It infuriated Lydia to have to wait all day before nightfall, but that was simply the nature of the beast. She was used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it, or at least seeing others hop to the task of satisfying her desires without hesitation. Sometimes, though, the realities of life meant that some things had to run on their own schedule.
Hours ago, the sketch artist she had requested Carlos locate for her had arrived at their mansion on Capitol Hill. He fit the bill precisely as she'd hoped: hungry, talented, and with the sort of criminal history that implied there were no guardian angels looking after him. Sure enough, when he arrived, he turned out to be perfect, and pleasantly handsome to boot. Lydia went straight to work with him.
Before long, she had solid, effective likenesses of Lorelei and the brat she'd been with -- not that any sketch could truly capture the beauty of a succubus. The young artist was also completely, utterly enthralled by the blonde vixen. She allowed him to kneel before her as she sat in a chair in the study and slavishly lick and suck between her spread legs while she pondered her options.
Seducing the young man was unnecessary as far as maintaining his services went, of course. The money Carlos would pay was more than good enough to keep his loyalty and his silence. Lydia preferred to secure loyalty to herself personally, though, rather than relying on a network of connections.
It also simply felt good. He wasn't as talented as her current husband, Carlos. Nor was he as good as Paco, or Chuy, or several of the other bodyguards here in Seattle, or Carlos's father, or a couple of Carlos's rivals within the family business. Still, the services of an enthralled youth were always pleasant regardless of comparison.
Lydia sat with her legs spread wide, still clad in her short, silk green bathrobe with only its bottom spread open for her new servant's access. She gave him no outward indication of excitement or joy. He kept her riding a pleasant sexual high, but she found it amusing to leave him wondering if he was satisfying her or not.
She had already forgotten his name, but she didn't really care. He looked up at her longing for some sort of approval or word of appreciation, or even just a glance of acknowledgement. However, apart from slightly heavier breathing than earlier, he was out of luck. She genuinely wasn't thinking about him at all.
Instead she considered the necessary changes in plans for the immediate future. After her wedding to Carlos in Ciudad Juarez a month ago, Lydia grew eager to wrap things up with him. She had made more than enough inroads on his allies and associates in the cartel to use them at her whim in the future.
Carlos was a serviceable pawn himself, but his soul was overdue in Hell. The only thing that kept him alive at this point was Lydia's curiosity about what mortal resources she could garner from his cartel's expansion into the Pacific Northwest before she claimed her final satisfaction from him.
She had been about ready to do it, too. Manipulating him and cuckolding him at every turn had grown a touch dull. Her fixation upon him as her next victim did wonderful things for his sexual prowess, of course, but that would happen for her next prey, too.
As they arrived at the restaurant last night, she had pondered how much she wanted to tell him about her rampant infidelities and how far the ensuing bloodshed would go, and whether the amusement factor would be worth the degradation of her growing cadre of enthralled gangsters and cartel luminaries. All that adorable violence and anguish and discord that erupted whenever one of her lovers found her in bed with another never really got old...
...but then there was Lorelei. No horns, no wings, and absolutely no shame about it. That there had been friction and some hostility between them was no surprise, but for one of Belial's whores -- even the most praised -- to take such an arrogant and dismissive tone to the most favored of Ba'al was intolerable. The unanswered questions behind the whole incident were intolerable, as well, and thus she would need to have the matter investigated.
Carlos and his stooges, while very useful in a number of roles, were perhaps not up to the task of stalking an accomplished succubus, though. Nor did she want to truly reveal how much of his organization was primarily loyal to her. Thus, she needed intermediaries...as distasteful as those available here in Seattle might be.
It was perhaps an hour and a half after sunset that the knock came at the door to the study. Lydia put a hand on her new pet's head to keep him going. "Who is there?" she asked.
"It's Paco," the voice answered.
"Enter," Lydia beckoned. He did, and though he did his best to keep a straight face, the sight of the artist on his hands and knees servicing her put Paco through multiple emotional reactions. He was aroused at the sight of her, enraged and hurt at the notion that someone else had intimate access to her -- other than her husband, which Paco already had to live with -- and humiliated at the thought that he would likely do nothing about it lest he risk displeasing her. It was very obvious that Paco had to fight off the urge to attack the boy, or shoot him right then and there.
Lydia smiled at Paco sweetly. She kept the artist going about his deed. He wasn't getting her anywhere near orgasm, but this cruel little moment made up for that. "What is it, Paco?" she asked patronizingly.
Paco gritted his teeth. He'd swallow his pride, she knew, and that cultivated machismo of his, because she was that damned amazing. He wouldn't do anything to screw up his chances with her, regardless of what she did. The sketch artist might not make it home alive after all, though. Still, his work was done and he would be no great loss.
"You've got people here to see you," Paco said in Spanish, trying to maintain his icy self-control.
"Excellent," she said. "Have you heard from Carlos yet?" Her legs were still spread wide for the mouth that was still actively trying to please her, but she spoke as if she were oblivious to it.
"He called. He said to tell you he'd be home late tonight."
"Very good," Lydia nodded. "Can you describe our guests?"
"Three people. Two men, one woman. They're all dressed in black...frilly clothes," Paco said, trying to find words. He couldn't help but stare daggers at the head between Lydia's legs. "Really pale. They seem stuck up and annoying."
