Party Vamps

by Jennifer North

  “Mmph,” he grunted.

  Mike started another god-awful monologue about his personal and professional attributes and Caro thought seriously about stabbing him with the butter knife. She looked across the table at Lenny and beseeched him with her eyes. Come on, Len. Unless you wanna go home to Cleveland tonight and come back to Chicago only for my murder trial.

  “Well, guys,” Len pushed his chair back from the table, “I hate to break up the celebration party, but I’ve been invited to go dancing at Club Nuance.” He made a show of glancing at his watch. “And I hear this is about the time things really get hopping over there.”

  Jack perked up. “Hey, I’ve heard some wild things about that place. What do you say, guys?”

  Alex poured the last of a magnum of champagne into his glass. “It’s vaguely tempting…”

  “Why don’t you guys go ahead?” Mike unsubtly snagged the opportunity. “I can take Caro back to her hotel. I’m not sure if we’d really fit in to that particular club’s niche or nuance.” He paused, crooking his fingers into air quotes. “If you know what I mean.”

  Before Caro could explain she didn’t want to fit into a niche, nuance or any other nighttime activity with him, Alex said abruptly, “No, Mike, we don’t know what you mean.” Sitting back in his chair with scarily casual deliberation, Alex drained his glass of champagne. “Tell us. I’m curious to know.”

  Caro, recognizing the evil gleam in Alex’s eye, knew she needed to diffuse the situation. Quickly. Yes, she was irked with Mike but she didn’t particularly want Alex to go all vampire on his ass.

  “You know what, guys?” She pushed her chair away from the table, blocking Mike from Alex’s view. “I’m feeling pretty tired. I think I’ll take Mike up on his offer to go back to the hotel. I’m not really up for clubbing tonight.”

  Looking shocked and more than a little stoned, Alex watched Mike help her out of her chair and assist her with her jacket. Mike looked ready to crow. Jack looked relieved.

  Len took Caro’s cue and stood up to place a firm hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Let the poor girl rest, Alexander. Your boy friends are calling you tonight.” Len showily waggled his eyebrows at Jack.

  “Jack. Thanks for the great dinner.” Caro pressed her lips against Jack’s cheek. “I’ll call you before I leave tomorrow.”

  He smiled. “Cool. We’ll set up a meeting schedule. And hey, congratulations again.”

  As Mike said his goodbyes, Alex stood up. Caro tensed, holding her breath, glancing around at the other diners, the china and glassware cluttering the tables, the plates of food, the beautiful glass light fixtures…the plate glass windows.

  Oh God. An angry Alex could lay waste to this scene in seconds. But he didn’t. He simply looked at her, his eyes now an inscrutable gray-green, his lips contorted in an expression she interpreted as either hurt or disgust.

  He took a step away from the table, his movements tightly controlled. He turned away from her and looked at Len and Jack. “Okay, boys.” He bared his teeth in one of the ultra-sexy come-on grins he was famous for. “Are you ready to get down your bad selves?”

  Chapter Eight

  Alex ordered another bourbon, knowing he was already good and soused but not particularly caring. The atmosphere was ripe for excess and the club was crowded with stylish folks of every mortal and immortal persuasion—hetero, homo, metro, ambi, bi, trans. What they all had in common was the “sexual.”

  Jack and Len were dancing with Merrell and his friends, Merrell’s friends giving new meaning to the term “dirty dancing”. As the taller of the two started putting some serious moves on Jack, Alex smiled, thinking Jack might be getting more than he bargained for as Merrell’s friend feigned a particularly aggressive act of full-fanged fellatio on Jack’s gyrating crotch.

  Alex sighed as a nymph dressed jarringly in complete cowgirl regalia sidled up to his table. He smiled and shook his head but she didn’t seem to want to take no for an answer. The bad part about hanging out at a table by himself in a place like this was that he got hit on too much to enjoy himself. And the bad part about being on the dance floor was that he got hit on too much to enjoy dancing.

  This, he remembered, was why he’d given up clubbing.

