Garrison and Adrienne, Adrienne and Jason Wyngarde (NPC)

[x-adrienne.livejournal.com]

Before attending a Black Court party, Adrienne stops in at Harry's and has an unpleasant encounter with Garrison.




It was still early. Too early to go to the party. A girl had to be fashionably late to these sorts of things. But Adrienne was too nervous to be sitting around the mansion waiting to depart for the Black Court event she’d been invited to. Not that she would admit it if anyone noticed. Excited, she would say. After all, she’d been trying to wrangle a Black Court event invitation since before even being admitted officially into the Hellfire Club’s general ranks. And besides, there was absolutely no reason for her to be nervous.



This was what she wanted. Just because the people she trusted most at the mansion seemed to think she was insane to be mixing herself up with the Black Court didn’t mean there was anything to worry about. Adrienne knew exactly what to expect; she’d been encountering the likes of the Black Court members in her business dealings since she’d been a teenager, after all.



So it wasn’t nerves that had her asking Driver to take her down to Harry’s for a drink before the party. She fought those back and told herself it was simply boredom, and the desire to watch some of the baseball game in a public setting, have a glass of wine, and show off her outfit - if that was what it could be called. Outfit was rather a mundane term for what she’d been instructed the dress code expected, but no matter. She’d worn worse in her time.



Spotting Garrison at the bar, Adrienne sashayed over with a tentative smile. Things hadn’t exactly gone perfectly between them in Madripoor, but he had saved her life, so that had to mean he was feeling at least civil towards her, right? Even if they were no longer as friendly as they’d once been? “How’s your ass?” she asked by way of greeting, ordering a glass of wine.



"Back to having just one hole in it, thanks." Kane said without turning. He'd gotten very good at avoiding Adrienne in the last couple of weeks. His healing factor had caught up with the wound after a few days, leaving nothing but some residual stiffness. However, the slow burning affronted anger had remained. He tried to let it go. Obviously, the woman hadn't shot him purposefully, and she had come into a dangerous mission without any other reason than to help. Still, he couldn't stop feeling upset with her.



Garrison turned and caught an eyeful. The corset had pushed up her breasts to the point he was pretty sure that he could rest his pint comfortably on them, and it was mixed with the jet black silk suit. He wasn't sure what the style was supposed to be, but CEO looking for discipline popped into his head immediately.



"This is a little extreme for a Thursday night at the bar, don't you think?" He said finally.



Adrienne felt herself immediately feeling defensive, due to the fact that he seemed less than enthused to see her and for the comment. She shrugged playfully, however. "I did it for you; thought you could use a thrill of a different sort than the kind in Madripoor." Sipping at her wine, Adrienne thought maybe he wouldn't be in the mood for joking. "I'm off to a party later and apparently there's a dress code."



"What, bring your own restraints night down at Helga's House of Discipline?" Kane said, brushing off the attempted levity. The last thing that he needed was pretend flirting to try and sooth his feelings, like he was that easily distracted by a nice pair of tits and fake interest. There was the crack of the bat hitting ball, and he turned back to wince as Romaro gave up a double into the gap that scored the run from first.



Adrienne whipped around at the sound of the bat so quickly that she nearly fell out of her corset. She watched the screen, focusing on what made sense instead of trying to figure Kane out. He seemed to be joking, the way they used to joke with each other, but his tone was anything but light. So was he just insulting her, then? "Hellfire Club. Black Court shindig," she answered when she'd drawn out the distraction of watching baseball long enough. Since she knew the Club was a pointed issue between them at the best of times, she tried to go back to joking. "Do they really have bring your own restraints night down at Helga's place?"



"You have to be joking me. A Black Court event at the Hellfire Club? And that's the dress code?" Kane blurted out. Might as well cover yourself in chocolate topping and yell 'here I am'. The sour thought showed on his face, seeing her obviously not get where his comment was going. Why was she determined to destroy herself, and make him watch her do it?



