A man walks in, dressed in tall black buckled boots and leather pants covered in pockets. He’s smoking a cigarette with his tattooed hands, a heavy trench coat slung over his broad shoulders. His hair is a layered nightmare of turquoise, blue, and purple, spiked up and styled into a messy faux hawk. And his eyes? Blood-red pools of secrets and pain.
I want to dive into them and drown.
“Holy shit, Harry, cancel that order, my morning entertainment just walked in.”
I turn back to my friend with a grin, chuck the tiny red straw from my drink and down the rest of it with a clinking of ice cubes.
“Him?” Harry asks, giving the vampire a distrustful sort of look. “I’ve never seen him in before.”
“So?” I ask, feeling goose bumps prickle my skin. There’s so much magic surrounding this guy that I can feel it inside of me, hot and bright as the sun. He smells incredible, like sour candy and blood (hey, I’m a dhamp and that metallic shimmer in my nostrils totally gets me off) and the way he moves speaks to me on a primal level.
Old, cocky, living vampire.
I can tell by his scent that he’s not undead—the state of a born vampire after they die for the first time—and yet he’s clearly ancient if he’s that goddamn powerful.
My nipples pebble beneath my barely-there burgundy tube top and I suck in a sharp breath, this feeling of need taking hold low in my belly and tightening the muscles between my legs.
“It was getting stale around here anyway,” I say with raised blonde brows. “Send him a pint of my blood.”
“Pulling out the big guns for this one?” Harry asks with a sigh, using the tap on the far right, the one that’s filled with my blood. Hey, he pays good money for it and I’m eternally broke as shit, so I donate on occasion. “I still say he’s bad news,” he murmurs, but he snaps his fingers and the only waitress in the bar, some quarter-ogre chick that Harry treats like total crap, scampers over and takes the pint glass. “Take it to that vamp in the corner and tell him it’s on Cameron.”
“Oh,” she says, blinking big gray eyes at Harry before flicking her gaze over to me. “He’s a little out of her league though, isn’t he?”
I narrow my eyes and tap my fingers on the scratched wooden surface of the counter.
“Thanks, Miri,” I quip as I purse my lips and Harry gives me an I told you so sort of look. “Just take it over there and watch my blood work its magic, okay?” I’ve never once been turned down by a vamp who’s tasted my blood. As PINK tracksuit lady said, dhampir blood is the shit.
I stay facing forward for a while, but it doesn’t matter because I can feel his blood-red eyes on my back, searing into me. Just when I’m about to saunter over there, hips swaying seductively, the vampire hottie is right by my side, sliding onto the stool next to mine with fluid, predatory grace.
“What’s a shithole like this doing serving royal blood?” he purrs, and all the hair on my body stands on end. Hot, wet heat floods my cunt, and I suck in another sharp breath. Flicking my eyes to the left, I find the guy staring at me with such vigorous intent that blood rushes to my cheeks in a blush.
“That’s not royal blood,” I whisper, and he cants his head to one side, long lashes fanning as he blinks. He doesn’t have to do that, blink. A lot of the old ones forget, but not this guy. “It’s mine.”
“I can tell it’s yours,” he replies, leaning in and sniffing the side of my neck. I shiver involuntarily and curl my hands into fists. Luckily, Harry is there with three fingers of Scotch and a deep frown etched into his face. “But you smell and taste like a royal.” Hottie Vampire Dude pauses and exhales, hot breath fanning against my throat.
Jesus fuck.
“No, not like a royal,” he corrects after a moment, “like royalty.”
I laugh. Sorry, can’t help myself, not even in the face of male perfection. I knock back the Scotch and turn to face the guy, our knees bumping together as I do. I arrange my legs with his so that one of his knees is pointing at my crotch and vice versa. Oh God, we’re so close...
“I’m about as far from royalty as a dhamp can get,” I say with a loose shrug. “My dad’s some deadbeat loser vamp who tried to sell me for drug money, and my mother’s a Southern belle that got knocked up in high school and fled home.”
The guy smiles at me, a slow, easy sort of smile that slides across his face like a whispered breath.
“I see.” That’s all I get, just those two words. He sits back up and grabs his pint, giving it another sniff before he takes a slow, languorous sip, flicking his tongue against the edge of the glass and flashing two sharp, white canines. “Definitely some royal in your lineage—if not crown blood.”