  Before he had to give the cowgirl-nymph a second brush-off, Len and Merrell joined him. They were breathless and looked ecstatically happy. Alex also noticed that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Ahh, young love…er, sex.

  Len tried to shout something over at him about getting a drink, but Alex couldn’t really hear. Music bludgeoning every cell in his body, he waved his drink at Len and shook his head. There was no sign of Lyra Murdoch and her private party. He watched Lenny as he sauntered off, Merrill in tow. He seemed to be having too good a time to remember their original reason for coming here. Alex had made a few discreet inquiries about Lyra at the bar but he’d been waved off by the demon bartenders, the original kings of stoicism.

  Alcohol, combined with the aftereffects of his pre-dinner activities with Caro, was making him feel wickedly lazy and slightly out of control. He knew he should go home and recoup for a few hours in his crypt—sex without feeding was harrowing—but he also knew if he left the club alone he’d end up at her hotel again. He wasn’t really sure he wanted that to happen and he was definitely unsure if Caro wanted it to happen.

  Alex knew he’d been a jerk at the restaurant, but instinct ran too strong for him to ignore assholes like Powers. And the possessive aspect of his instincts had been juiced big time by the amount of time he’d spent inside his mate tonight. He shifted in his seat, his cock instantly jacked by the thought of Caro’s sweet love.

  God, if only she’d agree to let him feed. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about her. If she was protected by his gifts, he could reach her with his mind whenever he needed her…

  What was she doing now? Was she still with Powers? Unpleasant memories of dinner roiled and pitched in his gut.

  He didn’t want to think about the possibility that Caro was actually attracted to Mike. He knew that the guy wasn’t Caro’s type by a long shot—but maybe her tastes had changed in the last couple years.

  Oh fuck. Escape. These thoughts. Now.

  Yeah, he was definitely done with this shit tonight. He’d go look for Jack and make his excuses. It might not be such a good thing to go on the offensive with Lyra when he was in this kind of mood. Meeting as two professionals and settling differences the twenty-first-century way—at the conference table and on the stock market—would be healthier for everybody.

  He saw a bright-eyed and flushed-looking Jack making his way through the crowd of people by the bar. “Alex!” He had to shout to be heard over the music. “Where’s Lenny?”

  Alex shrugged.

  Jack sidled up to him and grasped his arm. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said into his ear. “Come with me.”

  Alex let Jack lead him through the towering space that encompassed the main bar and the dance floor. The rear portion of the club was set up to look like some sort of pasha’s paradise, with groupings of gold, pink and purple velvet club chairs and cushions separated by pseudo walls of silk hangings and beads. By the amount of groping going on, Alex guessed that the décor was a success.

  Stopping at an unobtrusive door adjacent to the restrooms, Jack looked up at a discreetly placed camera above the door and waved. A few seconds later the door opened.

  “What is this place?” They walked down a dark hallway painted a deep royal purple, the only light coming from sparsely placed red-shaded sconces. Alex’s ears rang at the sudden absence of sound.

  “Private party area. Lyra Murdoch’s rented the space for the night. Do you know her?”

  “Yes.” Alex bit off a negative qualification when he realized that Jack, vamp-loving party boy that he was, might actually like Lyra. She was known for her mortal groupies. Was Jack one of them?

  “She saw me on the dance floor through one of the house cameras,” Jack said. �
��I went back to talk to her and she’s invited us to hang out.”

  Alex noticed that Jack was speaking more rapidly than usual…and that his pupils were completely dilated.

  “What did she give you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Jack looked a little sheepish. “She called it a special blend. Do you want some? I’m sure she has more.”

  Alex paused. “I don’t think so. My head’s already fucked on booze. I was actually coming to find you to tell you I was ready to split. I’m not sure I’m up for fun with Lyra tonight.”

  “Oh Alex, come on, you’ll love this scene. Don’t think about business, just have fun. I’ve been to one of her parties before and it’s something you don’t want to miss. Give it an hour and then you can leave.”

  He sighed an agreement. It would save him from stewing alone at home, wouldn’t it?

