He sits up, back on his knees and stares at me. That infernal dark stare. I want him inside of me, I realize. I climb on top, clamping my thighs around his waist. The sweet ecstasy of him beneath me makes my eyes close with pleasure. His hands are on my shoulders, pulling me down harder as I slowly begin to ride him. Up and down. Up and down.
He kisses my neck.
“Would you like some more blood?” he says, looking up at me suddenly. He dips his fingers in a large cut-glass fruit bowl beside him, letting the blood drip off them and back into the receptacle.
My breathing is ragged. “Yes. Please.”
Konstantin smiles and splatters the blood across my chest, painting my breasts crimson as I gasp in delight.
With a jolt, I sit up and I’m wide awake.
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!
It’s not exactly strange for me to have the odd horny dream, but nothing that intense. And it’s common Para knowledge that blood feeders can sometimes have dreams about the Vamps the blood belongs to - but sex dreams? Maybe that’s some Witchy side effect.
Well, I don’t want Konstantin in my nightmares and I sure as hell don’t want him in my dreams. And I definitely don’t want him Jackson Pollocking my chest with his blood.
I throw my head back against the pillow and groan. I nearly broke my ankle because of Konstantin, and I’ve seen him snap a man’s neck just as easily, yet now all I can think about is the taste of his fucking delicious blood.
Ugh! Get a grip Saskia! Both Volkov’s need to stay the hell away from my nocturnal habits.
Plus, I also have a banging migraine. I’ve read that Vamp blood can do that to a Witch too. I groan again from the weight of my horny hangover headache.
I have no idea what time it is because I can’t see out of the window. At dawn, the whir of metallic shutters jolted me awake as all the windows in the room were clamped shut. I knew Vampires didn’t sleep in coffins during the day, I just didn’t realize they make their homes one giant dark coffin instead. But then again, few Vamps are as rich as Konstantin.
Looking on the bright side, if the shutters are still down it means it’s still daytime. Which means I don’t have to get up for work right now.
I stretch out in my luxurious king-size bed and run my fingers against the fine sheets. I can hear Jackson’s voice in my head, like I do every day, scolding me.
“Reporters are observers, Saskia. WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU MOVE IN WITH GANGSTER VAMPS?”
Because of the thread count, Jackson. Duh.
In all seriousness, my disregard for my safety scares me sometimes. My mother has called me reckless since I was little, whereas she called my sister prudent and wise. Which is pretty ironic considering the prudent sister has disappeared and not the disappointing younger one.
Something between hunger pangs, the residue of last night’s inappropriate dreams, and slumbering grief for my sister stirs in my stomach. It’s a weird mix and it’s making my headache worse.
I check my private phone which at least I’ve successfully kept hidden all this time. There are two emails from Jackson and three text messages. The last one asks if I’m dead.
Alive and kicking ass, I reply, keeping it both vague and positive.
That’s all the big cat is getting this morning. My head is thumping enough without having to consider how crap I am at my job and imagining my impending dismissal as soon as I return to New York without a story.
I find a silk robe in the marble bathroom and set off in search of food. The halls echo with grandeur and the sound of my footsteps. I feel like Belle in Beast’s castle which, after the creepy ‘threaten you then rescue you’ way Konstantin treated me last night, is unfortunately very apt. The suave bastard is definitely the kind of Vamp who would build a girl a library. Whereas Lukka, on the other hand, is the kind of Vamp who would pull out all the pages from a good book just to make a few joints.
As if summoned from my sleepy thoughts, I find Lukka in the kitchen. He’s bent over the sink brushing his fangs with one hand, holding a bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne in the other.
He takes a swig, gurgles with it, and spits it into the sink.
I lean back, arms crossed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He glances over his shoulder, though with his Vamp hearing I’m sure he heard me coming.
“Good morning, little Witch.” He flashes me a smile full of toothpaste. It comes across as half comedic, half demonic. I’m still not sure if he’s evil or a fool…or both. If there’s one thing I’ve learned investigating for The Blood Web Chronicle it’s that the foolish demons are the most dangerous.