"I would attempt to insult you by making some comment about you being like my father in your disapproval, but Daddy would probably love this," she spat cattily. As if she cared what Garrison Kane thought anyway. "Yes, this is the dress code. Rather demure for the Black Court, from what I've heard, but that's no matter. I sort of like it; reminds me of my modeling days." she added, with a cheerfulness that rang a little false.

It had been quite a long time since she'd had to wear something like this to any sort of function she attended just to have any hope of commanding any attention. But these were new circles she was running in now, circles she'd wanted very badly to be a part of, so she had to look the part.



"Want to come as my date so you can see for yourself I'm not joking?" She grinned hollowly at Kane, knowing he'd never accept and yet wanting to ask anyway, to see what he did say. Stalwart, disapproving Boy Scout. What was his argument about her quest for power this time?



"No, I think I'll pass. They don't really sound like my type of people." Garrison responded quietly, turning back to the game. There wasn't anything he could say. He couldn't believe that she was willing to jump headfirst into the kind of danger that the Hellfire Club represented, and he'd run out of words to try to make her see what she was getting involved with. He couldn't even tell her as a friend or try to protect her. Adrienne was a grown woman, she could make her own decisions, and had been pretty clear that his opinions were not welcome in her life.



"I hope the party goes well for you." He said, without a trace of sarcasm or meanness in his voice. All Garrison had left was to wish her well. He'd already failed everything else. "Watch your back, and don't hesitate to hit the panic button if something happens."



"Aren't you going to tell me about how I shouldn't go?" Adrienne challenged. "About how I don't know what I'm doing or what I really want?" Why wasn't he arguing with her? Why wasn't he talking her out of going? "And you're the one who says I don't know how to ask for help, yet you think I'm going to hit my panic button, or need to use it at a Black Court party?" Did he really not care that she was doing this? Or was he just not arguing because he trusted her to be able to take care of herself? Well, she could take care of herself! She wasn't afraid of the Black Court.



"It was just a thought." Was the only reply, delivered with the same quiet tone. Overbay took one up in the zone for strike two. Garrison toyed with his pint. "Take care of yourself, Adrienne." He said, before draining the rest of it and waving for another. A slider at the knees for the third strike.



You're out.



Taking the cue from the umpire, the announcer, and Overbay, Adrienne rose from her stool, slapped a bill on the counter for the wine, and fled the bar in carefully measured strides. It was obvious now that he didn't care, and why should he? He'd been wasting his time on her since the beginning. Going to this party was just one more example of how she was never going to be a good person, not like he was. Good people didn't go to these sorts of parties, they didn't dress up in these costumes to go fight for scraps of power being handed out by an ancient hedonistic society. Good people didn't need that sort of power. But she did, and always had. And it seemed like she always would, because she wasn't telling the Black Court to go fuck itself and watching the game with Garrison at the bar right now. It made sense that he wasn't going to fight with her anymore. He could hardly be blamed for it, after all. He'd tried, probably harder than anyone ever had. But she was never going to change.



She sunk down into the plush leather of the towncar's seat and watched the bar disappear as Driver headed for the party. At least she was prepared for what was going to happen there. That was the sort of world she knew, one she was familiar with, at least. And at least there, she knew the company would be just as manipulative and deceitful and power-hungry as herself. No Boy Scouts to worry about disappointing at the Black Court. Small comfort, that.

***

At the party, a pleasant encounter with Sebastian Shaw's right-hand man quickly degrades into something abhorrent as Adrienne is shown just exactly how power works in the Inner Courts.

(Warning: This log contains topics of a sensitive nature. Viewer discretion is advised.)

Having made a point of learning all the names and faces of the Hellfire Club members even prior to her initiation into the society, Adrienne frowned slightly at the sight of an unfamiliar man speaking to Sebastian Shaw. A new or possibly prospective member? Member of another chapter, from Europe maybe? He wasn't an outsider- this function wasn't open to the public. Besides, he seemed to know Shaw. He could possibly be a member who didn't socialize as much, didn't go to the numerous parties she'd been to since joining. But what was the point of joining a social society if you weren't going to socialize?



