She smiled. It was not a social smile, but a natural one that revealed genuine amusement.
The second the song ended, people went wild with cheers.
“Welcome to the Dungeon’s Lounge!” The lead singer spoke into the microphone. “Everyone—please, a moment of silence.” He grinned and turned to his bandmates. “Let’s raise our glasses and thank the man who’s made this evening possible… Antoine Somerset!” He grabbed a shot of Tequila and raised it in the air. A drumroll echoed in the club.
“Here’s to you, boss!” The singer did the shot.
Amused, Antoine turned to the Goddess. “This is the part where we have a brief talk.”
“How you feelin’ tonight, boss?” the drummer asked.
“Feelin’ good, Joe!” Antoine raised his champagne glass. He then turned to the Goddess and in confidence, he added: “I mean it.”
Laughter and cheers rose from the horde.
“We’re glad to hear that, right?” the singer addressed the crowd. “And we want everyone to feel good tonight, so how about another song?”
Screams and ovations came in reply. Antoine smirked. He finished his drink and returned to the table to fill his glass.
The Goddess danced to the beat of a bluesy song. Becoming another admirer of hers satisfied Antoine enough but not her, apparently. Crooking her fingers at him, she beckoned him closer.
“She’s dangerous, this one.” Antoine poured the rest of his drink down his throat.
Hypnotized by her seductiveness, Antoine danced with the Goddess. All the while, he reminded himself not to slip—his hands had a will of their own.
As the song ended, Antoine felt relieved. The entire experience had been more frustrating than enjoyable. Taking advantage of the cacophony, Antoine smoothed his fingers on the nape of her neck. “I must know your name,” he spoke in her ear.
“It’s Marianne,” she said.
“I’m afraid you’ve caused quite a commotion, Marianne.” Antoine pointed at George. The waiter arrived with a tray full of cocktails. He served on the table an Orgasm, Sex on the Beach, and another bottle of Dom Pérignon.
She seemed confused.
“You see, I did not order those drinks,” Antoine teased, raising his brow. He glanced at the people below the balcony and waved at the men who sent the drinks. They grinned and raised their glasses without parting eyes from her. Amateurs.
“This must happen to you all the time.” He opened his cigarette case and lit one quickly. “Ma pauvre chérie! How do you cope?”
“It’s my curse,” she said with a vacant stare. “It comes with its fair share of spies, and enemies like you wouldn’t imagine.”
“Ah, the downside of beauty…” he teased, raising his glass. “A toast! To beauty: The mother of all curses.”
Marianne smiled. “Hear, hear!” she said, joining him with her glass in the air.
Meeting this woman had been the best part of coming to the Dungeon Lounge. It had silenced most of Antoine’s worries, though the main one would not go away. And her name was definitely not Marianne.
1:17 AM
“Welcome, Mr. Lockhart.” The valet greeted him at the door.
Throngs of young mortals filled the street, hoping for a chance to get inside the Dungeon’s Lounge. For a bar that had no proper signage, it had plenty of popularity; why Antoine refused to install one was beyond him.
“Evening, Mathew,” Ivan said, moving past the horde.
“Hey, Lockhart!” a voice in the crowd said.
What the hell? Ivan turned. A camera flash snapped right in his face, blinding him. As soon as his blurry vision made out the man's silhouette, Ivan went after him. “You bloody—!”
“Pay your taxes like everyone else, you son of a bitch!” the paparazzo taunted, seeking protection in the crowd.
“Oh, someone’s going to pay…” he muttered. “And it’s not going to be me!”
A firm grip on his arm held him back. “Don’t,” Phillip said.
“You!” Riley said, pointing at the paparazzo. “Get the hell out of here or I’m calling the cops!”
“Sue me, you prick!” The paparazzo shoved and pushed his way through the crowd. He jumped on a motorcycle and drove away fast.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lockhart,” Riley said. “Are you all right? Please, come with me.”
They followed a stone wall tunnel, like gladiators heading to their fates. This nightclub needed little else to be part of the Roman Forum.
