Blood Hunger (A Sable Hart Vampire Slayer Novel Book 3)

by Megan Hawke

  "I'm sure that's important."

  "Without a doubt."

  "There's more, and you're not telling me," I said. "What is it?"

  "I'm telling you it is an open case," he said. "I cannot tell you anything. I'm sorry, but my hands are tied on this one. It's not my case."

  "You're not involved?"

  "Well, yes, once vampires or werewolves are determined to be involved I am brought in," he said. "As a consultant. I help the investigating team, and I never take over the case."

  "If you didn't want my help, why did you call me?"

  "You called me."

  I did? Oh, yeah, I did.

  "I guess you're right. So you don't want my help," I said, kinda miffed. "I'll just do it on my own. Now you realize, that if I go off on my own I can't share any evidence I find? Don't you?"

  "If it was my case, I'd give you anything you want, Sable, but it's Morris' case," he said.

  "Tell Morris what I can bring to the table. Tell the benefits of having Black Heart on his team," I said. "You have my number. Call me."

  "I'll do that."

  "Can you at least e-mail me some pictures of the other two victims?"

  "No."

  "Not crime scene photos, just regular photos."

  "I can't."

  Very annoying. He was usually so much more cooperative. I thought of him as my unofficial "leak" at the police. There was also the chance his cooperation wasn't entirely unofficial. One thing was for sure, I didn't want to alienate him. I needed him.

  "One other thing...what do you make of the two wolf thugs that hassled me? Do the werewolves have a dog in this fight?"

  He hesitated a moment. "Leave the werewolves alone, Sable. If you know what's good for you, stay a long way away from them."

  "Why?"

  "Just believe me on this one, and do what I say."

  "I need more than that. They might know something," I said.

  "They're mafia. Vampire mafia enforcers," he said.

  "How do you know? You haven't seen them. I gave you no names or descriptions, so how do you know they are vampire mafia thugs?" I said.

  "Because I have it on good authority that the Trudeau Family is very interested in this case," he said. "They've begun their own investigations, and I think you crossed paths with some of their investigators."

  "Ah, I see," I said, noticing the two thugs were starting to come around. So I straddled my Ninja and started her up. "So the Trudeau Family has werewolves?"

  "A whole pack of them," he said. "Not nice werewolves, either."

  "I'll be more careful."

  Chapter 3

  The Crimson Knot was above a fetish and dance wear boutique, called Isabella's Sins. The boutique was just locking up when I arrived a little after 9 PM. The parking lot was still about half full, but there were other businesses there, as well.

  The entrance to The Crimson Knot was a red door between the boutique and a beauty supply store. The strip mall also had a "modeling" studio and a video rental place, specializing in porn movies if the posters in the window were any indication.

  Across the street and cattycorner to the strip mall was another strip mall. There was a large topless club there, called Sweet Hearts. Bone Daddy was parked over there, managing his working girls. He was a tall, blonde, and bearded pimp, in an Armani suit. Another friend of mine said he looked like Jesus on steroids. Good description. My Desiree was one of his girls. Yeah, I was not pleased but she loved the work, so I couldn't get her to quit.

  The stench of sex and horny men that she reeked of after work really aroused my libido. Don't you know she used that to have her way with me. Not that it is hard to seduce any vampire. Personally, I didn't share Desiree's preference for other women. Heidi was firmly bi-sexual before becoming a vampire, so she and Desiree hit it off splendidly. But all vampires are rather “open-minded” about such things.

  Neither Boney nor Desiree knew I was there. Boney was a vampire, older than me, and one of my best friends. I spotted Desiree in her skimpy hooker outfit near the front door flirting with every man that passed by. She was probably doing very well, because that place reeked of sex and carnal need and raging desire.

  Sweet Hearts was a Gentleman’s Club, but it was more. There was a brothel in there as well. Vampires could tell these things. Those strippers might be dancing topless on stage, but they were earning their real money on their backs upstairs.