She watched him surreptitiously until Shaw went to speak with someone else, then sidled over with a wide smile. "Hello; I thought I knew all the members of the New York club, but I don't believe I've seen you around before. Have you been in hiding, perhaps?" she asked with a playful smirk. "Adrienne Frost." She offered a hand and a wide smile.



"We all hide, don't we? Clothes, social graces, the games of subtle manipulation," he replied, a smile coming to his bearded face as he took Adrienne's hand lightly and sketched a brief bow over it, well in keeping with the well-bred Eton accent. "even in our greetings, Ms Adrienne Frost."



He was just over six foot, early forties at most, but possessing a sense of surety and ease with the surroundings. His dark beard and hair gave him a touch of a roguish manner, and he replaced the cigar he'd been smoking with a white smile. "Jason Wyngarde, of Balliol International. My family have been members of the London club for a very long time."



"London?" Adrienne's brows rose curiously. "How intriguing, Mister Wyngarde. And you are a friend of Mister Shaw's?" They'd seemed pretty chummy from what she could tell. "Can I ask what brings you from London to our humble party tonight?"



"Oh, I haven't lived in London in years. I've been in charge of our North American operations for well over a decade now." He said affably, his accent warm and pleasing. "Sebastian is a major investor, which is why he occasionally extends an invitation when I'm not traveling between cities around the US."



He blew a small, lazy smoke ring, and motioned towards her. "I noted your IPO months back. You've done well to weather your first turn in the market. Fashion is notoriously fickle on the stock market."



Adrienne smiled demurely and sipped at her drink, not showing any pride or excitement in the fact that this handsome stranger who was a member of the London Hellfire Club and the head of operations for a continental branch of an international company had noted her IPO, and been able to connect her name with her business without prompting. It wasn’t really a surprise, but it always gave her great pleasure when someone outside of the fashion industry recognized her.



“Yes, well, I have an incredible team behind me,” she answered in what she hoped was an appropriately humble tone. Adrienne didn’t do humble extremely well. “And with summer upon us to lighten my other obligations, I’m looking forward to getting my hands dirty again and doing some work on further expansion so that I might gain some headway in making fashion less fickle on the market.” She finished her drink and discarded the glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “I’ve heard rumours that there’s going to be some sort of event tonight; have you heard anything, by any chance?”



"Oh, I'm afraid that if there is some kind of event, Sebastian would hardly tip his hand to me about it." Wyngarde said, brushing off the light probe. He looked over at the drinks tray and shook his head. "There is a distressing obsession with champagne at these receptions. Can I interest you in a brandy? One of the private lounges should be free."



Adrienne had been drinking champagne quite contentedly, and she didn't normally drink brandy, but Wyngarde interested her so she nodded and flashed him a smile. "That would be lovely, Mister Wyngarde. She offered her hand, the one she kept clean of her coating substance whenever she went to a Hellfire Club event.



Jason Wyngarde took her hand with Old World flair, guiding her through the party to one of the doors off the main area. He exchanged a brief glance with Shaw before stepping through, his body shielding the movement of one of the liveried Hellfire Club guards taking up position in front of it as the door closed. Inside, he walked over to the sideboard and poured the fine liquor into a pair of balloon shaped glasses, passing one over and inhaling contentedly of the fumes from his own. "Champagne has its advantages, but ultimately, it never truly satisfies the palate, merely teasing it. So, Ms Frost, or may I call you Adrienne?"



"Of course you may, as long as I can call you Jason," she smiled, and knocked back the brandy. The attention he was giving her was acting like a balm on her hurt pride after the encounter with Garrison. "So do you find America to be very to your liking after living in London?" she inquired conversationally, leaning back against the plush couch where she'd perched herself, settling in comfortably. "I only lived there for a little over a year but I was quite taken with the city, and with the differences in lifestyle I could see how someone who'd grown up there would be hard-pressed to leave it."



