Demon Kissed: Book 2 of the Venandi Chronicles (An Urban Paranormal Romance Series)

by Sara Snow

  Oops, sorry, kid, I drained you dry. Too bad you won’t be hanging around on our road trip.

  Instead, I found myself driving through the streets of Chicago, looking for one of my usual hunting grounds. Taking blood from a human was always hard on my conscience, which was why I let myself go so long between feedings.

  In my life before Kingston, I belonged to a coven of vampires that feasted on the blood of lost souls in the human community. Homeless vagrants, prostitutes, and runaways were our nightly prey. Sometimes we splurged on reckless socialites or thrill-seeking suburban teenagers, but for the most part, we fed in the margins. It was safer that way.

  Since then, I had trained myself to survive on other sources of blood. Raw organ meats were surprisingly satisfying, even though they couldn’t hold me over for very long. A couple of bags of packed red blood cells were also a good substitute, but I felt guilty about stealing from the blood banks when donations were so hard to come by.

  Kingston knew how hard it was for me to deal with this side of myself, which was why he kept the refrigerator at the warehouse fully-stocked with raw calf liver and beef hearts.

  Though I was never close to my mother, Leora, I often envied her. She didn’t have a problem finding human sources—men fell all over each other to sacrifice themselves to her hunger. Of course, they didn’t know how their stories would end until her fangs sank into their throats and the world went black around them.

  Leora didn’t give a shit if they never woke up. In fact, it was easier for her if they didn’t. She was proud of her bloodline and felt no guilt whatsoever about satisfying her needs with humans. Leora could trace her heritage back to Elizabeth Bathory, a 16th-century vampire who owed her eternally youthful beauty to her habit of drinking the blood of virgins.

  Supposedly, the woman known as the “blood countess” died while in exile in one of her family’s castles in Hungary, although considering how crafty and manipulative vampires can be and how committed they are to their immortality, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was still out there somewhere, living it up and hunting virgins.

  Tonight, it was my turn to do some hunting. I couldn’t put it off any longer, especially if I intended to sit in a car for twenty-four hours with three other supernaturals.

  I found myself driving to one of my old haunts, a dive bar called the Abyss. The place brought back memories of a night with Georgia not long after I’d first met the cambion.

  It was Georgia’s first stakeout and her introduction to the world of demon-slaying. She had just turned twenty-one, old enough to hang out at the bars and nightclubs that attracted a lot of sex demons. The Abyss was a cesspool of monsters—both human and non-human—but Georgia had handled herself like a champ. Even after being abducted by a succubus and nearly killed in a rollover car crash, she hadn’t given up on the Venandi.

  We were the ones who had let her down by keeping her identity a secret.

  The Abyss was packed with the usual crowd that night. I caught the eye of a couple of fellow vamps who were out hunting together. They were young, pasty-faced Goth types with hair that looked like it had been dyed with black shoe polish and tight leather jackets. I had thought that look went out about a decade ago, but apparently it was still working for these guys.

  I ordered a shot of whiskey at the bar, then gave the two Goth geeks a death glare that warned them not to interfere with my hunt. They returned my glare with a dirty look, but quickly faded into the crowd of incubi, succubi, and miscellaneous shape-shifters.

  The bar scene was not my favorite place to hunt; I preferred my prey to be solitary and sober. Crowds turned me off, and blood tainted with booze just left me with a sick hangover. But when it came to finding a quick feed, it was hard to beat the Abyss. No questions, no judgment—just a lot of strange creatures looking to satisfy their needs.

  “Why, hello stranger.”

  A pointed talon traced its way from the base of my neck to my waist. Even through the leather of my jacket, I could read the intention behind that touch as if it were being written on my back with a pen.

  I didn’t need to turn around to recognize the owner of that fingernail. Her smoky voice and musky scent gave her away.

  “Hello yourself, Twyla. How have you been?”

