Drina sighed. "Well, Beth, the girl I'd saved, told the others what I'd done. Half of the women were furious that I'd killed their "protector-"
"Killed?" Harper asked, one eyebrow flying up.
Drina grimaced. "It was part accident and part self-defense. He didn't care for being tossed about by a female and pulled a knife. That rather irritated me, and I tossed him up the alley." She shrugged. "He landed on his knife."
"Ah." Harper nodded.
"Anyway, as I say, half of them were furious I'd killed him, and the other half just didn't seem to have the energy to care either way. Then Mary, a rather mouthy bit of goods, announced that since I'd killed their man, I was now their protector." Drina smiled faintly at the memory. She'd been rather dismayed at the time but had felt responsible for the women and hadn't known what else to do. So, she'd become a madam.
"According to Mary I wasn't a very good madam," she admitted with amusement. "I mean, I kept them safe and made sure none of their clients hurt them, but I didn't take any of their money. In fact, it cost me money instead," she admitted with a grin. "And as far as Mary was concerned, that made me a failure as a madam."
Harper chuckled, but asked with interest, "So you just hung about and looked out for them for nothing?"
"At first," she said slowly. Sighing, she admitted reluctantly, "But after a particularly nasty encounter with three drunk clients who tried to abuse one of the girls . . . well, I was injured. And healed," she said dryly.
"They sorted out what you were," he guessed.
"One of the risks of spending too much time with mortals," Drina said dryly. "Fortunately, the women took it much better than One-eye had. In fact, they were surprisingly accepting, and most just seemed relieved."
"Relieved?" Harper echoed with surprise.
Drina nodded and explained, "Well, I looked out for them but would never take their money. It turns out this had left them feeling beholden, and not one of them was comfortable with that. But now they felt they had something to offer me."
"To feed on them," Harper breathed, sitting up.
Drina nodded solemnly. "I refused at first, but Beth sat me down and explained that I was being terribly selfish in refusing their kind offer."
Harper started to laugh. "They had your number."
"Perhaps," Drina admitted with amusement. "But it wasn't what she said so much as what she didn't say. I realized that they were afraid. I was the best protector any of them had had. I didn't beat or rape them, didn't even take a cut of their money and had suffered a few injuries to protect them and yet expected nothing from them in return. It confused them. They didn't understand why I did it."
"Why did you do it?" Harper asked.
Drina considered the question. "Because I could, and no one else would."
"I think there was more to it than that," Harper said quietly. "You were your own woman and in charge of your life in Egypt until the Romans invaded, and it seems to me that you spent a good part of your life after that fighting to get that independence and freedom back. You managed to regain some small measure of it as a gladiator, then some more from ruling a country as a puppet master/concubine, became a duchess to escape your brother's rule, and then pretended to be male to run your own ship." He nodded. "I think you felt for those women. I think you were trying to free them from the tyranny of a male-dominated world, allowing them the independence to earn and keep their own money, and protecting them from those who would have abused and taken advantage of them. You saw yourself in them and were trying to give them what you'd always fought for."
Drina shifted uncomfortably. He'd seen her pretty clearly, and it made her feel naked. Trying to lighten the atmosphere, she teased, "Or perhaps I just secretly always wanted to be a prostitute."
"Did you?" he asked, surprised at the suggestion.
"No. I was well tired of sex with mortals by then," she said on a chuckle, and smiled wryly. "You're probably right about my motivations, but even I didn't understand them then." She turned her wineglass on the table, and admitted, "Originally, I tried to get them out of the business, but none of them were interested. They didn't see any other life for themselves." She sighed and shook her head, reexperiencing the confusion and frustration she'd felt at the time. "Not one of those women had wanted to be prostitutes. Each had dreamed of a husband and family, a happy life. They were, every one of them, forced into it, a few by circumstance, but most by the man they had called their "protector." Once in that life, society considered them garbage, as if in a matter of moments they'd somehow changed and become less."
"As happened with you when Rome invaded Egypt, and you were no longer allowed to run a business," he pointed out. "As if with the invasion, you had become less intelligent, or skilled, and were suddenly a child who needed a man to look out for her."
"I suppose," Drina admitted. "Though, as I say, I didn't see the correlation then. And I didn't suddenly feel less with the invasion, but they all seemed to feel they were all now less or damaged." She sighed. "Anyway, when Beth gave me her little talk, all I could do was reassure her that I wanted nothing and wouldn't suddenly abandon them. But, of course, her experiences in life didn't suggest that was likely. It didn't for any of them, and they were afraid and frustrated because of it. In their minds, there was nothing to stop me from simply pulling up stakes and leaving at any time. They didn't trust that I wouldn't, and the possibility left them constantly terrified. Once I realized that, I agreed to their offer."
"To feed from them?"
Drina nodded. "It turned out to be a good thing all the way around."
"How so?" he asked curiously.
"The women had always been on edge, fluctuating between being overly nice and snapping at me and each other," she began, and then paused and wrinkled her nose. "Frankly, it was a bloody cathouse at times. But once I agreed to feed from them, some sort of balance was restored. They felt everyone was getting something, so it would all be all right. They relaxed, the house gained a much more pleasant atmosphere, the women even became like family rather than fighting all the time. It was nice," she said with a reminiscent smile. "And, of course, I didn't have to hunt at night anymore, which was handy. Everyone was happy."
"Everyone?" Harper queried, and she chuckled at his wry expression.
"Well, everyone but my family," she admitted on a laugh.