The crowd thinned as I reached the bar, and I was able to see myself in the mirrored display stretching behind the counter. Despite my worried expression, I fit right in.
Vanessa had teased and pinned my blond hair up into a fauxhawk fit for a runway, and she’d powdered my skin until it was even whiter than the perpetual night had rendered me. Dark coal outlined my eyes, and two stripes of shiny bronzer cut across one cheek bone. Pale lip gloss reflected the busy lights. I looked nothing like myself. Not even Laura wore this much makeup.
The black top I wore was snug, with one intricate lace sleeve that stretched down my right arm. My left arm and shoulder were bare, exposing a sharp collarbone that highlighted my reedy frame. I’d lost weight since becoming a vampire, but that wasn’t so surprising. I was hungry all the time.
A few commercial juicers rested on a wide counter behind the bar, in between baskets of fresh fruits and vegetables. Two coolers stocked with sports drinks and mineral water were sandwiched in the far corners. Muscled bartenders in sleeveless dress shirts with bowties raced back and forth, filling tall hurricane glasses with custom juice concoctions. A waitress dropped off a tray of empty glasses at one end of the bar and gathered up another round before disappearing into the crowd again.
At the opposite end of the bar, a curvy woman in a red flapper dress and a feathered headband lounged on a barstool. Her graying finger curls were smooth, ending near her jawline. She was somewhere between forty and fifty. The throwback style and flashing lights made it hard to pinpoint a more precise age. A red bracelet slipped down her arm as she reached up to touch a delicate finger to the side of her mouth, smoothing the edge of her bright lipstick. She caught me staring and grinned.
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” she said, rolling the straw in her glass between her lips.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked, jumping right into the dialog I’d rehearsed.
“Definitely.” She sucked down the rest of her beverage and waved a hand to flag down a bartender. I tried not to fidget as I waited, but the situation seemed about as classy as soliciting a prostitute.
The woman ordered a pineapple, orange, and carrot juice. I paid the steep twelve dollars without complaining and then followed her into one of the partitioned booths that lined either side of the club. The ceiling of the booth was open, letting in the sparkling lights and giving the bouncers outside a reflective view of our activity in the mirrored wall stretching above us. Black velvet curtains enclosed the booth, fading into the leather bench that ran seamlessly around the three interior walls.
“I’m Lydia,” the woman said. Her soft voice was clearer behind the dark curtains that muffled the dance music. She set her glass of juice on a small table in the center of the booth before perching herself in a corner. Then she crossed her legs and stretched her arms across the top of the leather bench on either side of her. “You can bite wherever you’d like.”
“I’m Jenna,” I rasped, struggling to get the words out around my elongating fangs. “I enjoy drinking from the wrist.”
I thought I heard Roman suck in a sharp breath through the earpiece as I inched my way closer to Lydia. I sat on the bench beside her and swallowed hard, trying to slow my panicked breath.
“Oh, honey,” she cooed. “You’re shaking. Is this your first time?”
Roman’s voice lit up my eardrum again. “No, you do this all the time.”
“No,” I parroted him. “I do this all the time.”
“Good,” Roman said. “Tell her it’s just been a while.”
“It has been a while,” I whispered, thinking more of Roman than Lydia now, but she seemed convinced enough. “And you smell so good.”
She did smell nice. Her perfume was some mixture of jasmine and honeydew melon. It wasn’t the tang of summer that rolled off Roman’s skin like steam and made me want to melt into a puddle in his lap like I had the night he saved my life. But that was probably a good thing. I didn’t want to mutilate her.
“Just go slow,” Lydia said, sidling in closer to me. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and lifted her opposite wrist to my mouth, stopping an inch shy of my lips.
She’d done this before. It showed in her calm confidence, even as she bubbled with excitement. I could see it in the way her pulse throbbed in the vein just beneath the swell of her palm. She wanted this as much as I did, and I couldn’t understand why. I’d been bitten twice now, and neither time had been especially pleasant.