“Why the sudden spike of attention?” Phillip asked. “Why would the paparazzi even care about you?”
“It’s that damned lawyers fault!” Ivan muttered.
“Edgar?” Phillip looked surprised.
“Of course, Edgar… But I know you’ll defend him either way, so I won’t waste my time explaining.”
“Mr. Somerset is expecting you.” Riley signaled the way upstairs. “Melanie will take you to him.”
Blonde, mid-twenties, the woman wore a tightly fitted short black dress. “Good evening, Mr. Lockhart…” She bit her lower lip. “Please, follow me.”
Hmmm… One brief drink, someday.
“Does everyone know you around here?” Phillip teased as they moved upstairs.
Ivan leaned closer to his fledgling, narrowing his eyes. “Shouldn’t they?”
Phillip laughed openly. “Probably not.”
Hundreds of young mortals filled the nightclub. Engulfed in joyous conversations, they drank and danced. This was no different from the balls to which he’d attended three centuries ago. Youth and beauty gathered in a room, bonding over music and wine. Their voices merged in the most delightful symphony to his preternatural senses.
Ivan and Phillip compelled many mortal eyes. They drew attention without effort or remedy—part of their unnatural appeal, and a valuable resource in the Hunt.
“I’ve been thinking,” Phillip said as they reached the VIP room. “You shouldn’t have done it—you shouldn’t have toyed with her like that.”
“Whom are we talking about?” His fledgling might have been talking earlier, but he hadn’t noticed.
Phillip rolled back his eyes. “The girl, Ivan. Cassandra. She clearly loves him.” He paused. “I saw what you did back there.”
“Oh… Come on, Phillip! It was a harmless prank.”
“Was it, now?” He stopped in the middle of the stairway with shock as his flat-out expression. “Your coldness amazes me. I never thought you'd turn into the kind of vampire who finds pleasure in the pain of others.”
“Rubbish! It's completely innocent, I tell you,” he dismissed. “Next thing I know, you'll be telling me I'm a worser devil than Eirik Bjorn!”
“Maybe that's how it all began for him... With one innocent game that damned him forever, turning him into the heartless Skull Splitter.”
“You're making too much of it. Now please, let's try to enjoy ourselves—shall we?” Ivan went ahead. “This will be a night to remember.”
1:32 AM
The sheer joy that gleamed in Antoine’s eyes whenever they met Ivan stirred the old blood in his veins. It made him cherish Antoine’s company even more. Perhaps this was the reason why he’d kept him alive all these years.
“I thought you weren’t coming.” Antoine’s scowl took years off his face. He was so young, though… Had Ivan ever been that young? Perhaps, but never naive.
“What took you so long?” he added with undeniable longing. Delightful.
“A brief detour, that’s all.” Ivan looked away, he found the table between them most intriguing. “What’s this? Cocktails and Dom Pérignon? How many drinks does a mortal man need?”
Antoine smirked. “They’re not mine.” With a discrete look, he pointed at a woman who stood by the balcony’s railings. “She’s broken her fair share of hearts tonight.”
Ivan wished with all his rotten heart that the woman Antoine spoke of were Cassandra. But disappointment struck him. The woman was none other than “Marianne Taylor…�
� he mused. “You’ve met her?”
“Something like that.” Antoine tilted his head.
An invisible grip crushed Ivan’s stomach.
“I take it she’s one of yours then,” Antoine added. The words chilled the blood in Ivan’s veins. But then he remembered Antoine knew everything about his accursed vampiric gift. No need to worry.
Coming out of the coffin had been an experience without precedent in his immortal life. Truly liberating.
“She’s one of us, but not of my making.” Ivan picked up the champagne saucer. He stared at the pair of vampires through the fizzing bubbles. “Marianne is Phillip's own doing. I had no say in it whatsoever.”
“Come with me.” A quick tug on his jacket beckoned him to a smaller lounge in the back of the room.