  I don’t know how Boney did it. I was adversely affected from across the intersection. He was in the parking lot. If I got any closer I might not be able to control myself. But he usually set up shop in front of strip joints, so he must like the “high” he got from them.

  I still sometimes wondered how I became so attached to someone who was both a vampire and a pimp. And it wasn't just because he was absolutely the best lover I ever had, and the most enthusiastic.

  Using my vampiric senses, I turned toward The Crimson Knot, and checked it out from the parking lot. The large windows of the former dance studio, as in learn to ballroom dance, were all painted over. No light penetrated them. A perfect vampire club, but I knew one of the members and he was adamant that no vampires were allowed to be members. Period. Of course, he was a vampire and a member, so afraid I would betray that fact to my sister or another member.

  Roger Rippner was an odd sort, even for a vampire.

  Roger wouldn’t be there. It was Friday night. Roger worked nights, Wednesday through Sunday, from 9 PM in the evening until 5 AM. Yep, he worked nine to five. I thought it funny a vampire worked the graveyard shift, but I’ve been told I have a warped sense of humor.

  The door was open. The only sign to indicate the name of the club was on the door, a black rectangular piece with “The Crimson Knot” logo on it in blood red. Just like on the t-shirts everyone was wearing in Whitney’s photo.

  I sensed less than two dozen upstairs, evenly divided between men and women. Maybe a few more men than women. A few of them were very excited, but most seemed calm and relaxed. There was a lot of alcohol being consumed, as well. At the base of the stairs I could smell the alcohol.

  I wasn’t sure of the reception they would give me. I hadn’t talked to Roger about going there, and Sabrina didn’t want to talk about her kinks of choice with me. Sabrina wasn’t shy about her promiscuous ways, or her love of hard partying, and she loved to drive our mother crazy with her wicked clothes.

  Give me credit, though. I’m not totally clueless. I dressed for the place: black latex low-riders stuffed into patent thigh boots and matching black leather bustier. I accessorized with black slave collar, really big silver hoop earring, black latex opera gloves, and silver bangles. Oh yeah, I wore the spurs, too. My waist length black hair was curled, and fell down my back in shimmering waves, and I wore bright makeup.

  Stepping through the door, I paused to take in the stairwell. It was brightly lit, but still dark due to the black painted steps and blood red walls and ceiling. On the walls, though, were numerous cartoonish paintings of well-endowed women being tied up and/or screwed by even more impressively endowed men. My first thought was I was walking into a seedy brothel. But my senses didn’t detect any sexual contact upstairs.

  Licking my lips, I started up the steps. The sounds of a typical bar grew louder as I ascended. The walls were sound-proofed, which I hadn’t realized down in the parking lot. I just thought they were a quiet crowd. The stairs brought me to a medium-sized reception room, complete with a latex sheathed coat check girl.

  “Welcome to The Crimson Knot, Mistress,” she said. She was pretty, but heavily made up. Her name tag said, “Tami.” “Are you a member or a guest?”

  “Prospective member,” I said. “Mind if I look around and see what kind of scene you have here?”

  “Of course not, Mistress,” she said. She picked up a red marker. “You’re name, please?”

  “Sable,” I said. She wrote it on a sticky label and handed it to me. I mustered a smile, and looked for a place to stick
it. I was bare above my boobs, and sticking it on a boob seemed wrong, so I put it on my belly, below my left boob. “Thanks.”

  I went ahead and checked my purse. That was a first for me. Did any woman like to be separated from her purse? But the coat check booth was on the way to the restrooms, so my purse would be convenient if I needed it.

  The main room was just off the reception room. It was pretty big, with a fifteen foot bar to the right and some bistro tables scattered around between it and the entrance. The bistro tables were painted black, and the straight back hairs were all lacquered fire engine red, with black leather cushions. The walls were painted crimson, with black trim, detail and decorations. The ceiling was painted black, while the floor was white tile with gray and beige flecks.

  The room was well lit, but dark due to the color scheme. I quickly counted fifteen people in the main room, including the bartender and two dark-haired waitresses. The bartender was dressed like a Chippendale dancer, though he really didn't have the body for it. The two waitresses wore black leather bikinis and leather cinchers, with black stiletto pumps. One looked to be early twenties, while the other looked late thirties. Both were heavily tattooed and pierced, as was the bartender.