"There are... opportunities here that don't exist in London." Wyngarde said affably, perching himself on the edge of the couch. His easy manner supported the effortless charisma, and he seemed very much the classic British gentleman; proper manners and charm, and yet, there was something slightly mysterious to him, and possibly dangerous. After all, he was part of the Black Court.



"I made a decision in my youth that the world was to be experienced, not shackled too. As much as I enjoy London, there are merits to every city, if one is willing to look for them. And the step down from London to New York City is very slight indeed." He met her eyes from his elevated position. "Do you find yourself missing Boston, Adrienne?"



"Only when the Red Sox play in Fenway," Adrienne smiled. She wasn't sure why Wyngarde wasn't sitting, but she shifted slightly more towards one side of the couch as if trying to create more room for him, so he would know he'd been invited. "But then again Boston isn't as different from New York as London is. Although I agree wholeheartedly that there are merits to every city," she added, widening her smile and holding out her glass to him for a refill. "What sort of merits have you found here, Mister Wyngarde?" Her smile turned coy.



Wyngarde took the glass from her, getting up to pour another measure of the excellent brandy into it, and walking back to sit beside her. He was very confident, self assured, and every motion reinforced that. He passed over the glass, their fingers brushing as she took it.



"Power, Adrienne. A place where the levers with which the world is moved reside. And the odd excellent restaurant, of course." His smile was white against the darkness of his beard. "What is it that you wish to find here?"



"Power," she informed him, tipping her glass slightly in a salute at their shared interest. "But I don't have to wish for it. As you said, it already exists here. It's only a matter of taking some for oneself." She sipped at her drink, feeling herself relaxing. At least Wyngarde understood about power, and found merits in it, and obviously sought it out since he was at the party. Not like Garrison. He didn't understand her desire for power at all. "And taking some is exactly what I plan to do."



"Indeed?" He chuckled warmly, taking a sip from his glass. His gaze flickered from her eyes to the rest of her face, although it wasn't certain whether he was enjoying her beauty or looking for signs of weakness. "You know, taking power in the Black Court involves removing it from someone else. Are you sure you're ready to make some enemies in the process, Adrienne?" He said, his eyes challenging her.



The psychometrist smiled back at Wyngarde, though there was no trace of the warmth that it the way there often was while she was at the mansion or Harry's. Her mask was firmly in place. "As difficult as this may be to believe, Mister Wyngarde," she began in a teasing tone, "I have made one or two enemies in my day. I am no stranger to the process of how power is won. And I always make a point of winning what I desire." She emptied her drink again, hoping it would steady her stomach, which had taken to churning slightly as Wyngarde looked at her.



"Are you seeking to take power by coming here tonight, Mister Wyngarde, or do you merely enjoy watching the rest of us make our moves on the chessboard?" she simpered.



"Oh, I enjoy a great many things, Adrienne. Including watching. After all, how can you determine what someone desires most without scrutiny? Find what someone is willing to risk themselves to acquire, and you determine the price that you can make them pay for it." They were close enough that she could faintly feel his breath on her skin.



"Very wise words, Mister Wyngarde," Adrienne said quietly. She shivered, and told herself it was from his breath on her bare skin and not the speech. "What other things do you enjoy?" She leaned a little closer, feigning shifting on the couch to make herself more comfortable.



"Women that can identify wisdom." He said, and a moment later, his lips pressed against hers. He tasted of expensive cigars, brandy, and his kiss was very skilled. Only the slightly wiry tickle of his beard contrasted the heat of the kiss itself, fusing them.



Wyngarde barely moved, his hand ghosting up to stoke the bare skin of her arm, but otherwise his only contact was with the kiss.



Adrienne lost herself in the kiss for a few glorious moments, enjoying the heat that had sparked through her veins. She cupped the back of Wyngarde's head with one hand, drawing him closer and keeping hold of him until she had to end the kiss to breathe. With an encouraging hum, she shifted so she was nearly in his lap and drew him against her, careful to use only her coated hand on his waist while the other remained on the back of his neck where her powers had no effect. He didn't seem to be protesting at all, and she was pleased that she'd managed to push her encounter with Garrison out of her head, so she changed the angle of the kiss to draw it out to greater intensity.