  I turned to see the vampire’s unmistakable mane of fiery-red hair. Her blue eyes were rimmed with lashes that looked like they’d been torn off some poor tarantula, and she wore enough pancake makeup to make a Kabuki actor proud. Slick scarlet lip gloss made her mouth look like a giant candied apple.

  Not a bad look, if you had a taste for trash.

  The candied apple formed a pout. “I’ve been okay. No thanks to you. You seriously blew me off last time we met.”

  “I was hoping you’d have forgotten about that. How about I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

  She shrugged. “Bombay martini suits me fine. But you’ll have to buy me a lot of them to make up for running out on me. That’s a serious infraction.”

  “How about Grey Goose instead of Bombay?” I suggested. “It’s more expensive, so it’ll be a bigger hit on my wallet.”

  The truth was that I’d rather drink second-hand vodka than gin, and Twyla was looking like a promising source. The skin of her throat had a glossy sheen, and her carotid artery looked plump and succulent. She’d had some good feeding lately.

  Reciprocal feeding with another vamp wasn’t as gratifying as feeding from a regular mortal. Vampires never absorbed all the electrolytes or amino acids in each other’s blood—it had something to do with the missing components in our blood chemistry. But we could quench each other’s thirst, tide each other over until we found a human victim.

  And we didn’t have to deal with the typical human fears or superstitions about our breed. When vampires feed from each other, we could hook up and take care of business without jumping through social hoops or battling outdated stereotypes.

  But I’d gone too long without feeding, and tonight I didn’t have an extra drop to share with Twyla.

  I ordered a dry Stoli martini from the bartender, then followed Twyla to a table in the corner of the bar. I noticed that she’d chosen a spot far from the bathrooms and the jukebox, which meant we’d have more privacy.

  Her full hips swayed under the lime-green swathe of Spandex that served as Twyla’s dress. I wasn’t crazy about the color of the fabric, but it definitely flattered her curves. The skirt ended just above the junction of her bottom and her upper thighs.

  “If I could make a bold, educated guess,” I said, holding out a chair for Twyla, “I’d say you’re wearing a black lace thong under that skirt.”

  Twyla smirked at me as she took a sip of her martini. “Well, I’d say you’ve had a good education. What else would you like to know?”

  Twyla seemed to have forgotten her grudge against me, and for that I gave the gods a silent prayer of thanks. She lifted her artfully curled hair away from her throat to display a column of ivory skin, perfectly smooth except for the ridge of her carotid.

  I swallowed hard.

  Twyla leaned in closer and clamped my thigh with her fingernails. Her pupils were so dilated that they edged out the blue of her irises. Now I understood why she wore that bright red shellac on her mouth—to distract attention from the fangs jutting out from behind her upper lip.

  Though her hair and makeup would have done justice to a drag queen, Twyla had left out one important element of feminine artifice: perfume. She knew that the scent of her warm, pulsing blood was the only fragrance she needed.

  “Look, Twyla, you’re as stunning as ever. But to be perfectly honest, I’m not here for sex, and I’m not up for a reciprocal feed. I haven’t fed for a long time—”

  “And you’re asking for a donation,” she sighed, finishing my sentence.

  I clasped my hands together. “Please? I’m willing to beg.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Give me one good reason why I should say yes. Especially after you left me hanging l
ast time.”

  “Next time you’re hard up, I’ll be there for you. I swear on my mother’s life.”

  That didn’t mean much when my mother was immortal, but I could see Twyla softening.

  “Fine.” She pointed her taloned finger at me. “But I’m putting your number on speed-dial, and if you don’t answer next time I call, I swear I’ll never give you another drop.”

  I could already taste the rich, coppery tang of venous blood. Saliva flooded my mouth, and my fangs sprang to attention.

  “Can we go to your place?” I pleaded.

  “Why not? I might as well be lying in my own bed when you drain me dry.”

  Twyla took my hand and stood up, pulling me to my feet. As we headed for the door, I caught a glimpse of shimmering golden curls in the crowd. At the bar, sitting next to a burly guy covered in tattoos, was an all-too-familiar blonde.

