closer to him, he seemed to be feeling it, too.

Kieran then turned, leaning his side on the railing; Nora did the same. Though he was facing her, he was looking away, off into the distance, his full lips pursed, appearing deep in thought. Nora found her eyes drifting down, staring at his firm, strong hands, up to his thick forearms, which were toned and covered in a smattering of dark hair against pale skin, then to his chest, where the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing the outlines of hard pectoral muscles.

The feeling of hot tightness was returning, and she was becoming aware that this feeling was something that she wasn’t going to be able to resist for much longer. Part of her hoped that Kieran would bid her goodnight, and leave her here alone, not succumbing to the man who now owned her. But the greater part of her, the more insistent part, implored him to see, somehow, how she was feeling, and to make his move.

Kieran turned to her, looking upon her small, delicate frame draped in his suit jacket, her full lips in a glistening pout. Without thinking, he moved his hand up to her face, feeling the soft lines of her jaw against his palm. Nora closed her eyes and leaned in his touch, his skin cool, hers flushed and warm.

Protestations began to form on Nora’s lips, but before they could take form, Kieran leaned in, and took her mouth in a slow, lingering kiss. Nora was shocked, at first, her body tense. But a second of his touch was all it took her to loosen, to lean into the body that was now pressed against hers. At first, the kisses were light and chaste, but as he read her body, his mouth opened enough for his tongue to lick her bottom lip, sending hot, tingling shivers up the goose fleshed skin of Nora’s neck.

Nora sensed the light, oak taste of whiskey on his breath, along with the strange, copper tang of the blood, and the heady scent that surrounded her when she wore his coat was now surrounding her, flowing up and around her like a thick, swirling mist. The scent went straight to her head, making the lights of the city in the corner of her eye blur into a glowing mass.

Nora responded to Kieran’s kiss, slipping her hands into his shirt, feeling the smooth, cool texture of his skin against her fingertips. Her hands moved farther back, until they were behind his shoulders, and she found herself pulling him into her. She hoped that he sensed what this meant, her need to have him close, against her, and wanting this without words. He understood. He matched her movements, slipping his own hands under the suit jacket as he continued to kiss her, and slipped it off her body, leaving her standing there in her bra and panties.

Kieran stood back for a moment, drinking in the sight of Nora standing before him. But only for a moment. Then, he moved toward her with deliberate speed, placed his hands on the curves of her hips, and leaned in. He began to kiss her, starting with the delicate incline of her shoulder, then moving up, along the side of her neck. Each kiss sent a charge down Nora’s body, and she could feel the skin of her legs prickle with gooseflesh. He continued, reaching the small divot behind her ear, kissing her, his tongue giving her skin gentle licks.

Nora took in air in soft gasps as he kissed her. Her hands began to work faster, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and peeling it from his skin. She looked down as Kieran continued, admiring the sinewy tone of his lean, muscular back illuminated by the soft light of the moon. Her hands moved down farther, exploring his upper body. She ran her fingertips along the tight, clean muscles of his hips. And once they reached his belt, she hesitated.

“Do it,” he said, his breath hot against her ear.

Kieran moved back to her lips as she undid the buckle, then the zipper, before pulling his pants down in a swift motion. He stepped out of his shoes and stood before her wearing nothing but a watch, his necklace, and a pair of skin-tight boxer briefs. Nora’s breath began to draw quicker at the sight of his body, and as he moved toward her, taking her in his arms, she was gripped with the fear that he, his essence, would consume her.

Kieran reached around Nora’s back and unfastened her bra, letting it drop to the terrace floor. Nora’s now-bare breasts felt cold in the night air, and her nipples became small and hard. Kieran sensed this, and moved down to her chest, taking the flesh of her breasts into his mouth, one after another. Nora bristled with pleasure as his tongue danced across her nipples, the gentle, wet prodding of his tongue nearly sending her into spasms. As he kissed her breasts, his hands moved down along her body. And when they reached her waist, his fingers wrapped around her panties and pulled them down.

Nora shivered, her body now bare in the evening chill.

“You won’t be cold for long,” he said, rising, and placing his right hand on her inner thigh.

He then took her hand into his, and moved it down his stomach, across the fabric of his underwear, until it rested on the long shape of his now-hard cock.

“How does my cock feel?” he asked.

“So good,” said Nora, dragging the backs of her fingernails against the length of his penis.

“You make me so fucking hard,” he said, whispering into her ear. “From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you, to be inside you.”

Nora’s breath was sharp at his words, and she became wetter the farther he moved his hands up her thigh. He continued to kiss her, and when he reached her pussy, rubbed the length of her lips with the side of his finger.

“I can feel how much you want me,” he said, now rubbing her clit.

Pleasure began to seize Nora, blurring his words. “I... I do,” she said, her voice low and pleading.

At this, Kieran slid his fingers into Nora, first one, then two. At first, his movements were slow, and gentle. But over the next few seconds, he began to move faster inside of her, more rhythmically, massaging her clit with her thumb. The sensation was almost too much for Nora; her knees began to grow weak and her breathing grew sharper and faster, and she was forced to brace herself against the terrace railing just to stay standing.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said in between kisses, still moving his fingers in and out of her. “I need to taste you, right now.

With that, he scooped Nora up by her legs and sat her on the outcropping wall of the barrier. A sly smile on his face, he moved down, spreading her legs apart as he descended. Nora felt self-conscious at first, but her mood changed as soon as she felt the first exhalations of hot breath against her pussy, followed by the first darting explorations of his tongue.

He started slow, teasing her lips with short, quick licks, letting the pressure build in her. Then, he slipped his finger into her, moving in and out of her as he kissed and licked along her inner thighs. After a time, he moved his face closer to her pussy once more, and spread her lips apart with his fingers.

The first touches of Kieran’s tongue against her clit nearly sent Nora into uncontrollable shocks of pleasure. Just like before, he started with gentle teases of the tip of his tongue. But as Nora became more turned on, he began placing the flat surface of his tongue against her clit, moving it up and along her in slow drags, so slow that she could sense the exact texture of his tongue as he moved. He kept this up, unceasing drags of his tongue against her, his fingers still moving in and out of her at a firm, constant rhythm. Nora’s gentle gasps turned into moans as he did his work on her, and her back began to arch. His licks began to grow faster, and greedier, and Nora could feel herself become wetter and wetter with each second. And as he pleasured her, he wrapped one burly arm around her waist. With the other, he reached up, cupping her right breast, kneading it with gentle presses of his fingers and making slow circles around her nipple. The pleasure was overwhelming, and the only thought she could hold in her mind was the screaming, burning need to have Kieran inside her, right now. But he sensed this, and continued to tease her, lapping at her clit, gliding his fingers into her, only taking breaks to lay more kisses upon her inner thighs.

At last, she couldn’t take any more. But she wanted to give something to him, first. She slid her fingers through his now-tussled hair, and beckoned him up. He rose, and in the light of the moon, Nora could see that his lips were glistening with her. He gazed at her with his narrowed, sly eyes, wondering what she had in mind. Placing her hands on his hipbones, she gave him a gentle push back, just enough room for her to move toward him.

