It was a different person every day.
Nevertheless, the man gestured to the back as whoever was behind the counter always did. “Third dressing room. You gotta go try ’em on.”
Chas went into the indicated dressing room. Once inside with the door closed behind him, he swung open the floor-length mirror to reveal a large, dimly lit room. The familiar scraping sensation deep in his belly confirmed there were many undead in the vicinity.
At first glance, the place looked like any other saloon or cabaret. Tables were scattered about, some in darker corners than others. Many were booths with high, rounded sides. Decorated with red-swathed lamps, the space was unusually warm in temperature as well as appearance. Smoke and the scent of stale whiskey mingled with a pungent, metallic aroma. Despite the freshness of the libation of choice, a long counter with bottled options lined the short end of the room and a sharp-faced, undead bartender moved behind it. As Chas entered, closing the mirror-door behind him, he heard the telltale clink of bottles amid low, rumbling conversation.
Outside, the sun was still up, but that didn’t matter—the small, windowless place was crowded. Smoke stung Chas’s eyes, which were still becoming used to the dim light, as he wound his way through the tables. While there were no waitresses per se, there were other club employees scattered throughout: beautiful young women in short, bright dresses with glittery headbands, high heels, and boas, and handsome men in spats and tailored suits with bloodred ties. Some stood near the counter, others leaned against the side of a shoulder-height stage, others wandered from table to table, greeting the patrons and then sliding into an offered seat.
“Welcome to The Blood Club,” said a throaty voice.
Chas turned, the gnawing in his belly very strong now, and took in the woman’s appearance. Slender, blond-haired, with the paper-white skin of an undead, she was nevertheless an attractive creature with generous curves and full lips. No surprise, for the Club’s proprietor, Count Alvisi, offered only the best service—whether from an undead or a mortal, depending upon the patron’s choice.
“What’s your pleasure, handsome?” she asked, showing a hint of fang from behind dark red lips.
Too soon for that yet, so he jerked a thumb toward the bar. “For now.” He did allow his attention to linger over her before pushing on past, just to keep the option open. Sliding onto a stool, he ordered a whiskey. When it came, he tossed it back in one motion, then ordered a second before the bartender even walked away.
Vioget would say it was a waste to slam a good Scotch down without savoring it, but Chas had his reasons. And though the drink was smooth, aged, and pure—unlike the vast majority of liquor served in Chicago—if he was going to have any success tonight, he had an impression to make.
A short time later, he fumbled into his pocket to withdraw a bill to pay for four whiskeys. Then he slurred his thanks to the bartender and made a show of being potted off his arse. Sliding off the stool, he staggered and clunked his hand clumsily against the bar as he turned.
The blond vampire who’d greeted him watched from across the way, despite the fact that she’d seated herself at a table with what appeared to be a less interesting mortal—older, rounder, and grayer than him. That was no surprise; Chas attracted women as easily as a stake slid into an undead heart—a benefit of which he took great advantage. The blonde’s eyes narrowed into obvious invitation, and Chas knew she’d ditch her current “customer” if he gave her the slightest bit of encouragement.
But he didn’t. Not yet. Not until he decided on his own target.
The whiskey warmed him, made him a little too aware of his needs and desires—particularly with a sensual woman giving him that hungry look. At least she was blond. Blond was easier. Yet, every time he stepped into this place, it reminded him of Rubey’s establishment, of being with the raven-haired, incomparably beautiful Narcise, of memories he’d tried to leave behind—his troubled past, falling in love with a vampire.
Wayren had offered him a way out, but even she couldn’t eradicate history.
He continued on his path, and despite the amount he’d imbibed, Chas found he was still horribly steady and clear-headed.
Fuck. Perhaps he should have had five shots.
No. He didn’t have the luxury of being impaired…not yet. Nevertheless, he made a show of being deeply into his cups as he wandered among the tables. It was easy as breathing for him to differentiate the undead from the mortals who’d come to play dangerous vampire games.
Now it was just a matter of finding one who could give him the information he needed.
