21. The Feeding
THE FEEDING
He could hear the bass from outside—that deep, chest-rattling thump of trap music that made the whole building pulse like a heartbeat.
The line wrapped around the corner, people dressed in their best designer fits, waiting to get past Sevyn at the door.
Bottles of Clase Azul and D'USSé were being carried through the crowd by bottle girls in bodycon dresses and heels so high they looked like weapons.
This was his kingdom.
After Dark on a Friday night was money, power, and chaos all wrapped into one. The kind of place where deals got made in VIP sections, where bottles cost more than rent, where people came to be seen and to forget everything outside those doors.
But tonight, Reign wasn't thinking about money.
He was thinking about blood.
He parked the Hellcat in his reserved spot near the back entrance, grabbed the black case with Arissa's serum samples from the passenger seat, and climbed out.
The November air was cold enough to see his breath, but he barely felt it.
His body was running hot—too hot. The adrenaline from the meeting with Arissa, the text from Soreya, the weight of Cairo's deadline—it was all building inside him like pressure in a closed system.
He needed to feed.
Not because he was starving. He'd fed earlier with Auren before going to Petersburg. But that high was fading now, and the clarity it brought was slipping away, leaving him with the weight of everything he had to do tonight.
He needed the reset. The rush. The control that came with feeding.
It was an addiction, and he knew it.
Reign walked toward the back entrance, his Saint Laurent boots hitting the pavement with purpose.
He was wearing all black tonight—black Amiri jeans, black Balenciaga hoodie under a black leather jacket, his gold Cuban link chain catching the streetlight.
His locs were pulled back in a low ponytail, his golds gleaming when he smiled at the security guard posted at the door.
"Boss," the guard said, stepping aside immediately.
Reign nodded and walked inside.
The back hallway of After Dark was dimly lit, all exposed brick and red LED strips running along the ceiling.
The bass was louder here, vibrating through the walls, through the floor, through his chest. He could smell everything—liquor, sweat, perfume, smoke from the hookah lounge next door, and underneath it all, the faint metallic scent of blood.
There were always people bleeding in a club this packed. Cut fingers from broken glass. Nosebleeds from too much coke in the bathroom. Split lips from fights that security broke up before they escalated.
Reign's senses picked up on all of it.
He walked through the hallway toward the main floor, passing the storage room where Soleil kept product locked up, passing the office where Cairo sometimes held meetings, passing the private VIP rooms where high-paying clients got whatever they wanted as long as they paid for it.
This was vampire family operations time.
The club wasn't just a business. It was a feeding ground, a money-laundering operation, a territory marker. After Dark was where the Saint family's power was most visible—and most dangerous.
Reign pushed through the door to the main floor, and the music hit him like a physical force.
"WHAT'S POPPIN' brAND NEW WHIP JUST HOPPED IN?—"
The DJ was playing Jack Harlow, and the crowd was moving like one organism—bodies pressed together, hands in the air, bottles being passed overhead, sparklers lighting up VIP sections like fireworks.
The lighting was all deep reds and purples, strobing in time with the beat, making everything look like a fever dream.
Reign moved through the crowd with authority.
People stepped aside without him having to ask. They recognized him—the owner, the boss, the man who controlled everything inside these walls. Women smiled at him, tried to catch his eye, leaned in close enough for him to smell their perfume. Men nodded respectfully, dapping him up as he passed.
But Reign's mind was somewhere else.
He scanned the room, looking for his crew.
Sevyn was posted up near the front entrance, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes scanning the crowd with that predatory focus that made him good at security.
He was wearing all black too—black Essentials hoodie, black jeans, black Timbs.
His locs were shorter than Reign's, twisted tight, and his golds caught the light every time he turned his head.
Sevyn saw Reign and nodded once.
Reign nodded back.
Soleil was in the VIP section on the second level, leaning against the railing with a glass of Hennessy in one hand and her phone in the other.
She was wearing a black leather bodysuit that looked painted on, Louboutin heels, and a diamond tennis chain that probably cost more than most people's cars.
Her hair was slicked back into a high ponytail, her makeup flawless, her energy cold and controlled.
