Death's Servant

My heart leaps into my throat and heat flushes my face. "I...uh...."



Her piercing green eyes pin me to my chair. "Name?"



The intense desire to answer her has my name spewing out of me. "Jonathan Stephen Winchester."



"Okay, Jonathan. Can I call you Jon?" I nod. "Last night can be forgiven; after all we were in a public place so it's our own damn fault. But following us to our hotel is just plain stupid." Her eyes narrow. "What are you after?"



The urge to tell this stranger every secret I've ever had wells up in me. The words tumble to the surface with no grace or setup on my part. "I need your help."



Surprise flits across her face. "Fine." She glances to the elevator banks. "We'll talk. Have you eaten yet?"



I shake my head.



"Come to our suite and Rafe will order room service." She looks around the crowded bar. "I'm sure whatever is so compelling to seek me out is not suitable to be discussed in public."



I nod and follow her retreating form to the elevators.



Well, you wanted to talk to a vampire. You got it, dumbass. Oh, and following her back to her room is really safe.



Dria snorts as the doors close, sealing us in.



Christ. Can vampires read minds? Man, if they can, I am so up shit's creek. Again.



"Stop projecting so loudly and I won't accidentally read your mind. You're so nervous it's like you're shouting your thoughts at me. Very hard to ignore."



My body jerks and I cast a glance at the small woman. "And how would I go about doing that?"



She smiles at me, reassuring. "First, relax. I'm not going to leap on you and drain you dry." She shrugs a shoulder and plays with a dangling glass drop on her necklace. "Not my style."



The elevator bings and the doors slide open. I trail the vampire down the hall. "Next, calm your racing mind. It will help you from mentally having to shout over your own conflicting thoughts-which is how you initially broadcasted the 'shouted' snippets to begin with."



My brain processes what she's saying, but staring at her denim-clad tight ass makes it very hard to implement. Clear my head. Umm... yeah...



Baseball. Football.



Washington is muggy, even in June.



Vampires kill people.



She stops in front of a set of double doors. "Good," she smiles at me while she slips her card key in the lock. The light flashes green and she opens the door, pausing and reaching out to place a hand to my forearm. "Seriously though, you need to chill."



A tingle eases up my arm at her contact. It's gone the second she lets go and I'm left feeling better and slightly stupid over my worries.



"Rafe," she calls out. "I found him in the bar downstairs."



The narrow hall beyond the doorway opens to a large suite. The man from last night sits at a round table big enough to seat four, his laptop open in front of him.



He closes the computer and rises, extending a hand to me in greeting. "Hi, I'm Dria's husband, Rafe." He towers over me by at least four or five inches, looking like he outweighs me by twenty or more pounds, too. I shake his hand and do my best to hide my surprise that he's her husband. That equality feeling I glimpsed last night was not imagined, he really has a presence about him-quiet and stoic, but strong. And yet he's human.



"Jon." I reply. "Uh, nice to meet you?"



Rafe laughs, the sound tumbling out of him. "Jesus, you must have had some shitty run-ins with vampires."



My face tightens. He may think my reaction is funny, but these two are the unreal ones. A happy vampire with their loving partner? What world is this? Surely not the same one Raine's pack is kept for blood consumption in a secluded mansion and sold to any paying vamp who stops by. I feel a scowl forming and try my best to smooth out my expression.



"Oh dear. You've upset him, Rafe. Let the poor boy get some food in him first. I can hear his stomach growling from here."



Her husband places a large order for dinner and we sit awkwardly around the table waiting for it to arrive.



"You worked hard to find us," Dria says. "What is this about?"



This all feels surreal. Why is she so calm?



Probably because she can kill you or erase your mind at any time. That would make anyone pretty calm, don't you think?



I nervously glance from one to the other, ending my ping-ponging attention to settle on Dria.



Her voice comes out in a seductive whisper, "Tell us a little about yourself."



I stare into her deep green eyes and everything pours out. I tell her about being changed into a werewolf in my third year of college, my family living in southern Virginia who think I'm dead, the pack I lived with for a year in Manitoba and my recent departure.



I end with recent events, telling them how I found my way back to Virginia, started working, and became involved with Raine. I even explain the Were's duplicity and how she originally intended for me to become another werewolf used for blood.



"You've got to do something," I say. "There's a vampire who's captured a whole werewolf pack. He's addicted to their blood and rents them to visiting vampires in a brothel type of setting. It's horrible."



Our food arrives and Rafe and I dig in while Dria sips from a coffee mug. The couple stares at each other now and then, but remain creepily quiet during the meal. I wonder if they are participating in some form of silent communication, but can't think of a polite way to ask. These two definitely give a very insular vibe. Like it's them against the world, and the rest of us are on the outside looking in.



I shake my head when I remember why I'm here. Can one vampire really make a difference in that pack's situation? She's a tiny thing and those guys are mean as hell. An image of an enraged Cecil jumping out of the woods flashes back to my mind.



I finish my second steak and wait for the couple to speak. Not much more I can say to convince them, is there?



"I'm sorry, Jon," Dria begins. Rafe's face clouds with anger and he throws his napkin on his plate. "The vampire isn't breaking any laws. I can't stop him."



I jump up from my seat. "What the hell are you talking about? Not breaking any laws? He's imprisoned an entire group of people, keeps the alphas drained and chained, killed the couple's daughter, and basically serves every one of them to be raped and snacked on whenever he chooses. How is that possibly within the law?"



Her eyes soften and her voice comes out quiet. "He hasn't broken any vampire laws."



Rafe snorts, his anger palpable.



She ignores her husband's reaction. "Our laws are designed to protect vampires-and they're pretty vague. Nothing in them talks about werewolves. The focus is protecting the knowledge of vampire's existence from the human race and ensuring humans are not slaughtered."



