by Greg Herren
Fuck them all, he thought. He didn’t need them to live his life the way he wanted to anyway. They didn’t understand him. They didn’t know what it was like to lose the love of one’s life. They didn’t know what it felt like to have one’s heart ripped out of one’s chest. Fuck them.
Eventually he left Europe and found his way to San Francisco. He’d lived there for several years and then became bored with it. Being a vampire in San Francisco was nothing novel. Many people there claimed to be vampires and even walked around in broad daylight wearing the dark clothes and makeup that made them appear to be what mortals thought vampires looked like. They were ridiculous. On the few occasions that real vampires became sloppy and left behind evidence of their killings, it was always mortals who took credit for the kill and got all the press coverage. Of course, they eventually withdrew their confessions and issued apologies and were never charged. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair. A few of the real vampires in San Francisco had attempted to strike up conversations and become friends with him, but he wanted no part of it. He had no intention of getting too close to anyone here in San Francisco or anywhere else. He didn’t need their friendship, and he didn’t need their approval, and he didn’t need their sense of community. He didn’t need any of it.
So he’d left San Francisco with the intention of ending up in Chicago. There was a large vampire community there, and he could get lost easily. They were well known for their violent nature and their unwillingness to compromise or blend in with mere mortals. They were defiant and mean and excessively destructive. And they were proud of their reputation. Christiano thought he would fit in there easily, and was actually looking forward to arriving.
And so why now, after only one full evening, was he contemplating staying here in Denver and settling in for a while? What was that feeling deep in his stomach that caused him to pause and reconsider his decision to move to Chicago? Could it be that he was actually afraid of moving to Chicago? Might he be getting into more than he was capable of dealing with? No, he really didn’t think so. Prague had been even more violent and dangerous than Chicago was reported to be. In Prague vampires were at war not only with mortals but with one another as well, and they were exceptionally violent. Yet he’d thrived in Prague and had enjoyed living there. And Budapest was especially known for its aggressive community and the wars among vampires there. He’d found his place there as well, and was respected as one of the fiercest warriors there. So what was it, then, that caused him to doubt his decision to move to Chicago, and to stay here in Denver?
Christiano shivered in the cold darkness of the dungeon. He had no idea why he was entertaining the thought of staying, but by the time he found his breath again, he knew it was not only an entertainment but a fact. He was settling here. At least for a while.
He smiled and looked around the room again. If this was his new home, he’d have to do a little shopping. These old chairs and old chest just would not do. And he’d have to get some new clothes, too.
Chapter Four
It was a large, nondescript building far from downtown and in the middle of one of Denver’s older industrial areas. There was nothing special about the building at all, and most passersby undoubtedly thought it a warehouse, filled with old oil-caked tractors and machines and probably abandoned for at least the past ten years, as were most of the other buildings in this part of town.
The building itself was huge and covered two-thirds of an acre that was set far back from the onetime paved but now long since dirt road that brought close to a thousand partygoers every weekend. The other third of the property provided a massive parking lot.
All the windows were boarded up, and most of them also had thick plastic black tarp draped over them. The door was a colossal wooden structure that slid across a large, wide steel rolling trolley. Standing outside the door were two men who could easily have been mistaken for large oak trees. Their arms remained crossed across their immense chests, and they seemed never to flinch, even as they checked the IDs of the long line of people waiting to get inside the club. The guards wore black tank tops that strained to contain the immense muscles beneath them, black jeans, and stylish dark sunglasses, even though it was pitch black outside at eleven in the evening.
Christiano smiled and walked confidently toward the two sentinels. No matter what continent he was on or what era he was currently in, this scene never varied at all. For over 150 years he’d been visiting the large underground clubs just like this all over the world. He was amazed that the mortals could never see through the facade and recognize these clubs for what they really were. But then again, mortals never stayed in one place long enough to make the connections, and didn’t have the luxury of seeing the various clubs in other countries and continents.
He walked up to the door, never slowing as he approached the two guards. The bigger of the two men reached out and grabbed Christiano by the arm.
“Slow down, Tonto,” the guard growled as he grasped Christiano’s arm and squeezed it tightly. “Not so fast. There’s a fifty-dollar cover charge tonight. And I need to see some ID.”
Christiano glared at the man behind the glasses and smiled. “El Papa Dominici vive y bendice a vosotros.” He lifted the long shirtsleeve a couple of inches, revealing a small red tattoo over the river of veins along the inside of his left wrist.
The guard immediately released his grip on Christiano’s arm and took a step backward. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know. I haven’t seen you here before.”
“It’s okay,” Christiano said, and patted the large man’s shoulder. “This is my first time here. But hopefully not my last. You couldn’t have known.”
“Enjoy your evening, sir,” the big man said with a quake in his voice.
Christiano could tell the guard’s eyes were staring downward at the ground, and that he was afraid he might not see the light of morning. He enjoyed the power but had no intention of killing the guard for doing his job.
“Relax,” he said as he smiled again. “I told you, you couldn’t have known. It’s all right.”
