Chapter 5
FIVE
It didn’t bode well that Francesca was already sick to death of vampires. Maxine, as always, was the exception.
“A man was in your room?” her friend demanded in that cool, husky voice that Francesca imagined worked great in a courtroom.
A man, she inwardly scoffed. More like a damn calamity.
How had she ever thought that he saw her as anything other than just another arrant to snack on? It took him all of three seconds to start ordering her around, and only a little longer than that to try buying her off.
She’d known he wouldn’t approve of her volunteering for the Games, but that… Well, she hadn’t expected how badly that would hurt.
It was a stroke of madness that compelled her to allow him to touch her in the way that she had.
In the moment, when he was consuming her senses and she was just so angry she wanted to claw at him, it all made perfect sense.
It was the logical conclusion, and there was a blissful sort of relief in the way her mind emptied when her body was under his command.
But her mind certainly wasn’t empty now.
Now, Francesca had to waddle after her friend in sky-high heels pretending like her cunt wasn’t hot and pulsing with discomfort — and no small amount of unfulfilled arousal.
She’d scrubbed herself raw in the bathroom, terrified of keen vampire noses smelling the humiliating evidence of what they’d done, but she swore she could still feel his hands on her.
Grabbing a fistful of her gown so she didn’t trip on the too-long hem, she allowed Maxine to guide her by the other arm through the dark hallway at a swift clip. “Yes,” she answered, breathing hard. Her legs were a lot shorter than her friend’s. “He said he was looking for Easton.”
“Everyone’s looking for my stupid cousin,” Maxine growled.
“Yeah, but he said he’s here to collect a debt.”
Her friend spat, “Him and half of United Washington! Did he say his name?”
“Um, no,” she hedged. It wasn’t untrue.
“Probably doesn’t even matter,” Maxine replied. “Easton’s list of enemies is long enough that it could be fucking anyone.”
Francesca didn’t know much about Easton.
They’d only met a week prior, when he happened to show up at Maxine’s brownstone while she was visiting.
In the few months that she’d been in United Washington, she’d learned to make herself scarce when vampire business was going on — even when it involved her friend.
She would’ve avoided Easton the same way she avoided most of her house cleaning clients if he hadn’t come barging in like he had.
Things were a bit of a blur after that. Easton, like Maxine, had a gift for persuasion. He’d taken one sniff of her and started the smooth pitch before Maxine even entered the room.
He had some bad luck with a few business deals, he said, but that was all going to change. He just needed a business partner to do an event with, and it had to be someone willing to part with a little bit of blood. No biggie.
By the time Francesca realized exactly what she was signing up for, he’d already given her a ballpark figure that made her palms sweat.
And that was before they did the blood test. Things got a lot more complicated after that.
“Listen, Frankie,” Maxine began in that same authoritative voice, “all you need to do is stand there and look pretty. Don’t talk to anyone.
Don’t answer any questions about my cousin.
You are here for one thing and one thing only: to be valued.
You are the one in control. You are the prize they all want. Don’t forget that.”
They stopped in front of a side door to what Francesca had been told was a ballroom, where she’d be presented to the entrants and they could decide if her blood was worth the mind-bending fee Easton asked for. Her shaking fingers found Maxine’s gloved hand and squeezed.
“Thank you,” she whispered, throat tight. “I know you think this is a terrible idea, but—”
Maxine’s pale face, as round and lovely as a full moon, seemed to glow in the dim hallway. She was a good lawyer. Her poker face was impeccable, but for her few close friends, she let the real Max shine through.
Her eyes softened as her fingers curled around Francesca’s. “Everything will be okay,” she promised. “I understand why you need the money, and I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.”
Casanova’s warning, said in that bass voice that shook her to her core, rumbled through her mind like a thunderstorm.
If you go through with this, I can promise you that whoever wins your contract won’t give you up.
It all seemed pretty straightforward when she read the contract Maxine had so painstakingly drawn up, despite her own misgivings, and signed in front of one of Grim’s white-painted and veiled priests.
She wasn’t required to do anything at all except provide blood for thirty days to whomever won the Games.