  It was Olympia. Panic clutched me by the throat.

  What the hell is she doing slumming at the Abyss? This isn’t her type of bar. Or her type of guy.

  I ducked my head, hoping against hope that Olympia wouldn’t see me. I kept expecting to hear a shrill voice calling to me through the racket of the drunken crowd: Carter! What a surprise to see YOU here!

  Apparently, the witch didn’t notice me, because if she had, I’d never hear the end of it. As Georgia’s confidante, Olympia knew all about the sexual drama between the cambion and me. If Olympia found out about Twyla, who knew what she would do with the information?

  For starters, she could blackmail me for the rest of my miserable, eternal life.

  Carter

  I woke up with a full belly and rivulets of dried blood on my chin. Feeling calm and energized, I barely noticed the effects of the vodka Twyla had consumed.

  I had the alarm on my phone set early so that I could leave Twyla’s apartment before dawn slapped me in the face. The red-haired vamp didn’t even stir when I crawled out of her bed and hobbled to the bathroom to get dressed. We had both passed out with our clothes on. Now she lay face-down with her arms and legs splayed out in four directions, as if she’d fallen from a very tall building.

  I fumbled in my wallet and found one of the Venandi business cards that I gave out on rare occasions. I underlined my phone number and wrote, Next time—I promise! on the back of the card. Then, I tucked it under Twyla’s hand.

  The night I met Georgia, when I first recognized her power, I had handed her an identical card. I had just saved her from a soul-sucking demon, and I knew she would need us. She gave me a look of pure disbelief when I told her that we were a team of demon slayers. But she came to find us anyway, because she was smart enough to realize that we were the only ones who could help her.

  She’ll never forgive me if she finds out I fed on Twyla last night.

  As I washed my face, I looked at the mirror and wished I could see the effects of my crimson feast. Although I can’t see my own reflection, I have a general idea of what I look like. My mother Leora was known as a local stunner, with her raven-black hair and porcelain skin. She never told me what my father looked like, but he must have been handsome enough to qualify as one of her one-night stands.

  I’ve always fared pretty well with women—well enough to quench my thirst whenever I needed to. And until now, that’s been all I really expected.

  Then, Georgia came along, and all my expectations suddenly took wing and transformed into hopes. The word “dreams” was too mushy for my taste, but in the softer recesses of my mind, I did entertain romantic fantasies about her, visions of forming a long-term bond that would be stronger and deeper than anything I’d experienced in my misspent life.

  So, what are you going to tell Georgia when you propose to her? ‘Hey, I really want to mate with you for life, but we need to work out a deal where I can feed off other women every few weeks’?

  Right now, all the cells in my body were still humming with contentment from last night’s feed. I didn’t want to think about the possibility that Georgia wouldn’t be able to satisfy that particular hunger.

  Sunlight typically didn’t bother me, except at dawn. The angle and intensity of early daylight, striking skin that had been shielded in darkness for many hours, would be too hard to handle after a night like that.

  I hurried down the stairs and made a dash for my car, hoping to get back to the warehouse before the sun rose.

  11

  Georgia

  Armed with my new power as a human flamethrower, I was starting to get excited about the road trip. I had never been on a cross-country drive before, but from what I’d seen on TV and in the movies, road trips were rituals that normal kids my age took for granted.

  And right now, with all the shit going down in the demon realm, I was ready to seize any opportunity to feel normal, even if it was only for a few days.

  Olympia seemed less than enthusiastic as she helped me get ready. March weather here in Chicago was still raw and cold, and this year, the winds were even more blustery than usual. But as we drove south, temperatures would rise, and we’d need much skimpier clothing.

  “It’s too bad your mother decided to move to Texas. There are a lot of bugs in that part of the country,” Olympia said with distaste. “And snakes. What do you think possessed her to go all the way to El Paso?”

  “Maybe she wanted to get out of the cold. Maybe she met a dealer who was heading south. Maybe she wanted to learn Spanish. Who knows?”