“Thank you, sir,” the guard said, and visibly relaxed. “I appreciate your kindness.”
Christiano turned and took a couple of steps to the door of the club. The other guard, who had not spoken to Christiano, took a step toward the door as well and reached out to open it. Christiano glanced at him just as the first guard grabbed his partner and pulled him back quickly.
“He’ll get it,” the first guard said.
“But he can’t…”
“Yes, he can.”
Christiano looked again at both guards and slid the heavy door across the trolley with no effort whatsoever. He smiled at the guards and noticed the second guard’s stunned expression just before the door slid shut behind him.
A ten-foot-tall blue neon sign welcomed him just inside beyond the door: Club Suque. Christiano sidled up to the sign and ran his hands along the cool, smooth glass. He felt the tingling surge beneath the glass massaging its way through his skin and deeper into his muscles. He felt his cock stir inside his pants and closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He pulled his hand away from the sign and walked several steps to the left. Though he hadn’t been to this particular club, he knew exactly where he was going. They never deviated from one another. If he’d visited one club, whether it be in Prague or Berlin or Moscow—or Denver—he’d visited them all.
A few steps ahead, he parted the heavy black curtain and stepped inside the main floor. Close to a thousand young people crowded the large dance floor on the main level and the railings overlooking the dance floor from the upper two levels of the building. It was completely dark inside, the only flashes of light coming from the deep purple ultraviolet ray that scanned the dance floor and from the observation posts on the upper two balconies above the main floor. Every once in a while the beam would chance upon someone wearing a white shirt, and they’d glow like a firefly in the crowd of otherwise black-clothed patrons.
>
The music was so loud inside the club that the steel girders shook and rattled loudly enough to compete with the music. Christiano could hear the metal beams moan and cry out with agony as they struggled to hold the building together and not collapse onto the over-packed crowd below.
Christiano stopped walking and looked around him. He’d only just stepped foot into the building, and already he smelled it: sex, lust, desire, heat, and a little fear. It was a very distinct odor that he’d smelled often before. It was, in fact, his favorite odor. Sex with the carrier of that particular odor was always most satisfactory. And when the meeting of that carrier was at one of the clubs, then the sex was even more satisfactory, because that person was usually much more open to the experiences of vampire sex, and Christiano did not have to pretend to be nothing more than an exceptionally gifted mortal.
He walked across the dance floor and passed three large bars along the way. The one he was looking for would be located at the back of the bar and would have two guards, similar to those outside, making sure that only a select few passed through the velvet-roped area that gave access to the smaller bar a few feet back.
“You got your card and password?” the overly muscled man asked as he stepped in front of the thick red velvet rope and prevented Christiano from walking through.
Christiano smiled. This club was better protected than many he’d been to. He rolled up his sleeve again and showed the tattoo. “El Papa Dominici vive y bendice a vosotros.”
The guard stepped to the side and motioned Christiano through. He didn’t smile or lose his composure in the least. “Have a good evening, sir.”
Christiano raised his eyebrow at the guard, an unspoken acknowledgment and appreciation for his strength and professionalism, and then walked through the small crowd of eight or ten people milling about the ropes, looking out into the crowd. He noticed everyone looking at him, though they tried noticeably to be inconspicuous. The more experienced glanced at him only out of the corners of their eyes, while two or three of the lesser-trained people turned around and watched him as he walked past them and up to the bar.
“Welcome, sir,” the bartender said as Christiano approached the bar. He laid down a tiny square satin napkin and slid it toward Christiano. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a ruby Cuervo nectar, please.”
“Certainly, sir,” the bartender said.
Christiano watched as the young man aimed the spigot and pressed the tiny red button on top of it. It took several seconds, but soon thick red liquid poured from the spigot and slid slowly into the miniature silver goblet. When it was three-quarters full, the bartender switched and hit another of the buttons on the spigot. The light yellow tequila flowed much more easily and quickly through the plastic gadget and into the goblet. The bartender stopped the flow just short of filling the goblet and finished the drink off with a small splash of pineapple juice.
“Please make sure it is to your liking, sir,” the bartender said as he set the silver goblet on the satin napkin and slid it toward Christiano.
Christiano lifted the goblet and brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. He smiled as the smell embedded itself along the membranes inside his nose and sinus cavities. His heart raced and his cock grew noticeably more plump as he allowed the smell to ingrain itself in his tissues. Then he brought the goblet to his lips and took a sip. He rolled the thick liquid around his tongue and savored its rich, coppery taste and cool, slick texture before swallowing it. As it slid down his throat and into his belly, Christiano moaned as his cock grew completely hard and ached within the confines of his pants.
“It’s perfect,” he said as he opened his eyes and smiled at the bartender.
“Thank you, sir,” the bartender said as he smiled back. “Your first time at Club Suque? I haven’t seen you before.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, welcome. I hope you find it pleasurable.”
“I’m sure I will,” Christiano said. “But perhaps you can help ensure that will happen.”
“I’d be more than happy to help in whatever way I can, sir. What is your pleasure?”
“Male,” Christiano said as he stared into the bartender’s eyes. “And young. Spirited.”
