My Blood on Your Lips, Your Money in My Bra

Chapter 12: The Difference Between Client and Master

"Terrence," I said softly as I stood in the doorway of his room. I hadn't even bothered to knock. The man was standing by the stained glass window I loved, staring at a triangular spot of red. His hands were clasped behind his back, his lips thinned in a glare, his body still. He really wasn't pleased. Eli had sugarcoated it. "Terrence," I repeated, a little louder than before. I took a step into the room and closed the door slowly and quietly.

"You've started a war, Elyria," he said coldly. He wouldn't look at me, wouldn't even turn.

"No, Terrence," I replied, my voice still soft. "You started a war. Or maybe the werewolves did. Either way, I did nothing."

He rounded on me, closing the gap between us in three long strides. His speed was unnerving, though I refused to let him know that it bothered me.

"You were the cause," he hissed, his closeness threatening. "If it wasn't for you, there wouldn't be a war."

I glared at him, my form shifting to leave a purple glow on his pale face. I wouldn't let him intimidate me.

"You're wrong, Terrence." My voice remained quiet, but it was stronger now. "If it wasn't for me, there wouldn't be a war yet. Squabbles are going to spring up between groups of vampires and any werewolf clans that have decided to feast on blood. Maybe you wouldn't have fought with this particular group of Weres, but I'm sure you would've clashed with someone." My eyes drifted away from the male, taking in the floor and the bed and anything but him. My mind wandered as well, moving from our current topic to the one we'd started with. "If you didn't want a war, you should've just given me to them. That would've prevented this."

"You're my property, like every slave, vampire, dish, spoon in this house. You are mine. If I give you to someone else to stop a war, I look like I'm too weak to hold on to what belongs to me."

I went rigid, my eyes jerking back to his. "You don't own me, Terrence," I told him angrily. "No one owns me. You're my client, not my master."

"I'm both," he hissed. "And it would be wise to lower your voice when speaking to me."

I punched him in the face without even thinking about it. Or, rather, I tried to punch him. He caught my fist like it was nothing, using that unnatural speed of his.

Next thing I knew, I was on the floor, a pain in my jaw that hadn't been there before. I looked at Terrence from where I was sprawled on the carpet, slightly stunned.

He'd freaking hit me.

"You're a stupid girl, Elyria." His voice was calmer now, his face relaxed into a stoic expression. "If I gave you to them, it wouldn't be any good for you, either." He offered me a hand, and I hesitated for only a moment before taking it. He pulled me to my feet, but didn't let go of my hand, even when I was standing.

"How would it be bad for me?" I asked as calmly as I could, considering I'd just been hit in the face. The longer I stood there, holding Terrence's hand, breathing in his scent, accepting his closeness, the calmer I became. My emotions toward him were becoming confused, a muddled mess of hatred and resentment and forgiveness. He'd proved to me that he was capable of some sort of kindness toward me, but he'd just hit me, so I wasn't sure whether his niceness really meant anything or not.

"They're werewolves," he answered, as if that explained everything. "They aren't quite like vampires. You'll end up dead or a slave in their care."

"I'm already a slave here."

He shook his head, his grip on my hand gentling. "No, you're not. You have your freedom."

"You control quite a bit of my life."