  They walked to the door at the end of the hall and Jack pushed it open. Blinking against the sudden bright light, Alex tried to make out the details of the small room. A bank of television monitors covered the far wall, each monitor showing a different view of the club. An unassuming young mortal wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a Simpsons T-shirt sat at a desk behind a large computer. He barely glanced up as they crossed to the door behind him.

  Alex found himself trying to adjust his eyes once again as Jack led him through the second door. If the back of the club was decorated as a brightly erotic pasha’s paradise, the designer must have had the pasha’s torture chamber in mind for this room.

  It was huge and over-the-top Goth. His eyes were immediately drawn to a massive, black-iron chandelier suspended from the ceiling by heavy chains, hundreds of wax candles dripping from its many tiers. Black pedestals topped with additional candles were placed in strategic places around the room. The flames created an eerie dance of flickering shadows and writhing gold and orange light.

  Alex expelled an involuntary snort of laughter when he noticed a series of wrought-iron shackles bolted along the length of one wall—they were placed at various heights for hands and feet. The corner of the room was dominated by a large domed cage. Man, oh, man. It had been quite a while since he’d seen a setup like this. But Lyra had always loved going the old-school route for her parties. She had a penchant for playing with naïve mortals and knew exactly how to lure them into her snare.

  He was relieved to see the shackles and the cage were unoccupied tonight. In fact, the several humans occupying the chamber were all gathered around what appeared to be a large, recessed area in the floor toward the back of the room. Another huge candlelit chandelier rose above them.

  Lyra Murdoch surveyed the scene from a small podium. When she saw Alex and Jack, she hurried over to the greet them.

  “Oh Jack, hooray!” she gushed in a deep, melodious voice. “So glad you came back. And I’m so happy you brought the luscious-looking Alexander with you. You honor us with your presence, my prince.”

  Taking his hands, she blatantly surveyed his appearance, eyes boldly lingering on his crotch, his neck and his lips. She was tall, maybe a half-inch shorter than he was, and clothed in a hooded black sheath of a dress that covered every inch of her flesh except for her long neck, angular face, bony fingers and her bare, ring-covered toes. The shiny fabric of the skintight sheath accentuated every curve of her slender form, showcasing her small, perfectly formed breasts in a way that flesh-baring cleavage never could. She wore a long pendant—a vial made of blue glass. Her dark-gray eyes—ancient-looking eyes that were too damn probing—were devoid of makeup and highlighted strangely by short, pale eyelashes. The affect was ghostly against the backdrop of her chin-length, center-parted black hair.

  Her best feature was a gorgeous set of full lips painted the obligatory blood red. When she pressed those lips to his, he smelled a sweetly cloying mixture of patchouli oil and hashish. Her hands were cold but her lips were hot.

  She gave him the creeps.

  He pulled back when he felt her tongue lap at his lower lip.

  She gave a low laugh and brought her hands down to her sides. “Mm. You have the taste of a very sweet mortal on your lips. I’d love to meet her sometime.”

  “I don’t think so.” Alex tried to speak the words coolly but they came out decidedly hot.

  Laughing again, Lyra gestured to the gathering of people in the back of the room. “Come.”

  Lyra was old. One of the oldest creatures he knew, in fact. She had an admirable talent for gliding ambulation. As she floated across the room, he saw the back of her gown was laced with wide black cords that left the breadth of her back bare from her shoulder blades to the center of her buttocks.

  Jack squeezed his hand as the sound of low, throbbing music began to emanate from various points in the room. Alex heard gasps and groans coming from the circle of people. As they came closer, he saw why.

  The circle was formed around a pit in the floor that was about four feet deep and twelve feet wide. An audience was leaning on a narrow, black wooden railing along the edge of the circle. And in the pit, a satyr and a young mortal female were in the throes of passion. The female was on her back, her pelvis raised high as the satyr enthusiastically performed cunnilingus.

  Lyra came to a stop at the edge of the pit. Here the music was louder and Alex saw that part of the circle was lined with the same ivory pillar candles placed around the room. The candlelight limned the glistening flesh of the satyr and the woman as they moved sinuously on the dark cushions.

