by R. E. Butler
While he had a few physical preferences in donors he used—he liked blondes with curves—he only really cared that his truemate was a blood-virgin, that she’d never donated a vein to a vampire before. He wanted to be the only one she ever let sink fangs into her flesh.
He texted Dylan.
You up for a drink?
He replied, I fed last night on break. I can meet up with you in a few if you’re going to be hanging out.
Sounds good. Catch ya later.
The club didn’t have a dress code per se, but because Bell worked directly for Mishka there was an understanding that he’d look his best anytime he was in the club. After a quick shower, he donned dark jeans and a dark green, long-sleeved dress shirt, grabbed a light jacket and his keys and headed for the front door. At the elevator, he met up with Merrix, a coven member who was part of Mishka’s construction company that had built the restaurant along with a tiger shifter company out of Whisper Creek.
“Hey,” Bell said.
“Hey, man,” Merrix said. “You going to the club?”
“Yeah. I need a drink.”
“Me too.”
The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Bell said, “I heard great things about the restaurant project. Can’t believe it opened on time with all the damage.”
“After the whole team worked seven days a week to get the remodel back on track, Cyrus gave everyone two weeks off with pay.”
“That’s cool.”
“Hell yeah. The night we came back from break, Cyrus invited the crew to have a meal at the restaurant. The staff worked on perfecting the menu and service, so we got to enjoy it before it opened to the public mid-March.”
Bell had expected the restaurant to serve bagged blood and SyBl in stemware, but along with the normal way to drink the blood, patrons could enjoy the liquids frozen like a Slushie or hot like soup.
“Sounds like you guys had a fun night.”
“I’d never been to such a fancy place before. Working there was one thing, but actually being a customer was a whole different experience.”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
Merrix was a young vampire. He’d been turned only six years ago. Mishka’s coven, being the largest in the Midwest, was comprised of a wide variety of vampires of every nationality as well as differing ages. Brone was by far the oldest at one thousand years, and Mishka was second at five hundred. But there were many vampires who, like Bell, had been around a couple hundred years or so. He didn’t care how long someone had been turned, only that they were a good person. And Merrix was a good male.
Once in the lobby, they passed Leighanna, who’d secured an apartment after a long time on the wait list. Previously, she’d lived at the club in the large room set aside for daytime resting. The rooms were more cubicles than anything, with a small bed and dresser, and not a ton of privacy. Bell had been lucky to snag an apartment when he joined the coven, but a lot of vampires were waiting for an opening. Considering vampires were immortal, it meant that there weren’t a whole hell of a lot of openings.
“Hey,” Bell said to the pretty female as she carried a box under one arm and towed a roller suitcase with the other hand. “Need a hand?”
“Nah, this is the last of my stuff. I’m good, thanks.”
“We’re heading over for a drink if you want to join us,” Merrix said.
“Sounds good. Let me unpack and I’ll meet you there. I could use a drink.”
Bell and Merrix headed across the street, entering the club through the side security door and dropping their coats at the stand. Vivian, a coven female, was sitting behind the counter with a deep frown on her face as she accepted their coats and gave them tickets.
“How are you tonight?” Merrix asked.
“Fine.” Her tone was brusque, her word clipped like she could hardly contain a growl. She dismissed them by turning her back and lifting her phone.
Bell rolled his eyes as he and Merrix walked into the club.
“What is her problem?” Merrix asked.
“I heard Cella say that Vivian thinks being a coat-check girl is beneath her.”
“Maybe she thinks if she doesn’t do a good job, they won’t make her do it,” Merrix suggested.
“Possibly. But it hasn’t worked so far. The human who takes her place often is really friendly.”
“I’ve seen her. She’s cute.”
Bell nodded in agreement. They found an unoccupied table and sat, both scanning the club for the tell-tale white shirts that indicated someone was paid food. They wore a red ribbon around their neck or wrist, indicating where they preferred to feed. He didn’t need to be attracted to someone to feed from them, but he preferred it. No one piqued his interest, so he decided to wait a bit longer.
“You think about finding your mate?” he asked.
Merrix looked at him. “Yeah, of course. Don’t you?”
“It’s been on my mind lately. Seeing a lot of the family members finding their beloveds makes me want that more than anything. That might be a pipe dream, though. I mean, hell, Brone waited a thousand years for Arissa.”
“Shit,” Merrix said, raking a hand through his hair. “I want the right lady for me, but damn if I want to wait a millennium.”
“I hear you.”
“Oh, hey, she looks good,” Merrix said, jutting his chin toward a female with olive skin and long, black hair. “See ya in a bit.”
“Have fun,” Bell said.
He watched Merrix stride toward the female, lean in and speak into her ear, and then when she nodded and smiled, they walked away, heading toward the room where vampires fed from their chosen human. The room was full of little cubicles that were no more than four feet by four feet, just big enough for a padded bench. The walls were eight feet tall and covered with beige fabric, and a rod held a curtain that could be closed for privacy. There were guards all over the room to ensure the food was safe, and to ensure that no one had sex. It wasn’t that a vampire and food couldn’t decide to get intimate, but no one could be on the clock when that happened. If the two were inclined to get naked, they both had to be off work and out of the food room. Disregarding the rules could mean not only job loss for both parties, but also removal from the coven.
