To Protect and Serve Ch. 01

"So age has nothing to do with being dominant or submissive?"

"Nope. Your personality doesn't change when you die or get older. Your body doesn't change either. So don't get a haircut unless you want to keep it for eternity. Still, saves a ton of time on shaving your legs." She looked at the remaining folk in the room. "Let's see, Hispanic guy on his knees is Raul, and he's a werewolf. Crap, he's security too. Never mind what I said about it being all girls earlier."

"I probably wouldn't remember it anyway."

"It's kind of a lot to remember, I know. Banshee is a shadow, but she'll be a full blown vamp in ten years. At that point, she'll take on more responsibility in the organization and will have to give up being one of Shane's assassins."

"Assassins?"

Clara nodded. "There are very bad things out there, Shamira, and sometimes the best way to stop wholesale carnage is a tactical strike. Banshee was Yakuza back before the word became trendy, and she's good at what she does. It'll be hard to replace her, but Shane's already looking. He'd like her to train her own replacement."

"You said 'one of' earlier. How many assassins does Shane have?"

"Two at the moment. Keep in mind, Shane hasn't had this gig long, so he doesn't have his full staff. Most of us have been with him for a while. Reaper is the youngest of us."

"Reaper's the big black guy isn't he?"

Clara smiled. "You guessed it. Doesn't surprise you, does it? Reaper got brought over about eight years ago. He was special forces in the army, but one of those sub-organizations that doesn't technically or legally exist. He's the best sniper that I've ever seen, and he's scary dangerous. He's a real bonus to Shane, and he's the loyal sort. Get on his good side, and you've got a very lethal friend for life. Cross him --"

"I think I get the idea," Shamira said.

The crowd had begun dispersing, and Shane had noticed them. He made a motion with his head, causing Clara to nod. He wandered through a set of double doors, and Clara grabbed Shamira by the arm and led her after him. She found herself in a dining room big enough to play jai-alai in, if she knew how to play that game. Shane sat in a grand chair at one end.

"Please," he said in a voice as warm as fresh-baked bread, "please sit down. I'm glad to see you up and about, Miss Shamira."

"I'm glad to be up and about," she replied nervously, sitting down. 'Remember, if they wanted to kill you . . . well, I guess they did technically kill you. Okay, if they wanted you to stay dead --'

"You look remarkably well," he added, looking for the remnants of her wounds. "You should still have some indications of your ordeal, but I see none."

Clara sat down next to Shamira, sandwiching the muscular woman between the other two vamps. It was a thought that made Shamira tingle in ways she couldn't explain.

"I talked with Lillian while Shamira rested, and we agreed; we think she may be a Shadow Healer."

"A what?" Shamira asked.

"Really?" Shane looked enormously pleased. "That would explain it." He looked at Shamira's confused expression. "Occasionally, vampires gain extra abilities, but usually not until they get older. These abilities vary widely, and we call these abilities 'Aspects.' Shadow Healing is a very rare and wondrous Aspect. If true, it would mean that you would heal at a vastly increased rate when in total darkness, even more so than normal vampires."

"How can you know for sure?"

"Hurt you, stick you in a closet and see how long it takes for you to heal."

Shamira blanched. "That doesn't sound like fun at all."

Shane smiled. "I understand, but it would be good to figure out." He realized something. "So you've accepted that you're a vampire? I just realized that you're actually handling this quite well."

She shrugged. "Occam's razor."

It was Clara's turn to look confused, but Shane just looked pleased.

Shamira continued. "It's something I picked up in a basic psychology course back in college. It means that given multiple alternative viable explanations, the simplest one should be believed. Not that it's claiming that explanation is the truth, but just that you should believe it. I've seen some weird shit since being here, but it makes sense based on the legends and all. So, walks like a vampire, talks like a vampire, or a werewolf or a witch or whatever --"

"Then it makes sense to take it at face value," Shane finished. "Well done. Anyway, we could test our theory about you being a Shadow Healer with a minor cut, something that wouldn't have even been dangerous if you were still alive."

"I guess that'd be okay," she thought, genuinely curious now.

"Clara, close the doors and stand by the light switch." He waited until she was in place, then drew a pocket knife. Making sure there weren't any potentially glowing items in the room, he drew the knife quickly across Shamira's palm.

