Afterglow (Monsters of Moonvale #2)

Chapter 1

1

D arkness surrounds me.

A high-pitched ringing fills my ears.

Why can’t I breathe?

My hand scratches at my throat as I panic for a split-second. After what feels like an eternity, I manage to suck in a shallow, unnatural breath.

I wait for another to come. It doesn’t.

The fog of dreaming slowly parts as my hands reach out to feel around me, searching in the pitch black for a way to anchor myself to reality before terror overtakes me again.

Cool, dry sheets. No blood soaking them.

I grab my left wrist to find faded bumps of scar tissue, not an open wound.

I keep my eyes shut for a minute, willing myself to calm down. When my body is completely still, no breath or pulse marking the passing seconds, I let my eyes open.

The nightvision gray-scale of my bedroom greets me, joined a few seconds later by the chime of my alarm and dim light shed from my phone screen.

Right. I’m at home. I’m okay.

Shit, that hasn’t happened in a while. I stare up at the ceiling as I anchor myself in the present. The ornate mirror over the bed shows nothing but rumpled sheets outlining the form of my body.

I really need to take that thing down. It was hot when my ex asked me to put it up so she could watch herself get off, but it’s pointless when I’m the only one in my bed.

It’s usually simple to channel the power inside me to create a reflection, but rousing the blood in my system already feels like a monumental task tonight, so I don’t need to waste what little energy I have. An ache of hunger builds inside me and my throat feels scratchy as I continue to lie in bed, working up the fortitude to move. Nothing like that awful night when I was practically feral with thirst, but not the most pleasant way to wake up.

I didn’t eat enough yesterday. I had a late booking with a client at my studio in the city, and by the time I got back home, all I wanted was a shower and the cool, dark comfort of my bed.

Foolish.

I know better than to go to bed hungry. Now I’m paying the price for not taking care of myself.

When the alarm becomes too annoying to bear any longer, I summon the energy needed to reach out to my phone and dismiss it. Then I set a notification for 4am to have a snack if I don’t feed at the club. No excuses now for not getting the sustenance I need.

It’s irresponsible and reckless to take such poor care of myself. I can’t lose control again. I won’t.

I push myself up to sitting, my arms shaking with the effort. I grab my legs and swing them off the bed one at a time, then stand slowly. My muscles seize and my knees almost buckle, but I manage to shamble across the room, looking every bit the undead monster I am.

I’m exhausted by the time I make it to the mini-fridge sitting next to my bureau. I could keep it next to my bed, but I didn’t think I’d ever be starving enough that walking the four feet over to it would feel like a marathon.

My legs threaten to collapse as I bend to open the refrigerator door, so I slide down onto my ass and open it from the floor. With trembling hands, I grab the bag closest to the front and tear it open with my teeth instead of using the pull tab. I throw it back, uncaring about how some of it slides down my chin.

Pathetic.

Cold B positive isn’t my favorite, but it does the trick. My body temperature rises slightly as the energy from the blood invigorates my sluggish veins. When the blood bag is empty, I sigh and wipe my face with a tissue, then blot up some blood that dripped onto the floor.

Messy.

I toss the bag and the tissue into the trash and head to the bathroom. This time I have enough energy reserves to look myself in the eyes in the mirror hanging above the sink.

I look awful. Remnants of my eyeliner are smudged under my eyes, there’s a bloodstain on the front of my favorite silk pajamas, and my deep brown complexion has a sickly gray tinge to it. My eyes squeeze shut, hating what I see.

Foolish. Pathetic. Messy. You can’t let it happen again.

Unlike many of my clients, degrading myself does little for me. It’s a shame. I’m excellent at it. It comes to me even easier than breathing did when I was alive. After all, as a queer kid raised in a born-again Christian household, I’ve had plenty of practice with self-loathing.

Shoving the negativity aside is a muscle I’m building. I can’t wait for the day when it’s strong enough to fully combat the criticisms that echo in my head.

I open my eyes and look at myself again, this time with forced compassion.

I learn from my mistakes. I’ll do better next time. No one is perfect.

It helps. Somewhat.

There’s a joke here somewhere that I’m doing positive affirmations after drinking B positive, but humor isn’t really my strong suit.

By the time I’ve brushed my teeth, showered, and moisturized, the bad awakening is almost completely behind me. Slipping into the black bodysuit that clings to me like a second skin, and stepping into my favorite red-soled heels finishes the job.

It’s a little after 7, which means I still have a bit before the sun sets and I can head out to the club. Enough time for a little work.

There are four clients waiting for a reply from me when I check my messages. I open up the first one with a hint of a smile.