Except realizing that she was no longer thinking of Garrison made Adrienne realize she was thinking about him again, and a thin thread of protest wound its way through her consciousness, making her think that maybe she should slow down a little. She didn't know anything about Wyngarde except his place of employment, after all. And that he was powerful, and understood power, which were two qualities she knew to look for at the Hellfire Club. She knew he would make a formidable ally. But these sorts of relationships have to be built slowly, she told herself. Don't give him everything at once. No sense hitting a home run when the bases are empty. Need to stay in control...



On a moan, she pulled back from Wyngarde, though his suit jacket remained clutched in her hand. "Delicious," she said with a smile, leaning back against the arm of the couch, though she kept her legs tucked up underneath her, knees brushing his thigh. "Shall I pour us more drinks?" she asked, arching an eyebrow, though she made no move to get up.



He didn't answer for a long moment, regarding her with a calculating gaze before getting to his feet and crossing over to the sideboard with their glasses. Wyngarde picked up the bottle and refilled both glasses, swirling the amber liquid counterclockwise. He turned back towards the couch, leaning casually against the sideboard.



"Such a gentleman. I was going to go," Adrienne informed him with a smirk. Since he didn't seem inclined to return to the couch, she slid to her feet and went to meet him, taking the glass from his hand. She couldn't discern from his silence if he was pleased with what was happening or not, but why should he be displeased? He'd initiated the first kiss, after all. Maybe he wasn't fond of the fact that she was attempting to take the reins on what was going on between them? Adrienne hoped he wasn't that egotistical.

"I hope you'll be in town for our next Hellfire Club event," she simpered, setting her glass down on the counter. "You would be my guest for the evening. One of Sebastian Shaw's vice-presidents on my arm; my royal sibling would have even greater cause to be nervous around me, while you and I could remove some power from her grasp." She hoped Wyngarde didn't know Emma- or Adrienne- well enough to know that Adrienne would never make her nervous, but that he would only assume she was attempting to point out her connection, and disassociation, with the White Queen.



She smiled up at him and inched closer, taking the drink from his hand and setting it aside.



"Your guest?" He smiled pleasantly. "I would imagine that the White Queen might find it somewhat surprising to find her sister attending with the Black Court. Perhaps find a crack in that impeccable facade." His hand traced down the line of her side as she leaned closer, and came to rest on the swell of her breast, pushed up by the corset as their lips met again.



Adrienne grinned into the kiss, glad that Wyngarde understood her machinations so well. People in her life these days rarely did. Like Kane. He doesn't understand at all. Fuck! Stop thinking about Garrison! she ordered herself, slipping her tongue past Wyngarde's lips. Her hand roamed over his back and down to his ass, pulling him flush against herself. "I have a feeling you and I are going to get along very well, Mister Wyngarde," she smirked, nipping at his bottom lip and kissing him again. It made her feel energized to be kissing him, knowing she didn't have to worry about his arm falling off or about listening to a lecture on the dangers of her own ambition. Wyngarde appreciated ambition. Not like Kane.



Feeling herself growing short of breath from the contact with the man, Adrienne reminded herself that she was supposed to be moving slowly with Wyngarde so as not to give him control over her. He made her feel wonderful, but she couldn't lose her head. Kane made her feel that way sometimes, when they talked, and it hadn't done her an ounce of good in the end, because she let him think he could control her just because he'd gotten her off the hook for setting up Steven's murder. Well, she wouldn't make that mistake again. She was staying in control this time, not giving Wyngarde any power over her, anything to use against her.



"Jason," she said on a gasp, pulling back and releasing her hold on him. She smiled winningly, running a hand down his chest as if straightening out a crease in his shirt. Not that he had one. "We should return to the party, don't you agree? And we will continue becoming better acquainted later." She gave the last phrase a slight twinge of authority, though her coy smile remained in place. She wanted it understood beyond doubt that she'd given him all she would tonight, but that she wasn't closing any doors on future rendezvous. "There is so much we can do together."



