“She never leaves before dawn, and she has a reserved staff spot near the back door, sir. She’s safe.” When I don’t move, he adds, “I’m the general manager. She’s under Lucius’ personal protection. Believe me, she’s safe.”
It’s the best I can ask for.
Nodding, I turn and leave, but outside I find myself hanging a right at the end of the building and walking down and around to the back. There are ten reserved parking spots, and seven are currently full. I can smell which car is Lucius’ and Selene’s. Five of the other cars—all of them ostentatiously expensive sports cars worth more than the average family home—are also owned by vampires.
The last vehicle looks like a pitiful interloper, the runt of the litter, sitting next to the others. An old, dark grey Toyota 4Runner SUV, with more than a few tiny door dings along both sides. It’s at least fifteen years old. The tires’ tread looks dangerously thin in places on all four tires. It’s dusty, and the paint’s shine has faded along the hood, more a matte finish than glossy. The front headlight housings are yellowed and hazy with time and wear.
Dammit.
The windows are tinted, but my eyes can easily see inside. It’s neat and tidy, with no visible detritus like humans are prone to collecting. I notice it’s a four-wheel drive and has a trailer hitch.
Before I can rethink, I snap a picture of the license plate, the VIN number plate visible on the dash, and a closeup of one of the tires, showing the wheel style and the tire size.
That done, I blur to my rental and climb in. Smiling to myself, I return to my hotel and securely lock myself in my suite, including placing the two wedge-shaped doorstops I always carry with me when traveling. One goes under the suite door and one under my bedroom door. Then I text instructions to my men and include the pictures. It might take a day or two to arrange the surprise for Eilidh.
I hope she takes it in the manner I mean it.
With that done, I retreat to my shower, close my eyes, and finally get to rub out a wholly satisfying orgasm while wishing my hand was Blue’s mouth.
I couldn’t even focus on watching the scenes going on around me downstairs without my mind returning to her violet eyes.
Violet.
A color that is not normally found in humans. Not like that.
They weren’t contacts, either.
Amazing.
She’s amazing.
And if it takes me the rest of my life, I will win her over and make her mine.
8
Eilidh
They don’t need me on the floor tonight. After I change out the hundreds I received for twenties from the cash drawer behind the bar, I retreat upstairs to the office to handle paperwork. I don’t want anyone seeing how rattled I feel right now.
Rattled because I like Dex.
I reeeally like him.
I cannot like anyone like him in that way. It’s dangerous for me. Because for starters, what’s he want with me, beyond being his fucktoy and perpetual Happy Meal?
Secondly, I’m a danger to him that he doesn’t even know about. In ways he doesn’t know about. Possibly not just him, but any like him. I won’t risk someone else’s life, immortal or not.
I know the shifters tend to call them “leeches,” but I’m not fond of that term. Sure, a few of them fit that stereotype, but they’re trying to survive. Just like humans, there are plenty of them who are ethical and, while maybe not cuddly foo-foo with humans, they at least aren’t murderous thugs. And look at the shifters—sometimes they’ll kill humans who learn their secret. At least the vampires usually leave humans alive.
While I wouldn’t think twice about staking a vicious asshole, vamps like Lucius, Selene, Dexter, and others are the good guys and should be protected.
I’m upstairs maybe fifteen minutes when I hear someone unlock the stairwell door. I know it’s Theophilus before he makes it to the top of the stairs. Even if I hadn’t heard the distinctive way the club manager always punches in his code, or the way he walks, his scent hits me before he makes it through the second door.
I haven’t told Lucius and the others I can scent and hear them as easily as I do. I figure there are things best left back in case I need a tactical advantage.
He opens the main office suite door, concern on his face when he appears around the end of the divider that gives me privacy at my desk. I hold no illusions that if I wasn’t under Lucius’ personal protection, Theophilus wouldn’t give an extra damn about me over the basic concern he shows any of the household humans for the extent they’re working here.
