after I got out.”
“It also didn’t occur to me that anyone who had escaped the trade would ever be mad enough to put herself back in,” Jaguar pointed out.
Turquoise shrugged. “You’re the second person who’s called me mad in relation to this job,” she commented. “How will you get rid of Jeshickah now? And what do you plan to do with me for the next week?” Unless Jaguar could get rid of Jeshickah before those seven days were up, either Jaguar was dead or Turquoise would once again be a slave ready for breaking. Turquoise would trust no one to put his life above her freedom.
“I have a few ideas for Jeshickah, but none of them are quick,” he answered. “As for you . . . I don’t know.”
Turquoise didn’t intend to give Jaguar time to make a decision. She would get out of Midnight today, if he left her alone for more than five seconds. This job had gone bad. If Jaguar had been honest in his warning that killing Jeshickah would bring about deadly retaliation, then Turquoise needed to backtrack and plan again. Confronting Jillian Red and Nathaniel about whether she and Ravyn had been sent on a suicide mission sounded like a good idea.
Getting out shouldn’t be too difficult. It would be the easiest thing in the world to scale the courtyard wall and go over the back of the building. The iron fence was high, but she could manage it. Turquoise wasn’t worried about Ravyn; the hunter could look out for herself. Whatever Ravyn’s relationship was with the vampire to whom she had been sold, Turquoise was more than happy to turn her back on the pair.
She was silent for too long, debating. Jaguar asked casually, “What’s Catherine’s story? How did she end up in Daryl’s care?”
“Doesn’t he acquire most people the same way?” Turquoise retorted defensively as she tried to avoid answering.
Jaguar nodded. “He buys most of his slaves from other trainers.” He added, “And he doesn’t buy anyone who isn’t broken. That means he picked you up somewhere else.”
“Guess so.” She did not feel like sharing her life history today.
“How many people did he kill to get you?”
The words were blunt, and Turquoise knew her shock showed on her face. Most of the scars on Turquoise’s arms were from when Daryl had thrown her father through the second-story bay window, and she had almost followed through the broken glass. Before she meant to, she answered, “My mother. My father. My brother.”
“I don’t know your exact history with Daryl, but I know his methods. He wouldn’t have taken a freeblood human without making sure she didn’t have a home to return to.”
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t have had anything, even if they had been alive. How would they ever have understood?”
Jaguar didn’t argue with her. “You miss them?”
Turquoise shrugged. “I miss Catherine’s old life, sometimes. Her friends, her family. Mostly, the sense of safety she lived with. But I can’t go back, no matter how much I would like to.” Recklessly, she asked a question that she knew would end the conversation. “What about you? When Jeshickah changed you, did you miss your past?”
Jaguar recoiled as if she had struck him, but he matched her honesty as he told his own brief story. “My mother was a shape-shifter. Midnight’s laws didn’t allow for shape-shifters to be traded, unless they were first sold into it by their own kind. My father was happy to oblige.” He gathered himself quickly, but his voice was still sharp when he answered, “He sold me to Jeshickah for less than the cost of a bottle of whiskey. I could have fought him on it—I was twenty years old, and held almost as much power in the estate as he did—but I was glad to leave.” He stood, turning away from Turquoise, each movement slick and angry like a restless, caged beast.
“Why did Jeshickah want you?” Though anxious to leave this fouled job behind, she was genuinely curious about his background.
Jaguar rounded on her, asking, “Why did Daryl want you?”
“Answer for an answer?” she translated. At Jaguar’s nod, she explained as succinctly as possible, “My father took me to New York for my eighteenth birthday, to see a musical. We got in late, and my father went to bed, but I stayed in the hotel lobby to people-watch. I was a naпve idiot; when Daryl came up to me, I didn’t think past the fact that he was handsome and seemed to be flirting. We were in an open area, surrounded by people. No danger. I never recognized what he was—never even knew vampires existed—until he bit me.”
“Daryl’s line is weak physically,” Jaguar commented, “but if you let one of them in your mind you won’t ever think to fight them. Against an unprotected human mind, he wouldn’t need to be strong.”
Turquoise raised one brow. “Apparently he did need to be.” She finished the story quickly. “Or maybe he was just careless. Either way, he didn’t manage to catch my mind. I started to fight him, smashed my soda glass against his temple, kicked . . .” She remembered fondly that memory, less fondly the one after. “I caused enough of a scene that he couldn’t keep people from noticing, and had to let me go . . . for the moment, anyway.”
Jaguar nodded, knowing the gist of the rest, if not the details. Daryl did not kill most of his prey, but he did not like losing one. If Catherine had not fought him, her interaction with the world of vampires might have ended on that night. But thwarted once, Daryl had been twice as determined to claim her.
“Daryl hates you too much to have let you go willingly,” Jaguar observed, “and even with his temper, he wouldn’t have scarred you unless he planned to kill you. Yet you somehow managed to get out and become a hunter. How?”
“I fought him. I got out. I joined Bruja,” Turquoise answered vaguely, her tone adding the words
“Jeshickah picks her trainers for physical beauty, mental acuity, moral void, and what she calls a trainer instinct—the instinct to watch a person, determine her weaknesses, and destroy her.” He paused, and then added, “I had shown a knack for such. It also didn’t hurt that Jeshickah had a fondness for shape-shifter blood.” He said the words dispassionately, the same way Ravyn had referred to her master’s taste for “exotics.” Turquoise wondered if she would ever be able to look at her own experience as a slave so unemotionally.
Turquoise had seen how deeply Jeshickah’s claws of ownership went. Unless she counted the years before his father had sold him—a very small portion of his long life—Jaguar had never been free.
Physical beauty and mental acuity—Turquoise could still see those descriptions applying to Jaguar. Moral void, she could not. “What changed?” she asked.
“A hundred years without Jeshickah,” Jaguar answered. He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. “There was a slave of mine who survived when Midnight burned. I had owned her since she was four, when I had bought her in one of my many attempts to annoy Jeshickah—she had been born blind, and Jeshickah had been planning to kill her.” He smiled a bit at the memory. “She was faultlessly obedient. That was unsurprising; she had been raised a slave in Midnight. Only after Midnight burned did I realize that I had never once struck her. I had never needed to.”
He sighed, his expression distant. “Over the years I realized I didn’t want to own her; I wanted to know her. I enjoyed her company, especially once she grew brave enough to speak freely with me. She trusted me implicitly, and I was wary of betraying that trust.
“I’d had people fear me, hate me, envy me. . . .” He shook his head. “Trust was new, and it was precious. It took me a long time to figure out how I had managed to earn it.”
“And when you did?” Turquoise asked, caught up in the story.
“I realized I didn’t think of her as a slave, and that I hadn’t treated her like one since Midnight’s walls fell. You can’t earn a slave’s trust, or loyalty—only her obedience. But blind obedience doesn’t make for interesting conversation or companionship; I prefer spending time with a defiant equal more than an obsequious slave.” Jaguar shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said I always enjoy the challenge. The relationship between master and slave is clear-cut, easy, and sometimes it’s tempting to slip into the familiar role and demand submission from someone who is refusing to give me what I want.”
“Such as?” Turquoise pried, thinking of how easily he had ordered Daryl away, and wondering whether that