Rafe rises from the table and walks to my side. "Dria, I don't like it. You know what he's describing isn't right. This is a horrible abuse of vampire power at the basest level."



She shrugs, turning her attention to the uncovered window. "It's still none of my business. No matter if I approve or not."



Rafe clears his throat. "Let's look at this hypothetically." He glances to me and then his wife, but the expression on her face clearly says she doesn't give a shit what we say. "This pack has how many members, Jon?"



"Not sure-a lot were killed. From Raine's description it sounds like there are at least fifteen werewolves being held."



He turns to his wife, his light blue eyes burning with agitation. "Dria, think of all the humans those werewolves were in contact with in their daily lives-at their jobs, in their neighborhoods, heck, maybe even who they are dating. Those people will miss them. They will raise red flags. It could very well explode into a huge stink."



Dria doesn't answer, but her face takes on a contemplative look as she stares out the window.



"I considered approaching the police with a human trafficking case," I say.



Rafe touches my arm and motions to the door. He walks me out into the hall and whispers, "Give what we've said to her time to sink in. Come back in two days."



Frustration at my own inability to do anything snaps my mouth shut. Can he really talk her into helping me? And why would he? I nod, grateful for his assistance and reluctantly leave.



I've said everything I can to convince her. There's no amount of money I could pay her that she couldn't just take from anyone if she wanted it. I've got to figure out something to offer this vampire for her help, some type of payment. Something she needs that would sway her. Question is, what do you offer a creature that can take whatever they want?



I pace the floor of my hotel room for hours, wondering what the options are. I need to talk to someone who knows more about the supernatural world than I do.



Romeo and Elsa, my old alphas, are the first to pop into my mind. Yes, they refused to put their pack at risk to help, but they might have answers.



I call the pack house, using the new cell I picked up in Maryland. Much to my relief it's Elsa who answers this line, too.



"Why are you calling this time, Jon?"



"I need some advice. Are you willing to hear me out?"



A sigh comes over the phone. "Okay, go ahead."



"A couple of questions first-why do vampires like werewolf blood so much, is it tastier or something?"



"Kind of, but my understanding is it's the power in our blood they want."



"Power?"



"Yeah, something about our blood is almost like an adrenaline rush of long-lasting strength. Like humans on PCP without the high and hallucinations."



"I see why that would be addicting."



"Not all vamps get addicted."



"Really? Why not?"



"Romeo and I talked about this once. We think it's akin to people who become addicts. For some, dependence comes quickly-whether it's cigarettes, caffeine, alcohol, drugs...whatever. They have an addictive personality or character flaw, I've even heard it called a genetic weakness. Makes them more susceptible to any kind of addiction. What if those same people become vampires? Wouldn't their addictive traits still be there?"



"So you're comparing a vampire drinking Were blood to drug addiction and how some people can become addicted to substances easier than others?"



"Yes, that's the closest analogy we've come up with. It's the only thing that explains why some vamps become ruled by their cravings and others don't."



"Interesting."



"Why? What are you planning, Jon?"



"You know what I'm doing-what you two refused to do. I'm trying to save a pack of wolves. Anything I learn about their predicament might help with finding a solution."



"Aside from finding a bigger, badder vamp to shut down the place, I don't know what you can do."



I have no idea if Dria is bigger or badder, but her husband's deference and respect make me think she might be. "The real question, Elsa, is when you find that vamp, how do you persuade them to help?"



"Simple-offer something they don't have."



"You make it sound easy, but seriously, woman. How am I going to figure out what the powerful vampire doesn't already have?"



"Start with what you have to offer. Does she have a werewolf servant at her side?"



"A servant? Like a bellman or valet or something?"



"No, Jon. Vampires usually have an entourage. The more powerful, the more people surround them."



"Damn, this one only has one person with her."



"Are they traveling? Vamps might travel light to avoid being noticed."



The thought amuses me, vampires being inconspicuous and not bringing many "bags" with them. "She's here with her husband."



"Whoa. Did you say husband?"



"Yeah, why?"



"That means he's her bonded mate. I've known over two dozen vampires and only three had mates. The others had devoted servants, meaning plural. Depending on their relationship, she might not have any servants in order to keep him happy. He might be the jealous type."



Rafe didn't seem like the jealous type to me, but what the hell do I know from a few minutes in his company? It's not like I was stupid enough to hit on his wife, for crying out loud. Or that I'd want to given the fact she's happily married. And she could drain me dry on a whim. Yeah, that last thing really is the clincher.



We wrap up our call and I sit in the growing darkness of my hotel room. A vampire's servant. Would I be required to do her bidding and wear some stupid outfit like a chauffeur? Somehow, trailing behind her in a black suit would be even more humiliating then just doing her bidding.



Could I do it? Could I offer myself as a servant to this vampire to save werewolves I barely know? Would my sacrifice be worth their lives?



Now really, what the hell kind of choice is that? Soldiers die to protect our country every damn day. They do it for people they've never met and for rights and ideals that sometimes get distorted over time. But they do it nonetheless.



Back in Manitoba, I talked all the time about uniting wolves and creating a communication network. What would the purpose of such a network be if not to save packs from fates like the one Raine's is facing?



Resolve spills through me, clearing my brain for the first time in months. I have no idea what offering myself to Dria will bring me, but I know in my heart it's the right thing to do.



Now, I just have to convince that stubborn redhead and her husband they need me in their lives. I wonder if dressing in skimpy shorts and a tight t-shirt would do the trick or if I should be my loveable smartass self?



I'll go for smartass. I don't think her husband would appreciate the skimpy shorts.