"Why do you have Auguste like that?" I whispered, Auguste blinking and remaining quiet from his position posted to the tree.
"Leverage. It's strangely effective on most people, humans and anomalies alike. We can sit here together, and I can say, 'Esther Reed, you will not leave this room alive, nor will your vampire,' and still you'll behave and do as I say simply out of the hope that your circumstances might change. They won't, by the way," Birsha said, drinking wine again and watching me.
"And that works?" I asked.
Birsha's eyes widened, his hands raised and splayed with cutlery pinched between his fingers, as if to prove his point by our own scene. He was holding a knife. A steak knife, although what was on his plate looked more like a heart than a—
My eyes whipped to Auguste's chest in a sudden panic, but no, his shirt was relatively clean there, still buttoned.
"Not his, no, but that is clever of you. This belonged to one of his kind. Staking a vampire through the heart is so mundane. Surgical removal during the day and the slow feasting so that they feel themselves devoured is more artful," Birsha said, his tongue licking out at the blood on his fork as he took another bite. His tongue is black, I told myself, adding it to the catalog. "Thibodeaux and I will be interrupted before I'm able to enjoy him, but he's too sweet for my taste and I'd rather have him watch."
"And your plans for me?" I asked, avoiding looking at the knife. It was my only hope, but how—
"Do you really want to know?"
I did not. Birsha believed himself absolute when he said the others wouldn't find me, but he didn't know about Amon and he hadn't considered my connection to Booker, so perhaps that would make the difference. Either way, every horrible word was another second to try and think, to reach into myself and try and find that little tether. It was there, a reassuring throb in my heart.
At last, I nodded slowly, forcing the bob of my head, my thoughts rattling in my skull, Booker and I tugging lightly to one another on our line.
"Mmm, normally, I find physical violence so dull. I like the calm, the quiet, the slow agony. However, I may make a special case for you. A last-ditch effort to destroy the joy you find in your gifts of the flesh."
I blinked, head cocking, and blurted out, "You want to fuck me?"
Birsha stiffened, face hardening, and glared at me. "Rape, Esther."
I gasped, but not at the threat. Oh, how clever. A terrible old man threatening to rape me. I would've rolled my eyes at Birsha if it weren't for the soft brush of calloused fingers at the back of my neck, the warm touch, the whiff of beeswax. Terror and relief lodged in my throat so suddenly, I choked. Was I imagining… No, no, that was his hand.
"Possibly a difficult act to achieve with a nymphomaniac such as yourself," Birsha continued, misunderstanding my gasp for horror and growing more cheerful.
Auguste growled at the tree. Ezra stroked the back of my neck again. Hope.
"However, I suspect being forced in front of your tormented lover might adequately dull your usual ardor," Birsha said, grinning, that black tongue flicking out to collect a drop of wine on his bottom lip.
I stood abruptly from my chair, catching my breath at the solid press of Ezra's palms against my back, and Birsha stared up at me, victorious and predatory, just waiting for me to try and run.
"And if I like it?" I asked.
Birsha's expression hardened again, eyes narrowing, and I moved around the table, Ezra following, a reassuring strength at my back, until my small shadow cast over Birsha.
"They play games with me, you know. They chase and hunt me, they tie me up and tell me what to do, what to take," I said, proud as can be to Birsha, who sat there before me, eating the heart of a vampire, drinking who knew what. "I've loved every minute of it."
"It was your choice," Birsha said stiffly.
He was right, and every step closer to him made my skin crawl, made my stomach turn, made my mind race with what this would turn into if we failed. But Ezra was at my back, Booker was calling for me, and Auguste needed us.
I sank to my knees at Birsha's side, my chin lifted proudly, one hand rising from my side and settling on his thigh. It tensed under my touch, just like a man's would.
"I make lots of choices," I said, coaching my face into a smile. "I think you're afraid of me."
"Afraid—?" Birsha growled.
"I think you're afraid you couldn't break me. You like to make everyone around you suffer, but what if I like to suffer too? What if you can't hurt me more than I'd enjoy?"
"I could have you dissected into little pieces," Birsha bit out, his fingers tightening around the knife, my heart lurching. Pull back, I told myself, letting my fear rise to my face, for him to enjoy the sight of it.
"That's true."
"You can't conquer me, child," Birsha hissed, leaning into my space.
"I want to be conquered," I whispered, trembling, counting the lines on his forehead, studying the arch of his brows, telling myself I would remember this face when I turned away again.
Birsha frowned at that, and I grabbed onto the hint, letting words unravel from my lips.
"You want to destroy the other houses so no one has any choice but use yours? Why not have a girl like me that your customers are dying to take a crack at?" My voice was something between desperate and sultry, but Birsha was smirking down at me and I heard the moment the knife settled on the table. Ezra's feet were touching the soles of my boots, waiting in complete silence, watching it all.
"Bargaining, I see. The weak always try that too," Birsha murmured, leaning back in his chair.
"Killing me is a waste. You like slow agony? Let me go through hell in one of your houses." I pulled gently on the thigh I was touching, my breath uneven as it answered. His body opened slowly, parting his thighs for me, his eyes that of a snake watching the mouse climb into its jaws.
Auguste groaned, and my gaze flicked briefly in his direction, a little whine rising from my throat at the sight of him—tense, almost pulling on the stakes in his hand.
"Mmm, this is tragic for him, isn't it? Watching you unravel yourself, try to play the seductress just for a few years of a worthless life," Birsha whispered, looking between Auguste and me. "I could tell you now that you could make your best effort with me, and I would still kill you, and you'd try anyway. Just because of hope. You think you're powerful. I saw you on that stage, Esther Reed. You think we all fall under your sway because we're so desperate. So alone. But not me."
Birsha's hand snapped out and I shouted, jumping, but he didn't reach for the knife. His fingers clenched around my jaw, lifting me from my kneel until we were nose to nose.
"I don't want pleasure. I don't want to conquer your body. I want power," Birsha hissed, a little sour spittle landing on my mouth as he dug strong fingers into my cheeks. "I want to own the beasts. Creatures like your Mr. Tanner. I will rip him away from you, drive him mad with it. And when he is weakest, I will put him in my cage like all the others."
I was gasping, forgetting Auguste, forgetting Ezra, trying to rip myself out of Birsha's hold, as fast and frantic as my heart was trying to take flight from my chest.
"I don't need a little gasping begging cunt to hold my throne. You are nothing. You are worthless. You have always been worthless, and you've always known it. Haven't you, Esther Reed?"
Tears blurred the alarming clarity of Birsha's face, and I was too panicked to hold onto the memory of him, too desperate now to run away. He'd been right about hope, and it was popping like a fragile, frivolous bubble now. I'd complied. I'd bargained, all because—