Ice Queen
Chapter Thirteen

"Mr. Winterman." Sarah had appeared at his elbow. Tyler wasn't sure how long she'd been there. He'd been sitting in the lounger at the pool house since Marguerite left, staring at the pool cleaner making its way back and forth. Apparently he'd been watching it for a long while, because it was full dark. Sarah's face was like a ghost's, the pool lights the only illumination.
"I thought I mentioned - "
"That you didn't want to be disturbed. You didn't want any calls. Yes, you certainly did. But this is the third time Miss Sieman -  Mrs. Nighthorse has called. She indicated that if I didn't make you answer she was going to have me arrested for obstruction of an official police investigation."
Tyler lifted a brow, took the phone from her hand. "Pay no attention to her, Sarah.
We're outside her jurisdiction and she's just being a pain in the ass." He raised the phone to his ear.
"Didn't you say I was your best friend about twenty-four hours ago?" Violet sounded amused.
"I was feeling sentimental and foolish."
"I'm crushed. What are you doing?"
"Working on a very important production plan for a script I'm investing in."
"That's funny. Sarah said you've been supervising the pool cleaner for the past three hours. Since that's that little bug thing that automatically runs around the pool sucking up algae, I assumed you might have time to talk to me." Tyler glared at Sarah. "You're fired. All women are a pain in the ass. Tell Robert I'm switching sides. He's looking pretty good in his garden shorts." Sarah smiled and left him with a pat to his shoulder.
"She calls me Mr. Winterman but she treats me like her son. I'm probably less than ten years younger than she is."
"She called me Mrs. Nighthorse." He could almost see Violet's silly grin.
"You're being a goofy newlywed again. Why are you pestering me?"
"Cop sense. I thought the weekend might be going a little rough, so I wanted to check in. Sarah said Marguerite left early."
"Yeah, well." He watched the pool cleaner make another lap. "I can see the road but there's a force field there I can't get through. And the couple of times I bullied through it, the road changed, went all dark. I feel like I'm missing something. She won't let me in her head, Vi. I got into her body, so to speak."
"So to speak, or actually speak?"
"Briefly, yes. The latter. But I push to a certain point and everything shuts down. I haven't figured out the key. If I'd had more time..."
"You expected to get an invitation into a woman's soul in the course of a weekend?"
"At least a foot in the door."
"Cocky bastard. Tyler, from everything you've told me, there's nothing easy about Marguerite Perruquet. Maybe - and yes, I know you don't want to hear it - you're barking up the wrong tree. You could be wrong. She may not be a switch. And if she isn't, you guys don't suit."
"Damn it, that doesn't matter. That's not the issue." Rising, he went to the end of the pool house seeking air, the salt laden breeze off the Gulf. "I just..."
"You want her." Violet filled in the lingering silence, surprise and understanding in her voice. "You want her so much that being away from her hurts."
"Yes. And if that can happen in a weekend, then I don't think it was unreasonable to think I could get further with her in the same space of time."
"This has been building a while for you and you know it. You've had longer off the starting block than she has. And if you can't have her?"
"You don't feel like this if it's not meant to be."
"It is if she doesn't want it. I know how strong a Master you are, Tyler. Don't push this into dangerous waters."
He stopped, his hand on the door latch. He wanted to deny it but the brief wrestle in the garden flashed through his head. "You warning me as a friend or a cop?"
"Both. The cop who's your friend."
"When she can look me in the eye and say she doesn't want me the same way I want her, then I'll let her go. You should be goddamned proud of me. I let her go today."
Let her go after I messed with her head, left her raw. Yeah, I'm goddamned proud of myself, come to think of it.
"I wouldn't force my attentions on an unwilling woman, Violet."
"I know that. I do. I'm just saying that if she's afraid of her own feelings, she may lash out at you in a variety of ways. And remember I'm in a unique position to have seen that firsthand."
"She's nothing like that." Though he had an immediate vision of the fork in the table, the coarse obscenities that would spill from her elegant lips when she was cornered.
"I hope not. And I trust your judgment but you seem a little messed up on this one."
The one. The only one. He yanked at the door. Snarled.
"What?"
"The damn door won't open." He yanked again and the French door shuddered. "It must be the latch. It must be - " He closed his eyes, counted. "Never mind." Violet started laughing. "You pulled when you should have pushed, didn't you?
Good grief, you are messed up right now."
"Shut up, you little pest." Tyler stopped, his hand still on the doorknob, though he'd stepped outside. "That's it, Violet. That's the key."
"What?"
