"What happens after I'm recovered?" she asks between sips.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you're as useful as I think you are."
Her eyes narrow slightly. "Useful how?"
"I've been watching you for three days," I say, deciding honesty is the most efficient approach. "Followed you. Observed your patterns. Learned what I needed to know."
She stops drinking. "You've been stalking me."
"Surveillance, not stalking. You were using my name all over the city. That made you a security risk. I needed to assess whether you required elimination."
"And you decided I didn't."
"Obviously, since you're here and not dead in an alley."
She processes this, and I can see her mind working. Not panicking. Not offended. Just… calculating. What does it mean that I tracked her? What does it tell her about my resources, my methods, my intentions?
"What did you learn?" she asks finally.
"That you're a fighter. Underground circuit. Forty-three wins, no losses. That you were scheduled for one more big payout when you were turned. That you have a sister in Savannah you can no longer contact. That you train every night like you're preparing for a war."
Something flashes across her face, pain, quickly suppressed.
"You sent money to your sister," I continue. "Regularly. You lost that ability when you were turned."
"Stop." Her voice is tight.
I do; I've made my point, I know everything I need to know about her. But I've also exposed something raw, and pushing further would be cruel rather than strategic.
"You asked what happens next," I say, changing direction. "Here's the truth: I don't help people out of kindness. I built mynetwork on mutual benefit. You need clean blood and guidance. I need… capable people."
"To do what?"
"Whatever needs doing. My operations are extensive. There are always tasks that require someone with your particular skill set."
She studies me for a long moment. "You want me to work for you."
"I want you to work off your debt. After that, you're free to leave or negotiate a more permanent arrangement."
"And if I say no?"
"Then you leave as soon as you're stable, and you're on your own. No access to my network. No clean blood supply. No protection."
I let that sink in. She's smart enough to understand what I'm offering and what I'm not. This isn't charity. This is a transaction.
"How long?" she asks.
"That depends on how quickly you heal and how useful you prove to be. Weeks. Possibly months."
She finishes the blood bag, sets it aside, and meets my eyes directly. "I have conditions."
That surprises me. Most vampires in her position would simply agree to anything. But she's negotiating.
"Go on," I say.