A change in the air had the hair at the back of his neck lifting a little, and the gouging sensation in his belly grew stronger. Chas pretended to trip, and as he righted himself by stumbling against a table, he looked over and saw Alvisi entering the room.
The count was well over a century old, having been turned a vampire during the time of Victoria Gardella. Despite being undead and cloistered from the sunlight, he remained olive-skinned. He had thin, lank brown hair and a dapper personality: slender, lithe, and bordering on effeminate.
Every bit as in control as Al Capone would be when he walked into the Four Deuces, Alvisi captured the attention of every patron and worker as he surveyed the saloon. Instead of being accompanied by gun-toting bodyguards, on his arms were two attractive women. Taller than he, both were slender with curling strawberry-blond hair and almond-shaped eyes. Other ladies surrounded him as well, each one a different shade of blond, wearing a blue frock and headdress, each one tall and willowy. From his distance, Chas couldn’t tell for certain which of the escorts were mortal and which were undead…a fact it was imperative he rectify before making his move. But at least now he had more of a target.
He navigated his way toward the large curved booth where Alvisi and his entourage settled in. And he caught the eye of one of the blondes as he slipped, still clumsy, into a seat at a nearby table. He didn’t want to appear too sauced. Just enough to look like easy pickings.
The blonde noticed him. They always did, especially if he gave any encouragement. He smiled and shot her a hot look, and when she flashed her fangs at him, he felt a repulsive shudder of attraction. But just as she was about to ease away from the group to join him, a passerby cut in between them, slicing through their gazes. Thus distracted, Chas allowed his attention to shift around once more. His eyes fastened on another woman with long, inky hair that hung sleekly past her shoulders. She had a delicate, oval face, indistinct because of the smoke and the distance, but it didn’t matter.
A hitch seized him in the gut, and he met her stare. He felt a little clammy; the effects of the whiskey surging a little stronger now. When she flared her eyes and they glowed, he swallowed hard. And nodded at her, holding her gaze even as he felt the tug of the thrall.
As the brunette stood, their connection broke, giving him the opportunity to draw in a breath designed to clear his head. Too late now. His pulse pounded, and his insides sloshed with whiskey, revulsion…and, goddam him, anticipation.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” she murmured as she slid into the chair next to his. Now she was close, and other than the long, straight fall of shining hair, she didn’t look anything like Narcise.
“I’ve never been here before,” he replied, easier now. It was always good when he wasn’t recognized. “But I thought I’d…try something new.” He smiled—a balance of seduction and hesitance.
She licked her lips, showing the tips of her fangs. “Something new? Well, you’ve come to the right place.” She was nearly in his lap, her hand placed intimately on his thigh.
“Do you have a name?” Chas asked casually, then leaned in to cover her lips. One cold, one warm…but he was used to the odd sensation.
After a long, thrusting kiss, he eased back, keeping his eyelids heavy as he traced a finger over her exposed collarbone. Even as he played the seducer—or the seduced, depending upon how one looked at it—he had one ear fixed on the conver
sation coming from Alvisi’s table. He could only hear bits and pieces, and hoped the woman in his lap would fill in the rest.
“Valia,” she replied, sliding her hand over his chest then up to play with his long hair. Her other hand slipped over the growing bulge of his cock. “My…”
He nibbled on her neck, then murmured, “Another whiskey first?”
“Of course.” She smiled with delight and signaled the bartender. “And then…would you prefer to stay here, or find somewhere more…private?”
Chas gave her a long, slow smile, making his expression surprised and delighted. “That’s permitted?”
She laughed, low and husky, and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, pulling the cloth away from his throat and shoulder. Blood surged in his veins, but Chas eased back slightly. Not yet, darling.
“The count allows us to do whatever our patrons wish. Whatever we wish,” Valia told him, her attention focused on his throat. The drink appeared at his elbow, and when he made a show of digging out his money, she waved him off. “My treat.”
“I certainly hope so.”