Bell wasn’t about to risk his membership in Mishka’s coven for anything.
Turning his attention back to the dancing crowd, he listened to the music and kept an eye out for food.
His gaze swept back and forth, following the lasers that painted the bodies with swirls and dots of color.
Then something caught his eye. He focused on a dark corner of the club, his nostrils flaring as an enticing scent made him freeze. Inhaling again, he sorted through the smells—sweat, perfume, cologne, lust—and found the scent that made his fangs throb. It was sweet and sultry, like a hothouse flower. Rising to his feet, he stared at the corner, certain he could see the outline of someone in the shadows.
He was curious why someone would hide in the corner.
But he was more curious about the compelling scent that seemed to wrap around him and draw him forward. Whoever the scent belonged to was someone he felt he was destined to meet.
* * *
Kelly couldn’t stop the trembling of her limbs as she parked in the designated employee lot next to the club and turned off the engine. Selma had coached her, but she was scared to pieces. She wasn’t sure if she was more scared of being found out or being fed from. Either way, she was downright terrified. Even in the most exciting adventure books she’d ever read, she didn’t remember a character trying to fake their identity to get into a vampire club to feed them.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, the cool night air making goosebumps rise on her bare legs. She managed not to flash her undies to the whole parking lot as she got out. Tugging self-consciously on the far too short skirt that barely skimmed the middle of her thighs, she looked at the club and spied the employee entrance. There were two huge men standing at the door, their meaty arms
folded over their broad chests. Selma said they were troll guards. They weren’t mean, just intimidating, which Kelly would one hundred percent agree with.
Swallowing hard, she put her phone in the front pocket of her mini skirt and rubbed her arms. The spaghetti-strapped tank top offered little protection, and at Selma’s urging she hadn’t even worn a bra with it. She stared for a moment at the red ribbon tied neatly around her left wrist.
Someone might want to feed from her. Shit.
She looked at the car’s door handle, debating going home and letting Selma deal with the fall out of drinking so much that she was still hung over the following night. Duty won over her irritation, and she straightened her shoulders and steeled her spine. Walking to the entrance, she looked up at the trolls who towered over her petite five-three. They looked down at her in silence, their dark gazes taking in her outfit and the ribbon on her wrist. They opened the door for her, and she walked into an alcove where a man sat behind a metal desk, typing furiously on a keyboard attached to a tablet.
He paused and looked at her.
“The food shift started two hours ago.”
“I’m...” Kelly’s voice caught, and she cleared it, willing her pulse to slow. “I had car trouble. I’m Selma Archer.”
The man hummed, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll have to let the manager know.”
“I called to let her know,” Kelly said. “And I apologized profusely.”
“I’m sure you did. ID.”
She handed it over and he looked at it. Her heart froze in her chest and she plastered a smile on her face, hoping the man would not look too closely and notice that Kelly and Selma’s facial features were similar but not identical.
He handed it back to her, pressed a few buttons, and said, “You’re clocked in. Cella will come find you if she needs to.”
Kelly put the ID in her back pocket and walked past him to the entrance to the club. She stepped beyond the open door and walked down a long hall. The music, which had sounded faint in the check-in room, grew in volume as she neared the main area. A coat-check on her right was manned by a woman who looked like she’d rather be anywhere but where she was. As Kelly walked by, the woman caught her eye and made a disgusted sound.
Shaking her head at the weirdly rude woman, she walked into the club, bracing herself for a moment to allow her ears to adjust to the pounding music, and her eyes adjust to the lasers and strobe lights. Selma told her to find a dark corner and hide out. She only had to last until four a.m., five hours away. Scanning the large, open room, she saw booths and tables along the edge of the packed dance floor and several long bars with people waiting for drinks. There was a set of stairs that led up to a glass-enclosed room. The stairs were guarded by two men, and the room itself was empty.
She found a dark corner away from the dance floor and walked to it, tucking herself into the shadows. Touching the stiff red ribbon on her wrist, she hoped like hell that no one would notice her. She felt very exposed in the white tank even though she thought she wasn’t too noticeable. Selma said it only hurt for a moment to feed a vampire, that the adrenaline from the feeding would eclipse the sting of pain from the bite, but Kelly didn’t want to test out the theory. For her sister, she’d do what was necessary to keep the job, but she wasn’t going to go out of her way to donate any of her blood.
It occurred to her she should have asked Selma to give her the hourly pay for the hours she worked tonight. It was only fair. Then she could buy those cute tennis shoes she’d been eyeing in the store at the mall. Dark yellow with a signature white swoop up the sides.
Shaking her thoughts back to the club, she watched for any vampires to venture near her hiding spot, breathing slowly to keep her heart from hammering in her chest. She could do this. She would do this.
For Selma.
