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MILEY
Lights pulsedin time to the music, and the crowd on the dance floor seemed to move as one. My gaze slid over them, the scents of their blood and sweat on my tongue.
It should’ve been appetizing.
I was a damn vampire, after all.
But I was six months into vampirehood, and I still hadn’t managed to convince myself to drink blood from the vein.
Or even to be somewhat interested in doing so.
Charlie, the newest leader of the clan I’d reluctantly joined, told me to be patient. He reserved a stool and booth for me in his nightclub every night, too. I practically lived at the place.
But my stomach still turned at the idea of feeding. And the smell of it. And… everything about it, really.
If I had to either adapt or die, at the current rate I was going, I was definitely going to die.
The man on the stool beside mine, Sebastian Villin, flagged the bartender down for another drink. He didn’t bother asking whether I wanted a refill too; just went ahead and asked for me. He was a massive, stoic man with dark hair cut sharply, and I had never seen him out of a suit and tie. His skin was tan, his eyes were blue, and he didn’t smile often.
Also, he was a demon.
And my bodyguard.
I knew the Villins well enough to be certain there were a few other men and women in the crowd with an eye on me, ready to kick ass if the opportunity arose. My best friend had mated with Sebastian’s brother earlier that year, which made us their family, and the Villins were hated.
Only by the worst kinds of vampires, though.
The Villins killed vamps who targeted humans when the supernatural government didn’t do anything about it. The human government paid them for it, too.
And paid themwell.
Despite being a vampire myself, I had little love and loyalty for the rest of them. They had turned me, after all. And to get me there, one of them had seduced me and made me think he cared about me.
I was still bitter about that. Always would be, probably.
The dozens of unanswered texts on my phone from that lying son of a bitch only made me more bitter, not less.
Sebastian slid my drink to me after watching the bartender make it, and I accepted it without question. If Bash wanted me dead orhurting, he didn’t need to spike my drink to do it. The man was made entirely of muscles and scowls.
I liked him, though. As a brother, at least.
He didn’t ask questions I didn’t want to answer. He rarely asked questions at all, in fact. Just sat on his barstool, slowly nursing a glass of whiskey. Alcohol affected us despite being supernaturals, but our systems worked through it quickly enough that a lot of the impact was erased.
Drinking it still made me feel more normal, though.
I tipped the contents of the glass back, then forced myself to walk into the crowd.
It was showtime.
I was going to be a real, functioning vampire.
My body joined the monster that was the crowd. I moved with them, finding my pace easily. I had always loved dancing—even as a human, I had hit up nightclubs every now and then. Something about getting lost in a crowd and some music just made life feel easier.
Of course, my best friends had no idea I did. They hated the noise and busyness of a club. Tatum and Brynn knew I was into yoga, and thought I picked up an extra class on those rare nights when I slipped away.
Considering I was an accountant with a ridiculously type-A personality that I couldn’t seem to shake off, yoga was a much easier explanation than clubbing.