But he wasn't paying attention. Instead he was listening to the message exploding in his head with the resounding roar of a cannon, a message his gut was saying was right. It shattered the afternoon of foggy frustration and circular arguments he'd been conducting with himself and gave him hope. And possibly a path back into his angel's soul.
"I've got an idea."
* * * * *
Marguerite trolled the dark shadows of The Zone on an exceptionally crowded Saturday night. She usually didn't come here on weekends when it was filled with unknown faces and so much noise. But she wanted the press of bodies, the anonymity, the ability to move like a predator among unsuspecting prey to look for the one who would ease her ache this evening, her frustration.
Her life had been simple, everything on an even keel. So why did she miss him so keenly? Why was every breath difficult, a form of pain that was pleasurable?
"Mistress."
The respectful voice, a familiar one, drew her out of her thoughts. She was passing Brendan, and as she did so, he went to one knee as he always did, bowing his head. On impulse, she let her fingers trail over his bare shoulder, the soft hair just above his ear.
His lips brushed her wrist.
She shuddered, remembering Tyler's lips there, his propensity for using the sexual gesture to gauge her pulse, which was nearly always spiking from the moment he touched her.
Several steps past Brendan, intuition pricked the bubble of her absorption.
Normally she would have kept going, not acknowledging him further. Instead she turned and looked back.
He was getting to his feet and it was obviously a painful process, his body hunched, his mouth tight and strained. While the brand would still be healing and tender, his awkward movements exceeded what she would have expected in that regard.
A man stood beside him, not offering to help him up, just watching him with a bored, annoyed look. She recognized him as Tim, Brendan's live-in lover, the one who also enjoyed subbing to a Mistress. Once Brendan gained his feet, Tim said something to him, slapped him on the back with cruel playfulness. Brendan cringed at the contact but nodded. Tim sauntered out toward the bar area.
She pivoted, came back. "No." She caught his wrist when he began to kneel again.
"Stay standing. What's the matter, Brendan? What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing, Mistress. Just an injury. Hiking." But she was watching his lowered eyes, the way they darted away, the clutch of his fingers pressing against his thigh. He wore a cotton T-shirt tonight, sleeveless and snug along his well-defined upper body but typically he went shirtless, making himself accessible to the touch of the Mistresses who desired to engage him.
She curled her fingers in the shirt at his waist and raised startled eyes when his hand clamped down on her wrist, trying to stop her. Brendan flushed. "My apologies, lady. I just...please..."
"Let go of me."
He released her instantly. With a hard, even look, she finished what she started.
Raising the hem of the shirt, she worked it up as she stepped around him. He wore a pair of loose jeans that rode low on his hips, again a different choice for him at The Zone, but it was obvious now why he was wearing them.
The brand was infected, the scab torn off, the red edges raw. The center mark, the fleur-de-lis, seeped fluid.
"Please forgive me, Mistress."
Marguerite studied it for a moment and the bowed head of the man who stood still under her touch. She sensed the attention of those immediately around them, a small oasis of tense silence amid a world of noise, flashing light and high energy pulsing in the air.
"Who did this to you, Brendan?"
"Wh-What?"
"You keep trying to dodge my questions or lie to me and you will displease me greatly." The edge to her voice was ice and she didn't hesitate to cut with it.
"Yes, Mistress. You shouldn't concern yourself. I was careless, didn't follow your instructions as I should have."
"On your knees, now."
When he dropped with a painful grunt, she seized a handful of his hair, jerking his head back. Not harming him but putting his mind as well as his body off balance as he tried to hold his weight upright and not fall into her legs.
"You would have followed my instructions to the letter. So once more, Brendan.
Who did this to you?" She enunciated each word precisely, clipping it off with sharp teeth. "You're going to say it, because maybe if you say it, you'll realize someone who loves you wouldn't have done this."
During her two-hour sessions she kept her subs safe, gave them pleasure. She'd never thought of them as hers outside those sessions. For the first time in her life, she felt possessiveness sweep over her. She recalled the rage she'd seen in Tyler's eyes the night he pulled the mugger off her. More than just a good man's anger at another man's violence against a woman. The fury of an alpha toward someone who had taken liberties with something that was his to protect.
"Tim, Mistress." His voice was low, broken. "It wasn't... I asked him to help me clean it in the tub. He didn't mean to do it. It was an accident."
"Look at me."
She never asked her subs to look at her, but taking a page out of Tyler's book she made Brendan do it now, tightening her grip on his hair, making him see the anger of a Mistress. The reflection of the truth she was forcing from him.
