“Mom? Did you hear me? We need to talk.”
“Damn right we need to talk!” Sheila Monture said as she turned to glare at her daughter. “I want to know where you’ve been sneaking off to at all hours, young lady! You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”
“Mom, you’ve been drinking,” Cally said in a matter-of-fact voice. “You know I won’t talk about things like this when you’re drunk.”
Sheila pushed herself up off the chaise lounge, teetering for a moment until she regained her balance. She was dressed in a long, flowing black velvet dress with tight-fitting long sleeves that ended in a point above the hand, with lace finger loops affixed to the cuffs. Cally recognized the outfit, and the long black wig that went with it, as the Morticia Addams look her mother favored whenever she obsessed about their social standing in the vampire community. This was a real laugh, seeing how her mom was a human.
“Just because I’m asleep by the time you normally come traipsing home doesn’t mean I don’t notice things! You better not be messing around with that no-account Johnny Muerto! I won’t have you ruining your chances of finding a proper husband by fooling with that newbie trash!”
Cally rolled her eyes in disgust. “Mom, I despise Johnny Muerto! I got sent to Professor Burke’s office for punching him in the throat when he tried to kiss me, remember?”
“Well, if you’re not sneaking off with him, then which one of those Varney Hall newbies are you fooling around with?” Sheila asked.
“I’m not seeing any New Blood boy on the sly, Mom! Besides, I don’t know what you’re so worried about. Oldies only marry their own kind, and I’m definitely not one of them!”
“You shouldn’t talk like that about yourself, sweetie,” Sheila admonished, leaning forward to stroke her daughter’s hair. “You’re as good as any of those Old Blood girls you go to school with. Those boys at Ruthven’s would be falling all over themselves if they knew who your father was!”
“Yeah, big help that is,” Cally said acidly, pushing her mother’s hand away from her face. When Sheila was this close, it was impossible to ignore the reek of bourbon. “I don’t even know who my father really is!”
“He’s a very rich and powerful member of Old Blood society….” Sheila said, as if reciting from memory.
“Yeah, that’s what you always say, Mom, but you still won’t tell me his name!” Cally replied angrily. “I’m going to be seventeen pretty soon, and I still don’t know who my dad is! Don’t you think it’s time you finally told me? Why are you still protecting him?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, Cally,” Sheila said, her shoulders slumping wearily. “Your grandmother made me…” She looked away without finishing her sentence. “It’s for your own good, sugar.”
“You always try to put it off on Granny when I ask you about my father’s identity!” Cally snapped. “I’m tired of you blaming her! Granny’s been dead for two years now. You could tell me his name if you wanted to; the truth is, you won’t!”
“Cally, sweetie, you don’t understand how it is with your father—”
“No, I don’t! And it looks like I never will if I have to rely on you for information! I’m going to my room now—oh, and Mom, don’t call New Bloods ‘newbies,’ okay? It’s rude. How would you like it if I called you a clot?” Cally slammed the door to her room so hard it shook the entire floor.
So much for the noise ordinance.
CHAPTER THREE
Lilith Todd walked up the imposing granite stairs that led to the doors of the Belfry. She paused to glance at the throngs of bridge-and-tunnel wannabes gathered on the wrong side of the velvet ropes, hoping against hope that they would be permitted access to the former fin de siècle church, now the hottest club in town. Outfitted in a blush Dolce & Gabbana corset dress and open-toe Manolo pumps, she was the beautiful people personified.
As far as Lilith was concerned, all clots were clueless, but some were definitely worse than others. Like, really, who would wear a cheap red top and a cheaper black skirt bought ten years ago at Sears out to a nightclub? Not that it mattered, because that tacky little creature certainly wasn’t getting inside tonight, or any other night. Her boyfriend wasn’t any better, what with the long, purple leather coat he was wearing. Did that dude think he was going to a rave? How lame! She put her hand over her mouth, just in case she accidentally popped her fangs while laughing at them.
Breezing past the hulking doorman, she made her way through those who had gathered to see and be seen as they danced, drank, and drugged the night away. She really needed a pick-me-up, and although there were at least three bars on the main floor of the club, none of them served her favorite drink.