Antoine closed the sliding doors. Delicious silence enveloped them. Privacy and exclusivity were key in Ivan’s book—he could tell Antoine thought the same.
“Isn’t it better in here?” Antoine set a couple of drinks on the small table before them.
“Much better…” Ivan left the glass on the table. His fingers glided on the sofa’s black leather arm. “I’m glad to see you here.” He smiled briefly. “I don’t see her, however. Where’s Cassandra? I was hoping she would come…” and finish our conversation.
“Yeah, about that…” Antoine smoothed his hand over his lips. Bad news. He lit up a cigarette. The smoke's hypnotic swirls drifted in the air and vanished seconds later. “She's not coming.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ivan meant every word.
“Whatever. So, she’s not here...” Antoine took another drag off his cigarette, he then crushed it in the ashtray. He leaned back in the sofa and swept Ivan head to toe with a scrutinizing look. “But you are.”
Antoine’s demeanor hardly unsettled Ivan. Three hundred years in the Dark had accustomed him to drawing attention—whether driven by curiosity or desire.
Was it something about his attire? He wore nothing unusual—couture white shirt, an onyx rosary around his neck, bespoke suit, a black leather wristband, and his ever present signet ring on his left hand. There was absolutely no reason for Antoine’s prying stare—but who was he kidding? Of course there was. Ivan was refined, sophisticated, and dressed to kill… Literally.
“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Ivan said, breaking the deafening silence.
“I can always count on you,” Antoine mused. “The thing is, I wouldn’t say…”
Ivan’s attention shifted away from Antoine to the room’s background. Beyond the crystal sliding doors, a pair of immortals were seconds away from being reunited. No matter how much Ivan disapproved Phillip’s attachment to Marianne, he couldn’t deny the inexplicable liaison between them. It was more than the blood bond between maker and fledgling; it was a tangible spark… what people these days called chemistry. Such a hackneyed term.
Am I on the brink of losing you, Phillip?
Ivan had already lost a fledgling centuries ago the day his dearest love, Alisa, had run off. It had taken close to three hundred years for his tortured black heart to heal from that terrible blow. And even to this day he was uncertain that was true, for merely hearing her name had stirred those old feelings in the depths where they laid buried.
I couldn't stand another loss.
The sole thought made him unwell.
“Come on, wipe the gloom off your face.” Antoine pressed his shoulder. “We’re celebrating, remember?” He smiled. “What should we toast to? Money, or the pure vanity of my success as an entrepreneur?”
Antoine took a champagne saucer from the table and offered it to Ivan. As if he cared to drink something other than human blood…
“You know I don’t.” He drove away the glass with the back of his hand. How many drinks had Antoine had? Was he drunk?
With no news of Cassandra, nothing on Alisa's whereabouts, and the irritating presence of Phillip's offspring—Marianne, the vampire brat—Ivan’s prospects for the evening looked rather grim.
Yes, he was vexed. So what?
The sliding doors opened. From the darkness emerged one of the waiters—what did he want?
“The champagne you ordered, sir.” The man carried the chilled bottle. He stood next to Antoine and filled his glass.
Antoine plummeted on the sofa. “Ah! Je te remercie beaucoup, George!”
French? Antoine was way too drunk. He resorted heavily on his mother tongue when inebriated. Just as the waiter was about to leave the room, Antoine pulled his jacket.
“Attends, où est le vin rouge?” Where’s the red wine? he asked. Turning to Ivan, he added: “That’s what you prefer, n’est-ce pas? A special kind of wine…” A devilish smile drew on his boyish face. Deliciously enticing.
“Bien sûr. Tu le sais très bien.” Of course. You know it very well, Ivan replied. “That will be all, George. You may leave.”
Antoine clucked his tongue and shook his head. He then raised the glass and poured the champagne down his throat.
“Pace yourself, Antoine… It’s hard to get used to a life of leisure,” Ivan mused. “Your success comes as no surprise to me. You have a natural skill for business management, and also, a fine mentor.” The best of all, Ivan himself.
