Someone waited for him outside his apartment door when Nick finally got back to the state-funded vampire complex on West 163rd.
There were thirteen of the buildings in all, housing probably eighty percent of the vampires who lived and worked in Manhattan. Nick’s building was on the north end.
It was called Coven 6.
Nick suspected some jackass at I.S.F. thought the name was hilarious.
Like he said, he didn’t mind the state-funded housing, though.
For one thing, he didn’t have to pay Manhattan rents.
For another, and probably more importantly, the buildings had their own, I.S.F.-funded security system, including live guards. That meant no one could get in or out of the building, much less Nick’s apartment, without authorization.
That authorization could only come one of two ways: from Nick himself, via retinal scans, voice recognition and his implant codes, using a state-of-the-art security system built into his front door, or by the I.S.F.
Therefore, when he saw her there, he knew she was supposed to be there. He also knew she’d likely been sent by the I.S.F.
The latter is what caused him to frown, checking his timepiece inside the headset he still wore. It was Thursday.
He’d forgotten it was Thursday.
Most days, he just got blood bags delivered to his door.
Three days a week, Thursday, Saturday, and Tuesday for him, for one of his meals, the I.S.F. sent a government-paid employee.
Nick suspected the zoology-, biology- and even the law enforcement nerds they had down at I.S.F. central in D.C. knew blood bags would never be enough for most vampires, not every day, for days on end.
Not for days stretching into weeks, months, years.
Like all vampires, Nick also had the option to hire a legal volunteer to supplement the I.S.F.-supplied “employees,” but he supposed they wanted to give him and other vamps who followed the rules even more reason not to wander off the reservation.
There was a huge, sprawling trade in blood sport of all kinds, even just in New York City, the mass of it living within different shades of legality.
If a vampire’s fresh blood habit got too expensive, or too dangerous for them, given how many self-proclaimed vigilantes lived out there still, that might push a fair-few into looking for ways to cut corners, ways that ventured into civilian safety issues.
Still, it was fucking weird to be fed by a government-supplied employee.
He knew it shouldn’t matter, but it did.
He couldn’t help thinking it was a bit like throwing a lion part of a dead animal carcass, versus allowing the damned thing to hunt.
Nick, like most vampires, was built to hunt.
Now, he surfed.
He surfed, and came home to feed on a government-funded blood-whore, courtesy of his own tax dollars, and the tax dollars of every human in the city.
When she saw him, she scowled, folding her arms.
“You’re late,” she proclaimed.
He fought not to roll his eyes.
It was the second time some human got all up in his shit today.
Hell, not just today—within the last six hours.
Amazing how cocky some of them were, now that they thought they had all of his kind leashed. Somehow, it hadn’t bothered him with Kit, who at least seemed to treat him more or less like she would any person she saw doing something monumentally stupid.
Maybe for the same reason, unlike with Kit, Nick didn’t bother to reply to the woman standing outside his front door.
He did look her over, unable to stop himself from being at least somewhat interested. By then, given the surfing and being surrounded by blood in that alley for hours, he was damned hungry. Hungry enough that he felt his skin flushing as he looked at her.
In the end, he answered her, anyway.
“I got held up,” he said, gruff. “Work.”
“Work?” She frowned, then looked him over, too. “What are you?”
“Midnight,” he said, feeling like he’d said it about a hundred times just that day.
Walking past her to the door, he stopped in front of the security panel, feeling her eyes on him as he hit through a numbered pass code that opened the security panel, then pressed his hand to the pad.
Like at the police station—only minus the robot-hologram behind bulletproof organic glass—he had to show his implant to the scanner in addition to the handprint, then his barcode, and finally his eyes, which got scanned last.
If he ever had to get inside his apartment in a hurry, he was pretty much screwed.
When the door finally let out a low tone and the lock clicked, he glanced back at her as he grabbed the handle and turned, pulling the heavy panel towards him.
Some of the anger had left her face by then.
She was staring at his ass when he turned.
He found his hunger sharpening right before her eyes rose to his.
Seeing the look there, he gave her a faint smile, in spite of himself.
“Are you hungry?” he asked politely, as he held the door for her.
She looked up at his face, and laughed in a low snort. “Me?”
“Yeah,” he said. “This makes you hungry, right?”
Walking in ahead of him, she shook her head. “You’re my first today.” Blushing a little, she clarified, “My only. Today, I mean.”
He nodded, not commenting.
He could see her shoulders relax, though.
He’d noticed the human instinct to be afraid of his kind didn’t really go away, no matter how cocky or pushy they acted towards him. That was particularly true when a vampire was in the middle of a hunger reaction.
Interestingly, that seemed to be true no matter how long they’d been in the business of feeding creatures like him.
Even the full-blown addicts, the blood-obsessed, the fetishists… they all got afraid, at least every one Nick had ever encountered.
That fear turned them on, but it never went away.