Kieran stepped back, and Nora knelt in front of him. He grinned, knowing what was coming, and she returned his grin with hungry eyes. Nora’s face was directly across from the last bit of clothing Kieran was wearing, his tight, form-fitting boxer briefs. Even in the low light of the terrace, she could see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. Wrapping her fingers around his waistband, she pulled down his underwear, and his long, smooth cock sprang out in front of her, already completely erect. She looked at his cock with anticipation. Nora knew she wasn’t the most sexually-experienced girl, and what she was about to do was something she had only done a few times before. But something about Kieran, something about his devious, piercing eyes, his flawless pale skin, and his hard muscular body made the idea of taking him in her mouth unbelievably appealing.

She licked her lips one last time, and, to her surprise, felt Kieran’s firm hand grip the back of her head. He pulled, just enough to send that strange, but intoxicating, mixture of pleasure and pain through her body.

“Suck my cock,” he said, his voice firm.

Nora was ready before, but something about his deep, commanding tone made her even more aroused than she was already. Wrapping her fingers around the base of his shaft, Nora began with quick kisses up and down the length of his penis. Kieran let out low moans as soon as her lips touched him, and she responded by darting her tongue around his cock, taking extra time with the curves of the head. After a minute of this gentle licking and kissing, Kieran could take no more. He took and even firmer hold on her hair, and guided her mouth to the end of his length. Nora then opened her mouth and, with slow, careful movement, took nearly the entire length of his hard, firm cock in her greedy mouth.

“God, that feels so fucking good,” Kieran said, his voice wavering with pleasure.

She moved without haste at first, savoring the taste of him in her mouth. His cock was easily the biggest she’d ever seen, and at first, she didn’t know if she’d be able to properly service it. But after a time, she developed a slow, deep rhythm, moving her right hand up his cock as she sucked, her left hand on his balls, giving them gentle squeezes. She began to move faster and faster, and before too long, she could taste the salty flavor of a dew droplet of cum that formed at the end of his cock.

After a time, he pulled her up with a firm tug on the back of her hair.

“No way am I going to let you finish me like that, not before I’ve put my cock in you.”

Nora felt herself grow even wetter at this; something about his domineering nature was turning her on in ways she’d never thought possible. Putting his hands back on her hips, he pushed her back onto the railing as he had done before, but this time, he stayed standing. He leaned forward and licked her nipples while rubbing her clit with his other hand. She needed his cock in her more than anything she had ever needed, but the pleasure rushing through her body made her nearly mute. Nothing but moans could seem to find their way out from her throat.

“I’m not going to fuck you until you beg me for it,” he said, gazing into her eyes with his, his fingers moving in and out of her.

Nora took in a sharp breath, preparing herself to speak. “Please,” she said, her voice a soft whimper.

“I didn’t quite hear that,” he said, his voice a rich purr, the warmth of his touch bringing her in waves closer to orgasm.

“Please, I need it,” she said, her voice still weak.

“One more time.”

“Fuck me, fuck me right now!” she yelled, her voice propelled outward on a surge of ecstasy. 

With that, he reached down, grabbed his cock by the base, and rubbed the head against her lips, feeling the wet slickness. He felt the flesh of her thighs quiver with anticipation as he began to guide himself into her. Breaking herself out of the expression of wincing, agonized pleasure that her face was locked in, she quieted herself, and looked deep into Kieran’s eyes as she felt the head of his cock against her pussy. He returned the gaze, looking deep into her now-wide eyes, her nodding, her expression one of girlish pleading.

He wanted to keep his cock here, to tease her more, but he couldn’t wait any longer. His hand holding himself into place, he shoved the length of his stiff, hard prick into her with a full-hipped thrust. Nora let out a long moan as he slid into her. At first, she nearly went limp-limbed, but she quickly acclimated to the feeling of his immense girth in her, and responded to his penetration by wrapping her legs around his waist, and grabbing onto his wide, strong shoulders with a firm grip.

His first pumps were slow, letting Nora feel him move in and out of her a millimeter at a time, letting her feel every last bit of him, from his thick shaft to the curves of his head. But he read her face, the hungry look, the need for more of him, faster, and harder. And he gave her what she wanted. Clasping the plush curves of her hips, he held her in place. Then he began to thrust harder and faster.

Nora felt his cock move in and out of her, over and over, a steady rhythm that began to make her body feel like jelly. His first thrusts were only the first few inches of his cock, but as she grew even wetter, he began to pound her, harder and harder, a constant hammering pace. Nora felt her eyes roll into the back of her head as the tempo of his fucking made it impossible to concentrate on anything beyond the feeling of his cock pounding her, over and over, driving into her, deep and hard.

But she took ahold of herself as he continued to fuck her, and saw something different in Kieran’s face, something besides the look of intensity that gripped his beautiful features, and the glistening sheen of sweat that covered his brow like a wet patina. Fangs, white as milk and glistening in the shallow light of the moon.

Nora hadn’t noticed them before. They must’ve been hidden, or pulled up. But something about the way he was pounding her, letting pleasure take hold of him, must’ve made him lose the control required to keep his fangs out of sight.

But as soon as Nora noticed them, she was wracked with the all-obliterating force of the waves of orgasm building and building. Each thrust, each pounding sent her closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy, and the constant tempo of his movement in her was exactly what she needed. But something else gripped her, beyond the crashing waves of pleasure. His fangs.

“Bite me,” she said, her voice a shaking whisper.

“What?” Kieran asked, his voice gripped with an oncoming orgasm of his own.

“Bite me, now.”

His eyes narrowed, and he lifted his torso from her while still fucking her. Now his magnificent, sculpted body was in plain view, and the sight of it brought Nora even closer to the brink. But orgasm remained just out of reach, teasing her and tantalizing her with its nearness, like a specter that flitted into mist as she swiped her hand through it, only to reform before her like a smirking phantasm.

“Are you sure?” he said, his voice barely raising at the end of the sentence.

“Yes,” she said, her own voice breathy, but firm.

With that, he pulled his teeth back into an animalistic snarl, cocked his head back, and snapped his teeth onto her neck as though drawn by magnets.

The feeling at first was that of a slight pinch, not to dissimilar from a shot at the doctor’s. But after that passed, Nora felt the penetration of the pair of warm fangs as they pierced through her skin.

Nora cried out, the feeling of Kieran being inside of her again taking her right to the precipice of release. She could feel his teeth do their work in her neck, drawing out blood by the swallow, his lips a wet, warm seal on the delicate skin. Then, there was a muffled moan from Kieran. His thrusts grew harder, more deliberate. He was just about to come, and so was she.

His release seemed to have the force of a levee breaking. Nora could feel his hot, thick cum shoot inside of her, deep into her, and this feeling was the push she needed to fall into the rich oblivion of orgasm. Her body rocked with quakes of pleasure, and she felt like she was being undone at each joint, as though she were being pulled apart by the forces of ecstasy that tugged at her like winds. Kieran continued his slow, heavy pumping, each thrust releasing more cum into her, each thrust punctuated by an animalistic grunt. Nora’s vision blurred again as the tight pressure at her pussy exploded like a small star going nova, pummeling her body with crashing waves of orgasm. Kieran pulled his head from her as he finished, and she could feel the warm trickle of blood trail down her sticky skin. Her own orgasm began to ebb and fade, her body now melting like soft, pliable putty.

