King hadn't needed to practice a facade of surprise and alarm upon seeing Fox when Feliar let them into the penthouse after dinner. He'd been expecting to see the other Nightstalker thoroughly battered, possibly unconscious, not sitting without any restraints on the freshly made bed in Feliar's suite. There were guards on either side of her, neither of whom he recognized. The worst punishment he could identify a black eye that didn't look fresh and a split lip that did. Some people had all the luck when it came to being tortured.

Fox glowered at Feliar as they entered.

"Alexandra!" Feliar shrieked, delighted, and released his arm to run over to her and hug her. Fox remained rigid, eyes flashing, not accepting the hug but not resisting it. She met his eyes, and he struggled to find the right balance between staring at her too much and not enough while Feliar's back was turned. Fox gave him nothing, no meaningful flicker of her eyelid or lip, no code, no hint as to how to proceed. So, he played dumb; he had lots of practice.

Feliar stepped back, looking Fox over. "It has been too long."

"You should have called," Fox hissed through her teeth. "If I'd known you were here, I would have come sooner." Feliar retreated from her with a fluttery laugh.

"I've been so busy. I really am sorry about that." She linked her arm through his again and propelled him forward with her. "You see, I've got so many responsibilities now."

"Destroying lives? You used to manage that just fine back in New Mexico, whore," Fox spat, accurately launching bloody mucous onto Feliar's shoe. Unperturbed, Feliar removed sling-back heel with one finger, and turned the pump towards her face. King couldn't keep from making a face as she licked the leather clean.

"Mmm, yum. Very spicy, Alex." She slid her shoe back on, leaning heavily against him as she did. "Oh, where are my manners? Alex, darling, this is Hannibal King. King, this is Alexandra Fox, a very dear old acquaintance from the dark ages."

"It was ten years, six months, and eighteen days ago," Fox corrected her. Her rabid, almost predatory enthusiasm burned in her dark eyes.

"You always did have a good memory," Feliar complemented her.

"You were worth remembering, Feliar."

"Feliar! Oh, oh, oh!" Feliar erupted into giggles, punching him too hard in the arm as she recovered herself. "I haven't heard that name in ages, Alex, dear." She looked up at King, and he feigned frightened confusion. "Feliar was supposed to be my big-bad vampire name. Really!" She said, trying to convince him, needlessly. "I though you had to have some sort of funny name, like my master did, if you wanted to be a vampire."

"I have a funny name, and I'm still human."

She patted his cheek. "Oh, but there's still time for you, sweetness." Shaking her head and turning back to Fox, she sighed to herself, "Feliar, oh that takes me back." To Fox, she said, "I still go by Filia, sometimes. Or Fiona. It depends on the capacity. For this," she waved a hand at their surroundings, I'm Filia because I'm only running my sire's show."

"Still not in charge, are you?" Fox smirked.

"He's in charge," Feliar conceded, "in name only. He wouldn't have the first clue about setting this up. It's his money, my project."

"And what's that?"

Feliar tut-tutted. "Now, now, Alex, that would be giving it away. You have to wait for our dinner, Thursday."

"I didn't expect to live that long."

Feliar pouted like a little girl. "Alex, you wound me."

"Step closer, I'll see what I can do." Fox leaned forward on the bed, and two meaty hands came down on her slight shoulders at once. Feliar reached out and mussed her hair, clucking her tongue.

"There, there, Alex. Plenty of time for that. You know me. I like to play."

"Games," Fox sneered, jerking her head away as best she could while held in place by the two giant familiars.

"Yes," Feliar agreed, pinching her cheek then darting away when Fox turned her head to snap at her. "Ah-ah," she wagged an accusatory finger at her captive. "Not nice. And you don't have the teeth for it, my dear." Feliar flashed hers as if to prove it. She danced away, skipping like an over-enthused child and hugging him with a tackle from behind, which nearly knocked him to his knees.

"Easy there, tiger," he stuttered, adrenaline rising. That had felt a little too rough for play. Vampires liked it rough as far as he knew them-and he flattered himself he knew them pretty well-but they knew the limits of their toys. She wouldn't have hit him so hard unless she'd meant to.

"I wouldn't hurt you, my pet. I haven't hurt Fox, have I?"

"No," Fox agreed, grinning unnaturally. "You didn't."