Once his hunger really kicked in, they seemed to know it on some level—even if his eyes hadn’t yet changed, or his fangs extended, or any of the other tell-tales grown visible.
Hell, it was rare to find humans who weren’t afraid of him even when he wasn’t having a blood-hunger reaction. Kit was one of the few he’d encountered in a good long while.
Talking to Kit, he’d almost wondered if she didn’t know what he was. Maybe that’s why he’d shown her the “V” tattoo on his arm every five minutes.
Grunting a little in humor at the memory, he entered his living room and the lights rose, responding to his presence.
The place wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t half-bad.
It wasn’t as nice as what he’d had in Los Angeles, but he’d had a view of the ocean there, even if a good chunk of that view was reflected through the dome.
He didn’t really want to think about L.A., though.
Instead, he reminded himself that his place here in New York was still significantly nicer than apartments he’d lived in while he’d been a human cop in San Francisco, where he’d usually been forced to live outside the city because he couldn’t afford to live inside, not on a cop’s salary. He even had decent furniture—again, paid for by the good people of New York State and what remained of the United States of America—and a top-tier sound system.
He glanced at the woman as she ventured cautiously into his living room.
She watched him take off his long coat, and toss it on the back of a dining room chair.
He loosened his tie, and now he was staring at her overtly.
She was prettier than the last one.
Long, half-curled, dark red hair.
Blue eyes. Long legs. Nice breasts.
She wore a dark skirt and a form-fitting, pale blue, stretchy shirt, and while the clothes were hardly clubby, they clung to her curves. She also wore boots with heels, and a long pendant on a chain that called even more attention to her breasts.
He
was staring at the latter when she grunted, bringing his eyes back up to hers.
She smiled at him that time, though.
“I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re hungry,” she said, quirking an eyebrow at him humorously. “Or if you like women.”
He returned her smile.
His felt decidedly predatory that time, and he found himself holding her gaze a beat too long before he next spoke.
“Sit on the couch,” he told her, motioning towards the rust-colored piece of furniture with a jerk of his chin.
She did as he said, and he felt his hunger sharpen.
He couldn’t help it—he liked it when they responded to the need on him.
Everything about her had already gone submissive, and he hadn’t even bitten her yet. He could feel it on her as much as see it, even before she walked over to his couch and sank down on the end of it, looking up at him expectantly.
That look in her blue eyes got him instantly hard.
He finished removing his tie, and laid it over his dark coat.
Walking over to her, he unbuttoned his shirt sleeves, then the top few buttons of his shirt. Right before he sat down next to her, he kicked off his shoes, leaving them more or less under the coffee table.
Sinking down on the middle of the sofa, he once more stared at her eyes.
“Come here,” he said, his voice lower now, a near growl. “Offer me your throat.”
He saw her breath catch, and his hard on worsened.
“Now,” he said, his voice a harder growl.
She slid closer to him on the couch. Then, cautiously, the fear now mixed with desire in her eyes, she tilted her head back, exposing her long throat.
The hunger pangs worsened.
“Can I fuck you?” he said, gruff. “Once we start?”
Some of them, the males especially, would only do oral.
Some would only agree to hand jobs.
Every now and then, he ran into one who wouldn’t let him do anything sexual to them at all, so he was stuck jerking off after they left.
He suspected this one wasn’t going to say no to much in the sex department, though.
He wasn’t wrong.
After the barest hesitation, she nodded, once.
“Sex is okay,” she said, a little breathless.
His lips lifted in a faint smile, but he gave her a serious nod when she met her gaze.
“Okay,” he said. “Then take off your top.”
Again, he got off on watching her face turn bright red, her throat move in a tight swallow before her breathing grew shallow, into a series of near-pants. Despite all that, she barely hesitated before doing what he asked. Reaching for the bottom of the clingy, pale blue shirt, she pulled it hesitantly over her head, then disentangled it from her arms.
She let it drop to the floor, which was clean, since he’d had the service in just the day before. Another perk of living in the building—free housecleaners who came whenever he remembered to schedule them.
He didn’t have to ask her to remove the bra.
As soon as her shirt was off, she reached behind her, unhooking the back of the lacey blue undergarment and pulling it off her arms and shoulders.
She let that fall to the carpet, too.
Nick just looked at her for a second, then motioned with his head again.
“Come on,” he said. “Closer.”
She slid closer to him, shyly that time.
He just sat there, until she was close enough that her leg pressed into his. She’d turned sideways in her seat so that she faced him. Her one leg curled halfway under her, hiking up her skirt almost to her hips as she slid her ass and those pale, white breasts up to him until she was nearly in his lap.
Once she stopped moving, he reached out with a hand and began stroking her skin with his fingers. He felt her react to the cold of his skin, the lightness of his touch, and then he could smell her reacting too, even before her breathing started coming even faster.
He just sat there, stroking her skin, watching her face grow more and more slack as she waited for him. He felt the anxiety on her grow too, the impatience, what bordered on frustration, and, smiling faintly, he leaned down, and began kissing her throat.