"Fucking ouch!" Shamira said just before the lights went out.

"We'll try for ten seconds and see how it's doing," came Shane's voice. "Normally, you would need to feed at least a little to heal, otherwise it would take --"

The lights came back on. Shamira's palm had a barely perceptible red line running across her palm, and she felt no pain.

"Now THAT'S fast!" Clara said.

"She's a Shadow Healer all right."

Shamira could see the cogs turning in Shane's head, figuring out how she could be useful to him.

"Listen, I guess I owe you a thanks for . . . doing what you did. I guess I'm just not sure why you did it or what you expect of me?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a couple of the other residents arrive and be seated. She guessed it was close to dinner. "Hey . . . uhm . . . dinner --"

Clara placed a hand on her young charge's arm. "Fledglings can eat normal food or consume blood. Feeding is an art, so Shane thought it would be wise to present you a normal meal this evening. Personally I prefer to drink blood, but I'll be dining on solid food today. Make you feel more at home."

"As for what I want from you and why I changed you --" Shane paused. "First, I owed you something for helping us out that night. I had agents in place that you couldn't have known about, but we had still found ourselves in an awkward predicament where innocents might have gotten hurt. You showed great courage, and you saved the life of the girl who had been left chained to the wall. And while you were dying, Clara explained the kindness you showed her outside the club."

"She was part of your backup plan, wasn't she?"

Shane nodded. "She was to keep an eye and make sure that there weren't more of my adversary's men coming in. Compassion, loyalty, strength – these are things I could tell about you before you closed your eyes. And you must have great dedication and resilience to carve a physique such as yours. So I took your blood and shared some of mine with you. Then you died, only to be reborn a day after being laid to rest. I got a copy of your personnel file, and I see potential in you. Your aptitude scores are phenomenal, and the only reason you're not on SWAT or a detective is, I assume, because you encountered a 'good old boy' network. Or they are complete idiots. I would not waste your talent, Shamira. I would waste nothing you had to offer."

Shamira was nervous about the way he said that and by the look in his eyes while saying it. Was he still just talking about her skill set?

"I would like for you to be one of my new enforcers," Shane told her. "You would be for me as you were in life. Only instead of enforcing mortal law, you would be enforcing Tribunal law."

"Why can't I just go back to being a cop?" she asked. Then she slapped her face. "Never mind. I'm dead."

"Indeed." Shane looked at the cowboy dom who Clara had called Henry. "Henry is going to be my chief enforcer, but I'm going to need more. You have the knowledge, the ability, and the desire to do good. You would be under his supervision when in the field."

"What about my family? My friends?" she whispered. Not that she had many. She noticed the room was very quiet now. "Can I see them?"

Shane nodded. He had been expecting these questions. "I encourage all my children and employees to break from their old lives. Humans, for the most part, simply are unable to deal with our reality, much less keep it a secret. Our world is dangerous, Shamira. Do you really want your family to be part of it? I will not lie to you. I can command you not to see them, but I will not do so. The choice is up to you. But remember that exposing us and our secrets puts us in danger, and you would be held responsible. So choose wisely."

Shamira wasn't able to ask any more questions since food chose that moment to arrive. Apparently Shane had a number of household servants, and several of them deposited a feast on the table. After putting down a tray of roast beef, mashed potatoes, assorted greens, a huge bowl of salad, and just about anything else a girl could desire, they sat down next to some of the vampires and cocked their heads.

'They're not just delivering food,' Shamira realized. 'They ARE food!' Sure enough, Shane, Bjorne, and Banshee all dug fangs into the necks of their dinners, and those servants didn't seem to mind. She was pretty sure the young man that Shane was chewing on was about to shoot a load in his pants. She turned to Clara, who was in the process of filling half her plate with mashed potatoes. Shamira actually found herself amused.

"What?" Clara said primly. "I like mashed potatoes." She slathered enough butter on them to clog a cow's heart and then covered it with cheese and bacon bits.

"How do you . . . we . . . do the fang thing?"