Maybe a gentle touch made all the difference. But the longer I hesitated, the less gentle I thought I could be. I was ravenous—damn near foaming at the mouth. My breath rushed out in a feverish pant, causing Lydia to pull away.
“I don’t mind opening flesh if that would be easier for you, doll.” She reached down the front of her dress and withdrew a small switchblade. She popped it open and lightly dragged it across her wrist. Blood welled up from the shallow wound.
I cupped the back of her hand as she returned it to me and kept my eyes lowered, too embarrassed to look up at her. The line of blood thickened, turning purple before it began to run around the curve of her arm. A drop splashed onto the knee of my black leggings. Still, I hesitated.
This was pathetic, and I was wasting time that I should have been using to find a serial killer.
“Nice and slow,” Lydia whispered, snuggling in against me.
I took a deep breath and stuck my tongue out, lapping it along the trail of blood and across the break in her flesh. It was liquid fire in my mouth compared to the cold bilge I sucked through torn plastic every night. The texture was silky, and the flavor rich. It sent goosebumps over my skin, and an involuntary purr escaped me as my lips suctioned onto her wrist, drawing more blood up through the cut.
Lydia’s breath grew heavy as she squirmed beside me. I felt her breast press up against my arm, her hardened nipple pushing through the thin fabric of her dress and grazing my skin as my tongue prodded her wound. Her blood trickled down my throat, and my body warmed instantly.
The boiling sensation in my gut was not unlike the aftermath of a stiff drink. And just like an alcoholic, I wanted more. I sucked harder at her wrist, my fangs teasing the surface of her skin. Lydia hissed a sound that straddled pleasure and pain.
An alarm sounded in the back of my mind, growing louder the longer I drank. I ignored it, even after Lydia’s arm went limp over my shoulders, and she stopped squirming beside me, having reached some climax I was nowhere near. Her fingers trailed up the side of my neck, a gentle encouragement to slow down. Or, more likely, to stop. I knew I should. Part of me even wanted to. I just…couldn’t.
The way fresh blood affected me was beyond concerning. I was sure that was part of the reason I resisted it so adamantly. The fear of killing someone was always there, of course. But beyond that, there was an addictive quality that filled me with shame. And the lack of control terrified me.
Lydia’s blood made me feel like a grape being rehydrated, injecting me with life and energy. I was under the spell of it, lost in a trance I couldn’t break. If Roman hadn’t intervened, I might have very well killed her.
“Jenna,” he snapped in my ear. The tone of his voice told me it wasn’t the first time he’d called my name. “The suspect is heading for the back with a female vampire. Are you listening to me?”
My fangs retracted. “Suspect?” I said out loud, forgetting what the hell I was doing there in the first place.
“Jenna—” Roman began, but Vanessa’s voice cut him off.
“We don’t have cameras in the back lobby, and we can’t raid the place without a warrant. Snack time is over. Get your ass out there, now.”
“Got it.” I stood so abruptly that Lydia flopped onto her side behind me. I tossed a fifty dollar bill onto the table next to her drink. “Is that enough? This is my first time here…”
“What?” She blinked slowly at me, still fuzzy from the blood loss. I tossed another fifty beside the first one. “Sorry to suck and run, but I h
ave to go. You were great,” I added before bolting from the booth.
Everything was different—was more than I remembered—beyond the curtains. My senses were alive, my body humming with magic and unrestrained power as I cut through the crowd, moving as smoothly as a shark through water. And to think, some vampires did this every night. I felt like I could tackle an entire football team.
Whoever this suspect was had better look out.
Chapter Twelve
There were a lot of things that Roman and Vanessa hadn’t shared with me about the serial killer investigation. I mean, I get that I was the new kid on the block. I was also really desperate to make a good impression, even if it meant doing something as stupid as going undercover without all the facts.