“Why would you gargle with champagne?” I roll my eyes to make it obvious I find his antics lame.
He observes me for a long time, a trickle of white saliva snaking its way down his chin.
“You must understand, us Russians,” he says, “we live inside snow globes. Yesterday we had nothing, today we have more than we could ever need or spend. Tomorrow we might be dead.” He takes a swig and swallows it this time. I watch his tattooed Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“So…” He rounds the island toward me. “When you ask me why I rinse my mouth with champagne, I can only answer - why not?”
I look up into his strange milky eyes and think back to the metallic shutters at the window and the way he slashed the throats of all those guys in the restaurant as if it were nothing. As if he lives one night at a time.
“You really think you might be dead tomorrow?” I ask.
He cocks his head. “Always. I died once. I can die again.”
There’s an eerie absence of pings.
“You don’t lie much,” I say.
“Why would I lie?” A big fang-lined smile lights up his face. “When the truth is so much scarier.”
I frown. He likes talking in riddles. It’s more than a little irritating.
“I don’t lie, little Witch. But I can’t say the same for my brother.”
Lukka puts the bottle in the sink and saunters out, cackling to himself and leaving me wondering what the hell he meant by that.
I grab the near-empty bottle and drain it. I should be having breakfast, or dinner, but living with Vamps has already rubbed off on me and I’m not about to waste good champagne.
I’m sitting in the back of Konstantin’s fancy town car sandwiched between him and Lukka. There’s enough room in the spacious back seat for none of us to touch but Lukka’s shoulder borders on mine nonetheless. Konstantin has been talking on the phone to some guy called Vassily since we left the house. I’m doing my best to listen in, but all I’m getting is something about samples and results. He could be talking about anything. Lukka, on the other hand, is wearing the largest pair of headphones I’ve ever seen, bobbing his head at music so loud I can hear every word. He shows me his iPhone and I see an album cover of a musician with nearly as many tattoos as him. Lukka flashes me a champagne-clean smile and somehow detaches one headphone and hands it over to me. Music fills my right ear. OK, this is good. Apparently, I like Russian rap a lot more than I thought I would. The lyrics talk about bathing a girl in cranberry juice and my cheeks burn as I think back to my sex dream.
Snow flows down lightly and Lukka squeezes my hand to show me we are passing Saint Basil’s Cathedral. I gawk at the sight of the Red Square and the most famous of Russian cathedrals, looking every inch the storybook concoction of primary colors and gold-dipped peaks. The entire Kremlin looks like it’s made of gingerbread. It’s a glorious sight, and for a second, I allow myself to get wrapped up in the beauty of Moscow.
Half an hour later we arrive at the strip club together and I’m now clad in what looks like a PVC nurse’s uniform courtesy of Lukka and his little gift awaiting me. Needless to say, I prefer Konstantin’s taste in clothes. If he’d dressed me today I wouldn’t look like I’m about to administer a 500mg prescription of blow jobs.
Konstantin stops me as I exit the changing room.
“We have special guests to
night. My biggest rival, Rada, and his team. You will be working their table,” he says. “Keep track of their lies, sweetheart. We think they might be involved with the disappearance of our cargo. Varlam, the man we disposed of at the Sakhalin restaurant, was a former associate of his. I had no choice but to connect the dots, so I’ve invited them here. Rada is the one who would benefit most from my loss of shipments and employees.”
I nod, like I give a shit about his missing cargo. Konstantin’s workers are still disappearing and he cares more about boxes than bodies. This whole time I’ve been focusing on the Black Rabbit and their KLV construction company, but I haven’t thought about Konstantin’s shipping company connections and all the crooked men tied up with that.
I merge into the crowded club, and an hour later I hear Konstantin’s special guests before I see them. Like any other pack of powerful rich men, they are making enough noise for the entire club to notice them.