The pace of Kieran’s thrusting slowed, and Nora could feel his cock soften inside of her. His grasp on her hips changed from an urgent hold to a soft rubbing of her curves. Their breath slowed from urgent grunts and pants to slow, steady exhalations. Nora loosened her hold on Kieran’s shoulders and began to drag the backs of her nails against the skin of his hard, taut shoulders. With one final breath, Kieran collapsed forward, resting his head on Nora’s shoulder; she responded by working her fingers through the wet tussles of his hair.

“That was… incredible,” he said, still catching his breath.

Nora smiled and scratched his scalp. “I’ve never been fucked like that before,” she said, “not even including, well, the other thing.”

Kieran looked up at her and smiled “I hope that wasn’t too painful,” he said, scooping the trickle of blood from her neck with the side of his finger and bringing it to his tongue.

“No,” she said, “it was just painful enough. “

Kieran sighed with contentment and nuzzled his head into the side of Nora’s neck. Nora looked beyond him, past the skyline of the city, at the first shades of azure-washed orange as the sun began to rise over the horizon.

“I don’t know everything about vampires,” she said, “but I’m pretty sure that’s not good for you.”

She pointed, and Kieran looked.

“Yeah, that’s my cue,” he said, his voice husky from exertion.

And with that, he stood, scooped Nora up into his arms, and walked back into the apartment, a slight smile playing on his lips.

After depositing Nora in the bed, Kieran went off to his own quarters to sleep. She awoke first, and saw that it was well into the afternoon. It wasn’t like her to sleep so late, and it dawned on her that her students needed to know that she wasn’t going to be coming for their lessons. Not tonight, maybe not ever again. As happy as the idea of being here with Kieran made her, she was developing a sick feeling in her stomach from not attending to her responsibilities. But she accepted her situation. She had no other choice.

She passed the time in Kieran’s apartment, not knowing exactly when he would awaken. Without her phone, Nora felt disconnected from the outside world. She didn’t have much in New York yet, but not being able to leave, having to stay here, made her feel trapped. And the whirlwind of events from the previous night was still not fully processed.

Within a few hours, I go from being food on the auction block to being in the arms of a beautiful dead man. What could possibly be next?

The question was answered when the clock hit five o’clock. A deep, bass whirling sound began from somewhere in the depths of the building and continued for several seconds. Nora looked around with fear, wondering what was happening. Then, heavy, black shades began to descend from the tops of the windows, moving at a slow pace until they reached the bottom of the glass walls that looked out onto Manhattan and set into the bottom with a thick click. Nora was in complete darkness for several moments, until the lights of the apartment flicked on all at once, along with a roaring fire in the fireplace and the soft, lively sounds of classical music from a speaker system built into the ceiling.

Nora looked around, wondering what was going to happen next. But with the lights now on, she noticed something on the long, storm-colored granite countertop: A package, wrapped in a golden bow. Nora approached it, and saw that there was a note on top.

A little something to cover up with. – K

The handwriting was ornate and meticulous. Nora yanked the bow open and lifted the top of the box. Inside was something made of soft black fabric. She lifted it out by the shoulder straps and held it in front of her. It was a beautiful, black dress; simple, but well-made. Nora took another look in the package and saw that there was something more: A few sets of bras and panties, all of them lacy and luxurious. Her head swimming with anticipation, Nora snatched the box off the counter and dashed to her room, her gift tucked under her arm.

After a quick rinse in the three-head shower, she dried off and tried on her new clothes in the walk-in closet dressing area, a three-paneled mirror lined with soft, orange bulbs. The dress fit her perfectly, the expert craftsmanship obvious; every curve was emphasized, and the dark fabric of the dress accentuated her creamy-white skin tone. Kieran knew how to buy a dress.

When she returned to the main room of the apartment, Kieran was sitting at one of the barstools at the kitchen island, a cocktail in hand. Upon seeing her, he stood and walked toward her with pleased, admiring eyes.

“My people did well,” he said, “though I could dress you up in anything and you’d still be beyond gorgeous.”

Nora blushed. “It’s not necessary,” she said, her voice demure.

“I’d say it is, if you’re going to be staying here. As much as I’d like to see you in nothing but what you wore last night, I think there’d be some, ah, logistical issues with that arrangement.”

A small pang of worry hit her stomach. “So, I take it this means you’re not going to kill me?”

Kieran smirked, and nodded. “But, what are you going to do when they find out?”

His expression turned pained and pensive. “That’s… going to be tricky. The penalty for not, well, disposing of the bid-upon item is, severe, to say the least. But I believe it can be circumvented.”

“How?”

“There’s something in the vampire world known as a Drudge. It’s essentially a vampire slave. We charm humans and make them perform various functions, like live-in help, crimes that need doing… sometimes for sexual needs.”

Nora gulped, wondering where this was going.

“Now, I won’t perform the necessary rituals that would put you in this complaint state, but I can, well, say that I have, should anyone notice your presence.”

“Wait,” said Nora, incredulous, “does that mean that I’ll have to stay here… forever?”

“Not forever. Just… for a time.”

Nora was uncertain and worried. Without thinking, she moved her hands along the sides of her dress.

“I should warn you,” he said, his eyes on her hands moving up and down her curves, “you’re making it very hard to concentrate.”

Nora gave a slight smile. “Okay,” she said, uncertainly clear in her voice. “For now.”

“I should make it clear that the penalty for being caught would be a swift death for me, and a different kind of death for you,” he said, his tone dire.

Nora nodded, now understanding the nature of the circumstances that they were both in.

“Now,” said Kieran, closing the last few feet of space that remained between them, “as much as I like to see you in that dress, seeing you out of it sounds even better.”

Nora blushed and smiled, as Kieran moved his hand under the filmy fabric of the dress, and up, along her thigh.

Several days passed as planned, with Nora staying in the apartment, and Kieran telling anyone who asked that yes, he enjoyed his purchase from the auction, and no, he wouldn’t be requiring the complimentary disposal services of the Hell’s Kitchen society. For a while, it seemed that the ruse would be successful. That was, however, before Ian showed up unannounced.

“Aye! You’ve still got this one, huh?” he said, perplexed, when Nora came into the room.

“Yes, she’s still here. And not another word about it,” said Kieran, his voice grim.

Ian ran his hand back through his spiky hair. “Jeez, you know what a no-no this is, right?

Kieran breathed in, barely masking his impatience. “Yes, I’m aware of what a ‘no-no’ it is.”

“And what about you, lady; what do you have to say about this? You talk him out of it at the last minute?” Ian gave Kieran a friendly swipe across the shoulder. “I always knew this one had a soft spot.”

“We’re keeping this secret, for now,” said Nora, her eyes shooting over to Kieran, who made a look that Nora interpreted as “the less said, the better.”

“I’ll say yeh are!” Ian said, shaking his head once again.

After Ian left, Kieran was pensive and dour. Nora tried to ignore it at first, but Kieran was the type of man who, when upset, had a black, dark cloud around him.

“What’s wrong?” Nora asked, running her hand through his hair.

“This was a mistake,” he said, not turning to look at her.

“But, I’m happy here with you.”

“And I’m happy with you here. But this was a foolish thing to do. It’s only a matter of time before someone else shows up and sees you here, or until Ian has a few too many and runs his mouth to the wrong person.”

“Like the Italian?”

“Yes, like Marcus. If he were to find out…” Kieran’s voice trailed off.

