Page 4 of Threads of Crimson

LYSANDRO

Velvet Vein was a necessary evil. It would be much easier to have my own blood donor near home, but that led to attachments I didn’t need nor want.

As I reached the door with VV, designating the club, I nodded at the man who’d been the bouncer here for this establishment in all of its different locations for the last one hundred years.

Moving through into the interior, I swept my gaze around the bar top where the humans who were looking to pull for the night sat and sipped their drinks like we were the prey instead of them.

Turning toward the booth area, all clothed in purple and red velvet, I made my way toward my usual spot at one of the tables in the back corner where I could observe those around me.

Fellow vampires gave a nod of respect, keeping their distance as I preferred. Humans—at least the smart ones—darted away, while those into danger licked their lips and tracked me with their greedy eyes.

I passed a man who lay draped over one table while another man drilled into him from behind and someone knelt at his feet.

At the next booth, a lady sat by herself with her head tipped back and panting. As I moved by, a long-haired man in a suit emerged from beneath the table, wiping a hand across his mouth.

Keeping my face impassive, I hid my gurgling disgust. Velvet Vein was the best blood donor bar on the east coast, but that wasn’t saying much. They just dressed up their opportunistic desires with an elegant, old-world setting, catering to the wealthier, more distinguished of our kind.

However, with the hefty membership fee we paid, they took care of their human employees generously, the donors were willing and ate and drank for free, and most importantly to me, they all left alive.

There were other places—squalid bars occupied by the addicted and tenements that should’ve been safe for the unhoused—where those who’d squandered their riches over the centuries or had a bloodthirst that fueled the novels written about the undead found their meals. I stiffened, controlling the anger threatening to consume me. It was not my responsibility to police my kind. It never had been. It never would be.

Sitting down with my back to the wall, I finally let my gaze wander to Benji. Like the first night he’d come almost three years ago, I smelled him—a mix of sandalwood, patchouli, and profound unhappiness—the minute I crossed the threshold.

As always, his heartbeat echoed in my ears over the sound of jazz drifting from the speakers. I’d never spoken to him, though I knew he longed for that to change. Since that first night, he’d watched me curiously, the longing increasing in his deep green eyes with every one of my monthly visits.

Luckily for him, he’d been warned away. He hadn’t fled from the offer he’d been given to donate, though. I wondered after that first time if he’d return. That night, fear had permeated him, a clear warning sign to those of us who needed to feed to stay away.

But he’d come back. Again and again, obviously letting my brethren imbibe on him based on the increased quality of the linens draping his body and how he didn’t look a day over the twenty-four he’d been the first time he stepped into our world.

A shift in the air drew my attention from the intriguing Benji to Damien Devereaux, owner of the Velvet Vein and leader of the Vampire Syndicate, and his lapdog and enforcer, Ronan.

“Gentlemen,” I greeted them coldly. It was unusual for anyone in the syndicate to bother me. Outside of the safety they’d created in this bar, I didn’t like what they stood for. Money. Power. Greed.

“Mr. Moretti,” Damien said with a slight nod. “May I sit?”

With a thought, the chair to my left moved out. That was as close to an invitation as he’d receive. The other two exchanged uneasy glances. They wondered about my abilities. All of my kind did. I was old, much older than anyone in the club tonight, but unlike the rest of my siblings made by my creator, I didn’t boast or reveal much. It was the best way to keep them out of my affairs.

As Damien slid smoothly into the chair, Ronan moved to pull out the chair across from him.

“No,” I said sharply.

His gaze cut to me, eyes narrowing into a predatory glare. “I’m with Damien.”

Focusing on Damien’s unnaturally still expression, I shrugged. “Then you can both leave.”

“This is our club,” Ronan hissed through descending teeth.

I merely quirked a brow at Damien.

“It’s fine, Ronan. Check in with the employees and make sure everything is running smoothly.”

Ronan stomped away, and Damien rubbed a hand down his face. “Do you always have to aggravate him?”

“I haven’t spoken to him in at least fifty years. Hardly grounds to say that I always do anything.”

Damien’s eyes flashed red, but he quickly collected himself and leaned on the table in front of him with clasped hands. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to roll my eyes or laugh. Surely, he didn’t think these human mannerisms to put me at ease would work. Until I returned home and crossed the lines of my territory, I would remain on alert.

“I’ve noticed an increase in your patronage in the last six months.”