Entering The Red King, I take a moment to let my eyes adjust. There’s a lot of low lights, most in the infrared range of the spectrum, mostly reds that probably hide the general cheapness of the club. Then again, this is Old Haven. Almost nothing is in good condition. The music is bass-heavy, thumping and making the dust fall from the ceiling supports at times, but nobody really seems to notice. It’s a vamp club, all right.
I see one of the locals that I’ve been keeping my eye on. Nathaniel ‘Blood Boy’ Poliquin is one of the higher-ranked vamps in the local underground scene, but he hasn’t been registering his blood draws for quite a while now . . . and vamps as young as him can’t survive that long without getting some fresh hemo.
“Hey, Blood Boy,” I say as I saddle up to the bar, making sure he can see the pulse in my neck, “you look like you need a snack.”
“Flap off, normie,” he says, turning away. He’s drinking a Clamato shooter . . . disgusting, but that’s just my opinion. “Don’t need no off-market hemo.”
“You sure?” I ask, running my hand up his thigh. “Come on, you ever been with a warm girl before? Twenty bucks, you get to fill and drain at the same time.”
I know I’m pushing it, and I hope Joe’s got my back. This close to an actual vamp, even my training won’t be good for much. Blood Boy looks me over, licking his lips before shaking his head, not taking the bait. “I’ll pass.”
He slams his shot glass down, muttering to himself about crazy humans as he walks away.
I resist the urge to go after him. He’s not harmless, but for the moment, he’s at least not interested in breaking the law in public. Still, Joe’s voice whispers in my transponder. “Keep on him. He’s going down to the dance floor. Maybe he’s one of those sub-terra types.”
I head downstairs, and just as my target disappears into the crowd of undulating bodies, a blinding headache hits me between the eyes. I stagger, wincing as it feels like the music just got multiplied by about a hundred and everyone’s talking to me at once. “Fuck!”
“You okay?”
I gasp and try to follow, but it’s overwhelming. “Just a moment. Cover the back. I need a moment.”
I find the bathroom. I know I’ve got some Tylenol in my purse, but the faucets are broken. I hate dry swallowing them, so I head back to the bar, where the bartender looks at me without any sympathy. “Whatcha need?”
“Water?” I ask. “Fucking head’s splitting.”
“No water,” the bartender says, making me raise an eyebrow. No water? Uhm, health code violation? But I don’t have time for that.
“Fine . . . anything wet will do,” I reply. A moment later, the bartender sets a Clamato shooter in front of me, and I wince as I swallow. The flavor’s too salty for just Clamato, and I silently hope I didn’t just do what I think I did.
Still, after a few minutes, the headache goes away and I head downstairs, looking for my target. The music’s still pounding, and I work my way between gaps on the floor, the stench of human sweat with vamp ‘mones a heady, almost sexual mix.
I get it, why some humans are drawn to them. There is a sexual attraction to their ‘mones, one of their adaptations for hunting. The old mythology of their looking uniformly beautiful or attractive is bullshit, but vamp ‘mones are like level-100 beer goggles. Anything looks good under their effect.
Finally, I spot Blood Boy slipping out the back, and my instincts kick in. I follow, using a change in music to slip through just as he heads down the alleyway. “Hey, Blood Boy!”
He says nothing, and I hurry after him, walking as fast as I can in the high heels I’m wearing.
Just as I turn the corner, I feel someone grab me from behind in an iron-hard grip, and I curse. Blood Boy was waiting for me. I kick back, curling my leg up, but my foot just thumps off his balls.
“Too bad . . . lost those nerves last week,” he rasps in my ear, and I curse inside. Of course. Once they pass a certain age, vamps can control their autonomic nervous systems like I can control my fingers.
But even with all their extra strength, vamps are subject to the laws of physics, and when I stomp back into his knee, it hyperextends, allowing me to flip his body forward and off my back.
He’s fast, back on his feet and slapping my hand before I can draw my UV and sending me rolling to the ground.
Where the fuck is Joe? I think as I scramble. He’s supposed to have my back!
“Been a long time since someone, even a Hemobag like you, just offered herself so stupidly,” Blood Boy says, his voice chilly and sending real fear creeping into me. “Should have figured you were Fi-Fo. Regular cops ain’t that stupid.”
“What the fuck’s a Fi-Fo?” I lie, and Blood Boy laughs.
“Right. Know my name, bad offer like that, and you got a piece? Shoulda kept your nose where it belonged, Blondie. Ah, well. At least you will satisfy my hunger for a week or so.”
He dives in for the kill, and I know my life’s got only a second left, not even enough time to say goodbye to those I’m leaving behind . . . when suddenly, Blood Boy disintegrates.
Rolling up, I get to my feet and retrieve my weapon, turning. “Joe, you have an innate ability to—”
My words stop as it’s not Joe who saved me, but four hunks, three blonds and one with sooty black hair. They’re wearing strange-looking pants, showing off chiseled upper bodies, but what immediately draws my attention are their eyes. All of them are like mine, with golden flecks in them . . . something I’ve never seen before. All of them are armed, one of them holding a bow.
“Come with us, for your own safety,” one of them says. He’s holding a sword and glances at it before sheathing the blade across his back. “Please.”
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Book 2 - Nightfall
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Nightfall Page 26