“So, are you saying you wish you would’ve just eaten me that first night? Just sucked my blood for real right in the middle of sex?”

That prompted a reaction.

Kieran blasted out of his chair and turned to face Nora, standing inches from her face. “No. I will never regret what I did.”

And with that, he stalked off, to some faraway corner of his vast apartment.

Kieran returned a time later, a grim look on his face.

“Ian was right,” he said, staring deep into Nora’s eyes. “I was foolish to think I could keep you here.”

Conflicted feelings danced in Nora’s stomach. On the one hand, she was happy at the prospect of freedom. On the other, she’d grown close to Kieran over these last few days. Not to mention the incredible sex.

“So, what are you going to do?” she asked, her voice wavering.

“Take you back to your apartment. You’ll have to lay low for a while, but you should be fine. I’ve heard rumors of vampires who’re, morally-opposed, you could say, to our traditions, and have purchased humans simply to release them. And gotten away with it.”

“So, you’re just going to drop me off back home, and I’m supposed to forget this whole thing ever happened?”

“I can leave you with some money, to compensate you for your time and… the inconvenience.”

Nora felt herself grow angry at Kieran’s heartless resolution to this problem. “You don’t get it,” she said, her voice a yell, “there’s more going on here than that!”

Kieran raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Such as?”

The anger mixed with sadness in Nora began to boil over. But as she forced it downward, feeling it heat her limbs, something strange happened. The glow that she could detect, the one that she hadn’t seen from any of the vampires, began to emanate from Kieran. It was a strange color, a soupy blue lightened with traces of yellow. It struck Nora as sadness, but a sadness laced with confusion. Nora stepped back, shocked at the appearance of her powers.

“What is it?” Kieran asked, the colors ebbing and flowing around him like an aurora borealis.

Nora stumbled backward.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m just not happy one bit about this, is all.”

That seemed to satisfy Kieran. “In that case, grab your things. I’m taking you to your apartment.”

She complied, snatching the few articles of clothing that Kieran had bought for her from her room, tossing them into a cloth bag, and storming into the main room. Kieran said nothing, simply gesturing her for her come with him. They made their way down to the car and drove out and into the Manhattan evening. Fuming, she typed her address into his phone, and said not a word as they made the drive from Hell’s Kitchen to Harlem. Eventually, they reached her apartment, a worn brick building.

Kieran looked over the building, displeased. “I don’t know how I feel about you living in a place like this.”

“What do you care? You’re just going to drop me off here and forget about me.”

“Some money is going to appear in your bank account in the next few days. Use some of it to find a safer place to live.”

It was no consolation. Money wasn’t what she wanted. Nora felt overcome with emotion. She didn’t want to say another word, for fear that she’d break down into a weeping mess. So instead, she opened the door of the car and prepared to step out.

“Wait,” said Kieran.

Nora stopped where she stood, but refused to turn to face him. A tear tickled down her face.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

And with that, Nora slammed the door of her car, made her way to her apartment, and as soon as she shut the door of her tiny studio behind her, collapsed into wracking sobs.

Over the next few days, Nora did her best to keep a low-profile. She wore baggy clothes and hid her face behind sunglasses and under hats. And sure enough, just as Kieran promised, when Nora checked her bank account a few days after being dropped off, she saw that the total was bigger than it had been before. A few zeros bigger. But the money was no consolation. Aside from getting a new phone and buying some takeout so she didn’t have to leave the apartment, she felt no desire to do anything with it. Despite the circumstances in which Nora and Kieran met, she still felt something with him, a closeness that she had never felt before.

After a few days of hiding out, Nora finally felt ready to at least begin the process of putting her life back together. When her new phone arrived in the mail, she set it up and, not knowing who else to call, dialed Carly, one of her few acquaintances in the city.

“Nora,” Carly said, her voice equal parts surprised and excited, “to what do I owe this honor?”

“Hey, Carly,” said Nora, her voice uncertain, as though trying to remember how to communicate with people who weren’t emotionally-distant bloodsuckers. “How’re you?”

“Me? Who cares about me? It’s been months since we talked; how are you?”

“I’m fine, I just…” Nora’s voice trailed off.

A moment passed.

“You don’t sound fine,” said Carly.

“It’s just that there was this guy, and he… he…” Nora couldn’t hold it in. She let out a series of whimpers before a flood of body-rocking sobs overwhelmed her.

“Lady, lady,” said Carly, “get over here right this minute. I’ve got some wine. Let’s split it and then go get something to eat. My friend works at this adorable wine bar in the village. You can tell me everything.”

“Okay,” said Nora, “but only if you let me treat.”

Carly laughed. “I won’t try to talk you out of that. Just call an Uber and get your little ginger butt over here.”

Nora felt the first bits of a smile spread across her face. “Okay. Thanks, Carly.”

“Love you, lady.”

Nora put down the phone, and realized that she was beginning to feel a little better. She got up, undressed, and went to the dresser to pick out something to wear. She considered something Kieran had bought her, but decided it was too soon for that. Hearing nothing but the typical sounds of the city beyond her window, she flicked off her hearing aid.

But when she opened the drawer and looked into it, she noticed something strange. There was another one of those small wavering color shapes. But this one wasn’t around anyone standing near her. It was coming from her belly.

Nora stumbled backward, her eyes fixed on the glowing waves emanating from her stomach.

That can’t possibly mean…

But now that she was looking at it, she sensed it.  Just like she was able to sense the thoughts and emotions of people around her, she could now sense that there was a presence within her.

A baby. Kieran’s baby.

Her head began to swim.

But he’s a vampire! How could a vampire, a dead person, get a living woman pregnant?

She turned her hearing aid back up, bringing the sounds of traffic back to her ears and dissipating the whirling mass of colors from her stomach. Nora know this would need to be addressed, and soon, but for now she was just going to try and enjoy a night with her friend. She called an Uber, and waited. When it arrived, she clambered in and spent the drive staring out at the passing city lights, reminded of her drive that first night to Kieran’s place. She found herself thinking about him. His gorgeous face, his touch that was somehow warm and cool at the same time, his rich, musky smell…

A hard press on the brakes by the driver snapped her out of her reverie. “Here,” the driver said in a gruff voice.

Nora climbed out of the car and walked up to Carly’s building. Unlike her own simple walkup, it was a modern condo complex, with a sleek, modern lobby that more resembled a luxury hotel more than an apartment building. She approached the doorman, and he directed her toward the nearby elevators. A brief ride up later, she was on the tenth floor.

She only had to knock once before the door flew open, revealing Carly’s beaming face.

“Hey, girl!” she said, before screaming and throwing her arms around Nora.

Leading Nora inside, Carly gave her a look over. “You okay, lady? You look like you saw a ghost or something.”

You’re in the ballpark.

Pretty, blonde, and with a constant sunny disposition, Carly was everything that Nora felt she lacked. They’d met through a mutual friend from Omaha, who figured that since they were both moving to the city at the same time, they ought to get to know each other. They got along, but Nora couldn’t help but be a little envious of how, between her glitzy publishing gig, her great apartment, and constant cycle of handsome men, Carly managed to easily find all the things that seemed to remain out of Nora’s reach.

And I bet she hasn’t ever gotten abducted by a secret society of vampires.