I cock a brow.
In vamp speak, a ‘crown’ would be any member of a House’s ruling class. Basically, if they’d wear a crown, they are a crown: queen, king, princess, prince. And there’s no way in hell I’m related to anyone like that. According to vamp hierarchy, I’m barely fit to scrub their toilets.
“You’re delusional,” I say, drawing a chuckle from the mystery man’s throat. “But I like your delusions.” Reaching up for my bandage, I yank it off and give him a good look at the twin punctures, still bleeding and aching like my swollen lady bits. “Care to go somewhere private and lick my wounds?”
The vampire’s pupils dilate enough to cover his brilliant irises, a total solar eclipse.
“Such a tempting offer,” he growls, and I bite my lower lip, my fangs piercing my skin just enough to make me bleed. Such a tempting offer means I’d like to, but I can’t. I won’t accept that. Leaning in, I press my mouth to his. The guy’s a vamp. If he wanted to stop me, he had plenty of opportunity to do it.
Instead, he lets me swirl my blood in his mouth, tease his tongue with my own as my left hand slides up the thigh of his leather pants. Slowly, carefully, he curls his fingers around my wrist and stops me from reaching the hard bulge in his crotch.
“You’re an intriguing little dhamp,” he purrs against my mouth. I sense a but coming, and I don’t mean his beautiful butt in my bed. Harry snickers on his side of the bar and I remind myself to spit in his drink on the way out. “But I’ve got business to attend to.” The vamp whisks a card into his fingers, pulling it out of his trench faster than I can see. “Name’s Vyce. Call me sometime.”
Surprised as all fuck off, I take the card from his fingers and stare at his name: Vyce Stiltz. Just those glossy silver words with a number beneath them, situated on a matte black card that’s blank on the other side,
“Stiltz?” I ask, a small chill chasing up my spine. “What exactly do you do, Vyce?”
This is too weird of a coincidence.
The vamp just grins maniacally at me, flashing fangs.
“Yes, Stiltz,” he growls, lifting my hand to his lips and running his tongue across a cut on my palm I hadn’t even noticed until now. The fact that it hasn’t healed yet only serves to emphasize how bad my other injuries are. I mean, fuck yes, my knees and head hurt but I guess I hadn’t realized the extent of the damage. “And let’s just say...I’m in the business of tying up loose ends.”
Oh dear.
If I hadn’t already known what a Stiltz kin did, I’d have been able to guess based on that statement alone. This guy killed people. Oh, and also, he dealt in rare magics for obscene favors. Like, for example, the one my mother had made to escape the tyranny of an awful vampire king.
To Rumpel Stiltz himself, she promised her firstborn child.
And then she ran like hell.
Shit, I’ve been running my whole life, just because some psycho crown took my grandfather’s crazy rants seriously. I’d never met my grandpa, but according to Mom, he was a hardass and a braggart. After Mom got pregnant in high school, he started running his mouth, spreading all sorts of bullshit—talking about how my mom could literally spin straw into gold. The king kidnapped her, locked her up, and told her she’d better get the job done or he’d cut off her fucking head.
Enter
Rumpel Stiltz.
He gave my mom the magic to do just that, to spin gold—at a hefty, hefty price.
This Vyce guy might not know it, but I was well-acquainted with Rumpel Stiltz and his kin.
“Interesting,” I say, putting the card on the bar top. “Loose ends, huh? I guess a vamp as old as you is bound to work an interesting gig.”
“Old?” he asks, cocking a black brow at me. “We can’t be more than a decade apart, at most.”
“What?!” I blurt out with another laugh. “Dude, how old do you think I am?”
He taps his fingers on the table, a bemused smile tracing his lips.
“I could ask you the same question.” He lifts the bloody glass to his mouth again and sips slowly, throat working, tongue tracing the rim and then sliding across his lower lip. I can’t look away. “What are you? Mid-twenties?” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile.
“Twenty-five. And you...three hundred? Four hundred?”
Vyce chuckles, this low, sensual purr that makes my throat feel tight.
“Try thirty-two.”
I cross my arms over my chest and enjoy the way Vyce’s eyes trace the ink on my right arm. I’ve got quite a bit of it—almost a full sleeve from shoulder to wrist, plus a blue swallow above my right breast. Vyce’s gaze catches there...before dropping a bit lower.