Jason held her at arm’s length for a moment, his dark eyes searching her. For the first time, she experienced the true intensity of his gaze, and the calculating intelligence behind them. He nodded, but as she moved to step away, he moved with her. His hands tightened on her arms, and before she knew what was happening she found herself back on the couch, his kisses strong and his hands wandering.



Adrienne rolled her eyes. Men. Really. "Look, I didn't mean now," she pointed out, giving him a shove. "I want to get back to the party, and I want you to come with me so we can circulate together and share information." He didn't appear to be listening, or backing off. "Stop it," she commanded, firmer this time. "I said no."



The first wisp of fear slithered in her stomach and radiated outwards as he pinned her to the couch, not paying any heed to her wish to stop. "You're going to get slapped in a moment," she warned. Adrienne didn't like hurting people, but she wasn't about to get hurt herself, either. Not again. So she figured giving him fair warning absolved herself of the guilt of defending herself. When he didn't let her up, she wound back to slap him.



It turned out to be futile, as he expertly caught her hands and pinned them. He was very strong, and quick, and her struggles simply left her trapped under his hold, unable to reach him with her teeth or nails or knee or any of the other dirty tricks that she’d been taught. Wyngarde’s hold stretched her the length of the sofa and his hand and mouth wandered at leisure, popping her from the top of the corset. His grip shifted, giving her a chance to renew the attack, but he caught her as easily as the first time, the same slim smile on his face.



Desperate, Adrienne tried to reach her panic button, but it was just as useless an effort as her attacks and struggles had been. She couldn't stop him. On a frustrated sob, she quit moving. She'd learned early that struggling only made what was inevitable worse. It only gave them more pleasure. As she'd taught herself as a teen, she worked at turning off the part of her mind that protested, quashed the revulsion and disgust and the useless thoughts of escape, and sought out the small, dark place inside herself where nothing could hurt her, where she could stay, disconnected from what he was doing to her, until it was over.



Except she couldn't find that place, couldn't shut herself off the way she'd gotten so used to doing in the past. The anger and the desire to defend herself against the animal before her swamped all thoughts about giving in, about letting him do what he wanted because he was stronger, because this was his turf, because she'd kissed and flirted. It wasn't right. She hadn't agreed to this. He was supposed to stop; that was what people were supposed to do when you told them to. Any man at the mansion-



But she wasn't at the mansion. She was at the Hellfire Club. She was on his turf, and this was the price she had to pay for the power he mentioned taking from the Club. That realization was nearly enough to have her giving in again, but still Adrienne wasn't satisfied to let him attack her just to prove that he held the power over her. She wouldn't willingly give anyone power over her, not that way, not ever again. Even if it cost her Shaw's good graces. "Let me go or I'll have people here to stop you in five minutes," she spat, resuming her struggles. Somehow, she would reach the panic button, despite the pride and whatever else it would cost her. Adrienne was not going to let this happen.





“Feel free to do as you wish. You can scream as much as you’d like, but the guard at the door won’t hear a thing, regardless of how loud you are. After all, this is the Black Court. Yours would hardly be the first or the last screams these halls have witnessed.” Abruptly, he released her, smoothly stepping back from the couch and his grip on her, motioning towards the sideboard. “Shall we have another drink?”



When he stepped back Adrienne grabbed her purse and the panic button, though she didn't press it, still wanting to try and get out of this situation herself, if she could. She adjusted her corset with an angry tug and her hand went unconsciously to her throat in a nervous gesture, to touch the medallion she usually wore, but with a lurch of her stomach Adrienne realized she'd taken it off in the car. She hadn't wanted anything that reminded her of Garrison in her presence tonight. Now she missed its reassuring weight, and what it represented. "The Black Court doesn't rape people," she argued, holding the panic button so he could see it easily. "I'm getting out of here. Either you can open the door or my reinforcements will."



