"Yoga isn't only about stretching."
"I'll take your word for it."
"Hmm." Ash took another sip of wine. "Uh-oh," he said suddenly, his head cocked toward the door. "Here comes trouble."
After Darus' visit, Slade wasn't sure he wanted to see what type of trouble Ash meant. He wasn't in the mood to kick anyone's ass. Blood consumption made him too mellow.
Luckily, it wouldn't be an issue. This type of trouble came in a hot package. Two fairly young women had entered the bar. One was tall, at least five feet eight inches, slender and gorgeous. Her perfectly pale, perfectly smooth skin was set off by a mass of red curls falling to her hips. She was wearing a short black dress showing off a gorgeous cherry blossom tattoo covering her right shoulder and upper arm, the branches and soft pink petals delicately twisting up her slim bicep. Her knee-high boots had almost as many buckles as her dress. She was exactly the type of trouble he'd love to get into.
The other one, wild-eyed and covered in metal, was the trouble to watch out for. Shorter but hot in different ways, she wore a micro mini with tattered fishnets and a corset displaying her assets to their fullest.
It wasn't Curvy's appearance alone that made Slade wary, it was the expression of wonder and lust she wore, and the old cutter scars decorating the insides of her arms. She had Victim written all over her.
"Ladies," he greeted.
Wearing a mischievous grin, the short one stepped up to the bar. "Do you really serve blood here?" she asked enthusiastically. Standing behind her, Red rolled her pale blue eyes.
"Not to you."
"Why not?"
"Members only." It was a change Armand enacted after the mess with Eve last year to help protect the bar and its patrons. Slade would prefer to make the entire place for members only, but he was fighting a losing battle with that argument. And since Armand's wife had only entered Luxure by accident, Slade was never going to win it now. After all, if the bar had only been open to members, Armand would have never met Julia.
Becoming a member gave one access to bagged blood from guaranteed safe Donors, the blood room, and Armand's services. Members could bring in outside Donors, provided they signed a liability release.
"I can get you a drink, though," he told the women. "Provided I see some IDs."
"Okay," Short-Stuff said defeated, handing him her ID.
"What can I get you to drink, Melanie?" he asked after looking the ID over.
"Shot of Jager and a whiskey & Coke. Oh, and it's Melancholy."
The name was a lot of syllables but if that's what she preferred, that's what he'd call her. "Okay. What about you, Red?" he called to the statuesque beauty standing elegantly behind Melancholy.
Her eyes narrowed and she stepped up to the bar, forcefully shoving her ID toward him. "Did you just call me Red?"
He grinned. He loved a feisty girl and this one looked ready to pounce on him. "I did. What would you prefer I call you?"
"Not Red, that's for damn sure."
"Well then," he glanced at the ID. "Kaitlyn Rose Miller, what do you go by?"
She snatched her ID back. "Kate."
"Just Kate?"
"Is that a problem?"
He poured Melancholy's drinks and slid them to her. "Not at all. Here, you're free to be whatever, or whoever, you desire." He smiled. "I'm Slade."
"Wonderful," she said dryly.
"Kate, can you start us a tab?" Melancholy asked. "I think I see someone I know." Fidgeting, she looked like she might burst if she had to stand there a moment longer and he didn't mean out of her corset, although it was a definite possibility too.
"Sure," Kate replied and Melancholy skittered off to join Hail — another of Angel's Donors — sitting in the back corner. Red pulled out a credit card and handed it to Slade. "I guess I'll take a single tall vodka press with a water back."
As he mixed the drinks, he watched her scan the bar from the corner of his eye. She seemed to take in every detail, and the more she absorbed, the more disappointed she looked.
"Whatever you're looking for, you're not going to find it out there," he said quietly.
Her blue eyes snapped back to him. The look of surprise quickly gave way to anger. "What the hell do you know about it? You're just some meathead bartender."
"I'm the real deal, baby." He slipped a couple of dark straws in each glass.
"Sure."
"And," he shrugged, "I've been doing this for ten years. I see your type in here all the time."
