The younger vampire shuddered appropriately and tightened his grip on my key. "Happy to help . . . sir."

My new kidnapper shook his head, adjusted his killer grip on my appendages, and carried me down the stairs to his car. He opened the passenger door remotely and lowered me to the seat. "Don't run."

The second he shut the door, I threw all of my attention into checking if the driver's side had a child lock. It did, but the picture only indicated the back doors. Good. Now, how fast did the car have to move to leave me behind, and how much force could I survive while throwing myself out of a moving vehicle? I liked my chances if we had to go through crowded inner city streets.

As soon as he shut the door behind him, the current kidnapper reached between the seats, pulled out a set of handcuffs, and caught my left wrist in a flash of motion that I didn't even see. Click. He cuffed us together and turned his attention to the road.

Defenestration: out.

At least I could still buckle my seatbelt.

"There are drinks and snacks in the cooler," my chauffeur said blankly. "Avail yourself of them." He opened a small cooler installed between us and tugged my cuffed hand over to it.

Well, couldn't hurt.

The snacks distracted me from an important observation: we weren't even in my home city. 

I couldn't catch any storefronts with a city name, either. 

I was still sulking when the car pulled up to an intercom in front of a cast iron gate.

"I brought her," my chauffeur said gruffly. "Damian roughed her up, but she's recovering. Should I lock her in a room?"

"No," the man on the other end said. "Bring her to my study."

"Yes, sire."

Sire? Um.

"Was that Gerard?" I asked softly.

A mansion-worthy lawn peppered with autumn colors and a few beds of late-blooming flowers whispered to me. My chauffeur did not.

I tried again. "Is he going to kill me?"

The rather bland man snorted.

Oh well, I'd accept the results. I preferred it when people responded verbally, but it was a slight victory.

I didn't try to win against people. Just aim for responses. Watch enough of those and you'll start to get a feel of what will happen. That's when it's fun to decide which response to aim for.

We drove past the trees and toward a massive stone mansion. Sorry, a massive stone prison. Most of my witty thoughts had abandoned me to the cold resort of cynicism.

My escort parked near a side door and unlocked his cuff. He left mine on my wrist. I pulled the dangling metal towards me so that at least grabbing it might be some sort of challenge. Upon reconsideration, I stuffed it up my jacket's sleeve.

"Come." My retired chauffeur walked around the car and glided up a patio-sidewalk thing to the door, which he opened for me. Reluctantly, I inched my door open. I didn't want to try walking.

One shared glance with my captor convinced me that yes, I fervently wanted to make this journey on my own feet.

I managed the walk to the house and fell in behind my escort. We traveled through at least twelve party-sized rooms. Their furnishings told me that the blood business was very lucrative. I'd have to get into that. Oh, wait. . . .

My escort padded around a doorway. I awkwardly jerked back when I noticed that unlike the others, this one wasn't wide enough for French doors. Someone chuckled. I froze.

"As requested, sire," my escort announced. He sounded a bit put out that I'd chosen that precise moment to stumble.

"Thank you, Charles. You may leave."