She flashed a glow of ruby approval in her gaze and began to unbutton his cuff. Chas allowed her to do so, but he had to work quickly. His pulse was beginning to speed up, and she seemed determined.
“He…that man over there? Is that the owner?” he asked.
She began to roll up his sleeve, baring his wrist. The marks from previous bites had all but faded, and she wouldn’t notice the faint scars in this dim light. “Count Alvisi. Yes, he is the owner.”
“He looks as if he could give Al Capone a run for his money. Unless…is Capone like him?”
Valia gave a husky laugh, lifting his arm in her two hands as if it were a silver platter. “Capone? One of us? Not yet. But soon.” She slanted a look up at him, her eyes at full glow, her fangs long and ready to plunge.
He licked his lips, his mouth dry. Not yet, goddammit. Curling his hand around the back of her neck, he dragged Valia up against him and covered her mouth with his. He didn’t worry about being too rough. The undead were violent creatures.
She arched her breasts into his chest, releasing his arm in order to climb onto his lap even more, all the while matching his delving, thrusting tongue with her own. Then, giving a sharp twist, she nicked his lip with a fang. Chas tasted blood as their mouths smashed together, and felt the deep shudder trammel through her as she sucked brutally at the cut, drawing in a bit of his life.
He eased away when she began to unfasten his belt. “Let’s go,” he murmured, shifting his hips from her questing hands.
She was out of the booth before him, and when he stood, he remembered to stagger a little. “Follow me.” Valia took his arm.
Chas didn’t want to be seen leaving with her, but there was little he could do about it except keep his face averted and move quickly. The sooner they were out of sight, the less likely they’d be noticed.
By now, the whiskey had begun to soften his control and loop wickedly through his mind. Still, he was assured and confident as they slipped out of the saloon into a dark hall.
“This way,” he said, tugging at her when she would have led him to one of the private rooms. He knew better.
Valia didn’t resist; she would have no reason to. With superhuman strength and lethal fangs, she didn’t fear a mere mortal man.
It was too bad she wasn’t dealing with one. Chas hid his tight grin by backing her up against the wall for a long kiss and a serious grope between her legs. She moaned and hissed into his ear, and he felt the scrape of fangs against his bare throat. Ducking away just in time, he said, “Impatient, are we?” and directed her into the storage room behind the tailor shop.
He’d hardly closed the door when she was on him, kissing and tearing at his clothes. Her eyes were pink-red beacons in the darkness, and he stumbled back against a stack of crates under her onslaught.
They crashed into the wall, and even in the darkness, the room tilted and spun, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. Chas shuddered at the rush of arousal when Valia pressed against him, all her lush curves and warm skin, sliding her hand down his trousers and over his ready cock. She stroked, her fingers tight around him. Without warning, she slammed her fangs into his shoulder.
He couldn’t hold back a groan of pain and release as the blood burst free and he tumbled into that dark place of pleasure and need. She writhed against him, moaning and stroking, sliding belly to belly as she fed on his blood. He responded, sagging against the brick behind him, filling his hands with her breasts, allowing himself to think only of the moment…of the heat and rising release pulsing through him with each of her gulps.
When she pulled away, covering his mouth with hers, he tasted metallic blood. Revulsion surged deep in his belly, but eroticism pushed it away as he devoured the vampire’s mouth. Chas shifted, moving so she was pinned between him and the wall. Her skirt lifted, she gripped his cock and guided him into place, all the while panting in his ear, moaning and gasping against his throat.
As he slammed inside her, blind with arousal and pain, desperate to fight off the darkness and find relief, she bit him again, viciously and deep. Chas cried out as the orgasm flooded through him, shuddering and quaking a violent release.
Then he spun away, staggering from her. When he turned, he had his stake in hand and in one smooth movement, he plunged it into her chest.
Valia froze, her ruby eyes flaring wide, her fangs pale and white in the dim light. Then she was gone in a cloud of ash.
Chas leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. The whiskey surged sickeningly in his belly, loathing and remorse washing over him in a dark, vile wave.