As she climbed the stairs to the converted choir loft that served as the club’s VIP room, the ear-hammering dance music dropped down to a muted roar. She spotted her boyfriend, Jules de Laval, lounging on one of the divans scattered about the room, talking to two of his friends and fellow students at Ruthven’s, Sergei Savanovic and Oliver Drake. With his artfully mussed mane of reddish-gold hair, strong jaw, and lambent green eyes, he resembled a virile young king holding court.
“How was your afternoon with Armida and Lula?” Jules asked.
“One’s a short little dwarf and the other looks like a tranny,” Lilith replied, kissing the air beside Jules’s cheek so she wouldn’t ruin her makeup. “Going shopping with them was like watching blood dry, only not as fun.”
“I take it they failed the audition?”
“I didn’t say that,” Lilith said quickly. “I’ll tell you more after I get a drink.”
“You’re going to be Lilith’s escort at the Grand Ball, right?” Sergei asked as he watched Lilith walk over to the VIP bar. His eyes were riveted on her hips, beautifully outlined by the blush corset dress she was wearing. Although he had the deep, dark eyes of a poet, Sergei dressed like a rock star and had the sexual appetite to match.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“It’s against the rules. Debutantes can’t be escorted by someone they’re romantically involved with. It’s some stupid tradition. And since Lili and I are promised, that counts me out. Ask Ollie: he can’t escort Carmen, either.”
“Jules is right,” Oliver said. With his dirty-blond hair and boyish face he seemed as harmless as a puppy dog, until you looked into his flinty eyes. “So who are you escorting to the Grand Ball, Jules?”
“It’s up to the girls to ask the guys to be their escort, not the other way around,” Jules said. “You know that.”
“I don’t get it,” Oliver said suspiciously. “You’re telling us that not one of the girls has asked you—the most lusted-after boy at Ruthven’s—to be her escort to the Grand Ball?”
“You know Lilith—she doesn’t share,” Jules said with a shrug. “None of the other girls are willing to risk her getting jealous by asking me. How about you, Sergei? Have any of the girls asked you to be their escort?”
“Sort of,” Sergei said, shooting a glance in Oliver’s direction. “It sort of depends on what someone else says.”
By the time Lilith reached the bar, the bartender already had her drink poured and waiting for her: AB neg, laced with bourbon, served at body temperature with a hint of anticoagulant; just the way she liked it.
As she took her first sip, the man standing next to her at the bar smiled and winked at her in what he thought was a debonair opening move. He was in his late thirties, his slightly overfed face flushed from drinking, and he smelled strongly of cologne. Compared to the sleekly fashionable club goers he was attempting to mingle with, he looked boring and old—a stockbroker out on the town.
“Sure you can handle a drink like that, little lady?” he asked, pointing at what he thought was a glass of wine.
Lilith coughed into her fist, trying not to laugh out loud. “Don’t worry,” she said, giving the glass a slight hoist. “I’ve been drinking this stuff since I was a baby.”
As Lilith turned to rejoin her
friends, the stockbroker, emboldened by the alcohol he’d been downing, reached out and grabbed her elbow.
“I was thinking—after you finish your drink, maybe I could buy you another one?”
Lilith looked down at the wedding ring on the man’s finger, then fixed him with a stare as blue and cold as ice pulled from the heart of Antarctica. “I’m here with my fiancé,” she said flatly.
The stockbroker saw a blond youth with the body of a surfer sitting on a nearby divan, watching him with eyes that seemed strangely luminescent in the dim light, like those of a jungle beast. The young man had a slight smile on his face that was far from friendly.
“Sorry,” the stockbroker said quickly, releasing her arm.
“You should be.” Lilith sniffed. “Go back to Connecticut while you still can, family guy.”
The stockbroker slunk back to his place at the bar, looking glum as he motioned to the bartender for another drink.
“Did you see that clot?” Lilith said as she rejoined the group. “Seb’s really slipping if that’s what he’s allowing into the VIP room nowadays. That guy is so gross!”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Sergei replied. He eyed the human seated at the bar. “Your admirer is probably headed for the cellar.”