I tried to recall the few things I did actually know as I came down from my blood buzz. Fact number one: eight of the missing vampires still unaccounted for had last been seen alive—well, however alive a vampire could be—at Bleeders, though it wasn’t enough for a warrant, even by House Lilith standards. Fact number two: the club owner was not fond of Blood Vice, and he’d refused to give them access to the club’s security footage. So they’d hacked his system the night before. Fact number three: the doorman was a former Blood Vice agent, so he knew exactly whom to turn away at the door. That’s why I’d gone in.
I wanted to know more, but there wasn’t enough time. Roman had calmed the worst of my nerves with the earpiece. I’d abandoned the rest of my doubts after Vanessa handed me a .380 loaded with the same pretty brand of ammo Roman had used at the barn raid. Silver Wolfsbane.
The brand was exclusive to Blood Vice, or so Roman had explained earlier in the evening while Vanessa gussied me up. The bullets were made with wolfsbane extract and silver. The former was toxic to werewolves, and the latter was toxic to werewolves and vampires. The specialty ammunition would do more lasting damage against supernatural suspects than the kind of ammo I was used to working with.
Vanessa’s outfit selection for me came with a strapless bra equipped with a front-access holster. I slipped my hand up the front of my shirt and wrapped my fingers around the stock of the .380 as I neared the back lobby of the club, leaving the light show behind.
The wall behind the bar reached all the way up to the ceiling, unlike the feeding booths, extinguishing the music and lights. The walls, floor, and ceiling were black, creating a foreboding darkness. My eyes slowly adjusted, and I picked out a few doors labeled as restrooms or storage. I worked my way from one end of the hallway to the other, only bumping into a herd of Elvira lookalikes exiting the ladies’ room.
“The back lobby connects to the neighboring warehouses,” Roman said in my ear. “The doors are usually locked, but a patron or two has picked their way into the furniture place on the south end for a bit more privacy. Try that side first.”
I headed farther down the hall, my frustration building as the warm fuzzies from my encounter with Lydia slowly wore off. There was no southern door as far as I could tell.
“It’s hidden behind the curtain,” Roman prompted me.
The fabric hung in a smooth sheet against the wall, and I’d almost missed it in the darkness. I ran my free hand along the material, searching for an opening. My knuckles cracked against a bar of cold metal, and I gasped as it gave way, pushing into the room beyond.
“Hey!” someone shouted. I glanced over my shoulder and spotted one of the beefy bartenders. He stalked toward me. “That’s a restricted area, ma’am.”
I ignored his protests and ducked past the curtain.
The new room was dark, too, but an exit light in the distance outlined everything in red—rows of couches and armchairs covered in thick plastic, stacked headboards, and dining room chairs. For a moment, I wondered if my blood vision had kicked in. My pulse thrummed forcefully, but I suspected that had more to do with Lydia’s blood than any fear of the bartender catching up with me.
A soft noise lured me deeper into the warehouse. I kept my hand on the stock of the firearm under my shirt, but I resisted the urge to draw it. If the suspect turned out to be some guy looking to neck on his girlfriend on the comfort of a plastic-wrapped mattress, there was a chance Roman and Vanessa would want me to come back another night—provided the bartender didn’t have me thrown out. I’d snaked my way around a towering shelf of coffee tables by the time he entered the room. His fumbling arrival was noisy, and I was sure whoever I’d followed in here had heard him, too.
“This warehouse is not part of the club.” His angry voice echoed through the room. “You’re trespassing on private property, and if you don’t cease immediately, I’ll be forced to call the police.”
He was lying. I knew from Roman that the hateful club owner didn’t call the authorities in unless someone died—which was luckily a rarity, thanks to the professional muscle he hired to keep patrons in check.
A door creaked open on the opposite end of the warehouse. I wasn’t sure what butted up against the other side of the furniture place, but that’s where the suspect was making his departure. I gave up my stealthy prowling and hurried past a low row of dressers. The bartender caught sight of me from the next aisle over.
“Stop!” He jumped over a dresser and gave chase.