Carly poured them a couple glasses of wine and, though Nora’s problems were the reason they were meeting, Carly seemed more interested in talking about the Financial District guys who’d been chasing her the last month or so. But Nora was fine with this; she barely wanted to talk about Kieran, let alone the fact that she was now carrying his child.

“You okay? You’ve barely touched your pinot,” said Carly, pointing to Nora’s glass with a manicured finger.

“I’m getting there,” Nora responded with a smirk. She knew that a girl not touching her wine was nearly the same thing as wearing a big sign that said I’M PREGNANT, and looked around for the sink where she could dump it out when Carly used the bathroom.

Carly went on about more about her boy troubles, and Nora, wanting to see just how dependable her powers were, tried something. As Carly talked, she reached up to her ear as though adjusting her hair, and dialed down her hearing aid. Sure enough, as soon as the sound of Carly’s chattering voice decreased, a swirling mass of color appeared around her; this time hot pink, which Nora decided was fitting. It was a good color for a girl talking about her boy-chasing. Her curiosity satiated, Nora turned her hearing aid back on.

“I’m going to hit the girl’s room; then let’s go get some tapas,” Carly said, drawing out the second ‘a’ in ‘tapas.’

“You do that, and I’m gonna kill this glass,” said Nora.

As soon as Nora heard the bathroom door shut, she went to the sink, glass in hand, and dumped the rose-colored liquid down the drain. And as she watched it swirl and disappear, she felt the day’s revelation weigh on her. She really did want to tell Carly about it, but where to begin? “Well, first it starts with a kidnapping, then an auction…” She decided to keep it a secret for now, at least until she could talk to Kieran again.

Carly returned after another minute, and one more Uber ride later, they were at a cute little tapas and wine bar in the village.

Settling into her seat, Nora’s appetite took complete hold of her as she looked over the menu.

“For you, miss?” asked the waiter, an olive-skinned man with black hair, a black moustache, and model-good looks.

“Hmm,” said Nora, looking things over, “I’ll have the bruschetta. And the croquetas. And the calamari. And you know what? I’ll have the cheese and olive plate, too.”

“Very good,” said the waiter with an impressed tone to his voice. “And for you?” He turned to Carly.

“Hey, sorry,” said Nora, getting his attention, “I’ll take the chorizo al vino, too.”

“Um, just a glass of rose and a couple of cheese empanadas,” said Carly, looking at Nora with a raised eyebrow.

The waiter nodded and headed off.

“Eating for two?” asked Carly.

“Huh? No. What are you talking about? I just haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“Sure,” said Carly. “Girls gotta eat.”

And with that, she went back into the laundry list of wealthy men. After a time, the waiter brought the food, and Nora tore into it with wild abandon. She hadn’t eaten all day, that was true, but there was a hunger deep within her, a ravenous hunger, that wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how much food she put away. After about ten minutes, Nora had polished off the entire plate of calamari, the bruschetta, and most of the cheese and olives.

“You’re not fucking around, lady,” said Carly, cutting into one of her empanadas.

Nora sat back, letting the food settle. But as full as she felt, she could’ve eaten even more. She was considering ordering a little more food when the waiter slid up to the table and placed two large glasses of blood-red wine on the table.

“Compliments of the gentleman at the bar,” said the waiter before departing.

Who would be buying them wine? Nora turned around to look, and saw only one man sitting at the bar. He wasn’t facing them, but Nora could see from behind that his hair was slicked-back, jet-black, and curly, his clothes were finely-tailored and made of fabrics of deep, flashy colors, and the polish of his shoes could be seen from across the restaurant.

Then he turned in a slow, deliberate movement, and Nora saw who it was: Marcus Ricci.

When he turned, he made deep eye-contact with Nora, it mouth still curled in that same sneer, his eyes narrowed, as if to say, “I caught you.”

He rose and sauntered over to the table. “My apologies to the two of you for intruding on your evening, but I couldn’t let two beautiful women sit in the same room as me without sending a little something to thank them for giving me the privilege of looking upon their beauty.”

“Oh, wow,” said Carly, flustered, “thank you.”

Nora said nothing.

“I won’t keep the two of you,” he said, “but do enjoy the wine. It’s one of my favorite selections.”

And with that, he turned, threw some cash on the bar, and left.

“I don’t normally go for the Euro-types, but, man, he was hot,” said Carly, fanning herself with her hand.

“I don’t want to be weird, but we need to go, now,” said Nora, now gripped with fear.

“Lady, what’s gotten into you? We have two giant glasses of wine to finish!”

“Please, can we go now?”

Carly’s face flashed with a look of concern. “Sure, let’s pay and go back to my place.”

They settled with the waiter and walked out into the brisk evening air. Nora walked with quick steps, eager to make the walk back to Carly’s place.

“Hey, wait up,” said Carly, calling out, “what’s the rush?”

“It was that guy,” Nora said, the words blurting out of her.

“The Italian guy? What are you talking about?”

Nora kept pace, and whipped around another corner. But when she turned, she was face-to-face with Marcus Ricci.

“Yes,” he said, eyes narrowed like a predator’s, “what about that Italian guy?”

Then he waved his hand in front of Nora and Carly’s faces, and a great, dark black flooded her vision before she slipped into unconsciousness.

Nora awoke in chains again. Yanking against her restraints, the heavy chains clanked and rattled, and she realized after moments that any struggling would be in vain. Looking around, she saw that she was in a windowless room with walls of dark cherry wood. At intervals of every few feet, there was another set of chains bolted into the wood. Classical music drifted into the room through invisible speakers.

Chained-up in another goddamn fancy room.

More time passed, and the moments before she was knocked-out began to come back to her.

This must be Marcus’s place, but where is he?

Then a voice cut in through the classical music. “Is my little guest awake?”

Nora looked around, but couldn’t find the source of the voice. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice braced with anger.

“What do I want? Well, you were there during the bidding; I think you can guess very easily what it is that I want.”

Nora grew cold at this statement.

“I knew there was something… fishy going on with you and Kieran. But I didn’t think he would be so stupid as to violate one of our most sacred laws over some piece of expensive human meat.”

“Let me go, now,” she said, demanding.

“And why would I want to do that?” he said. “Kieran forfeited his right to you when he sent you packing, and now I get what I was ready to bid so much money on, but for free! What’s not to like?”

Nora then heard a click from one of the panels, and saw a section of the wall move from its place and slide to the left. Marcus Ricci stepped into the room, wearing a green and black silk robe with gold trim, his face painted with a devilish sneer.

“Ah, it never grows old seeing you in person,” he said, moving toward her with slow, slinky steps.

When he reached Nora, he caressed her jaw with a slow drag of his fingers. Nora shivered at his touch, which felt like soft ice against her skin.

“No one knows you’re here, if you’re wondering. So, don’t bother anticipating a rescue, or any nonsense like that.”

“You better not even think of touching me again,” Nora said.

Marcus shook his head and made a ‘tsk tsk’ sound.

“Something about being tied up makes people make all sorts of pointless, empty threats. What, exactly, are you going to do to prevent me from doing whatever I want?”

His eyes then narrowed even further as he moved his gaze down to her exposed neck. “I assume that you know all about what our little auction is about? Feeding. Nothing more. I don’t know what sort of romantic notions our friend Kieran put in your head, but your kind is nothing but food to us. Right now, I’m looking at you the same way you might look at a nice juicy steak.”