I saunter over to the entrance, and give the two men my biggest smile. Is this it? Just two of them?
“Good evening, gentleman. Welcome to the Black Rabbit,” I say in Russian. “Follow me. We’ve reserved a special table at the front for you. Champagne on tap, compliments of the house.”
They both have identical cheekbones and eyes clearer than water. Father and son. I’m guessing the older one is Rada – although he looks the same age as Konstantin. Vampires don’t age, so it’s rare to see a really old one. His son, dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, looks around him eyes wide like it’s his first time in a strip club. He looks my age, maybe a bit younger. According to what I’ve read on the Blood Web most Vamps who already have children when they’re turned wait until their sons and daughters are at least twenty-five before converting them into Vamps. Most refuse to outlive their next of kin, but equally refuse to turn unpredictable teens into monsters.
Rada, dressed in a tailored suit complete with a white handkerchief in his breast pocket, isn’t looking at the dancers though. His gaze is fixed on me.
“Where’s Konstantin?”
I wasn’t expecting that.
“He’s out,” I lie. “But he said I was to take special care of you.”
The man nods, his lip curling in the corner. He then turns to his son and tells him to keep his voice down when talking business, because the Black Rabbit has long ears. Except he says it in Chechnian, so I won’t understand him. How cultured they are. And how wrong.
“I’m expecting two more colleagues,” Rada says to me in Russian as I bring them champagne.
A few minutes later a man and a woman appear, and I can see why Konstantin was worried about them. The second man is tall and bald with a tiger tattoo climbing up the side of his neck. He looks like he’s been made from wooden blocks. The woman is slight and compact, and dressed in a pants suit. I thought no female clients were allowed in the club. I notice Rada’s son edge away from her as she sits down beside him.
“Vodka,” she shouts at me. “Two bottles.”
As I set the vodkas before her I feel the touch of a cold hand traveling up the back of my thigh. I don’t react though, being touched is not unusual in this place, but it’s rare for the creep to be a woman. I glance at her and she runs the tip of her tongue between her teeth suggestively.
“Why are you not working the pole?” she asks.
“Not tonight,” I reply as genially as possible. “Can I get you anything else?”
She loses interest quickly and turns to the two men who are talking in hushed tones, but Rada’s son is on the periphery of the group and remains staring at me. It’s not easy to hear what they’re saying without looking like I’m listening, but maybe there’s another way to get information.
I unzip the front of my dress a little until my cleavage is on full display and lean closer to Rada’s son.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
He glances at his father, as if asking for permission, but Rada is in deep conversation. This guy is no boy, but it’s still clear who’s in charge.
“Stepan,” he says, squaring his shoulders.
Stepan has a cocky smile playing on his lips, but his pretty eyes tell me he’s not used to being surrounded by Paranormal strippers. They are darting around the room, taking in the dancers, Shifter barman, and the loud groups of Vamps drinking blood from fancy decanters.
“Are you nervous?” I whisper in Russian.
“Not at all.”
Ping.
“Your colleagues look a bit scary.”
His gaze flickers over to the woman and the man made of bricks.
“They don’t scare me,” he says.
Ping.
I sit beside him, straining to hear what the others are saying. A few words float over to me, “Cargo…good price…they murdered them…find a buyer.”
What cargo? Who are they talking about? I need to know - and I think I know who will tell me.
“You look younger than most of the Vamps in here,” I say, running my finger along his arm. I feel him flex at my touch. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three. Today’s my birthday.”
Bingo!
I whisper happy birthday in his ear and watch as his face clouds with nerves. With eyes and cheekbones like his I’m surprised he’s not surrounded by girls every minute, but perhaps with a father like Rada he’s not let off his leash very often. I decide Stepan’s my key to finding out everything I need to know, I just need to get him away from this mob.
An icy claw grips my hand. The pierced woman is leaning over Stepan to get my attention. I jump up and plaster a smile to my face.