  I was trying not to let the witch’s negativity spoil my good mood, but her comment irked me.

  How was I supposed to know what my mother was doing? It’s not like she could consult me on her major life decisions. She was too busy getting high and passing out.

  Olympia plucked a camisole, a light t-shirt, and a pair of shorts from one of my dresser drawers and tossed them into my suitcase. Since she was the big expert on meteorology and what to wear in desert climates, I was letting her pack for me.

  “If she wanted a warmer climate, she should have moved to Florida. That would have been a fun road trip.”

  “There are bugs and snakes in Florida,” I pointed out.

  “Not like the ones in Texas,” she snapped.

  Why are we having this conversation?

  Olympia’s lips were set in a tight line, and her forehead was grooved with wrinkles. She kept bitching about the trip, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze. At one point, as I packed my pitiful collection of toiletries, I caught her looking at me with something like pity in her blue eyes.

  “Is there something wrong, Olympia?” I blurted out. “I know you’re not all that excited about this trip, but I have a feeling that’s not what this is about.”

  She arched her elegant eyebrows. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

  I planted my fists on my hips. “You’re obsessing about stuff that doesn’t matter. Asking dumb questions that you know I can’t answer. Treating me like a child by packing my clothes for me. What the hell is the problem?”

  Olympia had been leaning over my suitcase, arranging my clothes. Now, she groaned and sank down on my bed.

  “It’s something that I saw last night,” she said. “Something that involves you.”

  “What is it? Olympia, you’re scaring me. Was it another demon?”

  She shook her head, blonde curls bobbing. “No, not this time. I stopped at a bar last night for a drink with one of my dates. I don’t even remember his name, to be honest. But I remember what I saw.”

  I sat down next to her. “Whatever it was, you can tell me,” I said firmly. “I can take it.”

  I was trying to sound confident, but my stomach was turning flip-flops.

  “You remember the Abyss, right?” Olympia asked.

  “Oh, yeah. How could I forget?”

  The Abyss had been the setting of my first demon stakeout with Carter. We had gone to the bar in search of a succubus who was murdering her human lovers.

  I had started the night with a combination of dread and excitement, w
ith an emphasis on the dread. As it turned out, my intuition was right. My first attempt at demon-slaying had been a disaster, ending with me being abducted and thrown from a speeding car before Carter and Kingston intervened to slaughter the succubus.

  What was Olympia doing at a dive like that?

  “I didn’t think the Abyss was your kind of scene,” I said.

  “Typically, it’s not. But it wasn’t a typical date. Anyway, we ended up sitting at the bar. We had just ordered drinks when I looked up and saw Carter.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes, really. And he wasn’t alone.”

  I already knew where this was going. Olympia thought I was naive about men, that I’d never been hurt before. The truth was I’d spent my whole life being hurt. Every relationship had the potential to hurt you in its own special way, just like every disease had its own horrible complications.

  “Who was he with?” I sighed.

  “I didn’t recognize her. She was trashy, not Carter’s type at all. Big red hair, courtesy of Nice n’ Easy, big boobs, tons of makeup.”

  I set my jaw and nodded. “I know exactly who you’re talking about.”

  Olympia had just described the same woman I’d seen with Carter at the Abyss on the night we went hunting together. An overblown redhead in a skin-tight denim dress, dangling her boobs in front of his face. I had felt jealous at the time, but now I knew better.

  Carter had already wounded me by hiding the truth about my father. He couldn’t possibly hurt me any more by hanging out at a dive bar with a sleazy redhead.

  Olympia wrapped her arm around my waist and leaned her head on my shoulder. I stiffened, but didn’t pull away.

  “I couldn’t care less what Carter does.” I sniffed. “We’re not dating or anything. I don’t even know if I like him.”

  Right. And if that were true, I wouldn’t be stressing about this, would I?

  “One thing I know for sure, she was a vampire,” Olympia said. “I can always tell a vampire by their aura. Vampires look like they’re surrounded by a cloud of greenish-black smoke.”