"Your reinforcements, Adrienne? You have none." His tone was almost mocking, a parody of the urbane charm of only moments before. "If I chose to rape you, there would be nothing you could do to stop me, or try and seek revenge. We're both over twenty-one, and there's not a single person here who would dare to suggest anything other than your full hearted desperate attempt to bed me. And do you know why?"



He paused to sip from the glass of brandy he had poured, ignoring the panic button as if beneath his notice. "Because they all understand that the way to power is through proving their worth and value to people like me. Your pretty outfit and esteemed surname earned you the invitation to the court, but for anything else, you need to prove your use to us. Whether that's against the White Court, furthering our interests, or in bed." Wyngarde's smile had taken on an ugly cast. "You are free to leave at any time, Adrienne. But if we want to ever hold power in this court, be well aware what the cost is."



Adrienne's green eyes had turned stormy with anger. Years ago she would have accepted that there was nothing she could do if he tried to force himself on her, but she'd been learning how to defend herself since coming to the mansion, and she could no longer believe that she could physically do nothing against him. She wouldn't retreat into her own head and endure it again. If he tried to force her, she would fight.



Of course, a willingness to protect herself physically didn't solve her bigger problem: that what he was saying about the cost of power in the Black Court was true. That little realization was becoming glaringly obvious. Adrienne was beginning to doubt that even the White Court was less degrading to its ambitious members, the ones not content to simply attend the parties and talk stocks. Was this what Emma had been through to get to where she was? How had she put up with it? Maybe her diamond shell came in handy to shield her mind as well as her body. She was a telepath, after all. Maybe she had built herself shields where she could block out the degradation. Maybe the dark place in her own head where she could retreat to when the cost of power dictated that she do something (or someone) repulsive was more formidable than Adrienne's. Adrienne was no longer willing to hide in her own head and endure what others had planned for her, telling herself she would reap her reward after it was over, but maybe Emma was stronger. Or maybe she had just stopped caring what she had to give up in order to win what she desired.



Half of Adrienne's mind tried to rationalize that it was just sex; that at least she was familiar with that game, that she was good at it, that she could even enjoy it if she wanted to. But the other half- the stupid, mansion-influenced half- argued that this wasn't how sex was supposed to be, that it wasn't right to surrender to Jason in order to get power in the court, that there had to be other ways, ways that didn't make her stomach churn with distaste, to get power.



"And what if I am unwilling to share a bed with you, but can prove to further your interests by illustrating my use against the White Court?" she challenged, still holding on to the belief that there had to be some other way to get the power she desired without surrendering to him physically. Wyngarde was most likely a formidable partner in bed, and if circumstances were different- if he'd played by her rules instead of trying to force her to acquiesce to his own- she would have relished their time together, but now it had become a matter of pride, to prove that her worth to him was not merely in her body.



"I think you're missing the point, Adrienne. You will do whatever we require of you, without question, if you wish to succeed in this court. Neither Shaw or I care what you personally feel you're willing or unwilling to do. He is the Black King, and you are nothing." Wyngarde seemed almost amused. "If you wish to remain nothing, by all means hold to whatever personal code you wish. I'm told that some believe integrity matters more than power, but I've never believed that myself."



Jason finished his drink and walked to the door. "This was a lesson, Adrienne. If you wish to lead in this court, you must first give yourself up to it, no matter what that may entail. Show your worth to the Inner Circle, and eventually you may be trusted with the power that comes from them. But don't ever believe that you are in a position to bargain or compromise as an equal. As you've seen, you can be used and discarded at a whim. If you wish to change that fact, be prepared to do whatever is required without question." He opened the door and nodded to her as he left with a wide smile. "A pleasure meeting you."



"Likewise." Adrienne watched him leave the room, gripping the back of the couch. Her legs didn't feel as if they could support her. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on Nathan's meditation techniques, building shields and trying to calm herself. After several moments she took a step forward, shakily, and reached the sideboard. Some of the brandy she poured herself splashed onto the floor when her hands trembled, but she managed to pour a glass and knocked it back, the unpleasant burn soothing as it settled her stomach.