But I’m in the “inner circle,” so to speak. That elevates me to a higher level.
Thus, I matter.
“Are you all right? Lucius asked me to check on you.”
Forcing a smile that probably doesn’t fool him, I nod. “I’m fine. Is Dexter still here?”
“In the dungeon. If you want to remain up here, Lucius said you can take the rest of the night off. Paid.”
“Thanks. I’ll still do some work. I have enough paperwork to keep me busy.”
He nods, hesitating.
“What?”
“Did Dexter upset you?”
“No, not at all. He was a perfect gentleman. All we did was talk, and Lucius was right that he didn’t act improper in the slightest. He was very nice.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “I know you don’t leave while it’s dark, but if you’d like me to have people drive you home early, I will.”
By people, he means vampires.
I’m actually touched, but small problem—I live in shifter territory, and them taking me home would violate the treaty. I won’t let them get in trouble like that over me. “I’m good but thank you. Unless Dexter can’t explode at dawn, I’m certain I’ll be fine.”
He chuffs with a laugh. “If you change your mind, let me know, and I’ll arrange it.”
“Thanks. Hey, I know I’m off tomorrow, but I’ll unofficially be here. I told Dexter he and I can eat dinner up here in the conference room.”
“Certainly. I’ll keep everyone out, so you have privacy.”
“Thanks.”
He leaves me alone again. I pull out my phone and call up the Pluto TV app, tune it to the cat video channel, and prop it on my desk in its cradle charger while I work. It’s a feel-good distraction that won’t interrupt my concentration.
I’ve never allowed myself to have pets. We moved so often, it wouldn’t have been practical. One more painful good-bye. Instead, I have a stuffed dog and stuffed cat Dad and Zuzu bought for me when I was little. With the wholly original names of Cat and Dog, they’ve made every move with me and stay on my bed at night and on my nightstand during the day.
It’s not long before I know I’m alone in the club, and when I check the time, I find it’s nearly six.
Past dawn.
Yawning, I shut off my computer, gather my things, and head downstairs.
I smell stale human sex and sweat and alcohol, but also the sharp, artificial aroma of pine in the cleaner we use in the mop water and the bleach solution we use on the tables and chairs and the bar.
Likely, humans would only smell the barest traces of piney bleach. The ventilation system will have it cleared out long before the first vampire arrives later this evening.
I don’t bother going downstairs. Technically, not my shift tomorrow. If someone fucked up, they’ll hear about it from Theophilus, if they’re lucky, and Lucius, if they aren’t. I check the front door, find it secure, then head to the back and set the alarm, locking that door behind me. I’m in my old 4Runner seconds later despite knowing how silly my reaction is.
It’s morning. Daylight.
Nothing bad ever happens to me in daylight. That’s always reserved for darkness.
Still, I’m wary as I leave the club and randomly pick a direction. I never drive straight home. It’s stupid, I guess, because if someone’s determined to figure out where I live, all they’d have to do is run my license plate. It’s registered und
er my fake ID, but I used my apartment address because I needed paperwork proving where I lived, like utility bills and my lease.
But not being predictable is something Mom drilled into my head, and old habits die hard. It’s weird having what amounts to roots in the Tucson area. Not a bad-weird, either.
Almost enough to make me want to hope this will be my home.
Once I reach my apartment building, I scurry across the parking lot and manage to catch the elevator with perfect timing as people are exiting to start their day. I’m so used to living a swing-shift lifestyle that it doesn’t bother me. I’ve lived this way for years, even before Mom died. I was homeschooled and earned my GED when I was fifteen.
I take the elevator up to the floor above mine and then descend via the stairs. Not that it would matter, I suppose. I’m one of many humans in a building whose population is tilted heavily with both shifters and non-shifting shifter races.
No vamps. Even if Garrett would approve a vampire living here—which he wouldn’t, because of safety issues and because of the treaty—they like having houses where they can install subterranean crypts and Fort Knox-level security systems.