"Yes. That's exactly who I was expecting," Lydia said dryly. She shifted in her chair, leaving it to the artist to realize that his time buried in that intoxicating, wet flesh was done. He leaned back, looking up at her like a lost puppy. She got to her feet without bothering to close her robe. "Have you made them comfortable?"
"I asked them to wait in the living room, yes."
"Good. I'm going to throw something on before I go down there." She picked up the sketches he had made for her before off the nearby desk before she glanced down at the kneeling young man. "What was your name again? Albert? Adam?"
"Webster," he answered.
"Ah. Right. Paco, could you show Webster here out? Best if you use the back entrance. I'm going to go get dressed."
Paco waited until Lydia was out of the room before he strode over to Webster to pull him roughly to his feet by the ear.
Moments later, Lydia came down the ornate staircase dressed in a form-fitting, full-length crimson dress. She had considered jeans and tall boots; a meeting like this would make anyone feel as if they'd stepped in something distasteful. Still, what had to be done, had to be done.
Waiting in the living room were her guests. One of the men was standing; he was dressed in black jeans, a black button-down shirt and a black leather sport coat, with his hands folded at his belt buckle and his eyes hidden behind black sunglasses. His black spiky hair and fashionable sideburns framed a pale, thuggish face.
The other two rose as Lydia arrived. They were dressed with something beyond formality in mind. The man seemed like a grave, all-black peacock, dressed as he was in shining black leather pants and a frilly black poet's shirt. He tossed his head in a motion that conveyed practiced arrogance while also clearing his long black hair from his vision. His companion, a slender woman in a black formal gown and diamond jewelry, would have been deemed to be of exquisite, delicate beauty to most anyone. However, Lydia knew she was only a gaudy, well-preserved corpse.
"Welcome to my home," Lydia said with all the cordiality and warmth she could muster. Under the circumstances, it wasn't much.
"Good evening," the peacock replied in a deep voice. His accent was English, and overly so. "I am Lord Damien Blackthorne," he began, either missing or ignoring Lydia's immediate sneer, "Steward of the Dark Emerald City in service to my liege, Her Grace, Lady—"
He got no further than that. His hand had been outstretched as he was in the process of introducing the woman to his immediate left, but Lydia interrupted him. "Spare me your pretentious and insipid titles," she said with a wave of her hand. Lydia sat in an ornate chair facing them without ceremony. "You're Blackthorne. I understand. And you are?" she looked to the poised but plainly surprised vampire princess next to him.
"Lady Anastacia Ilyana Kanatova," she said in a cultivated Russian accent.
"And you," Lydia said to the third. "I assume you have a much shorter name. Thorne? No, that's already partly taken here. Ice? Ash? Blaze. No, wait. Cain. No? Shade?"
"Lucien," the third vampire said with a scowl.
"Two syllables," Lydia noted with a lifted eyebrow. "I'm impressed."
"We did not come here to suffer petty mockery," Anastacia said coolly.
"No, of course not, but that can't be helped. I've met too many of your kind over the years. We'll cut right to it, then. You know who I am?"
"Our court loremasters have explained all we need to know," Blackthorne replied.
"Loremasters," Lydia murmured wryly. "Of course. Well. You may call me Lydia. I may well be in this city for some time depending on how my own affairs turn out. I offer you the courtesy of establishing a working relationship openly rather than working one out after months or years of shadowy intrigue and friction between us."
It was Anastacia's turn to raise an eyebrow. Again, though, Blackthorne did the talking. "Why should we wish to establish such a relationship with one such as yourself?"
"Because, little vampire, I know all about your kind, I have an abundance of personal power and resources and I have none of your weaknesses. That said, I have no need to wrest control of the shadows of this city from you -- such control as you may or may not have. But if it comes to it, I'll be perfectly happy to confirm through experimentation whether or not current literary trends are true and see if you lot now merely sparkle in the—"
"What do you want?" Anastacia asked. Her face remained placid, her voice still cool. It was clear that Blackthorne and Lucien bristled under Lydia's blunt disrespect, but Anastacia maintained her self- control.
"Merely a little assistance. Your kind are spread throughout any city's nightlife. I am in search of two individuals, a young man and a woman. The male's name currently escapes me. The woman goes by the name of Lorelei. I have their likeness here," she said, holding out the sheets of paper, "though with the caveat that the woman's image does not do true justice to her abundant physical attributes."
At a nod from Anastacia, Lucien stepped forward and took the pictures. He looked them over, shrugged, and showed them to Blackthorne. Anastacia kept her calm gaze on Lydia.
"I would consider it a genuine favor and a deed worthy of my respect should you be able to locate and investigate either or both of them," Lydia went on. "I do not ask you to take any action beyond the gathering of information."
"And in return?" Anastacia asked.
"In return, I shall agree to respect such territorial boundaries as you hold most sensitive. My interests here lie primarily with an expansion and shift of organized crime. As I am involved with that shift, I could help you manage these things so that no undue harm comes to your own interests. Additionally, I will agree to do you a return favor and come to your aid sometime in the future when you face a challenge to your crown or throne or whatever it is you call it," Lydia added, waving a dismissive hand at the last.
There was silence, and finally Lydia added, "And I may be inclined to demonstrate a certain degree of greater respect."
Anastacia favored her with a tight smile. "How very generous of you." She sat back down in her chair, hands folded neatly in her lap. "Tell me what details you can of these two you seek."