"Ah, that. Well, it'll happen automatically if you get really angry or really thirsty, but it's also something that you can will. Like concentrating on scrunching your eyebrow or clenching your jaw." She watched as Shamira started to flex the muscles of her face, wishing she could watch muscles all over her body flex. Well, one thing at a time. Finally, she saw that the other woman had succeeded when she grasped her mouth.

"Ouf! I bith mah lib!"

Everyone at the table got a chuckle at that. "It happens to everyone the first time," Shane said.

Clara was watching as Shamira practiced expanding and retracting her fangs until she obviously felt comfortable, then went about eating. 'Interesting,' she thought. 'She finds a problem and stays with it until she solves it, then moves on. I think Shane was right to bring her over.'

During the meal, Shamira kept her ears open but her eyes mostly downward, occasionally stealing glances at the other feasters. At the table, she didn't hear any "masters" or "slaves" uttered. They talked about the news, sports, and some magical politics that she struggled to keep up with. She glanced several times at the Brazilian hottie Renata, who was relaxed at the other end of the table and talking with Raul about increasing their magical security. If she hadn't seen it with her own two eyes, Shamira never would have believed that the woman had been whipped and fucked less than half an hour earlier. Instead, she was being a professional, albeit dressed in a black silk robe that probably felt heavenly against the stings on her skin.

And Shamira's mind kept drifting back to when she had seen Renata's face. Sweaty, hungry, satisfied. She shook her head. She couldn't imagine doing what that girl had done. She was stronger than that. But no matter how hard she tried, that look haunted her.

'What do I do?' she thought. 'They can't expect me to make a decision right away. I've lost my job, maybe my family, and hell, I lost my life.' She remained quiet for the entire dinner and, when it was over, sat there quietly. She didn't know what she was supposed to do next.

Shane had been keeping an eye on the young woman. She had not been brought over under optimal conditions, and he felt sorry that she was so lost. He normally tried to let people know about what being a vampire meant and what living in the world with little sunlight meant, but there had been no time. He had made a decision that had completely turned her life upside down. "Clara, why don't you take Shamira down to the club? Show her a little of my empire? I have to make some calls and see how much leeway I have with our would-be conquerer, otherwise I might join you."

"Wait," Shamira said. "What club? Not the one I was killed in, right?"

"Absolutely not. It was a second rate establishment and gaudy besides. No, this is the club I own, and you'll find it considerably more tasteful. At least I hope you will, otherwise I may have to fire someone."

"I'll go with," Renata said. "I need to talk to Travis anyway and see if he can recommend any other weres that might help booster security. When will the new housing be ready, by the way?"

"I'll be closing on an adjacent property next week, so we'll be able to house them as soon as you find them and approve them."

"I'll tag along as well," Henry said, a sexy Texas drawl in his voice. "If the missus decides to take ya up, I might be able to help answer her questions."

"Okay," Clara said.

"Hey, I don't really have anything to wear for a . . . night out . . . after being dead."

Monique perked up. "I can --"

"I think it's a bit early for that," Clara chuckled. "It's okay. Just throw a long coat over what you have on and you'll be fine. It'll make everyone wonder what, if anything, is beneath it, and sometimes the mystery is the greatest aphrodisiac of all."

"Okay, you're creeping me out again."

"I'll meet you in the garage," Renata said, eying the new girl over. "I think I've got a coat that will work for her." She stood up, dropped her robe over the back of the chair and strode out naked, wearing the red welts on her back like badges of honor. Shamira was apparently the only one shocked by this.

"She's got a great bod," Clara muttered. "Why not show it off?"

Shamira couldn't argue. She stood up and followed Clara to the garage, and she got the sinking suspicion that Henry was checking her out. She wasn't sure what he was judging, and it certainly wasn't any romantic interest. Guys, even vampiric ones, that looked that good could have anyone they wanted. That meant they didn't wind up interested in Shamira.

They got to the garage and Shamira's heart and mind took another shock. The garage was an attached building, and inside was every kind of vehicular toy you could imagine. Truck, cars, motorcycles . . . hell, there were even golf carts.

"Damn, now all I need is a golf course," she murmured.

Clara smiled. "Shane has a nine-hole course on the property. He turns on the night lights and plays to unwind sometimes. You play?"

"A bit. I'm not great."

