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He drew himself up. “The boss won’t like me turning away paying customers.”
“Then stall them.” I handed him another hundred euros. “We only need enough time to choose two thralls and take them into a private room.”
“Very good, m’sieur.” The money disappeared into his jacket.
Zoe led the way downstairs to the club. The walls were cracked, and the concrete stairs stained and crumbling.
I kept my switchblade open, but out of sight between my hand and my thigh. “They don’t waste any cash on upkeep, do they?”
She sent me an amused look over her shoulder. “Not what you’re used to,Prince?”
“Like you are,Princess. I’m surprised you even know about this place.”
“First time I’ve been here.”
“Figures. Tell me we’re not about to get staked.”
She turned and continued walking down the stairs backward. “Can I say I’m almost sure we won’t be?”
“Now she tells me.” I reached around her to open the door with my free hand.
An unshaven human in a gray T-shirt sat on a high leather stool. “Soixante euros,” he said around a hand-rolled cigarette.
I passed over sixty euros and he looked us over, bored. “You know the rules? Cash money to the servers, no rough stuff.”
Zoe nodded. “Oui.”
He waved us in. “Entrez, donc.”
The club had been chiseled out of the Paris bedrock. The walls were a dirty limestone, the only lighting from squat black candles. Humans in short dresses with deep Vs to show off their throats sat at the small tables or lounged at the curved red plastic bar. A few of them swayed to the slow, sexy music emanating from a pair of speakers behind the bar.
The vampires in the club eyed us expressionlessly. Probably calculating how easy we’d be to take.
I bared my fangs and made sure they saw the switchblade, and those cold, calculating gazes turned elsewhere.
Zoe selected a male “server” in a businesslike way. I chose a female, and we took them into a private room. The sturdy wood door was reinforced by bands of silver, but I tipped another server—a burly Tunisian—to keep watch in the hall.
“Knock—three short raps—if anyone seems too interested in us.”
“Yes, m’sieur.”
Zoe dropped the baseball cap on a coffee table, and the four of us shared the only couch, her on one end, me on the other.
There was something so intimate in drinking together like this. Zoe’s lids lowered partway, her expression absorbed—like earlier, just before she came.
The slow, sexy beat of the music playing in the main room filtered through the walls. Her eyes opened, met mine.
A jolt went through me. My body hardened. The blood craving is just another kind of lust, and now it homed in on my dick like a heat-seeking missile.
I shifted the woman on my lap to the couch so she wouldn’t feel my erection. In the past—hell, even two weeks ago—I’d have been happy to fuck the thrall while I drank, but not tonight with Zoe so close, teasing my senses.
From the opposite side of the couch, my sexy princess lowered a lid in a wink. We held each other’s gazes as we continued to feed.
When we’d both drunk our fill, I paid the thralls and added a generous tip.
“Lock the door after you,” I told them.
The man slanted Zoe a hungry-male look.