Who would owe her for all eternity.
Chapter Three
Time crept by as Kelly stayed wedged in the darkness. She felt utterly ridiculous and not even a little bit brave. If she had an ounce of courage, she’d be out on the floor and offering her wrist to a random vampire just for the experience. But she wasn’t brave, despite many years of reading about kick ass heroines in romance novels and thinking she could be one of them.
Turns out, she’s all about self-preservation, which maybe wasn’t such a bad thing.
Rolling her shoulders to alleviate the ache, she glanced at her watch for the hundredth time and wished four a.m. would come along a lot faster.
Her neck prickled and her skin goose bumped suddenly. She felt like someone was watching her. Scanning the crowd, it didn’t seem like anyone had found her hiding place, but she couldn’t shake the strange feeling.
As her gaze swept across the crowd again, she saw him. Tall, with broad shoulders and lean hips, he had dark hair and she swore his eyes were glowing. She swallowed hard as he strode toward her with purpose. There was no mistaking that he was coming right at her, his intense gaze boring into her as if he could see all the inner workings of her body and mind. Her breath caught in her throat as he reached her, his long legs eating up the distance between them swiftly.
Towering over her, he inhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he exhaled on a growl and a strange scent rolled around her. It was captivating, like midnight and pine trees, dark and earthy.
He cupped her cheek with one hand. “Why are you hiding, beauty?”
Her mind went entirely blank. Hiding?
Right, right. She was scared as hell that she was going to have to feed someone.
Gathering her wits, she cleared her throat. “I’m not hiding, just taking a break from the crowd.”
He brushed her lips with his thumb and took a step closer, until their bodies were nearly touching. Her heart was pounding as anticipation filled her.
“If someone frightened you,” he murmured, “tell me who they are, and I’ll end them.”
Holy shit. He just said he’d kill someone on her behalf.
Be still her dang beating heart!
“I’m fine, I promise.”
He tilted his head slightly. “If you’re certain.”
“I am.”
He inhaled again and said, “I caught your scent. It’s captivating.”
“My scent?” Her brows rose high, making her eyes ache.
“You smell like sugar.”
“I’m not wearing any scents; I was told not to.”
He blinked rapidly a few times and then snarled. “You’re food.”
She frowned, and then remembered the job title. “Yes.”
“The white shirt should have been a dead giveaway, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m Bellamin.”
His hand slipped down her neck, his thumb finding her pulse. The simple touch both enthralled and soothed her.
Kelly almost said her real name in response but caught herself at the last moment. “I’m Selma.”
“Have you been here long?”
“I had car trouble, so I was late, but I’ve been here for a couple hours.”
“No, I mean have you been paid food long?”
She had to think back to how long Selma had the job. “Six months.”
He hummed, the sound a little like a growl again. He didn’t seem to like the idea of her being food. But that didn’t make sense.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“No. No problem at all, except I feel utterly drawn to you and I was just wondering why I never noticed you before.” He edged closer until he was all she could see. “I’d like to kiss you, Selma.”
She’d never had a guy ask to kiss her. There was something sexy and chivalrous about it, and she was going to say yes.
His brows rose expectantly, and she blushed.
“I’d like that,” she said, her voice tipping to husky.
He leaned in, his fingers curling at the back of her neck and drawing her to his lips as his arm snaked around her waist and brought her body against his. Their lips met and held
for a heartbeat, and then she felt the sweep of his tongue and wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from opening her lips if she’d had a thought in her head.
The only thing banging around in her skull was an overwhelming need to explore this sexy man, who held her tight but tenderly, and stroked his tongue against hers in a way that made her toes curl and the center of her body twist in need. Her hands were trembling as she lifted them to his waist, feeling the leather of the belt on his jeans, and the softness of the shirt. She could feel his muscles tensing under her fingers as she moved them slowly up his sides and curled them around his shoulders. He hauled her closer and deepened the kiss, a soft growl in his throat that made tingles race down her spine.
She moved one of her hands to the front of his shirt, catching the top button and unhooking it. Sliding her finger inside, she felt the smoothness of his skin with the back of her knuckle, dragging it along his collarbone and then spreading her fingers along the back of his neck. He pulled her even more firmly against him, tilting her hips and she felt the ridge of his erection. It thrilled her that she could affect him like that, with just a kiss.
He eased from her lips with a groan and pressed his hand to the wall, to support himself. “I want to take you home with me, Selma.”
Her immediate thought was to say yes. Or hell yes.
But reality intruded and she shook her head. “I’m on the clock until four.”
Narrowing his eyes, he sniffed. “Take off early.”
No matter how sexy he was, there was no way Kelly would risk Selma’s job. “I can’t. I haven’t had the best track record lately, and I was already late to begin with because of car trouble.”
He let out a gruff grumble and leaned back, and she instantly missed the press of his body to hers.
“Damn it.” He twisted his wrist and looked at his watch. “That’s three hours from now.”
“I’m sorry?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Don’t be sorry. I just... feel very compelled to be with you and I want to talk to you in private.”