He then placed his hand on the side of Nora’s hip, giving her a firm squeeze. “Well, maybe not exactly like that.”

He stepped away from her a bit, and looked Nora over, his eyes still hungry. “But I have talked enough. Let me give you a little taste of what I am talking about.”

With that, he flew toward Nora with the same inhuman speed that she had seen from Kieran. Marcus latched on to her neck, bit down into her flesh, and for several seconds, drew blood from her with greedy, full gulps.

When he was done, he pulled away, taking full breaths through a mouth dripping with blood, his skin an almost glowing color of white.

“Oh my,” he said, a giddy expression playing on his face, “I’m starting to get a bit of a sense of what the fuss is about.”

He stepped back, and looked Nora up and down. “It is going to be very hard not to drain you dry in one, long feed. And that might make things easier for you, to end it all just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. “But I am a man of restraint, if nothing else. Well, class, style, sophistication, yes, yes, those things. But restraint, too. And I can make a delicacy like you go a long, long way. But for now, sleep.”

And with that, he waved his hand in front of her face, and she was plunged into that same deep abyss of sleep.

She came to in the same chains that she had been bound in.

I have to find some way to get out of here, but how?

It seemed hopeless. Marcus had seemingly designed this room for storage, keeping it clear of any tools, or anything else that anyone could use to make an escape.

Kieran, she thought, concentrating, as though he could hear her, I’d do anything for you to be here now. Please, know that I’m here, know that I need your help. Don’t let me and your child die in this place.

She began to whimper, knowing that her efforts were useless. She was stuck, chained up, to be fed on by Marcus until he bored of her taste and decided to drain her down to the last drop. Then she would be disposed of, like she was supposed to be when Kieran first bid on her.

“Ah, she’s up!” came Marcus’s voice from the speakers.

Nora’s felt sick as she began to think about the cycle of sleep and feeding that she was going to be spending the remainder of her life in.

The door clicked, slid out of place, and Marcus entered, now dressed in a glossy black tuxedo accented with a red and yellow cravat tied in a lackadaisical fashion around his long, slim neck. 

“I don’t know how long it’s going to take for me to get sick of coming in here and seeing you.”

The helplessness had already begun to set in, and Nora found herself wondering when Marcus was just going to end it. But it was sounding like that wasn’t going to happen for a long while.

“Just do it, you sick fucker,” said Nora, her voice worn and tinged with helplessness.

Marcus approached her with those same slinky steps, clucking his tongue as he walked, his black-and-white dress shoes clicking against the shiny, wooden floor.

“My darling bella,” he said, looking her up and down, his lasciviousness toward Nora having not diminished a trace, “I think the sooner you drop this little princess attitude, the better. No one knows you’re here, except for me... but not for long.”

His golden eyes flashed with mischief. “That is, until I let everyone know what your adoring Irishman did… or didn’t do.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Nora, through her teeth.

“I would and I will. But before that, you’ll be getting a grand sendoff. Which is tonight, lucky for you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Marcus stepped back, smiled, and spin in a circle on his heels. “You like it? I don’t get to dress up as often as I like, so when I do, I like to go, as they say, ‘all out.’”

He walked back up to Nora, looking at her neck with pinprick eyes. Nora winced in anticipation of a bite.

“Ah, but not now. Later, though… absolutely.”

He then stopped in place, as if remembering something. “How could I forget the whole reason I came down here so early!”

With that, he darted from the room, returning a few minutes later with a beautiful red dress, holding it with delicate fingertips.

“You like? It’s Chanel. I took the liberty of taking your measurements while you were out; it should be a perfect fit,” he said, hanging the dress on one of the wall’s chain hooks.

“Now, I am going to unhook you. Do not try any funny business; I’m ten times as strong as you, and I’ve had this room looked over to make sure there’s nothing anyone could use to get the drop on me. And believe me, you’re not the first little snack that I’ve kept in here.”

Reaching behind Nora, he undid he chains. When he took off the last one, Nora collapsed onto the floor in a heap.

“So, take the dress and go to the bathroom down the hall and make yourself presentable,” Marcus said, starting for the door. “Be ready in no more than an hour. You’re the guest of honor tonight,” he said, slipping out of the door and leaving it open.

Nora heard another, heavier, door opening in the hallway, then closing with a heavy clank followed by the sound of a latch fastening into place.

Pressing her palms against the cool floor, Nora raised herself to her feet. As soon as she stood, she reached to her ear with a frantic hand and dialed down her hearing aid. Looking at her belly, that same colorful emanation was visible. She sighed with relief, knowing that her baby still lived, despite her trauma.

She cast an eye at the dress on the wall. It was beautiful, but Nora was hardly in the mood to play dress-up. Looking around the room, she saw that Marcus was right about there being nothing here to help her escape; it was bare walls aside from the chains. Even the lights were recessed into the ceiling.

With nothing else to do, she took the dress from the hook, draping the soft, fine fabric over her arm and leaving the room that she had been trapped in for however long.

The room led to a small hallway, with a heavy metal door on one end, and another room down the other end, the door opened a crack, spilling white lighting into the otherwise dark space. Nora approached the room and pushed open the door, revealing a simple, unadorned bathroom lit with hollow, thin light.

She hung the dress up on a small rack in the corner, and when she approached the sink, saw that there was a small note folded in half and propped up.

Makeup is in the drawer, and some perfume, and some unmentionables. Pretty yourself up like you mean it, because you won’t like what happens if you don’t!

The note was signed with an ‘M’ written in ostentatious and ornate style.

Nora stripped down and jumped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away some of the disgust from the events that she had been subjected to. After some time had passed, she turned off the water, got out and dried off. Pulling open the drawer, she saw that inside was a simple selection of makeup, a small bottle of perfume, and a lacy underwear set.

Not exactly in the mood, but not like I have any other options.

After putting on the underwear, she removed the dress from its place and dropped it over her body, the delicate fabric feeling heavenly and plush against her clean skin. Turning around to zip up the back, she couldn’t help but admire how it looked.

He’s a pretty tacky fucker, but I gotta give it to him on this one. He must’ve had someone else pick it out.

She spent a little time putting on the makeup, but found that no matter how subtle she tried to be with it, the deep red of the lipstick and deep blue of the eye shadow couldn’t help but make her look more like a prostitute than she wanted. Putting up her hair in a simple braid, she noticed a pair of coal-black stiletto pumps sitting near the door.

These were definitely a Marcus pick. She shook her head.

Otherwise all dressed, she stepped into the shoes, then out into the hallway. Through the floor, she could hear the creaking of many feet walking above her, as well as the gentle strains of a classical music quartet. Some kind of gathering was going on upstairs, and Nora figured that it’s where she was expected.

She approached the massive, metal door and raised her hand, preparing to knock, when a beep emitted and the door opened with a thunk. She stepped forward, unsure of what to expect beyond.

A stairway was revealed, going straight up and leading to a visible square of the floor above, filled with warm light and groups of men in elegant suits holding drinks and chatting. But once they noticed Nora, their attention was shifted, and they began gesturing toward her as she approached and talking in lively tones.

She walked up the steps, a crowd of men now gathered around the entry. Then Marcus slid into view, and began beckoning her with lively scoops of his hands. “Come, child; we’re all waiting for you!” he said, his face bright with anticipation.