"Shane would be thrilled to have someone to play with," Clara replied. "The only other person who plays is Banshee and well, she's a sore loser. Love her to death, but don't ever get competitive with her."

"I'll keep that in mind." Normally, Shamira wasn't a car person, but she couldn't help but drool over the selection she was looking at. "Which one are we taking? Oh my God, he has a Prius?!"

Clara laughed out loud. "No, that's Lillian's. She's kind of a tree hugger. Got Shane to get an acre of solar panels to help offset the energy this place requires."

"I thought she was submissive?"

"No, she's a switch. And being a sexual submissive doesn't mean pushover." Clara looked around. "So, which one do you want to take?"

"How about the Hummer? I mean, I've just never been in one before."

Henry grabbed some keys off a rack on the wall and tossed them to her. "You're driving."

"Me?! I don't even know where I'm going and --"

"Every car has GPS," Clara said. "This is just one of the perks you'll have if you work here. Shane shares his wealth."

Renata arrived with a leather trench in tow. "The height is right for me, but it's a little big. I think it'll fit your shoulders perfectly."

Shamira looked at it and thought she was going to look like some kind of flasher. But when she slid her arms in and let that leather tighten around her, she almost purred. It fit like a glove and actually made her look kind of cool. Except for the flip-flops.

"Need new shoes for you," the Brazilian said. She had such an adorable accent.

"I wish I could get my lucky hat back," Shamira muttered.

Clara heard her and figured she would do something about it when she had a chance. Hopefully as a housewarming gift. "Let's roll."

Driving a Hummer was apparently like driving a pregnant whale strapped to a really big skateboard. If she hadn't taken a number of courses in defensive driving, then Shamira probably would have committed manslaughter a number of times. And driving something the size of a tank made one a lot more cocky, she decided. She managed to do something that she did not think possible. She scared the hell out of two vampires and a werejaguar just because she cut across four lanes of traffic to catch the exit. She wondered if any of them really drove inside the perimeter often enough to think that SHE was a scary driver. Luckily, the club in question had a parking space dedicated to Shane and his entourage big enough to house a limo, so she was able to squeeze the Hummer in without much problem.

"She's just having problems adjusting to vamp reflexes," Renata said, holding on to the door handle for a moment with a trembling hand.

"I've ridden bulls that were gentler." Henry was smiling though.

Shamira had never been here before. She didn't even know it existed. Down an alley between two buildings that looked abandoned, there was a purple neon sign that just read "Prometheus." Just like the old speakeasies, one member of the party knocked, then a little window slid open. She thought she heard chanting, then a bluish glow peeked out from that slot. The window slid shut and the door opened. Inside was a intimidating large bald man in a custom-made suit, sunglasses, and obligatory ear piece for radio communication. He motioned them inside. The four of them went down a long corridor with a metal door at the other end, and this swung open to --

"Holy shit," Shamira muttered. This place looked more like a massive study than a dungeon. There were leather sofas everywhere, bookshelves, ebony coffee tables, and gorgeous glass lamps. Through an opening was what looked like a fancy restaurant with a full bar. There were people everywhere, chatting over snacks and coffee or some other beverage, and all of them were dressed like Shamira's companions. For every man or woman sitting comfortably, there was a leather, PVC, or scantily clad sub at their feet. "I'm not in Kansas anymore."

"I've got to talk to Travis," Renata said. "If you guys wanted to mingle, I could take Shamira to the security booth and show her a little of the operation."

"You okay with that?" Clara asked.

Shamira nodded. She was feeling oddly warm where she was, and wanted to go elsewhere. She followed Renata into the bar area and then through a black door that Shamira couldn't even see. Beyond that door was a medium sized room with banks and banks of video screens and some pretty sophisticated-looking surveillance gear. In the middle of the room in a swiveling computer chair was a very, very large man.

Travis McNeil, head of security for the club, was a werebear, and he looked the part. He was six feet four inches tall of pure beef, massive through the chest and arms that could probably use steel beams as toothpicks. He had short white hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee, but he otherwise looked like a wall of darkness in his suit.

"Renata," the big man grumbled, not taking his eyes off the monitors. "How can I help you?"

"First, let me introduce you to Shamira Carswell, the newest vamp in Shane's family."