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Zane laid back on the bed with his arms over his eyes so I could get dressed.

Once the shirt was buttoned up and the towel was wrapped around my waist, I sat next to him.

"Can you use thrall?" I asked.

Zane sat up and looked at me as if I had lost my mind. "I'm not a damn Vampire! Why would you ask such a thing?" he demanded, appalled. "You know I don't like Vampires."

I did know that, but I wasn't sure why he didn't like Vampires.

I shrugged, looking at my hands. "It was just something I heard while healing and it made me curious. I mean, you've always been able to bullshit like no other, but sometimes it seems like it's more than that... I don't know, maybe I'm just jealous of your charisma that I didn't get."

"Well, Mom sure in the hell doesn't have charisma, and everyone calls you Grandma Li's twin, so let's see if I have a recessive something or another that you didn't get. Let's try," Zane offered, turning his body to face me, and he looked intently into my eyes. "Put the dress on."

My head tilted to the side, waiting for the sensation of persuasion or a wavering to my free will, or even a clouding in my mind.

But it didn't come.

"Ari, put the dress on for dinner," he repeated, looking intently into my eyes.

"Yeah, not happening," I said with a snort.

Zane rolled his eyes. "Like I said, totally not thrall. Thanks for thinking so highly of me though."

There was a knock at the door followed by Harper; he looked apologetic so this couldn't be good.

"Sorry, Love. No round the houses. The best I could get were knickers," he said, tossing me a pair of black lace tanga panties with the tags on them.

Both Zane and Harper ran out the door as the profanities flowed freely, and loudly, from my lips.

This was just ridiculous!

It'd be one thing if they were cotton panties, boy-cut shorts, or something remotely functional.

Instead, they were something designed specifically to show the bottom of your butt cheeks!

I seriously had no luck at all.

It truly was as if Prince de Babineaux was fighting Fate or Death with his attempts at keeping me alive.

Once the panties were on and the sleeves of Harper's dress shirt were rolled up some, a knock came at the door that was followed by a little person.

"Hello Madame, I'm Mistress Meeka, and am here to escort you to dinner," she said with a smile.

I thought I'd seen everything in my travels in my youth, but a dwarf Vampire Blood Whore is a first for me.

She floated to my side and handed me a pair of white socks.

"Prince de Babineaux warned that you would like something for your feet," she said.

I hated how well Viggo knew me when I didn't know how.

"Thank you," I said, and hopped around on one foot, pulling the socks on. "Are there really no pants?" I asked.

Mistress Meeka smiled. "No Madame. A lady wears a skirt or dress. Trousers are for males and those of gender fluidity," she informed me with a nod of her head. "You are not of gender fluidity or one of the Misters of Servitude, thus you will not be provided trousers."

I am starting to hate Majandra more and more by the minute.

"Madame Majandra teaches that a female wields power over those around her by simply utilizing the gifts that are naturally bestowed upon her regardless of how hard males try to take away those gifts or rights," Mistress Meeka explained. "Females are the fruit bearers, not the males, thus we wield all the power. Our bodies are our temples, and they are our weapons and our greatest defense."

"Okay?" I said, not entirely sure how I ended up in an evangelical Blood Whore sermon and timeshare presentation.

I'm starting to question what Prince de Babineaux does in his spare time if this is the type of thing he's into.

"Madame, may I inquire as to why you refuse to dress as a lady for dinner?" the little Vampire asked.

"Lady?" I snorted. "No offense, but a Blood Whore is the farthest thing from being a lady. Weapons, wielding the power of the universe between your legs or not, selling oneself for money, and allowing Vampires to suck your blood while having sex, isn't ladylike."

Mistress Meeka smiled. "You are young and know nothing of the world around you, but I take no offense. Blood Brothels are so much more than just sex, and Dominate control and Submissive relationships. The transfer of blood is very rarely involved. Sometimes, all they need is to be bound and ordered to speak what they cannot say aloud in their normal lives."

That, strangely, made me feel better.

