1
“I’m sorry, but there are no returns, refunds, or exchanges of any kind.” The Mistress who ran the stall folded her arms over her bare breasts and looked down her long nose at Jillian. “I thought I made that clear when you bought the thaelite in the first place.”
“But…but I thought I was only paying for the thaelite itself,” Jillian protested, staring at the woman. “You sold me a person!”
She gestured to the huge, muscular warrior at her side, who was standing with his arms crossed over his broad chest and staring impassively into the distance.
He looked kind of like a Kindred—at least he had the size of one. He was at least seven feet tall with shoulders fully twice as broad as her own. But his eyes were green and silver and they almost seemed to glow—Jillian didn’t know of any Kindred with eyes like that.
The bodyslave also had thick dark hair which was iron gray at the temples and a neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard. Given the gray in his hair, he might be in his late forties or early fifties—it was hard to tell, Jillian thought. At any rate, he was in amazing shape, so only the hair and a few crow’s feet around his piercing silver-green eyes gave away his age, which was probably five or six years older than her own.
The warrior bodyslave was dressed like he came out of a gladiator movie. He was bare-chested, which showed off his massive arms as well as the many scars on his back and chest. He looked liked he’d been in some pretty fierce fights, Jillian thought, eyeing him warily. From the waist down all he had on was a short leather kilt, which showed off thighs like tree trunks—proving he didn’t skip leg day—and brown leather boots.
He was currently just standing there, arms crossed, staring straight ahead while Jillian argued with his former Mistress. If he had any thoughts on the fact that Jillian was trying to “return” him, they didn’t show on his stern features.
“Look, I didn’t mean to buy him!” she argued with the stall owner, who was still looking down her from her rather imposing height, since she was wearing stilt-like heels that were almost three feet tall. If she hadn’t also been wearing a dress that prominently displayed her bare breasts, hidden only by a thin veil of see-through silk, the shoes would have been the most arresting thing about her.
“I made everything perfectly clear when you bought the thaelite,” the woman snapped. “It’s not my fault if you’re too stupid to understand!”
“That’s really insulting!” Jillian exclaimed. “And you tricked me into buying him!”
“I did nothing of the sort.” The woman’s eyes—which happened to be an improbable shade of lavender—flashed dangerously. “And as I said before, there are absolutely no refunds, returns, or exchanges!” She leaned down from her stilt-like heels and stared into Jillian’s face. “Let me put this in a way you can understand—Kalis is now your bodyslave, bound and sworn to you for life. You are stuck with him.”
“My old Mistress is correct. I am yours, little Mistress,” the huge warrior rumbled. Then he knelt in the dust of the marketplace right at Jillian’s feet. Even kneeling, he was so big they were almost eye-to-eye. “I will serve you always,” he said, looking deep into Jillian’s eyes. “I will pleasure you and protect you from any who wish to harm you. To the last drop of my blood and the last breath of air in my body, I dedicate myself to you completely.”
“Oh…” Jillian whispered, looking into those deep silver-green eyes. “Oh God, what am I going to do?”
She stared at the huge bodyslave in dismay, nervously tucking a sheaf of wheat-blonde hair behind her ear and nibbling her lower lip as she tried to think. How had she gotten herself into such a sticky situation? If only she’d stayed down on Earth instead of moving up to the Kindred Mother Ship in the first place, this never would have happened.
This is all Brad’s fault! she thought ruefully.
She shook her head, not wanting to think of her ex. Though if she was honest, Brad was the main reason she had come to the Mother Ship in the first place. But she never would have given him the time of day if she hadn’t been so lonely.
Lonely and stupid, whispered a little voice in her head. Stupid not to realize what kind of guy Brad was in the first place. You worked in Vegas long enough to know a shark when you saw one. But no—you closed your eyes to all the signs because you wanted so badly to be loved…
Jillian had been working as the Executive Chef of The Palms, an upscale steakhouse in Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. It wasn’t easy to be a woman in the male-dominated world of fine dining—a fact she’d learned the hard way as she was climbing the ladder. The culinary world could be cutthroat and filled with nineteen-hour days. There was no time for a husband or kids.
Which was fine with Jillian—she honestly didn’t want kids. Not at the time, anyway. She loved being creative with food and she had a talent for organization and leadership. She always kept a cool head, no matter how dire the situation, which made her an excellent executive chef.
But she’d risen through the ranks to the very top of the restaurant food chain by sacrificing any kind of family life—she didn’t even have any pets, except a couple of goldfish. They were the only animals she didn’t feel guilty about leaving alone all day.
All of which left her lonely and vulnerable as she got into middle age—though Jillian never would have admitted it to herself. It was then that Brad had come into her life. He had been dining with a group of high rollers, who were ordering bottle after bottle of Cristal and the most expensive Wagyu steaks on the menu, which had led Jillian to believe he was a high roller himself.
Which turned out to be a big mistake.
Not that she was looking for a rich guy, but she was in her mid forties—she wanted someone who was financially independent and responsible with money. She herself owned a modestly upscale home in a nice neighborhood which was all paid off. Since there was rarely time in her life for vacations and she didn’t have any kids to spend her money on, her spare income went to paying off her mortgage and into her bank account.
She had mistakenly assumed that Brad was well-off financially because of the company he kept. She hadn’t realized that his expensive meals were mostly paid for by his many “friends.” The fact was, her ex was a grifter. Like a remora eel, he latched onto unsuspecting hosts and sucked them dry. He had probably seen her as an easy meal ticket—a lonely woman in her forties, hungry to be held and cherished.
But of course, Jillian hadn’t known any of that on the night when she went out dutifully to check on the high-roller table and make sure they were happy with everything they were getting. It was one of her duties, as executive chef, to make certain the VIP guests were satisfied—she’d had no idea she was letting herself in for a world of hurt.
Brad had been at his gregarious best that night, ordering more champagne for the table and cracking jokes that made everyone laugh. When Jillian asked if they were enjoying their meal, he praised the food to the skies.
“Wait a minute—so you’re the executive chef here? Does that mean you wrote the menu?” he’d asked, wide-eyed with excitement when Jillian introduced herself. “You must be some kind of culinary genius! And so beautiful, too!”