Ivan's financial advice had been key to Antoine’s success. At twenty-four years old, Antoine had become a millionaire thanks to him. From now on, money would simply roll into his bank accounts.
“Everything I am is because of you…” Antoine pursed his lips. “But you have yet to grant me that which I need the most.”
“And what would that be?” Ivan leaned closer.
One more drink. “I need what only you can give. I need it desperately.”
“Need? You need nothing, you already have everything.” I've made sure of it, he wanted to add.
“Well, yes but—dammit, I want what you have!” Antoine slammed his drink on the table.
“Ah! That's more like it!” Ivan laughed. “Why would you ever want to become a blood drinker? Antoine, you are young, successful, and quite popular with the ladies. Aren't you satisfied? Does your ambition know no boundaries?”
“My amb—ambition?” he slurred. Twice, he blinked and narrowed his eyes, readjusting his faulty focus. He glanced at the champagne bottle—the cause of his drunkenness.
“If you are so determined to become a vampire, I will tell you this: It will come with a price. But then you're a businessman, you know how this works.”
“I would pay anything.”
“Who said anything about money?” The Devil himself had never smiled with such delight.
Antoine frowned, perplexed by his unexpected answer. Wasted as he was, his blushing cheeks and glazed eyes brought out the darker side of his rare beauty.
“If money has nothing to do with it, then what do you want from me?” he said.
“One. Simple. Thing.”
2:43 AM
Phillip stood a few feet behind her, concealed in the shadows. Oblivious to his presence, Marianne danced, enjoying the music like no other creature could. For years, she had drifted in and out of his life on a whim. Any remnants of the pain of her departures vanished quickly at the overpowering delight of her unexpected appearances.
Although still a Child in Darkness, Marianne had claimed her independence from him long ago. She kept many lairs, one of them in Pacific Heights.
There had been a time when the three of them had shared a roof in Villa Belvedere, decades ago. But that went downhill pretty fast, for what Phillip had once considered a dream was what Marianne called a delicious nightmare. Phillip answered for the delicious part of that period—a comforting thought, all in all. As for the nightmare… Ivan’s adamant disapproval of her had earned him that title. At the end, his maker’s constant quarrels with Marianne had driven her away.
My heart clings to life for these moments. It beats for you and you alone.
He moved closer, close enough to smooth his fingers on her delicate h
ands. Marianne tilted her head. Phillip buried his face on her shoulder, inhaling the sweet fragrance of roses, jasmine, and vanilla.
Her body pressed against his and slowly they danced to the beat of the music. Phillip’s hands landed on her waist.
“Just when I thought it couldn’t be done…” he whispered in her ear.
Marianne turned, her amethyst eyes shimmering with feverish desire. “What couldn’t be done?”
Phillip smirked. “Falling in love with you all over again,” he said.
Marianne’s hands glided on his chest until they clasped at the nape of his neck. She slowly drew closer to him until her lips met his in the beginning of a passionate kiss.
Within seconds, the music drifted into silence. The room and the crowd faded into nothingness, leaving them alone in the darkness. Blood, body, and soul—Phillip wanted it all.
“Let's get out of here,” he whispered.
3:00 AM
Antoine sprung from the sofa. “You want me to do what?!”
Ivan couldn’t help but smile. He should have expected Antoine’s reaction, and perhaps in a way, he had. Perhaps the whole reason behind his shocking proposal was to stir Antoine’s world, shake things up and see what happened.
“I cannot tell whether you're outraged or horrified,” Ivan mused. “Perhaps a bit of both?” If looks were daggers, Antoine's would have cut him through and through right then.
“Incroyable!” Antoine muttered. Blushing cheeks, heaving chest... Whether it was due to drunkenness or rage remained a mystery to Ivan.
“Honestly Antoine, what did you expect?” Ivan took the champagne glass and gave it a quick twirl. “But here’s a better question for you: What do you think will become of your lifestyle once you’ve joined our accursed Kin? Do you think it will be all fun and games?” Bored with his little diversion, he left the drink on the table.
Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren Page 6