The Den of Shadows Quartet - Amelia Atwater-Rhodes [128]
Long ago, Turquoise had learned that the most evil creatures in the world were frequently the most beautiful. The Master of Midnight was no exception.
Jaguar — and it could only be him — was sprawled on his back across a black leather couch, one hand beneath his head, with his eyes closed. His skin was the color of a deep, golden tan, and his hair was black, perfectly straight and long. When he stood, it would probably hang to his lower back. He was wearing soft, black pants that hugged a body that Turquoise tried valiantly not to stare at.
That was it — no shirt, no shoes, no jewelry. The whip Nathaniel had mentioned was curled on Jaguar’s chest like a black viper. His hand resting on the handle reminded Turquoise of a child with a beloved stuffed animal.
As she paused in the doorway, the vampire’s eyes fluttered open — black eyes, like obsidian, they seemed to reflect the light cast from the lamp in the corner. They lit on Jeshickah instantly, and the expression on his face snapped from sleepy contentment to wary aggression as he stood.
Turquoise expected the two to come to blows in the moment of silence that passed, but instead Jeshickah spoke. “Have a good nap, pet?” she purred.
It took obvious effort for Jaguar to ignore her as he spoke to Nathaniel. “These the girls you called me about?”
The tension that Turquoise had seen in Nathaniel the instant he had sighted Jeshickah’s car was either gone or flawlessly hidden. He nodded, explaining, “They aren’t perfectly broken, but they’re smart enough not to give you any trouble. Besides that, they’re both healthy and fairly attractive. There’s some scarring on that one,” Nathaniel continued, gesturing toward Turquoise, “mostly on her arms, but nothing unusual.”
“Let me see.” The command came from Jeshickah.
Nathaniel had prepared Turquoise for the inspection, and so she was wearing her only tank top, over which she had thrown a cotton shirt despite the August heat. She hesitantly removed her outer layer.
The scars had been hers for nearly three years; she had hidden them for nearly that long. With only the tank top, she felt half naked.
“Whip?” Jaguar asked, frowning at the semicircle of scarring around Turquoise’s left wrist, a smooth pearl bracelet cut into her skin.
Turquoise felt the muscles between her shoulder blades tense, but she kept her eyes down. She had already concocted the story she could tell if asked about her past. Only Lord Daryl would be able to contradict her, and she counted on his pride to keep him from doing so if the opportunity arose.
“Her first trainer wasn’t as careful as most,” Nathaniel answered vaguely.
Jaguar seemed to accept the answer. “How much for the pair of them?”
Nathaniel was in his element now. He was a green-blooded mercenary. Any fondness he had for Turquoise or distaste he held for Jeshickah or Jaguar faded as soon as the question of money was raised.
Jeshickah forestalled any bartering. “Allow me, kitten. You need a few more toys around here.” Jaguar’s glare met the nickname, but Jeshickah had already turned away from him. “Nathaniel, shall we haggle in private while Jaguar gets to know his new acquisitions?”
Jeshickah wrapped an arm around Nathaniel’s waist. They walked out together, but the contact did not appear friendly.
In the silence of their departure, tension began to drain from the room. Jaguar let out a slow breath. Vampires by nature did not need to breathe, but human habits died hard.
Without speaking, he walked around the two humans, a silent inspection. It occurred to Turquoise that they were lucky to have this job so shortly after Challenge. They both had plenty of bruises and new cuts, the absence of which would have been suspicious. Turquoise watched her new master as long as he was in her line of sight. Jaguar moved like his namesake, all grace and muscle. His black hair was a black pelt smooth against his skin.
“Names?” he asked finally.
“Audra.” Turquoise understood Nathaniel’s suggestion not to use the name Turquoise Draka — her name was well