"Tell me what happened. You can't accidentally pull off a brand scab like this. And if you lie to me once more, I will never look at you again." Pain lanced through his face. It was remarkable how just seeing it made the same feeling go through her vitals. "Brendan."
"He... We sometimes play at home, Mistress. Soft bondage, to practice for our times here. We both enjoy being a slave, so we take turns with one another. I knew he thought I didn't deserve the honor you'd given me but I didn't think... He handcuffed me, bent me over the tub. I thought he was going to do...something else...and he did...but..." The words tumbled out and then stopped. Though Brendan did not look away from her, his eyes were nearly watering with the effort to face her expression.
"He ripped off the scab while fucking your ass," she said coldly. "While you were bound and couldn't defend yourself."
"He said I should enjoy it, because I could pretend it was you, like when you branded me while inside of me. Only..." He shook his head. "He doesn't mean it, Mistress. He's just troubled. Tim gets so confused about who he is, what he wants. He cried, said he was sorry later."
"Well, that makes it all better, then." If she could have snarled, she would have. She eased her grip on his hair but left her hand on him, keeping him still. "Have you had someone look at that?"
"I tried to clean it myself but perhaps I haven't done a very good job." The misery on his face told her he'd been too emotionally wound up to give it any attention at all. She put her touch under his elbow, pressured him to his feet.
"Go to the first aid area right now and have Jeremy treat that. He'll tell you how you need to care for it." Even with the situation roiling her, she could not stay immune to the anguish in his eyes. She cupped his jaw. "If you care for it as he says, it should heal just fine. It will keep its shape. If he says you need to go to a minor emergency center, you go. Either way, you'll go home and get some rest. You don't need to be here.
You're in no shape to serve a Mistress tonight." Not emotionally or physically. She didn't add that, not wanting to twist the knife he had hilt-deep in himself already.
"I've let you down, Mistress."
"Yes, you have. But I'll make you a deal. Next time that son of a bitch tries to hurt you, you knock him on his ass, hurt him right back and I will consider forgiving you." When Brendan looked at her, for just a moment there was something different there, something familiar, something that made her want to bring him into her arms, hold him to her heart, keep him safe forever. She viciously suppressed it. She couldn't keep track of all the ways she was fucked up tonight. Knowing she should follow her own advice and go home, Marguerite stepped back, forced her normal reserve to return to her expression. "Follow my commands, Brendan. Go to Jeremy." He nodded, moved past her. Even in pain he observed etiquette, making sure his back was not turned to her until he was a proper number of paces away.
Marguerite stood there several moments thinking while the life of The Zone moved on around her. She was not approached. No Dom here tonight was a person who knew her well and subs did not approach a Mistress, particularly one with her presence, though she felt many staying just within summoning distance, hoping. Lifting her gaze, she saw Tim returning with a couple of longnecks. When he saw her, he immediately lowered his long lashes. Showing deference, respect.
She'd just found the perfect sub for her mood.
* * * * *
She chose one of the smaller medieval torture rooms since most of the rooms were already occupied tonight. When he stripped at her command, she saw his physique was similar to Brendan's. Like most men at The Zone who enjoyed the touch of other men and had the income for a gym membership, he stayed in excellent shape.
Shackling him face forward on a vertical rack, she moved to the side table and the tools laid out there. Not sure what she'd intended tonight, she'd only brought a small bag of her own items, so she'd reserved the room with its standard accoutrements.
Floggers, paddles, a seven-ring gates of hell cock ring.
As her fingers caressed the gates of hell, she laid her purse on top of the table, retrieved a small box from within it.
Tyler would have been amused, considering her comment about the pronged choke collar. She had something similar in a cock ring, with a second pronged loop attached to it for the testicles. It was a toy she'd used in the past on her subs with a leash. When used correctly, it created anxiety and discomfort. But for a submissive who liked to play on the edge, it could make him even harder. Fortunately, it was one of the few items she'd brought tonight.
Turning, she found Tim already erect and his eyes down, the obedient submissive.
"So will you please me as much as Brendan, Tim?"
"More, Mistress. You won't even remember his name."
"Hmm." She put the cock choker on him, adjusted the lower loop around the testicles, the prongs digging in. Then she put the rings of the gates of hell over him, one after another, watching his expression as each size went on. His erection, thickening from her touch, quickly increased the constriction. Typically she would have done more to warm him up before dressing his cock in the restraints. Raising the pleasure threshold so the endorphins would balance the pain the rings and prongs caused.