And yet his body still hummed and twitched, still breathed of repletion, still wanted.
~*~
“Sebastian.”
“Giulia,” he breathed, reaching for her. But his hand swiped through air and fell uselessly to his side, among the twisted blankets and sheets of his bed.
The movement threatened to pull him out of sleep, out of his dream. Caught in that moment in between the two planes, he fought to stay deep in slumber, to remain in the nocturnal realm with her. It had been so long since he’d dreamed of his beloved. He stilled, willing himself to slip back into the embrace of Morpheus…
“Sebastian.” Giulia smiled at him, her eyes soft and filled with love. She was still there. “You are relieved.”
“She accepted the call,” he replied from deep in his slumber. “Now to finish it. And then the long promise will be kept.”
She shook her head sadly. “But your work is not finished. You still wear the rings. There is more to come, mi adorate. You must be strong.” Her dark hair swirled around ivory shoulders, her expression rosy and alive as it hadn’t been in life. She stood at the side of his bed, so close he swore he felt her push against the mattress. He reached for her again, desperate, and again his movement was ineffectual.
But this time, when his hand fell helplessly to the bed, he lurched out of the dream. Fully awake. Damp with perspiration and hard with need, his heart pounding, the blood surging through his veins.
Flinging the bedclothes away, he sat up and looked around the shadowy, windowless chamber. Heaved a long, heavy breath. Wiped his eyes.
A burst of fury and loathing shuttled through him. He snatched up a glass from the table and whipped it into the wall. The fact that it shattered beautifully, exploding in a glittering rage, did little to calm his own.
By God, when will this be done?
Wasn’t a century of hell long enough of a punishment? A hundred years of uncertainty, of temptation and iron control and loneliness, held together by the gossamer threads of an occasional dream and his own damned blind hope.
Every day he felt his hold on sanity waver and falter. He was exhausted, stretched taut and terribly thin. He felt like a candle that had burned down to the last of its wick and was nothing more than a tiny blue dot of flame, struggling in a deadly pool of wax.
&n
bsp; And now that Macey Gardella had come into the fold, so to speak, he felt even more strongly the tenuousness of his battered control. She was his hope, his salvation—or so he believed, so he prayed—and yet she could just as easily be his downfall.
You must be strong.
Yes, and Macey too. She had no idea what awaited her.
Wayren had returned. That alone meant something; surely it meant something. She was the one who’d led him on this path—or at least shown him the way. A century ago, Sebastian had made his choice freely and with a pure heart. He’d done it for love of Victoria, but most of all, for love of Giulia and the reclamation of her soul. Though Wayren had not yet spoken to him directly, her very presence was instrumental in acquiring Macey’s agreement to take on the vis.
But now…what more must he accomplish before he could be released from this hell on earth?
Even in the dim bedchamber, he could see, of course. There was no need for a light, and so when his gaze happened to fall on his right hand, his attention was caught by the glint of the ever-present rings.
Five of them. One on each digit. Made from slender copper strands, each braided intricately and uniquely.
Forged by the malicious and magnificent Lilith the Dark, the Rings of Jubai had been acquired through a variety of means by Victoria Gardella, Max Pesaro, and Sebastian himself a century ago. And it was Sebastian who’d insisted on wearing the rings and plunging his hand into the enchanted pool at Muntii Fâgâras.
But when he was up to his elbow in the dangerous, mercurial pool, Giulia appeared to him as a reflection in the waters. Instead of the haunting, sensual dreams he usually had of her, this time she begged him to save her—something he’d never conceived as possible. And thus he’d embarked on the impossible task of redeeming the soul of a vampire. A vampire he’d slain. One he’d sent to hell.
The copper rings, which must be worn in order to immerse one’s hand safely in the pool, had fused to his fingers. And there they had stayed for decades. Sebastian knew the only way they could be removed was upon his death, for copper was the only substance that remained after an undead was slain.
Roaring Midnight (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles | Macey #1) Page 12