It wasn’t nothing, obviously. She was rather attached to her blood, and there was something deeply sinister in the exchange of it for money. Perhaps it was simply the logical endpoint of the capitalist hamster wheel she’d been stuck on all her life.
But she was a practical sort of person, and one always made more blood, right? It’s not like she would miss it. Besides, thirty days was nothing compared to five years of searching.
Swallowing her misgivings and shoving the image of the pushy vampire out of her mind, she summoned her best customer service smile.
“I can do this,” she assured them both.
Maxine took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with, then.”
Neither wanted to release each other’s hand, but it had to be done. They’d gone over how things would play out, and that required Maxine go ahead of her. She was used to talking in front of large crowds, and seeing as she knew Francesca best, she’d been tapped to give the sales pitch.
Francesca watched her slip through the door, which was strategically placed behind the temporary stage they’d erected. They being Easton and his Grim acolyte business partners, who took a cut of the profits in exchange for their blessing of the Games.
Nerves threatened to swallow her whole. The desire to run was there, an itch in the back of her mind. And there it was again: Casanova’s voice, commanding her to go.
Why he thought he could barge into a woman’s room and tell her what to do, she had no idea. Why she felt momentarily compelled to actually follow his orders, she had even less. It had to be nothing but pure, blinding ego. She wished she had even a bit of his confidence.
Will he be in there?
She couldn’t help but wonder if he would live up to the swagger he’d strolled out with.
Not that she wanted him to, of course. She couldn’t imagine a worse case scenario than that.
Maybe before, when she thought he actually liked her, at least a little bit…
But now Francesca knew she was nothing more than another plaything to him.
And who was he to judge her, anyway? He clearly wasn’t on the entirely legal side of things, while she was doing something that fell well within the law.
She doubted he’d really be in there. A man who moved through the world like that rarely actually lived up to the bravado.
Focus, Frankie, she scolded herself. Forget about him. You have more important things to think about.
A shudder rolled down her spine as she stared hard at the door in front of her.
It was all that stood between her and the crowd, whose murmurs were loud beneath the tasteful jazz piped through the speakers.
When she felt like she’d put it off long enough, she forced her fingers around the knob and slipped into the darkness that waited.
The vague shape of a dark curtain, a thin strip of light illuminating its hem, was the final barrier between herself and the consequence of her choice. Glasses clinked and from somewhere far beyond the curtain, a braying laugh erupted.
Francesca smoothed her sweaty hands down the front of her silk gown. How many times had she heard a laugh like that? It always seemed to come from the worst of men — the ones who didn’t tip or thought an insult made them somehow more appealing than a compliment.
She’d spent practically her entire life in service work, so she knew the type well enough to spot with just that singular, awful laugh.
Gods, please don’t let someone like that win, she prayed.
She tensed when the music began to slowly lower in volume. For a moment, the voices picked up, excitement and anticipation buzzing around the suddenly much quieter room, before it all went silent.
Heels clicked across the stage in front of her. A moment later, the sound of a delicate throat clearing came through the speakers.
“Welcome,” Maxine’s familiar husky voice purred. “It’s a pleasure to see so many esteemed faces for this very special occasion.”
A round of applause went up. Francesca tried to imagine how many people there might be around the stage by the noise alone, but it didn’t do her nerves any good.
It sounded like there could be anything between ten to a hundred hungry vampires out there, all of them ready to pay for the privilege of a taste of her blood.
“Now,” Maxine announced with just the right amount of mystery, “tonight’s prize is unlike any we’ve had before. All of you have been specially selected for this exclusive event, which may never happen again.”
Francesca’s fingers curled into tight fists. Her heart beat fast beneath the strapless bodice of her borrowed gown. Any second now the curtain would rise and the trajectory of her life would change forever. She just hoped it’d be in a good direction.
But the space between her legs still throbbed, each pulse a reminder of Casanova’s warning — and his claim.
Amidst the excited murmuring of the crowd, Maxine continued, “Tonight, the prize is utterly singular — a treasure so rare that it’s almost guaranteed that you’ve never and will never encounter her equal in your lifetime. My friends… may I introduce you to Francesca Sinclair, a golden anchor!”