"You're keeping your eyes down. Is that for me, Tim, or to hide who you are?" She pushed on two of the middle rings of the gates of hell, bringing them together, pinching his skin. His breath drew in sharply.
"Mistress, your forgiveness, but that hurts."
"Really? It doesn't hurt me at all." Picking up a ball gag, she caught her finger in the corner of his mouth, wrenched it open in a practiced move that he apparently had not anticipated. Jamming the ball past his teeth, she cinched the gag around his head hard enough to pull the skin back from his mouth, baring his teeth in a grimace.
His eyes flicked up, showing her he was startled, a little afraid. Her lips curved in an expression that no one would have called a smile. "There you are. Think I don't see you, monster? Crouching back there, hiding behind a human façade?" Reaching down, she closed her hand over the choker and began to squeeze, digging the blunt prongs into his tender genitals. His breath whistled through his nose, a grunt of pain making its way past the gag. A quiver ran through his muscles. She could see all the frantic thoughts behind his eyes. Wondering if this was part of her act, if he just needed to tough it out.
"How does it feel for someone to hurt you and not give a damn about how you're feeling?"
She stepped closer so her body was pressed against his bare chest, her leg against his thigh, her hand gripping him in a way that looked intimate and pleasurable to the security cameras. "I have the power to do anything I wish to you, Tim," she whispered, her eyes no more than an inch from his, eyes that had fully registered the danger he was in. The quiver had become violent shaking, his hands closing into fists, body straining against restraints that would not give an inch, the body's irrational way of driving up its own panic quotient. "Do you know I could emasculate you with one...good...hard...squeeze?" Her hand tightened incrementally and his eyes widened in terror. "Just pop those balls off and let them roll right across the floor. Grind them under my stiletto while you watch."
She stroked the line of his jaw. His breath was coming so hard through his nose that clear phlegm ran down over the rubber ball, mixing with his saliva. "You can smell fear in sweat," she mused. "And you stink of it, Tim." He made an incoherent sound as her thumb began to press down on one single prong at the base of his cock.
"I have no tolerance for cruelty committed against an innocent. But cruelty against those who commit the crime...well, that's something else entirely." She pressed harder against that one prong. His body jerked against the rack, an inarticulate plea coming from behind the gag. She kept her gaze locked on his, making it terrifyingly clear to him she was conscious of his distress and was not going to do anything to alleviate it.
"You know why it stirs a Mistress so when a sub surrenders? You will nod your head, Tim."
He nodded, a quick jerk. Tears of pain ran down his face.
"Because that's the place of stillness for both of us, where it all comes together.
Where it all makes sense, where thought simply becomes feeling. It's all about existing in that second, for however long it stretches. Would you like to exist in this second forever?"
He shook his head.
"I'm hurt, Tim. Especially since Brendan said you didn't feel he deserved my attentions. I figured you had something extra special to offer me." Her grip clamped down on the pronged restraint like the jaws of a pit bull. Her nails dug into his shoulder, cutting into skin.
Tim screamed. His chest expanded, muscles straining against the pain. While he bucked and cried out against the gag she leaned in, nuzzled his throat and the line of his shoulder where the blood welled up from her nail gouging. Twenty seconds later, which she well knew was an eternity for extreme pain, she eased her hold. His head dropped down against the side of hers as he breathed heavily, rasping around the gag, an oddly intimate pose to anyone watching. She put her lips to his ear, making sure her voice hissed like a serpent's tongue.
"This is my practice playground, Tim. When I die, I'll serve as a Mistress in hell, torturing the damned for all eternity. And I'll be waiting especially for you." She caught his chin, pulled his head up roughly, made him meet her frigid blue eyes.
"You can save your soul by obeying me now. You will move out of Brendan's apartment, leave his life. I don't care if he begs you to stay. You leave and you never contact him again. You don't deserve him. If you ever hurt him again, these past ten minutes will seem like the best memory of your life." There was a beep as the lock on the door was bypassed and it opened, a two-man security contingent entering. Ryan and Dan, both regular bouncers at the club.
"Mistress, you need to step back from him. Right now." Their tones were respectful, courteous but their alert stances told her they were trained to move in if she gave them cause.
"Is there a problem here?"
Brendan stepped in behind them as Marguerite moved back from Tim, a calm three steps.
"No sir, but you need to leave this area."
"But that's my roommate. Tim, have you talked the Mistress into going too far with you?"
When Dan turned and looked at him, brow raised, Brendan nodded. "He's a pain junkie. May I go to him, calm him down?"