  About half of them turned to look me over. I didn't know how to react. Was I supposed to smile brightly and try to win them over? Or were they looking for a badass, who looked upon them with disdain and would be more than happy to tie them up and spank them? I felt like I fell over board and was sinking fast.

  The women were mostly dressed similarly to me, which was a big relief. I wanted to look like I belonged. There were five, not counting the waitresses. The rest were men. I found it a little odd that most of the men looked to be in their forties and fifties, while the women appeared to be in their twenties to early thirties.

  Scattered around the room, and mostly along the walls, were pieces of bondage furniture. All were empty, except for a blonde in the small cage by the bar. Not a single person was tied up. In one corner thick mats covered the floor, so I assumed they play wrestled there or something. Most of the floor was open, like a dance floor. I did see speakers around the room and a DJ booth by the bar and behind the girl in the cage.

  "Hello. I'm Sable," I said.

  They nodded or waved, smiling, but only one broke from the crowd to approach me. She looked tall at first, but I realized she was wearing very tall platforms. Her hair was dark brown, long and wavy, and she wore a shiny black catsuit that covered everything but her hands and head, with black knee boots and a red and black striped corset. She looked Hispanic, but her complexion was too light to be sure.

  "Hello, Sable, I'm Mistress Isabella Salinas," she said. She was definitely Latina, with dark almond eyes and big silicone boobs. "I'm the club owner and manager."

  "I'll be honest," I said. "I'm rather new to his lifestyle. So far it's not exactly what I was expecting."

  "You were expecting a dozen scenes with attractive men and women bound tightly and getting spanked?"

  "More like getting screwed."

  She laughed. "It's like that sometimes, though at The Crimson Knot we are more into the artistry of bondage than the carnal pleasures inherent in it." She looked me up and down with a critical eye. "I'll be honest; I'm strongly tempted to sign you up as a member on your appearance alone." She glanced back at the others. "They may look cool and uninterested, but those boys are about to explode. Every one of them wants to tie you up so bad it hurts."

  I slanted a look at them. She was more right than not. Some of the men had no interest in me at all. Most of the men were pretty aroused, but I had no way of knowing if I was the cause or not. Though, the level of arousal did spike upon my entrance.

  "Are you dominant or submissive?"

  "That's the million dollar question," I said. "I've been both, with different people. I do chaff under tight discipline, but I'm not at my best dominating others. At least not in this type of situation."

  "I see. You just haven't found your flavor of kink yet," Isabella said. "Don't worry, you'll find it, and when you do it will be glorious."

  "I was hoping to learn more about the lifestyle and myself here with your help," I said. "I assume there are people here willing to help me."

  Isabella laughed heartily. "Oh, I think you could find someone to help you in anything you want, babe. But here, mostly you'll either learn how to tie others up, or enjoy being tied up." She motioned me toward double doors, wide open. "Let me show you around, then we'll decide if this club is for you."

  I smiled and headed in the direction she indicated. Truth was, I was a little put off by her implication that I might not be a good fit there. I was a willing girl, and there were lots of horny boys there eager to tie me up, or be tied by me. What more was there?

  The club was larger than I thought. Aside from the main parlor, as Isabella called it, there were numerous other rooms of various sizes. The next room was only a third the size of the main parlor. It was the room set aside for suspending bound people from the ceiling. There were three people in that room, including a vampire.

  "This is our rigging room," Isabella said. "The men doing all the tying and suspending are called riggers."

  I held my tongue, since Roger liked to tie me up and he called himself a rigger. Yeah, I figured it out.

  A young man was hogtied and hanging horizontally to the floor, about waist high. The vampire appeared to be the one that tied him up, since the young woman was heaping praise upon him. His wide smile revealed he'd ground his fangs down to blend in. Roger said vampires were not allowed in the club, and his fangs were also ground down to hide his undead circumstances.