If she wasn't pissed off before, she was now. "What do you mean by 'my type'?"
"Well, for starters," he said, jutting his chin toward the corner where Melancholy was sitting. "Your friend over there is making googly eyes at Hail like he's some sort of vampire god, and you're looking at this place like it holds the secret to happiness or something."
Kate shot a quick glance toward her friend staring at Hail with the most awe-inspired expression and then settled her icy gaze back on him. She had the most beautiful eyes. It might be better if they weren't trying to chop him into little bits but whatever, they were still breathtaking.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said tightly. "And neither do you."
"Maybe." He gave the bar a quick wipe down with the black rag he kept nestled on the spillway. "Look, I just don't want to see you and your friend get hurt. Not everyone here is safe."
She grabbed her drinks. "Well, thanks for the advice." There was enough sarcasm in her tone to choke a cat.
He inclined his head and pretended to tip his hat. "Anytime ma'am." With amusement, he watched her join her friend in the corner, her footsteps heavy and angry. As she sat down, she glanced his direction and he gave her the biggest, shit-eating grin he could manage and the scowl crossing her pretty features nearly made him laugh out loud.
* * * *
Kate immediately regretted calling Slade a "meathead bartender" the moment the words slipped from her mouth. After all, who was she to talk? She was a waitress at what amounted to a glorified deli. The bartender might be a jackass but he didn't deserve to be insulted for his profession.
As she slid into the empty seat next to Melanie, she glanced toward the bar. Whatever empathy and regret she felt for her harsh words, the cocky grin on Slade's handsome, Italian face wiped it clean. There was no doubt in her mind he deserved the title meathead. Being called "Red" slipped a splinter under her skin that was only slightly less irritating than being called "Annie" or "freckle-face". They were all nicknames used to torment her throughout adolescence. That he pretended to know why she'd come to the bar only pushed the splinter deeper. Just because he wore red contacts, fangs and was covered in tattoos, he wasn't any different than the arrogant, asshole jocks her football playing brother called friends.
Kate forced a smile at Hail, tuning away from her thoughts and to the conversation at the table. Although they'd never been formally introduced, she recognized him from The Cell.
"So, is it true they serve blood here?" Melanie asked after Kate and Hail exchanged introductions. Her pierced face was bright and eager.
Hail's face scrunched into a kind of disgusted mirth. "They do."
"I take it you don't approve," Kate commented, taking a sip of her drink. It was a well-mixed cocktail. She could at least give Slade that.
"It's not that I don't approve, I just don't see the point. It's not like bagged blood could satisfy the desires of any true Sang."
"What's bagged blood?" Melanie wondered.
"It's donated blood. They keep it in a cooler in the back."
Melanie leaned forward eagerly. "So, do they like, warm it up and serve in a cup?"
"Or a shot glass."
Blood from a shot glass. Now that was interesting. Kate glanced around the bar to see if anyone was drinking blood. She only saw normal cocktails. It was a little disappointing.
"Why wouldn't bagged blood work for 'true Sangs'?" she asked, turning to Hail.
He leaned back against the smooth, leath
er couch, his expression smug. This was obviously a topic he liked to discuss and felt some sort of superiority about. "Well, you have to ask yourself what you need from the blood you're drinking. If you like to drink blood, just to drink it, then I suppose bagged blood is fine. But a real Vampire needs blood for the Prana it contains, and blood only possesses that energy when it comes directly from a Donor. Blood is merely a vessel the Prana travels on; it cannot store the living energy. Once blood is cold, meaning it has left the human body, the Prana can only be maintained for a short time before the blood is essentially dead."
"So it is only the Prana Vampires need?" Kate wondered. Who knew being a Human Vampire came with so much theory.
"Not exactly. The desire is two-fold. Sang Vampires crave blood and energy."
"As opposed to...?"
"Psychic Vampires."
Melanie was staring at him. "Psychic Vampires? Like they can read your mind?"
"No." His half smile was mildly amused. "They feed off your energy."
"Any true extrovert feeds off another's energy," Kate said. "Good or bad." She glanced toward the bar. The bartender was dumping ice into the well. He definitely didn't look like the kind of guy who used the word "Prana".