Nora made the last few steps with trepidation, her heels clicking against the wood. When she finally stepped into the expanse of the apartment, her eyes squinted in the bright light, and she felt overwhelmed by the dozens of men around her. Marcus extended his hand, and, out of polite instinct, Nora took it. Marcus responded by wrapping his cool, spindly fingers around the meat of her hand, and a wave of something like nausea rushed through her.

Nora came to her senses, and when she did, the first thing she noticed was how garish and over-the-top the styling of the apartment was, not to mention personal styles of the men gathered within. The room, like Kieran’s, was a wide-open space, but where Kieran’s place was a monument to minimalist class, Marcus’s apartment was more like Versailles if it were designed by interior decorators on Adderall. Gold abounded, along with mirrored walls and ornate molding and columns. Art of nude men and women was placed here and there, and portraits of foppish men in flamboyant clothing hung on the walls.  The men, all with a cocktail glass or champagne flute in hand, were all in flashy, expensive-looking clothing, like Marcus, and their hair and beards were almost uniformly slicked and oiled. They looked at Nora with hungry eyes as she ascended the stairs.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, may I have your attention?” called out Marcus, flapping a hand at the string quartet, which resulted in their silence. “Our guest of the evening has arrived, and, ah, just look at her.”

Marcus extended a hand toward Nora, and the crowd erupted with ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs.’ Nora crossed her arms across her chest and lowered her head; she didn’t want a single bit of the attention that she was receiving.

“Oh, it appears our Irish lily is of the wilting sort,” he said, making an exaggerated frown. “That simply won’t do at all.”

He then snapped, and two men like those Nora saw at the auction house appeared from the crowd. They moved to her sides, and each of them grabbed an upper-arm with a firm, tight grasp.

“Into the honored guest’s chair with her,” Marcus said with another flick of his wrist.

A section of the crowd spread apart, revealing a massive, ornate throne set in front of a towering, roaring fireplace. The men dragged Nora toward it, shoving her down onto the plush seat. They each then removed scarves of red silk from their pockets and tied Nora’s arms and legs into the chair. Marcus then stepped forward, a scarf of gold and red in his hand and prepared to tie it around Nora’s mouth. But at the last moment, he hesitated.

“You know what? I am thinking your screams will provide a nice little counter-melody to our little quartet,” he said, stuffing the scarf back into his pocket.

He then turned to the crowd. “Gentlemen! Our buffet is nearly ready. But, I am trying to remember who had the special privilege of first feeding.” Marcus’s eyes searched the crowd.

“It was I, young man,” called out a deep, firm voice.

“Ah, Signore Moretti,” said Marcus to the white-haired, suited man who appeared, in human years, to be around sixty-five. “What an honor to have you and the rest of the elders here with us tonight.”

He swept his hand in toward Nora. “Then let the feast begin!” Marcus said, gesturing toward the quartet, who leaped into frenzied song.

Moretti moved toward Nora, who was now gripped with fear. His eyes burned with animal intensity, and his mouth, now wide open, two fangs springing from the top row of teeth, his fingers waggling at the ends of his outstretched arms. Nora winced her eyes shut as he grew closer, as she began to feel his hot breath against her neck. She prepared for the bite that was to come.

Then a loud crash sounded through the apartment.

Nora looked up, and saw that one of the massive, glass windows of the apartment had been shattered, and in the open space was Kieran, hovering in midair, the evening wind blowing his hair around his face, and the sliver of moon like a blade in the night sky behind him. Even from where Nora sat, she could see the expression of fury on his face, as though he were wreathed in fire.

The crowd burst into gasps and the quartet ceased their playing.

“Let her go. Now,” Kieran called out, his voice booming through the expanse of the apartment.

“Kieran!” said Marcus, walking toward him. “Welcome to my little partito! I must say, I was not expecting you, nor was I expecting anyone to arrive using a manner of entry other than the door, but I suppose you are welcome nonetheless.”

Kieran swooped down and landed, the crowd spreading outward and away from him as he descended.

“Marcus! Who the hell is this man?” called out Mr. Moretti.

“No one,” he said, not appearing to be flustered, “just some Hell’s Kitchen trash.”

“Kieran,” Marcus said, yelling up to him, “come down from there and let’s have a little chat, no?”

Nora watched Kieran as he continued scanning the crowd. But before he could respond to Marcus’s request, Mr. Moretti spun back around to Nora, his face twisted with animal hunger. His mouth wide-open and fangs glistening like ivory-white blade points, he threw back his head to feast on Nora.

At least, he tried.

All Nora saw was a blur from where Kieran flew, appearing next to Mr. Moretti with incredible speed, grabbing his arm by the wrist and yanking the hand off with a twist followed by a sickening rip. Mr. Moretti’s face was still painted with hunger when he realized what had happened, but once he noticed that his hand was missing, his hunger was replaced by horror. He looked at the space where his hand once was, a look of shock on his face for a beat, then let out a low scream while clenching his wrist with the hand that remained.

Marcus dashed in and looked over the scene with wide eyes. “Kieran! What the hell have you done? Do you know who this man is?”

Kieran ignored both Marcus and the man he had just maimed, and moved in closer to Nora.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone deep and concerned.

“How… how did you know I was here?” she asked as he ripped apart the scarves that restrained her to the chair.

“I… don’t know. I heard you call out to me, in my mind. And I just knew, somehow, that I’d find you here,” he said, helping Nora to her feet.

“Kieran! You insane man!” shouted Marcus as two of the guards took Mr. Moretti from the room. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done here tonight!”

“Step aside, let us leave, and no one else has to get hurt,” said Kieran, with Nora leaning on him for support.

Marcus responded with a hysterical, wild-eyed cackle, the men of the party standing behind him, shocked, waiting for whatever was to happen next.

“You think you can just break into my home, steal my property, assault one of our society’s elders, and then just leave? No, my friend, you are not going to be doing anything like leaving tonight.”

With that, he flicked his hand toward Kieran, and two of the suited men rushed toward them.

Kieran pushed Nora behind him, back into the chair, and readied himself for the guards. One attempted to grab his arms, while the other pulled a slim, silver stiletto-shaped blade from the inside of his coat pocket.

What is that? Nora’s thoughts were rushed and frantic as she watched the man lunge toward Kieran’s chest with the blade.

Kieran shook off the first guard and stepped to the side in a deft motion. The guard with the blade continued his thrust, but instead of stabbing Kieran, the blade penetrated the chest of the other guard. The guard only reacted for a moment, looking at the protruding blade with an expression of surprise before his entire body exploded into coal-black ash.

The other guard looked at his partner’s remains, then back at Kieran, then at Marcus. A sharp gasp arose from the crowd. The guard was still for a moment before rushing out of the room.

“You motherfucker!” shouted Marcus, darting for the blade that glimmered amidst the pile of ashes.

He snatched it up and pointed it toward Kieran, his stance awkward and his arm crooked at the wrist, as though the blade and his arm were a strange approximation of a scorpion’s tale.

“This is madness, Kieran! You think this bitch is worth killing your own kind?” he scoffed and tossed his hair from his face. “I always knew you had a soft spot for the cattle. But you should know that such sentimentality is a liability in our world. And now you will learn.”