  “It’s amateur night,” Lyra whispered, motioning for Jack and Alex to come forward. “This is our first couple of volunteers.” She smiled. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty more as that spectacular zing begins to flow through our veins.”

  She grasped the vial hanging from her neck and began to unscrew the top. “Would you care for a pleasure pill, my prince? It’s my own private blend.”

  Alex shook his head. “No thanks.”

  “No? I’m sure your friend Jack can attest to its loveliness.”

  Alex looked over at Jack. He appeared to be utterly enthralled with the scene unfolding in the pit and didn’t respond to Lyra’s request for a testimonial.

  “Maybe another time,” Alex said politely. “I’ve had a little too much to drink to want to mix my poisons tonight.” He might have royal blood in his veins, but Lyra was his elder. No matter how much he hated her, it went against everything his family had taught him to be rude to her face.

  Lyra shrugged, the move accentuating the view of her now-hardened nipples under the shiny black fabric of her dress. “Oh well. I’m sure the sights alone will be stimulating. Do help yourself to more alcohol should you desire. The bar is over there.” She tilted her head toward a corner of the room and then glided over to the other side of the pit.

  Alex looked around at the other guests. There were about fifteen of them. Mostly mortals. A couple of demon males. Another satyr. A faerie female. They were all youngish and there were a few more women than men. Some were watching with lustful zeal, cheering the sexual performers on. Some were obviously a little nervous or uncomfortable. They were all extremely attractive.

  Alex surmised that they were all regular club goers who, like Jack, had been viewed on the dance floor or elsewhere in the club and then invited to partake in the festivities in the back room. It had been a fairly common practice in some of the clubs Alex frequented in New York. The parties would have various kinky or drugged-out themes depending on the host’s particular tastes.

  Lyra’s tastes seemed fairly tame, although Alex had no idea what was in the designer drug she had offered. She appeared to be into straightforward voyeurism with a touch of BDSM—and from the appearance of the woman in the pit and several of those observing, she had a penchant for willowy blondes. Well, Alex couldn’t really fault her for that proclivity.

  The activity in the pit appeared to be reaching a critical point. The woman cried out suddenly and arched her back, her firm, athletic
thighs tensing and flexing convulsively as she cried out her pleasure. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  The satyr was young. Either a blond or a redhead, Alex couldn’t be sure in the candlelight. Thick, reddish-gold hair covered his tight ass and uber-buff thighs. His tail had been docked—a practice that had become common in the species—and the remaining stub was rigid, a sign of sexual arousal. The rest of his body could be mistaken for a beefcake but diminutive mortal. His oak-brown skin gleamed over bodybuilder-esque muscles.

  After flipping his partner onto her belly, he ran a hand solicitously over her shapely ass, gently manipulating her onto all fours. Her straight blonde hair fell forward onto a black pillow. From Alex’s view, he could see her swollen pussy glistening between her legs and the globes of her heaving breasts dangling and then being tenderly caressed by the satyr. As Alex felt his cock respond to the undeniably erotic sight, he looked over at Jack, who was leaning against the railing that circled the pit, his mouth slightly open and his hips pressed hard up against the rail.

  The satyr turned, giving the crowd a view of his squat, thick cock. The shaft was the same golden brown as his skin but the head gleamed a deep, deep red. Alex heard Jack moan. Yeah, satyrs were pretty impressive. Animalistic and very sexy…if you went for that kind of thing.

  The woman looked over her shoulder. She moaned too. Licked her lips. You could tell she was wondering how that ruby-red cock head would taste…

  The satyr stroked himself and laughed. “Do you want to suck it or fuck it?” he asked politely.

  “Suck it.” Her voice was husky but quite clear.

  She rose to her knees and came forward. The satyr cheerfully accommodated her by pushing his thick, fat rod downward—a task that seemed fairly daunting as the thing looked like it had been cast from cement.

  The female moaned and opened her mouth. She curled her tongue around the cue-ball-sized head of his cock—the dark, rich-looking flesh rosier than the wet skin of her tongue. She whimpered and began to lap rapidly.