“I hope he’s A poz and drinks scotch.” Jules sighed wistfully. “The only donor the club has on scotch right now is a B neg. Seb swears up and down that the clot’s on an intravenous drip of Glenlivet 21 Year Old, but it might as well be rotgut as far as I’m concerned.”
“So what were you talking about while I was getting hit on by Mr. Wife-and-Two-Kids-in-Danbury?” Lilith asked.
“Nothing, really,” Oliver said. “We were just discussing the Grand Ball.”
“Don’t remind me!” She groaned. “I still haven’t found a decent gown!”
“You didn’t buy anything today?” Jules asked, surprised.
“Of course I bought something!” Lilith said, rolling her eyes in disdain. “I found these really gorgeous Louboutin knotted platform mules and this really, really cute Derek Lam dress in French navy blue with buttons down along the right side, oh, and this really, really, really sweet matching blue quilted patent leather Marc Jacobs satchel. I just didn’t see a gown I liked, that’s all.”
“Well, as long as it wasn’t a wasted trip,” Jules said.
“You know, I was thinking it might be nice to go back to your place tonight,” Lilith said with a wink. “Your parents are still out of town, aren’t they? And we had such a nice time the other night….”
“We can do that, if that’s what you want,” Jules replied hesitantly. “But—”
“But what?”
“We won’t be alone, that’s all. Aunt Juliana and Uncle Boris are getting their home out in the Hamptons ready for the Grand Ball, so Xander’s staying with us for the time being.”
“Ugh. Never mind! I couldn’t get comfortable with Exo hanging around. Maybe even peeping through the keyhole, for all I know.” Lilith shuddered at the thought of Xander Orlock seeing her naked. “Couldn’t you tell him to get lost or something?”
“Lili, you’re going to have to get used to having Exo around,” Jules said wearily. “He’s my cousin, after all. Eventually he’s going to be part of your family, too, at least by marriage.”
“Don’t remind me.” Lilith scowled.
“I’ve never been out to the Orlocks’ estate in the Hamptons,” Oliver said. “What’s it like?”
“King’s Stone is pretty cool. Exo told me that it’s supposed to be modeled on a castle or something from the Old Country. Uncle Boris had it built from stone blocks quarried from the Carpathians. The place is humongous! When me and Exo were kids, we used to play hide-and-seek there all the time.”
“I need another drink,” Lilith announced loudly, holding up her empty glass and wagging it at Jules.
“Your legs don’t look broken to me,” he replied, turning back to his conversation with Oliver.
Lilith’s eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. Typical Jules! One minute he was all over her, lighting candles and giving her back rubs and jewelry, the next he acted like he couldn’t be bothered to remember her name. Lilith got up from the divan and stormed off in search of a fresh drink.
As she returned to the bar, the stockbroker who had accosted her earlier slowly raised his head and stared at Lilith. The lust that had burned in his eyes was now extinguished and replaced with anguish. It was the look of a man who realized that he’d passed into dangerous territory and had no clue how to get back to safer ground.
“Something…in my drink,” he managed to slur as he tried to step away from the stool, only to have his legs buckle underneath him.
Suddenly Sebastian was there at the stockbroker’s side, catching him under the arms before the clot could hit the ground. Although the club promoter didn’t weigh more than one hundred and twenty pounds and wore outlandishly high platform shoes, he had no trouble hoisting the drunk back onto his seat unassisted.
“Andre, Christian—please escort our friend here to the cellar,” Sebastian said to the bodybuilders-cum-bouncers flanking him. “Quentin—what was he drinking?”
“Scotch,” the bartender replied.
“Perfect!” Sebastian smiled, flashing a set of pearly white fangs. “Andre, set our new donor up on a Bushmills IV drip.”
“Ten or Sixteen?”
“Start him out on the ten-year-old,” the promoter replied. “I’ll decide whether to step him up or not after he’s been typed.”
“Gotcha, boss.”
