Page 16 of Bought for Blood

“That’s not a request for the calendar. Private sessions, at my convenience. She’s not to be fed from, or shown to anyone else while I hold it.”

“Absolutely understood.” His hands find each other. “There is—my lord will forgive the operational note—she’s on the draw schedule. Daily extraction, standing quota. Her line’s yield is committed, as I mentioned. The schedule is not within—”

“Take her off it. I don’t pay for watered-down drinks.”

He blinks. “My lord, the quota.”

“I tasted exactly what your draw schedule has done to her, Vasile. She was half-drained before I ever touched her.” I let that sink in.

“Lord Val-Serein—” he begins.

“You sold me an evening with your rarest stock and served her to me half empty. I’ll forgive it once. It was worth it. It won’t be worth it twice. Whatever her quota earns you, bill it to me on top, and stop bleeding her between my visits. Her condition, going forward, is the product. Food. Warmth. Whatever mortals need.”

“But my superiors—”

I cut him off again. “If your superiors have difficulty with any of that, they may bring it to me. I’d enjoy the conversation.”

He’s counting, and not only money. I watch it move through him while his face holds its warmth. A client with a standing appointment for the rarest thing in the house doesn’t stay one client. He brings his circle. He brings his rivals, out of spite. Somewhere behind his eyes, tonight’s story is already being drafted for whoever holds his position above him.

“Naturally, my lord.” He spreads his hands. “An arrangement of this scope… The rates would need to reflect—”

“Name them. I don’t haggle. Haggling is for people who care what things cost.”

He names a figure that would embarrass a small government. I give a nod that makes it boring.

The rest we do at his desk. He produces a leather folder and a fountain pen worth as much as his suit. He writes while he talks.

“Sessions from dusk, my lord?”

“From dusk. I’ll send word ahead on the day.”

“Of course. The room you used this evening…shall the house keep it for you?”

“Yes. And I want her brought to me awake and unhandled. No sedation. No escort gripping her arms. She walks in on her own feet.”

His pen pauses. “The handlers are standard for—”

“Not for her. They wait down the hall. What happens in that room is not the house’s business.”

“Privacy absolute.” He writes it. “And her maintenance… You said food, warmth. The ward has a standard provision—”

“The ward’s standard provision is exactly what left her like that. Double it. Better food, warm blankets, whatever it takes to put color back in her. Add it to my account, and don’t itemize it. I don’t need a receipt for kindness.”

A short laugh gets away from him before he can dress it up. He writes. “Draws suspended, effective tonight. I’ll walk the orderdown myself. My lord, may I say, the house rarely sees a client with such…attention to the asset.”

“I have no interest in a half-dead blood source. And Vasile…” I watch the pen stop. “If her name spreads, I’ll know who shared it.”

“Understood, my lord. Fully.”

He blots the page, turns the folder for my signature. I sign it and don’t look at the number.

He walks me to the door, offers his hand, remembers himself, and bows low instead.

“The house is honored, Seigneur de Val-Serein. Truly. I believe you’ll find her…” he selects the word with care, “singular.”

“I found that out myself.”

The night outside is cold, heavy with diesel and pine. After that building, the air is almost clean.