He knew she could feel his extended fangs through his lips as he worked his way from her shoulder up her neck.
She let out a little whimper then, when he still hadn’t bitten her, and his hunger sharpened to the point that he stopped briefly, closing his eyes.
When he opened them, he’d raised his head, and she was looking at him.
Seeing the pleading, asking look on her face, he gripped her hair in his other hand, yanking her towards him roughly that time, pulling back her head to expose her throat even more. She let him, going more or less soft in his arms.
That time, he didn’t hold back.
He sank his fangs into her throat, and she let out a moan, loud enough that he bit harder, sucking her blood into his mouth and swallowing before he was fully conscious of what he was doing. He drank for what felt like a full minute, his hand fisted in her long hair, his other hand gripping one of those full, beautiful breasts.
He squeezed on the latter and she moaned again, writhing closer to him, even with his teeth sunk into her throat.
After a few more beats, he forced himself to pause.
He raised his head, and now both of them were flushed, and she was breathing hard.
Her face was warm, hot from his infrared vision. She stared up at him with glassy eyes, and he felt desire on her now, tangible through the blood he’d drank.
He was still staring down at her face when she reached for his belt, and began unbuckling it with small, deft fingers. He continued to watch her face as she did it, his hard-on growing almost painful by the time she finished getting the belt unhooked, then the front of his pants undone.
He didn’t undress her.
He wanted her to do it.
“Now you,” he said, gruff, pushing her hand away when she started to reach for him.
He stood long enough to remove his shirt, which she’d opened somehow while he’d been feeding on her, doing it without him even noticing. He removed his pants and underwear once he had the shirt off, tossing them on the floor by both of their shirts.
She followed him up long enough to wriggle all the way out of her skirt, then her underwear.
That time, when he caught hold of her, yanking her towards him, she let out a low gasp, one that was almost husky.
It brought his hunger back in a thick rush, nearly blinding him.
He’d barely made a conscious decision when he lifted her easily, tossing her down on the couch. He tossed her on her belly that time, and before she could recover or react, he entered her from behind, sinking his fangs into her shoulder even as he thrust into her to the hilt.
She groaned aloud.
He drank harder, letting out a low growl.
Gripping her hip in one hand, he thrust into her again, and she let out a weaker moan.
He could feel her thoughts for real now.
The blood already connected them.
Now, gradually, that connection strengthened.
He’d drank enough the first time to feel the first whispers of her mind. He drank enough the second to hear those whispers as louder murmurs, then as near-words, accompanied by pictures, pieces of her life, pieces of her dreams.
Now he opened himself to what he felt, to that stronger thread between them. He opened himself to her emotions, to the thoughts in her mind, her fears, her memories, her frustrations, her wants… her sadnesses.
As he did, he began to slow, taking his time, using his fingers on her clit and ass, his other hand massaging her breasts, and after a while, he felt every bone, every muscle in her body turn to jelly under him.
She was moaning for real then, bucking and twisting up against him at every thrust, urging him with her body and mind to go deeper, harder. He stopped feeding on her long enough to focus on bringing her to
a slow—excruciatingly slow—orgasm, withholding it from her a few times until she was yelling at him, bucking up against him harder, almost frantically, asking him, asking him to let her—
His mind kind of fuzzed out after that.
It never fuzzed out entirely, though.
He never lost control.
He never let himself lose control—not anymore, not in this.
Anyway, the I.S. Fucked wouldn’t exactly be appreciative if he killed the nice present they’d left for him on his doorstep when he got home.
Chapter 7
Never Sleep
She gave him reluctant looks, as she got ready to leave.
He watched her dress, watched her watch him as she dressed, her blue eyes softer now, holding a near contentment as they looked at him where he continued to sprawl in a seated position, naked on the couch.
They’d fucked a few times.
He got the impression, looking at her, that she would have let him fuck her a few more.
He only had a few hours left before he had to return to work, though, and he wanted to look over the images the drone sent him from that wall.
He wanted to see if the drone took any of the person he’d seen.
He’d already decided to return to the Cauldron again once it got dark out, but on foot this time, so he didn’t have to worry about his damned car, which was safely locked up in the garage under the Coven 6 building.
He usually took the subway to work anyway.
It had been pure indulgence—and being late—that pushed him to take the car the day before.
“Hey,” a female voice said.
He looked up, pulled out of his thoughts.
He saw her staring at him openly, but she was dressed again, hugging her thin arms across the front of her chest. He’d used his venom to help heal the cuts on her neck, shoulder, breasts and ass. That should speed the process at least, but he knew she’d be sore in a few hours, and not only from his fangs.
Once the venom and the blood connection wore off, she’d need to sleep for a good eight hours, if not longer.
“Don’t forget to drink a lot of fluids when you get home,” he told her. “Take your iron supplements too. I dosed you pretty hard with the venom,” he added, his voice bordering on apologetic. “You might forget.”
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