"True, but Psy-Vamps literally feed off your energy. They can take it from you...if they choose. They can also manipulate the energy around them. An unethical Psychic Vampire is very unpleasant to be around and can be dangerous."
"But bagged blood could satisfy one aspect of the craving, right?" Kate didn't know why his disdain of bagged blood bothered her but it did.
"I suppose," he admitted with a grimace. "But I still don't why anyone would want to. Why masturbate when you can have sex."
His statement made absolutely no sense to her. If one had a true craving for blood but didn't have someone to get it from, bagged blood might be their only option. Or what if they didn't want to get it from the source? Drinking someone's blood seemed like a pretty intimate thing to do. Not everyone was set up that way. Sometimes masturbating was preferable to sex; there wasn't always a suitable partner available. She imagined Hail wasn't all that discriminating when it came to blood or sex.
"If Prana is stored in the body and blood is merely a vessel for it, wouldn't there be other, equally good sources of energy for a real Vampire to get the energy they truly need?" Kate pressed. "Assuming, of course, the blood cravings were met elsewhere, like from bagged blood." She was truly more curious than skeptical. Hail might be putting off a bit of a blowhard vibe but she didn't doubt what he was saying.
He grinned. "Sex. Orgasms exude a surplus of energy."
Okay, now Kate was confused. Didn't he just say Psychic Vampires fed off energy? Did Blood Vampires feed off energy, too? Kate still wasn't sure what being a Human Vampire actually meant.
It was subtle and Kate wasn't sure Melanie even realized she was doing it, but the curvy girl had leaned close to Hail and was busy playing with an earring. "Really?"
"Absolutely." Hail gave Melanie's pushed up breasts a long once over. "Which is why I prefer to receive my blood during sex, especially during an orgasm." His lids were heavy and his eyes lustful. "Or preferably, multiple orgasms."
"Yeah?" Melanie replied breathily.
"Oh yeah."
While they were busy eye-fucking each other, Kate glanced once again toward the bar. Slade was engaged in what looked like a lighthearted conversation with a man and a woman seated at the bar. He was leaning against the bar, arms splayed wide. His triceps looked like the roots of some massive oak tree, knotted and bulging. From what she could see, the tattoo covering his left arm consisted of skulls and eyeless faces interlaced with a very intricate looking tribal design. She wondered what his back piece was.
When he caught her gaze he winked.
She quickly turned her focus to the full drink in her hand, embarrassed he'd caught her staring. She didn't know why she was even compelled to look his direction. Sure, he was good looking but he was nowhere near her type and an asshole to boot.
Only his stupid comment could be making the desire to check out what he was doing right that very minute so strong.
The real deal. She assumed it meant he was a Human Vampire. That implied he drank blood, but did he drink blood from a person or from a bag? If she asked, would his feelings on the subject be anything like Hail's?
Peering through the ringlet veil of her hair, she risked a quick glance toward the bar again. He was busily mixing drinks and chatting with the couple at the same time. She saw his red eyes flick her direction and she discretely turned her head and pretended to fix her hair.
Curiosity. That's all her interest in him could possibly be.
* * * *
Slade wished Kate would look his direction or better yet, quit nursing her first drink and order another one. He'd really like the opportunity to spar with her again.
God, she was beautiful. Her mass of deep red curls looked like tendrils of flames licking the air and furniture around her. Sitting with her back to the wall, she was turned slightly away from him, offering a great view of a lean thigh as it peeked out from under her short skirt. Her smooth, porcelain skin was the perfect shade of pale only natural redheads could achieve and looked strokably soft. Everything about her lit him on fire. He couldn't keep his eyes off her.
In fact, he could barely peel his gaze from her when Satin, one of Luxure's regulars stepped up to the bar. As was her normal uniform, she wore a fetish collar, a shirt announcing she was braless, a pleather waist cincher, a mini skirt, and most likely, no panties.