When her hands stopped shaking, she returned to the main room, managing to circulate on the opposite side as Wyngarde for fifteen minutes, concentrating on inane business conversation while mentally gritting her teeth throughout the ordeal. But it wouldn't do to let Wyngarde think he'd gotten to her, even though his words had cut her sharply. Never before had the psychometrist had it put so plainly to her that gaining power would cost her the integrity she hadn't until tonight even realized she possessed.



When had the integrity happened?



The fact that holding on to a 'personal code,' as Wyngarde had called it, meant she was nothing infuriated Adrienne. Now that she was beginning to realize she had integrity, she didn't want it. Not that she wanted to return to being the person she'd been before Steven, sleeping with anyone who had the position or money she happened to be seeking at that time, but at least she back then didn't have to worry about the embarrassing problem of having integrity cost her something she wanted! She did want to lead the court!



But is it worth being used and discarded until the men decide to grace you with scraps of power? And do you really trust that they'll ever put you in a position of any leadership? You heard him. They think you're nothing. And what do they have to give you that you couldn't get elsewhere, anyway? Like Nathan said, you have a company where you create beauty and a job where you shape young minds. Why do you need this?



She pushed the thoughts away angrily.



Once fifteen minutes were up and she was sure Shaw had seen her looking calm and collected after her encounter with Jason, Adrienne feigned a headache- even though it wasn't really feigned- and stepped outside. She walked a few blocks and hailed a cab where no one from the Club would see. Driver would probably be pissed that she didn't call him, but Adrienne didn't want to see Driver. She didn't want to see anyone familiar. As she sank into the cab and gave the driver instructions to the mansion, playing absently with her silver lighter, the events of the night began sinking in.



She'd been humiliated. Wyngarde had been teaching her a lesson. He'd nearly raped her. The only reason she'd come away physically unscathed was because he'd let her. She'd nearly let it happen again. She'd been flirting with him, and he'd assumed that gave him the right to teach her a lesson by forcing her onto the couch, exposing her, incapacitating her, overpowering her. He'd tried to force her into that hopeless void in her mind where she swore she would never go again. And if she wanted to pursue a future with the Club, this treatment wasn't going to stop.



And the worst part of it was that she'd been warned. How many times, how many different people had warned her about the Club? But she hadn't listened. Adrienne had been sure she could handle whatever was required to get ahead in the club. And I could have, if I hadn't gone and gotten afflicted with fucking integrity, she thought to herself, furious.



The cab rolled up to the gates of the mansion, but Adrienne told the driver to stop. She suddenly didn't want to go in. How could she face them? Any of them? They'd all been right about the club, and it had nearly cost her being violated to figure that out. But there was no way she could admit it. She couldn't stay at the mansion, not right now. Especially not with Kane there. Kane with his damn integrity, and his disapproval of the club and her mechanization within it, and the fact that he'd been right all along. She quashed the part of herself that wanted to hide on his couch, arguing that after tonight she would probably never be able to look him in the eye again.



Her hands were beginning to shake again, and she bit the inside of her lip to focus on that pain instead of everything else. The cabbie agreed to take her to the train station at her request. Adrienne couldn't stay at the mansion, but neither could she stay in the city, despite how badly she wanted to go to Morgan's and curl up in the blue woman's bed, safe and comforted. In the morning there would undoubtedly be questions, and Morgan would do exactly what everyone else would do. They would tell her she deserved it.



The lighter fell from her trembling hands as the events of the night played out again before her while she waited for a train to Boston, as she replayed all her mistakes, what she'd nearly let happen. It was only through sheer pride that she was able to sit quietly on the train and throughout the next cab ride and make it up the steps to her townhouse. The door closed and locked behind her and she climbed the stairs in a daze. Only when she'd fallen onto the bed in the empty room and wrapped the blankets tightly around herself did she give in to the shaking that wracked her entire body and the tears that had been threatening since Wyngarde had walked out.