Chapter One
Paloma
Pure ecstasy lights up my brain as I drink deeply from the man below me. His blood, thick and saccharine, flows over my tongue as I lap and lap at the wounds on his throat. He moans beneath me, his hips shamelessly thrusting up against me as my venom flows into his bloodstream. It ’ s not that I ’ m not affected like him, but I like to think I have some standards. And he is below them.
My fangs retract, and I fall like a wet noodle onto the plush bed next to him. Picking up my still-burning cigarette from the porcelain tray next to me, I inhale the mixture of tobacco and cannabis, a new drug that had made its way to America in the last several years. Opium was too harsh for me—in taste and effects. But this new high was delicate and slow, relaxing me into a fitless sleep every night.
Around me, Revelry is alive with moans of pleasure as humans and vampires fucked and fed. The heavy velvet curtains that surround my corner of this large ballroom space open slightly, and two of my girls poke their heads into the dim light. I smile at them and then roll my head to the right, looking at the pale man I just fed from. His eyes are tired, his breathing slow. I must ’ ve taken more from him than I thought.
“ Make sure he eats something,” I instruct, my tone bored through the haze of smoke and sex. The girls nod and smile toothy grins, coming to the man ’ s aide as he struggles to stand. I nudge him in the ass with my foot as he finally manages to stand up straight. “ Let him sleep in one of the recovery rooms!” I call out after them. One of them holds their hand up in acknowledgment before the emerald green fabric swishes closed again.
Revelry is my baby, started out of spite and successful because I am intelligent and driven. We have everything anyone could ever desire—human and vampire alike. This room, converted to be an area of soft, comfortable, open play, is just one of many areas people can play. We have rooms with furniture made of steel, wood, and leather, with the newest toys imported directly from France. We have rooms for those who wish to be watched and for those who wish to do the watching. There are rooms for privacy and rooms for those who have partied too hard and need a place to stay for the evening, like my poor friend who just left.
And it is an honor to work here. My human women and men are paid handsomely for their time, offered a free room at the home I purchased for them one neighborhood over, and rotated in and out on a schedule so that no one is overworked or over-drained. More importantly, it ensures everyone is tested and proven clean before each workday.
Another drag from the drug-laced cigarette and my body is floating as the smoke in my lungs mixes with the endorphins from the feed. My eyes are slow to open and shut, and I can feel my muscles begging for sleep. Warmth spreads through my limbs, making them heavy with comfort.
But then…I smell him. A deep, rich scent like my grandmother ’ s quilts she kept in a cedar chest, invades the small space I ’ ve cocooned myself in. And then a hand, strong and tattooed, enters my field of vision, and fingers gently take the cigarette from between my slack knuckles. When I blink my dry eyes and roll my food-drunk head in the direction of where a body should be…
“ Emris,” I whisper, his name tasting like ash on my tongue. Suddenly, all happy, sleepy feelings are squashed under the boot of my maker ’ s smile.
Smug and dimpled, his face turns toward me. His plush lips are wrapped around the butt of my cigarette, and his cheeks hollow as he sucks and winks. He holds his breath, sucking another gulp of clean air through his teeth as he hands the cigarette back to me. That dark, wavy hair of his falls into his green eyes as his lips purse and he blows.
“ Hello, little dove.”