Satin was what one would call a sexually uninhibited girl, to use a PC term. Part time exotic dancer, part time dominatrix (although he'd heard she was more a sub in bed — hence the collar), she was forever trying to get into Slade's pants.
He had no desire to fuck her. It wasn't that he judged her for her promiscuity or didn't find her attractive. Getting intimate with her would no doubt create a whole shitload of drama he'd rather not step in.
"What can I get you, doll?"
Satin bit her lip, the stark white of her fang inserts contrasting brightly against the blood red lipstick. As she leaned forward on the bar her shirt fell open and gave him a full view of her breasts. They we're nice enough, most likely fake, but certainly attractive. Unfortunately, he didn't have much of an interest to see them.
"Your cock in me would be a start. You can fuck me right here on this bar." She stroked the smooth wood of the bar top seductively. "I wouldn't mind."
Slade laughed. He wasn't sure why, but he always found Satin's aggressive flirtation humorous. It was like the roles were reversed and he was the preyed upon female trudging down Bourbon Street.
"What can I get you to drink?"
"Hmm," she twirled a strand of long black hair in her fingers. "How about your blood?"
"You know I don't Donate."
"Never hurts to ask. Maybe someday you'll change your mind. Take a walk on the other side. It's fucking sexy, you know."
"Whiskey on the rocks then?"
"Of course."
She jumped when Ash walked up behind her and smacked her ass. Sliding his arm around her shoulders, he cozied up next to her at the bar. "You really ought to keep that thing covered," he said. "Do you realize how difficult it was to only slap your perfect ass?"
She did a butt wiggle, shimmy thing. "Maybe that's what I was hoping for."
Reaching into her shirt, he pinched an unrestrained nipple. "You're such a little whore," he said fondly, kissing her cheek.
She turned into him, wrapping one hand around his neck and cupping his balls with the other. "You know you love it."
"I wouldn't be much of a man if I didn't." Ash covered her mouth in a rather sloppy, wet kiss.
Until Angel came in and Ash resumed his role as her faithful puppy, Slade would have to watch these two carefully to make sure they weren't having sex on the dance floor. Satin's skirt was short enough, it would be easy for them to do and stay mostly discr
eet. Regardless, it wouldn't be tolerated. If they snuck into the can, or decided one needed blood and wanted to hit the blood room, Slade might look the other way. As long as the sex stayed quiet.
One look at the couple as they pawed at each other told Slade there's no way that sex would be quiet. Satin was probably a screamer.
Slade glanced toward the back corner table and once again caught Kate's gaze. She was watching the excessive PDA with an expression that was half amused and half disgusted. Slade held up the bar gun and pretended to spray them down. He was pretty sure he caught a smile on her Angelina Jolie lips before she turned away.
He would have been happy to continue staring at the side of her head and imagining what it would be like wrap his fingers in the curtain of red while he mounted her from behind, but Onyx was in the waitress well with a drink order. Fantasies about Miss Kaitlyn Miller would have to wait a little while longer. At some point she'd come to the bar, he was sure of it.
Chapter Five
Kate could not fathom why, but when she watched a woman in a micro skirt lean over the bar to talk to Slade, exposing half her ass to everyone in the process, she felt her stomach clench. When Slade laughed midway through the conversation, her guts twisted into a mass of gnarled tree trunks.
She shouldn't care. No, she didn't care. Of course a guy like Slade would be all over that type of woman. What difference did it make to Kate? They could go into the back room and have sex, or right behind the bar for that matter. She couldn't care less.
It took a bit of effort but she managed to force her attention back to Hail and Melanie. Hail was drawing a circle over Melanie's left grapefruit sized breast with one long, manicured nail. "The Prana concentrated here is especially potent," he said, or rather, purred.
Melanie looked like she might melt. "Would it give you extra powers or something?"
Hail grinned, leaning in and whispering something in Melanie's ear that made her giggle like a twelve-year-old girl.
Kate turned back to the bar. The skank was slobbering all over some guy while Slade watched, an amused expression on his face. When he pretended to spray them down like a couple of dogs in heat, Kate almost laughed out loud.
de Sang: Embrace Your Blood Lust Page 4