I’m thirty-five and blessed—or cursed, depending on how you view it—to look like I’m barely nineteen. It’s one reason I rarely buy alcohol, because I hate getting carded. Not because it’s a pain, but I want few people knowing any name attached to me.
You’d think I’d have settled down by now. That I’d have figured shit out instead of staying on the run.
Except you’d be wrong.
Safely locked in my apartment, I immediately dig out the box of tampons under the bathroom sink, dump the contents, and then carefully remove the fake bottom inside. There, where I have nearly six thousand in cash stored, I tuck another three hundred from my tips and winnings and replace everything. Then I pull out the package of pads and dig out the fake wrapper in the middle, where another growing bundle resides. All but two hundred in cash goes in there.
On my way to the club later, I’ll stop by a convenience store and buy another pre-paid credit card. I have a stash of them hidden in a fake deodorant container in my medicine cabinet, with about eight thousand dollars on them. Those are my bug-out cards. I rotate through them every so often, so they don’t expire. I always keep enough on them that, if I ever have to leave, I have the means to do so without needing a lot of cash. I have two other good burner phones, too, stashed inside the false bottoms of two other boxes of tampons, and five cheap burner phones, flip phones, stashed in shoes in my closet. I’ve had this phone number the longest and really don’t want to change it if I don’t have to, although I can always route it through Google Voice to ring to one of the other burners, once I’m forced to change it.
And I’m always forced to change it sooner or later.
It used to be easier to get around without credit cards and bank accounts, which is why I stick to waitressing and bartending jobs. Vampires and shifters are willing to work with me on a cash basis. I file my taxes every year, under my real name, using a rented box at a UPS Store up in Mesa, which I check every few weeks.
Lucius gives me fake tax forms tied to one of his shell companies. The only reason I do that is so I don’t trip any computer systems in case I have to bug out and leave the country. I don’t want my passport to get flagged because I have a tax evasion warrant out on me or something stupid like that. Plus, it’s getting harder and harder to use fake passports. I have my US one, and my UK one, since I hold dual citizenship. While I can use those, I would prefer to save them as an emergency last resort because it then pins an electronic paper trail to my ass.
Lucius offered to create me an entire new persona that would pass Homeland Security and Interpol computer systems, not just the fake ID, but I declined. Getting that kind of replacement identity, one that will withstand scrutiny with modern global immigration systems, is super-pricey, takes a long time, and is not the kind of indebtedness I want to owe to the “vampire king.”
The shifters can get me one if I need it, but if Lucius hears I did that, it might offend his sensibilities. I might not call Lucius “sire,” but I won’t disrespect the man, either. Not when he’s treated me damned well and has entrusted me with secrets. He’s always insisted I can call him Lucius at work, but in front of customers and staff, I insist on calling him Mr. Frangelico or Mr. F, depending on the circumstances. Sometimes, I’ll refer to him as “sir,” with a lower-case s.
Right now, I’m okay. I still have connections in several areas of the country where I could ask for help, if I was in trouble. The rented box looks like a regular street address, not a PO Box, meaning I can receive deliveries there, if necessary.
I realized about ten years ago that whatever it is doggedly searching for me isn’t…normal. By that I mean it’s not human, or vamp, or shifter.
It’s otherworldly, as stupid as that sounds.
Shivering at the thought, I remove my wig and brush out my hair before I climb into the shower. My whole apartment is flooded with bright early morning light, including the bathroom. It filters through the small, opaque bathroom window as I take my shower and let the water sluice over me and wash away the residual vampiric and human funk from Club Toxic.
Dexter likely has a lot more money than Lucius. I guess if I end up needing to move and I’m really desperate, I could always ask Dexter to allow me to relocate to Atlantic City and work for him there.
As long as he’s not the reason I’m running.
Except I’ve run from New York City, and that’s pretty close. I thought of all the places in the world, that would be the safest city for me to get lost in. Yet one brutally cold December morning, I ended up running for my life. That was a year after I’d fled Toronto.