Women's smiles were another passion of his, something he could read backwards and forwards. Fox's expressions invariably were possessed by madness, but this one had a little something else to it: victory. Warning. Warning. Danger Will Robinson.

Bam.

A microsecond before he was ready, Feliar's kick caught him behind the knees, collapsing his legs out from under him. He caught himself as he fell, ready to roll and fight. He understood instinctually and instantly that he was blown. The how, the why would have to wait until later, when he was safe. Midway through his tuck, Feliar caught his chin in one hand. He bowed, ready to toss her over his shoulder when he got a vicious kick in the nether regions that robbed him of breath. With Feliar on top of his back, he fell straight to the floor, gasping.

It was over before he could break free. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Trapped with a vampire and goons twice his size. Still trying, vainly, to struggle free, he got his knee up under him, rising.

"No good, lover," Feliar whispered in his ear.

And then, he felt it. Liquid cold flowed from his neck through his body, like a reverse vampire bite-instead of heat leaving him, frosty numbness was spreading into him. He threw one hand up, wildly, trying to knock away whatever it was at his neck, expecting to come in contact with Feliar's face. The backs of his fingers hit something plastic, and he felt something rip free from his neck.

Then he was falling, barely feeling the carpet that rose up to smack him full in the face. A rough shove tossed his unresponsive body over, so he could swoon on his back. Feliar stood above him, digging her heel into his sternum. Never one to admit defeat, he brought up an arm to knock her off only to have it stepped on before it got an inch off the floor.

By Fox.

Seeing his recognition, Feliar grinned toothily at him. "King, I want you to meet an old friend of mine. Alex, this is King."

Fox had stopped smiling. "We've met."

"So I hear," Feliar patted her arm. "Thank you for this, Alex. Really. He'll do quite nicely." She was swimming out of focus, and she seemed to realize this. She bent closer to him, brushing her hands over his cheeks. "Poor baby."

He couldn't feel that, but he could still smell her. Fuck it, then. "Listerine, sweetcheeks. Look into it. Buy stock." His tongue died, unresponsive in his mouth after that.

She scooped to retrieve the plastic thing, a syringe. "Neurotoxin, care of the good doctors up north." The missing doctors--it made sense. Feliar shook her head. "And you thought you could play me. Me." She dropped the syringe and leaned over him to his ear. He felt some pressure on his earlobe, and when she pulled back she held his earring between her thumb and forefinger. The bloody, gory lump sickened him, but not as much as her licking it clean of his blood. He hadn't even felt her rip it out.

"Don't need to talk to Fox any more, do we?" She crushed the earring and clawed at his throat, catching his necklace and tossing it carelessly over her shoulder. "I never liked my pets in costume jewelry." Her hand moved out of sight, and he managed to tilt his head to the side in order to see that she was pulling on his pants, running her nails over the tattoo on his stomach and grinning at Fox. "He's a slave."

Fox bent to get a closer look, her expression cold and clinical. He tried to buck his hips, avoid this final indignity, but his body wasn't listening to his brain. "I never learned to read these glyphs."

"Not that you need to. It only says the name of his master-his deceased master." Feliar leaned away to pinch his cheek. "You're a slave, King. You people," she sighed, sorely crossed. To Fox, she explained, "Humans may know what glyphs mean, but they never stop to think about placement. And it's so elementary!"

"That matters?" Fox got to her knees on the other side of his head, holding him in place. He managed to throw his head to the side, but she brought it back, wrenching his eyelids open. "He's not completely under yet."

"Not a problem. He's not going anywhere." Feliar rolled up her blouse sleeve, exposing the mark on her wrist. "Placement, Alex, dear, is everything. My master marked me here. That gives me access to his secure holdings. Ronald," she ordered. A vague, black blur moved into what had been fuzzy white space. "Ronald is one of my front men, see?"

"On the hand, I get it." She poked at his eyelids again. By now, he couldn't even roll his head away from her.

Ronald, he fought to hold onto that. Ronald, the front man, on the hand. Him, the slave, on the stomach. Placement, important...

"My little King, here, he's a slave. If he'd thought about it, he wouldn't have tried to fool me, would you, King?"

The rest was lost, and so was he. Abby was going to kill him. He clung to that as a source of relief as he went under.