“Thirty-two? Puh-lease. Sorry, but I don’t buy it for a second.” Vyce just shrugs and slides off the stool, just before another wave of wild energy sweeps into the bar. Two gazes latch onto my back. I know; I can fucking feel them.
Two more vampires, just as powerful as the one in front of me.
“You might not believe it, but it’s true.” He tosses me one last smile and gestures at the business card with his chin. “Give me a call sometime...” Vyce trails off, and I can tell he’s fishing for my name. I don’t give a shit if he knows it; Mom changed our names about two dozen times over my life. But this name—Cameron Darke—is the one I picked for myself as an adult, after she died.
“Cam,” I tell him with a sharp nod, twirling a pale finger in a small circle. “And I’m a morning regular here. Stop by if you’re interested in a little fun.” I wink at him and slap the bandage back on my neck before turning to glance at his two companions...
What. The. Fuck?!
The first man I’d laid eyes on was godlike...and there are two more on his level?!
Not possible.
I blink a few times as Harry mutters something under his breath like, “You’ll never learn, will ya?” He thinks I’m going to hit on the two newcomers, too. Shit, I just might. One of them has light blond hair, almost white, with a red streak in the front, his eyes the same ice-blue color as my left one. The other guy has gray eyes—like my right one because yes, my eyes are mismatched just like my blood—and short, black hair that’s longer on top and super short on the sides.
Just like the first guy, they move with fluid, liquid grace, drifting across the floor in near silence. When they reach Vyce, they all pause for a moment to talk before three sets of eyes find mine. I wave and the guy with the dark hair scowls. The white-blond dude with the red streak eyes me up and down in a way that says he’s clearly interested.
But he doesn’t walk over to me, turning and heading for the table in the back corner instead. All three of them sit down around it and order...three more pints of my blood from Miri.
“Tell ‘em we’re out,” Harry grumbles at the waitress as I snap my gaze over to him.
“Are you serious or are you dicking around because you don’t want me to sleep with one or all of them?”
Harry crosses his massive, muscular arms. His skin is tinted gray-green from his ogre heritage, but with his very human button nose and big blue eyes, the monstrous effect is limited.
“We’re out of blood because our supplier keeps getting bit by goddamn vamps and ruining all that pretty ruby red with fang pheromones.” I sigh and tap two fingers against my neck absently, moaning and feeling my pussy clench tight in response.
“I have an idea,” I say, hopping down from the stool as Harry curses and mumbles behind me. Pretty sure he calls me a fang fucker, but whatever. He’s right. I totally am. Sleeping with pure-blooded vampires is...fucking intense. I can’t get enough of the high. Besides, combine their blood with some hot, sweaty sex? And my wounds’ll be healed before you can say climax.
I turn and saunter over to the table. Clearly the guys know I’m coming long before I ever get there, pausing in their conversation to look over at me.
“Cam,” Vyce says, testing the single syllable of my nickname out on his tongue before leaning back and folding his arms casually behind his head. I get the idea that he’s barely leashed, a violent storm raging inside of him that could break through at any moment...if only he’d just let it. “Allow me to introduce you to Wolfe and Sorrow.” He gestures first at the dark-haired man and then over at the blond one with the red streak.
Wolfe glares at me, his mouth in a tight, narrow frown while Sorrow—what a totally weird and seriously fucking awesome name—lifts a hand and gives me a friendly wave. When he grins, shadows darken up some of that sunny exterior, and I shiver. But in a good way. I like a little darkness in my casual partners.
“I was hoping you’d come over,” Sorrow says, his voice dangerously playful, lending a false sense of security that should never be there in the first place. He’s a fucking vamp, a seriously goddamn powerful vamp. And vampires just can’t be trusted in general; they’re worse than humans, and humans, admittedly, are some of the worst. “It’s not fair that the prettiest dhampir I ever did see should make Vyce’s acquaintance and not mine.” He stands and offers his hand.
After a brief pause, I reach out and take it, electrical impulses shooting up my fingers and into my chest, sending my heart racing frantically. God. The amount of magic in this guy is crushing, so intense that it steals my breath away. I yank my hand back and stare into the frigid depths of his eyes. His power chases across my skin, and I feel my body’s natural resistances kick into high gear. Vampires can roll people with a direct gaze if they’re powerful enough.