I could see the glowing exit sign now, and with my amped up senses, I could hear the buzzing hum of the bulb inside the fixture. I could even detect the sound of gushing water coming from somewhere beyond the door. I reached for the knob, but a strong hand closed around my arm.
“Busted,” the bartender said. A menacing grin carved up his face. It didn’t last long.
“Am I?” I pressed the muzzle of the .380 into his stomach.
His eyes swelled, and his hand dropped away from my arm. He took a step back. “The police are on the way,” he said, bluffing again. He was human, which surprised me. I don’t know why, but I’d expected the club staff to be vampires.
“I am the police,” I said. “And I wasn’t the first one to come through here.” I kept the gun pointed in his general direction and pushed the door open.
A half-full moon, hanging low in the sky, lit the alley squeezed between the furniture warehouse and the next building. It was hardly wide enough for a trash truck to access the dumpster next to the door—the open receptacle that assaulted my heightened sense of smell. I recoiled, but not before I caught the metallic scent of blood mixed with rotten produce.
“Oh, hell.” The bartender paused in the doorway and gagged.
“How did the club’s juicer scraps end up all the way over here?” I raised an accusing eyebrow at him.
“Our dumpster is full,” he confessed. “I have permission.”
“And a key?”
He slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. “I must have forgotten to lock the door again. It’s a pretty busy night, if you haven’t noticed.”
I held my breath and inched closer to the dumpster, peering over the edge. “So busy that you overlooked a dead body?” The gushing sound I’d heard before suddenly made sense.
The bartender rose up on his toes and peeked inside the dumpster. He jerked away so suddenly that he tripped over his own feet and had to catch his balance on the doorframe. “That wasn’t there earlier. I swear!” He made another gagging noise.
“Jenna?” Roman’s voice crackled through my earpiece, breaking up with static. He said my name again, and this time, it echoed farther down the alley. Then he appeared in the opening that fed into the front lot. An assault rifle was tucked in close to his chest, and when the bartender saw it, he darted inside the open door to take cover.
Roman’s blue eyes landed on me, and his shoulders sagged with relief. “Down here. She’s alive!” he shouted over his shoulder.
It was more than I could say for his suspect’s latest victim.
* * * * *
The body in the dumpster was missing his head, same as the last body I’d found. And like that last victim, it had been stripped down and left somewhere the sun was more likely to re
ach first before humans.
The faded scars on my arm were all the reminder I needed of what the sun did to my kind. Whoever was killing these vampires wasn’t looking for recognition. In fact, they were trying to hide their dirty work. This one marked the seventh victim that Blood Vice had found. How many more vampires had been reduced to nothing more than a scorched pile of ash after being beheaded and stripped over the past six weeks?
“So, are we thinking it was the woman you saw him with?” I asked, interrupting Vanessa as she ordered several agents to do a sweep of the back lot. She held a finger up in my face and turned to Roman instead.
“Get her out of my sight. Now.”
“Excuse me?” My automatic response was half confusion and half outrage. Maybe it was the fresh blood still working its way through my veins that made me think I could square off with a stronger, more skillful vampire. Or maybe it was just stupidity. Vanessa clearly seemed to think so.
“You blew this one, vampling,” she said, finally acknowledging me. “Not only were you no help at all, but you divided our resources, since Roman here decided we should confirm your safety before securing the perimeter.” She shot him another lethal look before storming off.
“Hey, I did everything I was told to!” I shouted after her.
Roman grabbed my arm and tugged me down the alley toward the front lot. “You don’t want to start a feud with that one. Not tonight. Trust me.”
“That is such bullshit.” I jerked my arm out of his grasp but kept moving in the direction he was steering me. “What the hell did she expect me to do differently? See through walls?”
Roman shot a careful glance over his shoulder. “I was under the impression that you could,” he said in a hushed voice.
I was thankful for the copious makeup now. It hid the blush I felt working its way up my neck and into my cheeks. “That only happens when I’m overwhelmed, usually with anger or fear.”
Blood and Thunder (Blood Vice Book 2) Page 10