“Knowledgeable or ignorant?”
“That is not as important as appearance. I am fond of both the knowledgeable and the ignorant. But he must be young and spirited and exceptionally beautiful.”
“Yes, sir. Well, there are many to choose from, then. Lyle, over there in the corner, is quite popular. He’s knowledgeable, and very much agreeable to most any scene.”
Christiano looked over into the corner and spotted Lyle immediately. He was a couple of inches taller than six feet, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. His dark, spiky hair was tipped blond. His copper skin had a natural sheen to it, and when he smiled, his bright white teeth sparkled.
“Quite lovely,” Christiano said.
“Yes, he is. Very popular around here. So much so that he’s able to be a little particular. He regularly has a full schedule a month or two in advance. But he’s usually most agreeable to meeting new members. I’m sure he’d love to accompany you.”
“I don’t think so. Maybe at a later meeting. For now, I’d prefer someone who is perhaps not so…well known. Someone who is not quite as experienced, maybe.”
“I understand, sir. Well, Thomas, over there on the dance floor, is fairly new to Club Suque. I believe he is still ignorant. At least I know he was as of last week. This is his third or fourth week here. A couple of our regulars have expressed an interest in Thomas, but so far no one has had him. I think some of our regulars are getting a little lazy and just don’t want to deal with initiating a newbie. So, so far he’s still unused, and ignorant as far as I know.”
Christiano looked at the boy. He appeared to be twenty-four or twenty-five. He was much shorter than Lyle, maybe five feet six or seven. His long blond hair was bathed in sweat and swirled around his head as he jumped up and down on the dance floor and shook his head in beat with the music. He was wearing no shirt, and his tanless and hairless torso shined whenever the fluorescent lights flashed around him.
“Not bad,” Christiano said, “but not perfect, either. He seems to be strung out. Probably not the most tasty at this point.”
“Of course, you’re right, sir. Let me think…”
Christiano looked around the crowded bar.
“I’m not sure exactly what your type is, sir,” the bartender said a little sheepishly, “but I’d be more than agreeable to accompany you. If you are the least bit interested.”
Christiano turned and looked at the young man. He was about the same height as Christiano but several pounds lighter. He looked to be Mediterranean in origin, with olive complexion and light brown eyes. He was well muscled but not to the point of exaggeration. He looked to be in his early thirties, which was just at the cusp of Christiano’s preferred age range. Still, he was exceptionally handsome, and Christiano found himself tempted.
“I’m knowledgeable, of course. But if you’re sure that doesn’t matter…”
“No, that doesn’t matter. What’s your name?”
“Uriel, sir.”
“Uriel, you’re most attractive, and every bit my type. But I don’t normally partake in club staff.”
“I understand, sir,” Uriel said, with little attempt at hiding his disappointment.
“I’m going to acquaint myself a little more with your charming club. Perhaps I might stop back by here before I leave, however. Though I don’t normally partake of club staff, I have been known to make an exception or two. If the offer is still open at that time, of course.”
“That would be great,” Uriel said, and smiled. “The offer will most definitely still be on the table. I can guarantee that.”
“Lovely,” Christiano said, and winked at Uriel as he walked past the guard and back onto the dance floor.
Christiano walked around the large dance floor f
or several minutes. Club Suque was a little larger than many of the other clubs around the world he’d visited, which was a little surprising. He hadn’t expected Denver to be such a progressive and inviting city. He knew there were vampires here, but he had no idea the community was large enough to support such a large and extravagant club.
Almost a thousand people filled the club. The vast majority of them were extremely pale, with black hair and fingernails painted black. Most of them wore dark clothes and sunglasses, even in the dark of the club. Still, it was easy enough to pick out the real vampires. They had a special aura around them under the glow of the fluorescent lights that gave them away, at least to other vampires. They followed you as you walked around, and held your gaze for long periods of time. They nodded discreetly as you passed, and smiled, revealing their partially extended canine teeth.
In this group of almost a thousand people, almost a third of them were vampires. Christiano was a little taken aback at how many of them were so careless about how they interacted with the mortals. It was obvious most of the mortals were ignorant. Yet many of the vampires were openly feeding on them in the middle of the dance floor or upstairs in some of the dark corners of the club. Of course, it was possible to feed on humans without killing them. And you could even do it and have them never remember a thing about it afterward. But some of these vampires seemed either not to care enough to take those precautions or, more probably, not to have the skills to execute such a feeding successfully.
But the club was obviously wildly successful, and Christiano imagined it could not be so if it were careless in its killings. He was probably overly sensitive right now, and overly cautious about being in a new city. He didn’t know these vampires well enough to make judgments on them yet.
Christiano walked around the club, first the dance floor and then the two upper stories that looked down onto the expansive dance floor. Though it was just about exactly the same physically as almost every other club he’d been to, it was also a little different. Many of the patrons were obviously high on coke and ecstasy, as they were in every other club. They bobbed around the dance floor in a soulless stupor and begged without speech for someone or something to take them away from their meaningless existence.