But they can’t roll a dhampir. Hah. Joke’s on them: their greatest disappointment and shame—their half-breeds—have resistances that few other species share.
“Lovely to meet you,” I say, turning to the last guy, Wolfe, and watching as he curls the corner of his lip in disgust. Standing this close to him, my senses can finally see through the veil of magic surrounding the guy, down to the core of his true being underneath.
Turned vampire, not born.
Meaning this guy, Wolfe, was once human. No wonder he’s such a prick.
“Not so lovely to meet you?” I say, almost like it’s a question. What is this guy’s problem with me? Usually, I get along better with turned vamps. They know what it’s like to get shit on by royals; we have too much in common to fight, the pariahs of our race.
“We’re working right now; we don’t have time for some horny dhampir that wants to use us to heal whatever ridiculous wounds she’s nursing. Fuck off.”
“Wolfe,” Vyce chastises as Sorrow raises a brow and glances over at his companion. “Is that any way to talk to a lady?”
“Lady, gentleman, fucking pixie, I don’t care. Why don’t you go down the street to Velvet Tempers and find yourself a fuck-buddy there? Plenty of vamps who are addicted to dhampir blood. Make a whore’s bargain with one of them.”
“Screw you!” I snap, baring my teeth on instinct. “You don’t know shit about me or why I came over here.” I lift my wrist to my face and tear into it, making myself bleed. All three vampires go completely stiff and horrifically still. They’re all still living vamps, so they can’t control the frantic flickers of their pulses, but they all stop moving, stop talking, stop breathing. “I was going to offer up some of that blood on tap you were so curious about.”
Holding my wrist over the table, I let it drip onto the surface in fat, red drops.
&
nbsp; “True, I have ulterior motives for coming over, but who doesn’t? Every interaction is a transaction in some form or another. Instead of love and attention in exchange for sex like most relationships, I’m asking for blood and a good time. But if you’re not interested, you’re not interested.”
I spin on my heel and head for the door, tossing Harry a wave as I go. He looks ridiculously relieved to see me abandoning my quest for a tumble with one—or more—hot vampire assholes.
Whatever.
It’s probably for the best anyway.
The morning sunshine falls over my skin and makes me shiver. If I spend too much time in it, I’ll do more than just redden up with an itchy sunburn. No, my skin will start to bubble with blisters that pop and ooze blood, and my vision will get blurry and splotchy. I’ll start to feel dizzy and lightheaded until eventually, I pass out. And then, if I spend long enough in the sun, I’ll die and I’ll come back as something awful, an unnatural scourge with no self-control and a penchant for destruction.
Vampires can die and come back stronger, more powerful, and completely in control. Dhampirs...can’t. When we die, our human half stays dead, leaving us in a terrifying state of purgatory. I’ve seen a few strigoi and they are not pretty. Cut my head off, please, if I ever turn into one of those.
But a few minutes or hell, even a few hours in the sunshine isn’t a big deal. Even for a pureblood vamp, some stray rays of sun aren’t going to light them up like the Fourth of July. They won’t spend a significant amount of time in it, and they sure as shit won’t ever go spend a day at the beach, but it doesn’t kill them outright.
I start down the block and hate myself a little for actually heading in the direction of Velvet Tempers, the stupidly overpriced vamp bar that Wolfe snidely suggested. Just go home, Cam, I tell myself, but if I don’t heal these wounds and wind up on some other crazy mission tomorrow, it’ll be me getting dumped in the cemetery for the ghouls to eat.
My heeled boots are loud against the pavement, the early morning sounds of humans getting up and preparing for work a backdrop that’s as insignificant to me as the songs of birds are to them. We all live in the same world, but clearly there’s one species that rules the other. Humans might not know it, but the vamps control everything: business, religion, politics, war. It’s all a game for them. There are few species that can even compete: a few types of powerful fae, angels, demons, dragons and...uh. Yeah, no, that’s basically it. Even then, the power struggle is currently tipped in the vampires’ favor. Our Family Houses—the vamp versions of governments and countries—are so well organized and coordinated in their efforts that nobody stands against them.
Stiltz (Once Upon a Harem Book 3) Page 2