When the cookie-cutter bouncers at the bottom of the stairwell opened the doors, I stepped into the dark and dank realm of the Vampires. With the lighting low and red, the bass of the music thumped heavy in my chest like a second heart beat. Vamps had no qualms about playing to their stereotype and cashed in on it instead. The place smelled of the burnt sugar, sour air, musky coconut, crayons and fear—the last overpowering the rest.
Norms packed the place and milled around, looking for an experience to brag about: Look how brave I am. Look how bold and daring.
Idiots. In way over their heads, most of them would be caught in a promise they wouldn’t want to follow through on. In addition to the newbie spectators, an odd mix of S&M porn star wannabes and emo rejects—black eye liner, a whole lot of pleather, spiked hair coloured with unnatural hues, and piercings that I could and couldn’t see—wore their fang scars as badges. The spectator norms admired or gawked at these regular patrons of Hell like specimens at the zoo.
To Vampires, they were all willing food, nothing more. To me, they were morons—witling down their self-worth to something less than a walking blood bag.
Tonight, I’d try to blend in with them, minus the scabs and scars on my neck. Other places existed to bite and I’d let a lesser mind run with that assumption.
Five minutes into the night, I knew I’d fail. One, not a lot of vamps patrolled for food; two, the ones present reeked of Lucien; and three, one of them was Allan.
He tapped me on my shoulder when I stood at the bar. I spun around, anticipating a fight. My drink splashed out of my cup, but Allan dodged the flying fluid, narrowing his eyes.
“You!” I gave the mind reading Vampire my best death stare before casting my gaze down on my wet shirt.
Allan grinned and used a bar napkin to blot the remnants of my drink from my corset. “Me.”
Sighing, I leaned against the bar. “You’re cramping my style.”
Allan’s eyebrow rose while he looked me up and down. “And what exactly is your style?” he asked, dropping his voice into a sexual purr.
My skin crawled in response.
He laughed. “I have no interest in you at the moment kitten, but if Clint were to see you…” He left the rest of his sentence for me to fill, but I didn’t like anything I came up with.
“I’m not his type.”
Allan shook his head. “Clint likes the thrill of the fight, of the hunt and conquest. Nothing turns his crank more than dominating and breaking down someone’s will. To him, you’re a wet dream.”
“I’m not blonde.”
“He’s booked an appointment for you at Lola’s next week. I believe he mentioned ‘dye job’ on the phone.”
Screw that. Lola’s was an expensive and exclusive hair salon in the West End where only the trendy and the wealthy went. Should I be impressed? Instead, the back of my throat ached and I tried to ignore the heavy weight in my chest. The idea of being a toy to the sick fuck, well, it freaked me out a little. Or maybe a lot. I pretended to gag, but Allan’s smile only broadened to reveal his fangs. They lengthened as I stared.
“I thought you had no interest?” I snarled. Gross.
Allan shrugged. “I’m not Clint.” He twirled the amber liquid in his cup. “I like feeding off fear. You don’t have enough of that…” He eyed me. “Yet.”
“Never.” I snorted, and then knocked my drink back. He’d been following my thoughts. I’d have to clamp down on those.
“You might say differently after Clint is done with you. After you’ve been broken, he’ll grow bored and pass you to me. He often does with his women. And by then, you will be perfect for me.” He licked his fangs. “The anticipation is riveting.”
“Surely you can find some willing little things to frighten?”
“The willing are less fun. Their fear is thin, not authentic, with a…tainted taste to it. I prefer the air laden in terror.”
“So you take Clint’s sloppy seconds?”
Allan laughed. “Trying to antagonize me?”
“I want you to stop talking about what gives you and Clint hard-ons. It’s not my topic of choice.”
Allan shrugged again. “Piece of advice. If you want Clint to lose interest in you as a toy, act obedient and complacent.”
I frowned into my empty glass. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”
Allan laughed before I spoke, having plucked the thoughts from my head. “I know.” He nodded at the bartender and two new drinks arrived faster than humanly possible. “So, why are you here, kitten? What brings you to Hell?” His lip quirked at the line, but I couldn’t tell if in amusement or disgust.