Almost like I’d summoned my nightmare into being by thinking too hard about my parents. I’d left work early that day because we were dead, and I didn’t have a good excuse to hang around until dawn. Plus, I thought I was being silly. I’d lived in New York for a year at that point, with no sign of problems. So, I’d spent the twilight just before dawn walking along the waterfront as I headed toward my subway station, my breath frosting in the air. I’d paused to look at the Hudson River and think about Mom and Dad and Zuzu and was missing them horribly. The water reminded me of walking along the beach in Cardiff with them. It was close to Christmas, and I’d stopped and fished the ring out from under my shirt, staring at the labradorite stone and how it flashed in the streetlights.
I used to be fascinated by it when Dad was alive. As I remembered his accent, I slipped the ring on my ring finger, where even with it on the chain, it was still large on me.
Then I’d heard a loud chuffing behind me and saw…it.
My nightmare come to life, not twenty yards away, starting to fade into being.
The large, black form, the red eyes, looking around as if trying to home in on me.
Panicked, I yanked the ring off my finger and ran, jumped on a bus, and quickly made my way away from there.
It didn’t follow.
I stayed on the bus until it was full light, then ended up taking the subway to my usual stop and ran home to my tiny efficiency apartment.
I packed and left. Back then, I didn’t have a car, just two large rolling suitcases, a duffle bag, and a backpack. The 4Runner came after I ended up in Alexandria for a year.
I’ve crisscrossed the country since then, before settling here.
Is Dexter a sign I’m where I finally should be? The poor guy spent our entire talk hard as a rock. I could smell his arousal, which is a funny plot twist. Usually, the vamps can easily smell if humans are aroused or not. Kinda part of their whole schtick in Club Toxic, sweetening a human’s blood with their BDSM play.
Unfortunately, I have no idea what it is that pursues me. I only know that if it wasn’t for the witnesses saying it looked like a man who killed Mom, I would’ve assumed that the thing did.
She warned me we always had to run. Keep to ourselves. I�
��d never seen it myself until after she died.
I get the feeling whatever it is also killed Dad.
Like I could seriously go to the cops and tell them. Tell them what, exactly? That something—I don’t know what—comes after me…sometimes? But I can’t really describe it or tell them when or where?
Yeah, no.
It’s easier to live my life on the fringes.
One day, my luck will run out. When it does…I guess I’ll deal with it then.
I finish my shower while trying to not think about the sexy vampire whose light blue eyes I can’t get out of my mind. Or about his hands and those long, elegant fingers, which would probably feel fandamntastic spanking me and doing…other things to me.
Sigh.
I throw on an oversized T-shirt, grab my sleep mask, and pull down my Murphy bed. The small efficiency apartment is perfect for me and came with the bed. All I had to do was buy a new mattress for it. As far as furniture, I have a comfy chair, a matching hassock, a nightstand, and an old, wooden coffee table. It’s all I need, not that there’s room for much else. If I want to lounge, I pull down the bed.
I put my phone in Do Not Disturb mode and plug it into the charger. Then I climb between my sheets, grab Cat and Dog, and pull down my sleep mask.
Eilidh Connover, you are most definitely not going to think about hunky, fangy Dexter Van Sussex.
Nope, not at all.
Much.
9
Eilidh
I sleep until one in the afternoon, and the first thought on my mind when I awaken is Dexter.
Mostly because I spent the morning dreaming about the sinful things he could probably do to my body.
Goddammit.
Why do vampires have to be so fricking sexy? Especially him? I’ve never seriously lusted after one of them before. Not that most of them aren’t practically angelic in their beauty, because damn.
Yeah, fine, I’ll admit the biggest reason I don’t like working downstairs is because of all the hunky vampire dick being freely passed around, and knowing I’m not partaking of it since that will end my freedom in more than one way.
Her Vampire Obsession Page 8