The man's eyes shifted to Marguerite, who kept her expression blank, unreadable.
"Ma'am, you're aware if you've harmed this man without his consent, you face permanent expulsion from the club and possible criminal charges?" Dan knew her reputation here. She wasn't going to offer anything about her intentions or motives. She inclined her head, simple acknowledgement.
At a nod from Ryan, Brendan went to Tim and removed the choker and the gates of hell. Putting them to the side, he took Tim's face in his hands, leaned in to murmur reassurances to him.
Tim's expression changed. Marguerite heard six of the words.
"...if you love me at all..."
Then Brendan reached up, removed the gag.
Tim cleared his throat as Brendan solicitously took a towel, wiped his mouth, his nose.
"Sir, are you all right?"
Tim looked from Brendan to Marguerite and back again. Dan proved that he was well worth the money he was paid and no idiot. "Mistress Marguerite, Brendan, you need to step outside and let us talk to this gentleman alone." Marguerite nodded, picked up the cock choker, slipped it in her bag, put it on her shoulder. Brendan extended a fresh towel to her and put his fingers to his lips, indicating she had something on her mouth. Marguerite pressed her lips together, tasting the metallic flavor of Tim's blood. Turning suddenly on her heel, she spat it in Tim's face, making him flinch and cry out in fear.
"Mistress," Dan snapped as he stepped forward.
She held up a hand. Giving Tim a disdainful look, she strode from the room, aware of Brendan following at a respectful distance as they exited and the security team closed the door.
"He could press charges against you for assault."
"And have to state in court where he was and how it happened? Not likely. Did you call the security team?"
"Mistress," he said, carefully, quietly. "I thought...someone came into the first aid area, told me that Tim had lucked out, that you had picked him up. I thought it might be best if...I just buzzed them from down here, told them there might be a problem. I didn't say who I was, just hung up, so I could intervene the way I did." For the first time without permission or command, he met her eyes. As he held her gaze, he reached out with the towel and pressed it to her lips. She saw the red stain on the white terrycloth. "You shouldn't have done this," he said.
"He's not permanently damaged. I only broke the skin in one place on his genitals and he'll need some antiseptic for the nail gouges."
"Mistress..." Brendan shook his head. "That's not what I meant. You shouldn't have done this."
His knowing eyes elicited a weariness in her from somewhere low in her stomach.
She was tired. She wanted to go home.
She wanted Tyler.
"You shouldn't have let him hurt you," she responded.
Before he could reply, the door opened. Dan emerged with Ryan a close step behind.
"Tim is getting his clothes back on. He says he doesn't feel he needs any medical treatment other than some first aid here." Marguerite felt his cool eyes on her face and examined the pattern of the wallpaper just to the right of his ear. "He also says that he asked for the blood play. That it was with his consent. However you're fully aware that blood play is not sanctioned at this club. Special performances including it require management approval. I'll need to report this." She inclined her head. "I'll accept whatever management decides. I apologize for inconveniencing you and them."
He studied her for a long moment. "I appreciate that," he responded with equally formal courtesy. "And I need to ask that you please leave the club until Mr. Stevens or another member of management contacts you and indicates you may utilize your privileges again."
"But she - "
"That's a reasonable request." Marguerite shot Brendan a quelling look. "If you don't mind, I'll take a moment with Brendan here and leave. Unless you feel I need to be escorted?"
"Yes, Mistress. You will be monitored until you leave the grounds. For your safety as much as anyone else's."
She nodded, not offended. After all, Dan had worked at a maximum-security prison before taking the job at The Zone. He had to have realized she'd been out of control, read it in the unnatural stillness of her body. The fury that was just now beginning to draw back inside her like a deadly sea snake retreating to its lair.
With a measuring look, Dan moved off, headed back up the stairs. She felt Brendan step closer to her, his hand hovering an uncertain moment in her peripheral vision before it dropped to his side without touching her. "Mistress, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - "
"No, Brendan, you weren't wrong. Turn around and let me see the brand."
"I'm fine." He took her cold hands in his, surprising her. "Stop worrying about me.
I'll take care of this." He cocked a brow. "I'm a grown man, Mistress, and I let a lover go too far with me. It's up to me to deal with it. I'm more worried about you."
"No one needs to worry about me." Pulling away, she shouldered the bag. "Thank you for intervening on my behalf, Brendan." She turned away from his concerned and unhappy gaze. "If you hadn't come into the room, I'd probably have gone much farther than I did."
With that, she turned and ascended the stairs, followed closely by a watchful Ryan.