“Can I help you?”
She sneers. “We’re getting thirsty.”
I look at the undrunk bottles of champagne and vodka on the table. It’s not alcohol they want to drink, and it’s too early for the Blood Bunnies.
Rada and the other man have stopped talking and watch their female colleague with a look of amusement on their faces.
“What would you like to drink?” I ask.
“You,” she replies.
The men laugh but I notice Stepan doesn’t.
“Two more hours and they will bring the girls,” I say quietly. “I can get you a bottle of… I can get you something else in the meantime.”
She gives me a smile sharp as a dagger, then with lightning speed pulls me towards them until I topple over, landing on the lap of the bald man. His laugh is low in my ear.
“Special delivery,” he says, making Rada laugh. He inches my skirt up and slaps my butt. “It’s much more fun to get our drinks freshly squeezed.”
I scramble to my feet and straighten out my ridiculous dress, much to their amusement. I’d like nothing more than to let them choke on my blood, but I can’t go around poisoning all of Konstantin’s business contacts.
On the way back to the bar I mull it over. So, these special guests like their blood fresh, do they? But do they hate the Volkov brothers enough to murder their employees for it?
I place a cut-glass decanter of god-knows-who’s blood on the table and turn my attention to Stepan.
“Follow me,” I say. The others have their backs to us, paying no attention to the only non-Vamp. “I have a birthday treat for you.”
I’ve never given a private dance before – but Stepan doesn’t strike me as someone who would know the difference between a good dance or a bad one. His hand’s warm in mine, a rarity in these parts, as I lead him through the club to the rooms where I first had my audition with Lukka. If you could call it that.
I notice most of the rooms are occupied and I bite back a smile as Stepan’s eyes widen, taking in the girls through each round window in the doors.
“First time in a Para bar?” I ask.
“Of course not,” he replies.
He’s lying. He reaches out and slowly unzips the front of my dress making my cleavage spill out. I curse Lukka and his stupid choice of outfit.
“You don’t feel like a Vampire,” he says. “You’re too wa
rm.”
How far am I prepared to go? I thought maybe the human would be more intimidated by me, that we could talk and flirt and I’d get some info out of him, but perhaps I underestimated him.
He sits down on the burgundy couch wrapped around a small stage with a pole.
“I’m not a Vampire,” I reply, swaying to the music that’s funneled into each room.
He pulls the zip of my dress further down. “Well, you’re definitely not a nurse.”
“No. But how’s your blood pressure right now?”
Stepan’s misty stare switches off suddenly and he bends over laughing. Shit. What did I do?
“Oh, sweetie. This is never going to work. But I tried.” I stop swaying to the music and zip up my dress. I don’t know what face I’m making but I know my cheeks are burning and I’m clearly amusing him. “It’s not you,” he says hurriedly. “I’m just more interested in that sexy monkey boy behind the bar than any of you girls twirling your pretty asses around poles.”
Oh. I sit down beside him with a thump and he gives me a grin.
“Cool outfit, though. Maybe I could borrow it sometime.”
I playfully slap his arm and he laughs.
“So why let me lead you here?” I say, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
“Did you see the people I was sitting with? I’d do anything not to spend an evening with them.”
“Yeah, they didn’t look very cuddly. How come you’re not celebrating your big day in a Para gay bar?”
He gives a sad laugh. “Yeah, my father is from Chechnya, not exactly rainbow friendly. He would never approve.”
“Who cares, fuck him!”
He laughs. “I already like you.”
Oh well, so my seduction technique was wasted on him. But maybe I can still use my Verity Witch skills to get some intel on his father’s activities and what they think of the Volkov’s. There’s a bottle of champagne on ice already waiting for us in the room and I pop it open, rolling my eyes at him as he grins over at me.
“We may as well have a drink,” I say, passing him a glass. “Are you looking forward to being turned into a Vamp?”
Vampires of Moscow (Blood Web Chronicles Book 1) Page 11