  There was one oddity I noted, that seemed to make sense considering the name of the club. They had bound and suspended the young man with nothing but red rope. Very bright red rope. Not the dark red of crimson, but more fire engine red. More dramatic. In fact, there was a lot of rope in that room for the use of patrons, and it was all the same shade of red.

  Isabella introduced them as Gustav Herrman and Penny Degge. Penny was one of the women in the photo I took from Whitney's apartment. She looked early twenties, blonde, blue eyes, medium build with a nice set of boobs. Penny was pretty, but not the fairest maiden in the village. She was wearing a black leather mini dress, fishnets and stiletto strappy sandals. Not the kinkiest outfit I'd seen, but it made her look great. She'd really poured on the Shalimar perfume.

  "Sable," I said, extending my hand to the vamp. "Sable Hart."

  There was the barest hint of alarm from Gustav; just a slight twitch of the eye and his heart rate ramped up. He extended his hand and I shook it. Brief, professional shake. Penny, though, seemed quite pleased and friendly, complimenting my outfit and everything.

  Gustav looked around thirty, with gray eyes, short curly hair under a leather cap and medium build. At six two we were almost eye to eye in my heels. He wore what I thought of as a bondage boy outfit: slave collar, leather harness over the top half of his torso, black leather thong and combat boots. No fat on him, but vampires can't get fat. On top of that he wore a bit more aftershave than I liked, in his case Old Spice.

  I didn't particularly like Old Spice, since I knew a boy in college who wore it. I didn't like him, at all. Kinda associated Old Spice with him now. I tried to keep that little dislike of mine from coloring my opinion of Gustav. But it was hard.

  The rest of the rooms, not counting restrooms, were for more private sessions. Penny followed, while Gustav quickly got the young man down and untied, then he joined us. The next room we went to had two young women binding the penises and balls of four willing men. Tightly binding, I might add. I cringed. One of the women was even inserting needles in elaborate arrays upon the chest of one man.

  That was the most uncomfortable I'd ever been as a vampire. I wanted out of that room fast. Oh, I had heard of such things. Can't say I really believed it until I saw it with my own eyes. The next room was just as bad, if not worse.

  In the next
room a man was halfway through tightly tying up a woman. She was hogtied, wrists to ankles, and ponytail to ankles as well. There weren't any needles in her, but he had her boobs so gruesomely bound they were turning dark red. I took one look and walked right back out.

  "I can't handle that," I said.

  "It's not as bad as it looks," Penny said. "I love the way my boobies tingle once the ropes are removed."

  "Hmmm," I said, not having anything to say to that.

  The next room almost ended the tour and my time at The Crimson Knot. I walked in on my little sister, Sabrina. She was decked out in full kink mode: dog collar, red leather corset that didn't quite cover her nipples, but pushed her boobs up high, black leather skirt, fishnet stockings and red stiletto ankle boots.

  Sabrina's big blue eyes went wide when I walked in. She probably would've screamed, except she had a bright yellow rubber ball gag stuffed into her mouth and buckled behind her head. Her elbows were bounded together behind her back, as were her wrists, with the end of that bright red rope going from her wrists up to a thick steel ring in the ceiling. The rope was tight enough to pull her arms almost straight up, which made her bend over at the waist, body horizontal to the floor. Her knees were locked and bound together, as were her ankles.

  It was as uncomfortable, as sexually vulnerable of a position as I've ever seen. My heart rate increased significantly. Roger had tied me up like that once, and had sex with me for two hours. Even being a vampire that extreme bondage stressed my body out, so I could only imagine what it was doing to Sabrina.

  Sabrina's skirt was hiked up and her girl bits exposed from the rear. A tall, dark-haired man with fierce blue eyes was toying with her pussy with his fingers. His first two fingers of both hands were wet, telling me he was toying with her rather deeply. Did I mention the man was a vampire?

  For a club supposedly with a vampire ban, they certainly had a lot of vampires. Apparently, they didn't check real hard. And they liked Old Spice, too, though he was less liberal with its application.