With that, he lunged toward Kieran, who sided-stepped out of the way. Marcus stumbled for a moment before recomposing himself. He looked at Kieran, who stood like an immovable pillar across from him, and realized that he was outmatched. After shooting a brief, side-eyed look took toward Nora, he extended his hand, grabbed her by the hair, and pulled her into close to him. Wrapping his arm around her chest, he pressed the blade against the curve of her jugular.

“Okay, enough of this!” he shouted, moving backward through the crowd, toward the broken window of the balcony, still howling with wind. “I take the girl, we leave, and we figure this all out later. There is nothing here that can’t be looked past.”

Anger surged through Kieran. As Marcus stepped back, he closed the distance with each step.

“No. You let her go, we both leave, and I give you a quick death for what you’ve done to her,” said Kieran, his voice a growl.

“Ha! I am afraid that is not going to work,” Marcus said, stepping with Nora through the broken glass and onto the balcony, their feet crunching over the shattered window. “I will leave you to the crowd!” he said, yelling over the wind.

Kieran. Look at me if you can hear me. Nora focused her words in her mind.

Kieran heard Nora’s voice in his mind with perfect clarity, and looked toward Nora with surprise.

When I give the signal, kill him.

Kieran’s face steeled. He was perplexed by this, by hearing Nora’s voice in her head as he had before, but braced for the next move.

It came seconds later.

Nora clasped her hands together, extended them away from her body, and drove her elbows into Marcus’s stomach. He half-collapsed from the impact, the air rushing from his lungs with a deep “oof.” Nora took advantage of the distraction to break free from Marcus and run toward Kieran, who then dashed toward Marcus, struck him in the throat with a quick jab, and wrested the blade from his hand. Closing his fingers around it, he pressed the pointed end against the ivory flesh of Marcus’s throat.

Then, with a sharp, firm stab, he shoved the blade up, through Marcus’ skull.

Marcus had a split second to see what had happened, then looked at Kieran, a murderous fire burning in his eyes.

“You… you fucker!” he said, before exploding into ash.

Kieran stepped away from where the form of Marcus’ stood, and Nora ran to him. He wrapped her in his right arm as they watched the ash that was once Marcus swirl and dissipate into the cool, evening wind.

Kieran and Nora turned, and faced the crowd of men, all shocked into silence by what they had just witnessed.

“I think this is our cue to leave,” said Kieran, wrapping his arm even tighter around Nora’s waist.

“I’m ready when you are,” she said, grabbing onto this arms.

And with that, he lifted off, carrying Nora up and off, swooping through the air like a bird of prey.

Kieran’s lips were wet and warm on her neck as he kissed her. His hands moved down, from her breasts to the soft curves of her hips, and she shuddered with pleasure as he moved inside of her. Nora let her body fall deep into the soft blankets that she lay upon, and moved her fingertips along the sweat-sheened skin of Kieran’s back.

“I’m so happy to see you again,” Nora said in between pleasured gasps.

“We don’t have to be apart ever again,” he said, thrusting his hips to a slow, deep rhythm.

Nora closed her eyes, feeling Kieran’s cock slide up and into her. She felt more sensitive to her touch than ever, and each press of his hard stomach against hers was like heaven.

The bedroom window was open, and as the soft wind blew the curtains would dance, letting in moonlight that glowed in slivers across their bodies. They moved together in unison, their palms seeking different parts of their bodies. Nora felt Kieran move in her at a faster pace and slid her hands down the small of his back until they came to a rest on his ass. Grabbing the bottoms of his cheeks she squeezed, the feel of his skin heating her with arousal. He responded in kind, moving his hands out from under her back and resting them on the bones of her hips, holding them in a firm grasp as he thrust harder and harder.

Nora felt the flower of orgasm make its first blossoming, and she closed her eyes and let her head sink farther into the pillow, happy to let Kieran do his work. She squeezed his ass again, his flesh warm and soft under the press of her fingertips. At this last squeeze, Kieran lifted up from her and flashed her a small smirk.

“Someone’s feeling extra spunky today,” he said before moving is head down and licking her nipples.

“Yeah,” she said, in between sharp intakes of breath, “I think I’m getting back into it.”

Kieran answered this by increasing the tempo of his thrusting. Instead of moving in and out of her inches at a time, he was now moving the full length of his cock in her, finishing each thrust with a firm slap of his hips against hers. Nora closed her eyes shut even tighter, letting herself get lost in the tempo of his pounding.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she repeated over and over, feeling orgasm draw closer with each collision of his hips against hers, each full sheathing of his cock into her.

“You like when I fuck you like that?” he said, grunting with each thrust.

“Yeah, keep fucking me, just like that, like that,” she said, her voice trailing off.

Kieran took a firmer grip on her hips and thrust harder and harder, building up to a steady, firm pound. Nora’s face tightened more and more, her hand held in front of it, and pulled her legs open further, wrapping them tight around Kieran’s hips. His pounding was relentless, and Nora felt herself move closer and closer to orgasm the longer it went on. Kieran lifted himself above her, resting on his now-straightened arms, his muscles hard and tight with the stress of holding up his weight. In this position, he found a steadier rhythm and continued his pounding. Nora’s eyes were fully shut, only opening a bit in order to take in the sight of Kieran’s flawless, hard body doing its work on top of her. Her upper body felt cool from the soft night air, while her hips felt warm from Kieran’s skin against hers.

“Oh god,” she said, her voice breaking, “I’m almost there.”

He didn’t stop, he kept his pace, feeling himself move to the brink of his own orgasm. His cock began to feel consumed with pleasure inside of her, and he soon reached the point where he couldn’t stop himself from coming.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna come in you,” he said, his voice gripped with pleasure.

“Do it,” she said, almost at her own orgasm.

Then, with a heavy grunt, Kieran let himself loose inside of her. His thrusting slowed down, and Nora felt his cock pump into her. Her own orgasm came soon after, and exploded through her, starting at her lower body and moving outward until the tips of her lips were boiling with ecstasy. Kieran’s pace slowed as he finished coming into her, and with one final thrust, he was done, having spent himself in her. He bent his arms and let himself drop onto Nora. She took his head into her arms and brought it next to her neck.

They lay like this for several minutes, their breath slowing from a frenzied pace to a slow and measured intake. Nora listened to the gentle sounds of the city wafting up along the length of their building and in through the window.

Nora finally broke the silence. “So, what now?”

“You live here now.”

Nora laughed. “I figured. But, I mean, what about your people? Won’t there be consequences to what you did. What you did for me?”

“Yes, there will be a price to pay. What that will be, who’s to say. Tensions between the Irish and the Italians have been brewing for a while, and this just might be the thing that sets them off.”

Nora looked at him with worried eyes. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Of course not. But maybe it will be for the best. Sometimes a conflict needs to be out in the open, so it can be dealt with. Besides, if it weren’t because of me, it would’ve been because of someone else. And maybe someone less deserving to die than Marcus would’ve paid the price.”

A moment passed.

“But it doesn’t matter. I’ll keep you safe; I promise you that.”

“You’ll keep both of us safe,” she said, her hand moving to her belly.

“Both of you?” he said.

There were no more words after that. The two lovers remained in each other’s arms through the night, their eyes holding softly on the curved shape of the moon as it hung over the amber lights and hard angles of the city beyond their window.