Nic: Good evening, Mistress Bella. Hope you slept well.

Mistress Bella: Thank you, I did .

Nic checks in like clockwork every night. He’s currently my only monster client, so he understands my sleep schedule and doesn’t bother me during the day. If I had to guess, he’s going to follow it up with a request for a session this weekend. He’s easy to please. He’ll clean and act as my footstool, secretly hoping that I’ll bite him if he does a good enough job. If I weren’t busy tonight, I’d consider it. My baseboards could use a good scrubbing and shifter blood always gives me an extra energy boost.

I close the chat and open up the next message.

G: May I see you this weekend, Mistress Bella? I was so good for you. I wore the cage all week.

Mistress Bella: I’m busy.

Mistress Bella: If you’re a good boy and keep it on, I’ll fit you in on Monday.

Huh. I’m surprised G hasn’t broken yet. I’m oddly proud of him. I don’t think he’ll last two more days, though. He’ll end up getting the punishment he craves even more than my praise.

There’s a flurry of increasingly panicked messages from one of my newer clients.

X: Can you wait until Sunday?

X: I don’t have the money right now.

X: I hate disappointing you, but $1000 is too much. I can’t do it.

X: Mistress, please say something!

Mistress Bella: You’re pathetic. You think you deserve to talk to me? I’m deleting your number unless you send me another $1000 on top of what you should’ve already sent .

I snort. We both know he’ll send me the money, but he loves the dance leading up to it.

The final message makes me frown.

Thumper: Do you want to carpool? I can pick you up, if you give me your address.

Ugh. You ask a sub for a favor and the next thing you know, they act like you want to be their friend. My mistake for not wording my request like a command.

Bella: I’ll see you there at 8. Wear purple. It’ll match the ropes I’m using.

He replies right away.

Thumper: Yes, ma’am.

Better.

I don’t need more friends. Even if I did, I don’t mix work with my personal life. Maybe if we’d met outside of a booking or even on one of the nights I was at the club for fun… but no. Even then, I wouldn’t want Thumper’s friendship. I’m happy with the way things are.

Life is good. Work is steady and enjoyable. The renovation of the guest bedroom is finally done. I have dinner with Mona once a week.

No, that’s not a euphemism. I don’t drink from my best friend, despite her curiosity about it. Her partner would try to kill me, and I don’t want Mona to be sad if he ends up dead.

She eats leftovers, I bring a thermos of blood, and we talk.

It’s nice. Wonderful, really. The only thing that would make our relationship more pleasurable isn’t on the table. Fortunately, I’m excellent at accepting things for what they are and adapting. If I wasn’t, I’d still be back on that blood-soaked hotel bed crying out for help.

With the remaining time before I have to leave, I fall back into the predictable rhythm of texting my clients.

X sends the money and adds another $500 tip as an apology. I don’t reply because I know he loves to squirm. Some people might think I’m being unfair, but I’m only giving him what he wants. Getting to make a ridiculously wealthy tech bro sweat is just a perk of the job.

As I expected, Nic asks if I need any yard work done, because he’s free tomorrow afternoon. He’s my only client that I’ve allowed to come to my home, and that wasn’t an intentional decision. I was unlucky enough to hire his landscaping company to help me out with my unruly yard. We both startled when he knocked on my door after sunset to let me know they were all done for the day. After that, it just made sense for him to come here so we can both skip the drive into the city to meet at my work apartment.

It’s breaking one of the boundaries I set for myself when I started taking on clients after a disastrous incident when I was still working as a sugar baby. But out of all my clients, that big bear is the one I’m least worried about turning into a problem. The worst he does is unsubtly mention his monster support group meetings when we’re scheduling our next session. I ignore him when he brings it up. I don’t need a support group and I certainly don’t need one where one of my submissives is the leader.

G sends a picture of his caged cock. It does nothing for me sexually, but there’s a surge of satisfaction in seeing how shriveled and sad it looks. Cis men are obsessed with dicks. I enjoy controlling what they see as the physical embodiment of their virility. It’s cathartic. It pays well, too .

I praise him, slide off my heels, and text him a picture of my feet, toes perfectly polished purple to match my ropes tonight. Nothing gets him harder than worshiping my feet. I bet he breaks and removes the cage within the next hour. I told him there’s a sensor on it that’s linked to an app on my phone, but in reality I have no way of knowing other than his obvious guilt when he breaks my rules.

I finish up just in time for my weather app to say that the sun has finished setting. Perfect. Time to head out and see what the rest of the evening has in store for me.