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Jedidiah howls as I fist his hair, and he lashes out in a vain struggle. His nails dig into the flesh of my arm, drawing blood and staining my white sleeve crimson. Snarling, I lift the man up from the floor and slash through his throat, nearly decapitating him with the sharp blade. A wave of hot blood splashes across me, the vampire’s eyes bulging out with fright. With his spine intact, he’d eventually recover. I make sure that doesn’t happen. Dropping the blade, I grip his shoulder and tear his head the rest of the way from his neck.
His body falls with a wet thump, blood soaking into the thick black carpet. Sighing, I toss his head to the floor and cross back to my desk. There I sink into my leather high-back chair, picking up the cloth napkin that accompanied the warmed bottle of blood delivered earlier with the intent on cleaning the blade when someone knocks at my door.
“For fuck’s sake,” I grit out and gesture with the blade to Ashe, who opens the door at once. To Malachi, I say, “Get someone to take care of the body and clean the carpets. His blood smells foul with rot.”
Typically, I let the blood dry before ordering only the surface of the carpets cleaned. I enjoy fortifying the lingering scent of vampire blood in this room. It serves as a constant reminder to all who enter that I’m not one to be fucked with. That is, when the person entering can smell it.
Ashe steps aside, revealing a short woman with enticing curves standing in front of the shadowed figure of Kasar—better known as Lion, my oldest ally and most trusted enforcer.
The woman is clearly human and her nerves fill the room with her scent. Her fear tastes sweet and nutty, like baklava, and my nostrils flare as I breathe her in. Delicious. Would her blood taste the same?
She practically screams when she sees Jedidiah’s headless corpse. Intriguing enough, she swallows it back and forces herself to look anywhere else. Which means her eyes land on me, and her fair skin grows paler.
No doubt I present the devilish appearance that human priests claim of me. Malachi grips the leg of the dead vampire and hauls him towards the door. The woman is forced to decide between hurrying through the door into the den of the beast or turning tail and running.
It’d be smarter for her if she runs.
She is either brave or foolhardy, however, and steps forward before Malachi can walk through the door with his macabre burden behind him.
“What is this?” I ask Ashe, who moves to stand behind the woman. She may be human, but my guards will never assume she is harmless. I begin to wipe the blade clean of the blood, not wanting to tarnish the relic of a past life with such an unworthy life.
“She seeks an audience, sire.”
I look up at her, taking her in. It’s true I accept audiences on Thursdays, but rarely does anyone—especiallya human—take the opportunity. That alone has me intrigued. What also intrigues me are her curves, wrapped as they are in an improperly fitting dress. Her black hair and dark brown eyes hold a depth I’m not used to seeing in humans anymore. Are her lips naturally that color, or has she darkened them with just a hint of red?
“Well, then,” I say, giving her my full attention after giving the blade one more wipe and settling it back in the box with its twin. I lean back in my chair, bracing my arms along the rests. “If you’re looking for Rapture, to sell or use, you’re wasting your time, sweetheart.”
“I’m not.”
I don’t expect the bite in her tone and I cock my head. While she’s dressed like any one of the humans seeking the company of a vampire, a subtle sniff reveals no scent of my kind lingering on her.
Has she learned of the dismissal of my former feeder? The term was created and adopted by humans for those who allow a vampire to regularly feed from them and it’s stuck. Many of those who share their blood share their bodies as well, all in exchange for a price. It’s easy money for the humans who enjoy it. Kimberly, the woman who I’d been feeding from for the last month, apparently enjoyed it too much seeing as she allowed another to feed from her.
The moment I tasted the trace of another vampire in her blood, I’d cast her out, banning her from Noir entirely.
I do not share.
“Then explain, miss...?” I trail off, waiting for her to answer.
“Eloise Morse,” she answers, keeping her hands clasped in front of her and holding my gaze. The smell of trepidation rolls from her in waves, but… is that a faint note of attraction?
“How lovely to make your acquaintance,” I purr, dropping my voice an octave, and am rewarded by her slight shiver. “Tell me, what can I do for such a lovely creature as yourself?”
She purses her lips as if taking offense at the compliment. In less than five minutes, Eloise has intrigued me so thoroughly that no matter what she requests, I’ll hear her out.
“My friend is missing and the police are useless. She was looking into Rapture when she disappeared.”
How disappointing.
“Sweetheart, so many people disappear when looking for their next hit. Unfortunately, it is most likely she is dead in a den somewhere or at the bottom of the river.”
“Deidre wasn’t using it,” Eloise bites out with enough defiance I sit upright at the disrespect. At my movement, the woman takes a deep breath with her eyes closed before beginning again. “Deidre is an investigative reporter. There’s been a lot of talk of Rapture being sold outside of the d’Vil supply. To Topsiders.”
I narrow my eyes, absorbing every word coming from Eloise’s pink-coated lips. If she finds my renewed focus intimidating, she doesn’t let it stop her.
“She found evidence that suggested a connection between the new supplier and high-powered businessmen. Last night, she asked me to go with her to Gato’s Paw to meet an informant. I couldn’t go and told her to wait.”
I run a thumb across my chin. The Gato’s Paw. It’s run by vampires under my control, but I’d granted them self-autonomy. Perhaps that had been a mistake. “I surmise she didn’t.”
