Page 126 of Vampire's Choice
When Garron, Lady Kaela’s servant, stepped out, it didn’t relax her guard. An overlord wouldn’t meet a lower echelon vampire at the door, and Lady Kaela could still tap into her servant’s head to see Ruth’s behavior.
If Caleb ever moved on, Garron could step into the strongman’s role. Their height and muscle mass were comparable. Garron’s shaved head gleamed in the evening moonlight, and the exposed scalp was scarred. So was his face, a mark running from his cheekbone, across his straight nose, to the hinge of his jaw. Another formed a groove from his left ear to his throat, disappearing into the collar of his dress shirt, tailored for his massive body.
The damage must have predated his marking, far enough back the transition hadn’t been able to erase it. He was a charismatic male, his sexual appeal undiminished by the old wounds. He was also a Dominant. She recognized it like a favorite perfume.
When the opportunity presented itself, many vampires preferred bonding with a human Dominant. There were bottomless pleasures involved in topping a human used to being the one holding the reins. Though they’d never have the chance to exercise it on their vampire, it was also a useful trait for the entertainments involving other servants.
Plus, the higher the vampire’s rank, the more administrative demands were placed upon the servant. He or she needed to be courteous and deferential, yet know when and how to stand up for and represent their vampire’s interests among a world of aggressive and volatile personalities.
Plenty of power submissives could ably handle those responsibilities as a vampire’s servant, but there was an extra punch to it when the servant was a Dominant. Like with Lyssa’s servant, Jacob.
Kaela’s success as an overlord had predated her marking Garron. However, because of the female overlord’s reputed savvy and political nature, Ruth expected Garron was well suited to the role.
Garron executed a short bow to Ruth before allowing his eyes, dark with hints of blue, to shift to her companion. Merc’s wings were cloaked.
While Lady Kaela had been read in, so she knew a Truth Vessel was an angel, Merc had decided it made more tactical sense to conceal his most attention-grabbing feature. Let those who didn’t need to know guess at what he was, even if they could tell he wasn’t human.
On a normal day, he was pretty attention-grabbing, even without the wings. Today he’d gone the extra mile.
After breakfast, he’d excused himself, telling Ruth he was going to change before they headed for Lady Kaela’s home. When he met her outside the house, he wore black slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, open at the collar and the sleeves folded back from his forearms. His dagger was on his slim black belt. Though she expected it would still have that sandpaper rasp she liked, his jaw was clean of stubble.
“Wow,” she said. “You clean up nice.”
“Your father said a more formal appearance is advisable. Though I outrank her considerably on the food chain, if we choose to reveal our marking, I wish her to respect you as well.”
She cocked her head. “You’re sort of talking like Marcellus.”
He blinked. “If I stop using contractions, cut off my head and burn my body. Make sure the virus can’t spread.”
She chuckled. “Does he never use them?”
“They slip through now and then. He used to use them more. Apparently, as angels get older, they tend to speak more formally. Or maybe it just happens when they lose their sense of humor.”
Noting his gaze sweeping over her as well, Ruth straightened accordingly, wanting him to get the full effect.
Her white cotton blouse was edged with lace at the off-the-shoulder neckline. The shirt had a gathered waist and a lace hem that draped over her hips. The broad turquoise stripes of her wrap-around skirt were divided by thinner ones in brick red and sand colors. She’d worn the skirt over her tooled Shepler boots.
The silver and turquoise conch shell belt completed the look, with matching ropes of turquoise at her neck and ears. She’d pulled up her hair. Merc drew closer and toyed with one earring, his fingers stroking the sensitive flesh beneath it. They were alone, because she’d made her good-byes to her parents after breakfast, before they headed out for the night’s work.
Merc found her breast, the heat of his hand warm through the cotton. Ruth’s body swayed toward him as he teased a nipple to a point with his thumb. Her bra was thin, the shirt even more so.
When she rose on her toes to put her nose to his throat, he slid his arm around her. He tilted his head to peer down at her. “What are you doing?”
“Just inhaling.” Suddenly uncertain of what was moving through her, she tilted her head back. “Is that okay? To just enjoy you?”
He blinked. “I can’t think of a reason to object. But I expect we need to get going.”
“Yes.” She gripped his collar and steeled herself for what was ahead. “Okay. Let’s go.”
The nice clothes didn’t diminish Merc’s always dangerous demeanor. So Garron took the extra moment to gauge her companion in the way a protective servant and fighter did.
“The requested Truth Vessel,” Merc said, inclining his head without smiling.
“Yes.” Garron executed another bow toward him. “Is ‘my lord’ the appropriate address?”
“Merc is fine.”
“Very well. My lady welcomes you both. If you can follow me, I’ll take you to her office.”