Blood and Bondage by Annalynne Russo

as she reached out to
caress his bare chest. “Ready for another quickie before the sun comes up?”
    “Sorry, that’ll have to wait.” For the first
time, Oliver’s glance turned away from his lover’s face. On the end table next
to the bed, the flogger he’d used to tease Anaïs dangled over one side. But it
was what lay underneath, that set Oliver’s nerves on edge.
    Another photograph. Oliver didn’t pay much
attention to the image of the girl on the front; he knew it’d be much of the
same. Instead, he concentrated on the caption.
     
     
     
    Be forewarned. Familiarity breeds contempt.
     
    P.G.
     
    Oliver stood and grabbed a soft, cotton robe
that hung from the coat rack and flung it in Anaïs’s direction. He fumbled with
the key in his hand and removed the handcuff from her wrist. “Your friend’s
been here. Get your ass out of bed and put that on. We need to talk.”
    Combing her dainty fingers through her hair to
get it out of her face, Anaïs rose up from the bed. Still naked, she draped the
bathrobe over his shoulders and tied the bulky fabric at the waist. Then, she
sat back on the corner of the mattress, her posture stiff and her demeanor
serious. She picked up the photograph and turned it over.
    After a few minutes, she finally caved. With a heavy
sigh, the vampire begrudgingly rehashed the details of her sad, storied past.
Oliver took note of her squared jaw and the stern, even cadence of her voice. Her
eyes looked glazed over, her face void of emotion. She told him all about her
life before she’d been turned including her father’s unspeakable treachery and Christine’s
friendship and fidelity. Much of it, Oliver had already heard from Eva and
Andreas. Yet hearing the specifics first hand made Oliver feel sullen and sick
to his stomach. While he wasn’t a parent, he couldn’t imagine a father’s
blatant disregard for his own child. Sad but true, life’s unfortunate
circumstances had led to two distinct things: the vampire’s genuine hatred
toward men and an inclination to keep her emotions at bay. Both of those
characteristics, Oliver understood well.
    Once Anaïs’s oral history veered toward her time
at Moulin Rouge, he saw her eyes light up. It was obvious that dance had saved
her from a lifetime of lonely discontent. Also, he could tell by the way her
curves swayed to the sound of music and how her body had responded as they’d
danced. However,
Pierre
’s
twisted romantic fixation, compounded by her best friend’s sudden death, forced
her into solitude once again.
    Oliver squeezed his lover’s hand, the one that
still lingered on his chest. “Thank you for trusting me.
Pierre
sounds like one sick son of a bitch.
Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to gather much intel on him. He keeps a
fairly low profile. Can you think of anything we may have missed? A hobby or
favorite pastime, perhaps?”
    Anaïs chuckled, her head jostling heartily as
she laughed. “
Pierre
spends his free time drinking, gambling, and scamming for chicks. That’s about
it.”
    “That much, I gathered. But can you be a bit
more specific? Does he hang out at sleazy strip joints? Old fashioned pubs?”
    “Not a chance.
Pierre
’s got a shitload of money and he likes
to flaunt it. He’d most likely frequent an exclusive, members-only gentlemen’s
club. But from what I hear, he’s turned into a bit of a snob. He won’t want to
rub elbows with just anyone. It’d have to be a place run by the undead.”
    “That’s a start. I’ll give Eva and Andreas a
call and see if they’ve got any leads. In the meantime, it’s back to bed for
you. The sun will be up soon.”
    Once back in his office, Oliver turned on his
laptop and logged into the video conference program he and Eva had agreed to
utilize in case they needed to consult during her trip. He hated to disrupt her
honeymoon, but he had no other recourse. He was at his wits end and needed to
pick her brain. As far as he knew, an upscale gentleman’s