Lilith sipped on her new drink as she watched the bodybuilders drag the clot behind the tapestries hanging along the back wall to the hidden door that led directly to the cavernous basement underneath the club. As far as the humans lounging in the Loft were concerned, the staff were merely escorting yet another over-served patron off the premises, but the truth was far stranger—and darker—than anything they could ever imagine.
She wondered if she should hurry back to the others but decided she was still too pissed at Jules. The way he ran hot and cold with her was enough to make her tear her hair. Didn’t he know how lucky he was to have her? He said he hated it when she got jealous, yet it seemed as if he wasn’t happy when she wasn’t. There was no pleasing him. If her father hadn’t signed that marriage contract with Count de Laval, she would be sorely tempted to dump Jules’s perfect, sculpted ass for someone more supportive. But who? Lilith had spent her entire life visualizing herself as Jules’s spouse and the next Countess de Laval. The thought of being with anyone else was as alien to her as the concept of sharing.
“Lilith, my dear!” Sebastian said, turning his full attention to the beautiful blond heiress. “You must have sneaked in while my back was turned! You know you’re not supposed to come into the club without giving me a kiss!”
“I would never forget something like that, Seb.” Lilith laughed, kissing the air next to his powdered and rouged cheek.
“Now you have to tell me how much you missed me since the last time you were here! You did miss me, didn’t you, darling?”
“Of course I missed you, Seb! I always miss you.”
“Hang on a moment,” he said, putting a finger to the Bluetooth earpiece clipped onto his left ear. “I’ve got an incoming. Yeah, Tomás—what is it? Really? Where is she?”
“What’s going on?” Lilith asked, her curiosity piqued.
“We’ve got a celeb on the way up to the Loft.”
“One of ours or one of theirs?”
“One of theirs. Some hot little fashion model named Gala.”
“Gala?” Lilith raised an eyebrow. “I just saw her at the trunk show at Bergdorf’s this afternoon.”
“You lucky little bitch! I never get to go shopping anymore. I have to order most of my ensembles online. I would love to chat more, but I have to make sure the staff knows that our little celebrity is Off The Menu. Ah! There she is!” Sebastian said, tottering off as fast as his platform shoes cou
ld carry him.
Lilith watched as the club promoter approached the model, fawning over her like a dog eager to ingratiate itself with a pack leader. Gala had exchanged the bland Maison d’Ombres threads she’d worn at the show for a metallic silver halter dress with matching strappy high heels that showed off her sun-kissed skin and toned body. Lilith felt a flare of jealousy as she realized that Sebastian was greeting Gala exactly like he’d welcomed her.
As the model moved through the room, every head turned to follow her. When she sat down, her barely there skirt rode up, revealing panties to match. The eyes of the men shone with lust, while those of the women flashed with envy—especially Lilith’s.
“What’s all the excitement about?”
Lilith was startled by the sound of Jules’s voice in her ear. She had been so focused on the attention Gala was getting, she had failed to notice Jules walking up behind her.
“It’s nothing, just some model named Gail something, I think.”
“Really?” Oliver stood on tiptoe in order to get a better view. “Is she hot?”
“Of course she’s hot,” Sergei replied, rolling his eyes. “She’s a model. Duh!”
Oliver nudged Sergei in the ribs. “Wanna go check her out?”
“I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry to go ogle some tarted-up clot.” Lilith sniffed.
“Jealous much, Lili?” Sergei snickered.
“What’s there to be jealous of? If her tan was any oranger, she’d be an Oompa-Loompa!”
“She still looks hot,” Sergei said with a shrug.
“Whatever!” Lilith snapped. “Excuse me—I need to put on some lipstick.”
The ladies’ room in the Loft, unlike its sister downstairs, did not have a vanity mirror over the sink. Normally Lilith would bring Tanith or one of the other girls with her so that they could check each other’s makeup, but Tanith was dead, Melinda had defected, and she’d had enough of Carmen for the day, thank you very much. Without a spotter, she did not dare apply any more lipstick. But then, she hadn’t really needed to fix her makeup in the first place. She’d simply had enough of the others drooling over that bimbo model.
Night Life Page 3