"I suppose it is a good thing that we repulse you," Mistress Meeka said, "because if you went into our line of work we'd all be out of a job."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, following her down the hallway, having to shorten my steps to walk with her.

"Isn't it obvious?" she mused. "Beauty, brains, attitude, and glowing energy. Those are all things that would fetch the fortune of a small kingdom, even for one night. Many would pay with their souls to simply sit at your feet and listen to your words, or to lick the sweat from between your toes, or to have the honor of simply acting as a living stool for your round, very desirable backside to sit upon while you file your nails."

I looked down at her with wide eyes. "Are you serious? People pay to do that stuff?" I asked.

She giggled. "Oh, you would be surprised at what they pay us to do to them. As I said, sex is very rarely involved in our line of work. Sex you can get anywhere, what we offer is what they cannot get: absolute freedom from their everyday life."

"Huh, learn something new every day," I mumbled under my breath.

We walked the rest of the way in silence; the swish from the fabric of her dress rubbing together was the only sound I could hear, which wasn't right if Zane was around.

The brothel wasn't so much a house as it was a manor.

It was something out of Gone with the Wind. I didn't think this remote part of Canada had Southern Gothic-style manors. It was nice if you are into that kind of thing; three stories with many rooms and two wrapping staircases that led to a marble-tiled foyer. It had soaring ceilings with massive crystal chandeliers, and oil paintings and marble sculptures everywhere.

Discreetly concealed in the detailed patterned wallpaper were sigils, the same with the woodwork and the marble.

To anyone without a keen eye, it would have been easily overlooked, and that was exactly how it was designed to be.

It wasn't what I was expecting, but at the same time it was.

I was escorted to an eerily quiet and overly fancy dining room, and all of the males stood when I entered.

"Thank you for dressing for dinner," Majandra dryly commented when I sat between Zane and Harper, and the males sat back down.

Viggo looked at me appraisingly from Majandra's side.

Little meat puppet.

"I don't wear dresses," I said. "Aside from the yukata that I was forced to wear when Grandmother visited as punishment for putting the former Headmaster's car in the bottom of the lap pool, I prefer pants like the next Sentinel."

Majandra glared at me and motioned for the girls around the table to leave.

Those of the Imperial Guard lined the room and stood perfectly still with their hands folded together in front of them, their eyes forward.

It was creepy.

"I am surprised, Miss Li," Majandra started, leaning back into her chair. "For someone that just saved your life, and that repaired damage from three years ago that was not tended to by healers, you are rather rude and ungrateful towards them and the hospitality they are offering you and your motley group of travelers that are costing her a profit for the night."

I smiled. "Thank you for saving my life, even if we both know you have mixed feelings about that. But I wish your Little Flea would stop fighting Fate. If I'm meant to die then he should just accept that because I have."

"Ariadne, you are being ridiculous," Viggo grumbled under his breath, pushing his plate away.

"Am I?" I rhetorically asked, pushing the plate of food in front of me away as well.

I was starving, but I didn't trust anything or anyone anymore.

"Since you've come around I've almost died how many times now?" I asked. "Are you trying to kill me, Prince de Babineaux?"

Viggo's face hardened, and the fires of rage burning in his large green eyes were unmistakable.

"You will watch your tongue when speaking to him," Majandra snarled.

"Or you'll do what?" I asked. "Kill me? Yes, I remember clearly that you already threatened me with that one."

Her face blanched and everyone in the crowded dining room turned in unison to look at her, even the Imperial Guard.

"A part of me wishes you would have because I don't care anymore," I said, getting to my feet. "Do what the Upír didn't finish, or the Benandantis, Vrykolakas, or Stregone for that matter, because I don't care anymore! I'm tired, broken, and possibly going insane, and for the first time in my life, I'm giving up. I'm tired of everyone lying to me, of keeping things from me... I'm done. I cannot keep doing this with you, Prince de Babineaux," I whispered the latter, trying to speak past the lump that had formed in my throat before I turned and hurried from the dining room so he didn't see the tears that were threatening to fall.