She was talking to two men Reign recognized—distributors who moved product through the Southside. Business as usual.
Soleil glanced down and caught Reign's eye. She raised her glass slightly, a silent acknowledgment.
Reign kept moving.
He needed to get to the back. Needed to feed. Needed to process everything before Soreya showed up and demanded answers he wasn't ready to give.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out.
Cairo (2:51 AM): Acquisition confirmed. Samples secured. Good work. Bring them by Smoke & Gold tomorrow night.
Reign exhaled slowly, pocketing the phone.
One problem handled.
But the other one—Soreya—was still waiting.
He pushed through the crowd toward the bar, and that's when he saw her.
Auren.
She was working tonight, carrying a tray of bottles toward a VIP section, her hips swaying in a way that made every man in her path turn and stare.
She was wearing a black bodycon dress that stopped mid-thigh, silver heels, and her hair was styled in long, sleek waves that fell past her shoulders.
Her skin glowed under the club lights, and her smile was easy, practiced, professional.
But when she saw Reign, her expression shifted.
She knew.
She always knew.
Auren finished delivering the bottles, collected her tip, and made her way toward him. She moved through the crowd like water, effortless and unbothered, until she was standing in front of him.
"You good?" she asked, her voice low enough that only he could hear.
"Nah," Reign said honestly.
Auren's eyes searched his face, reading him the way she always did.
She was a hybrid—half-vampire, half-human—and she understood what he was in a way most people couldn't. She'd been part of the crew for years, working the clubs, feeding the family when they needed it, accepting the arrangement because it benefited her too.
She got protection. Money. Access to a world most people didn't even know existed.
And in return, she gave them what they needed.
"You need to reset," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yeah."
"I'm on my cycle," she said simply. "Started yesterday."
Reign's jaw tightened.
Menstrual blood was different. Stronger. The high was more intense, the clarity sharper, the power more immediate. It was why he preferred it. Why he was addicted to it.
"You sure?" he asked.
"I wouldn't offer if I wasn't." Auren tilted her head toward the back hallway. "Private bathroom. Ten minutes."
Reign nodded.
She turned and walked toward the back, and he followed.
The private bathroom was at the end of the back hallway, past the storage rooms and offices, in a section of the club most people didn't even know existed.
It was technically a staff bathroom, but it was bigger than most—marble countertops, a full-length mirror, soft lighting, a lock on the door that actually worked.
Auren unlocked it with a key she kept on a chain around her neck and stepped inside.
Reign followed, closing the door behind him and locking it.
The music was muffled here, just a low thump of bass that vibrated through the walls. The lighting was softer, warmer, making everything feel more intimate than it should.
Auren set her tray down on the counter and turned to face him.
"You look stressed," she said.
"I am."
"Cairo got you running all over the city tonight?"
"Something like that."
Auren leaned back against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. "You know you don't gotta explain yourself to me, right? We got an understanding."
"I know."
"Then stop looking guilty." She smiled slightly. "This what we do. You need it. I'm offering. That's it."
Reign exhaled, running a hand over his face.
She was right. This was transactional. Respectful, but transactional. Auren knew what he was. She accepted it. She'd been feeding him and other members of the Saint family for years. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't love.
It was survival.
"Aight," Reign said quietly.
Auren reached behind her and unzipped her dress slightly, pulling it down just enough to expose her shoulder and the side of her neck. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a small towel, setting it on the counter.
"You know the drill," she said.
Reign stepped closer.
His heart rate kicked up. His senses sharpened. He could smell her now—not just her perfume (something floral and expensive), but something deeper. Her blood. The faint metallic scent mixed with something richer, more potent.
Menstrual blood.
His body responded immediately.
His pupils dilated. His breathing quickened. The hunger that had been simmering under the surface all night roared to life, demanding, insistent, primal.
Auren watched him, her expression calm. "You good?"
"Yeah."
"Then do what you gotta do."
Reign's hands moved to her waist, steadying himself. His fingers pressed into the fabric of her dress, grounding him even as the hunger threatened to take over completely.
He leaned in, his mouth hovering near her neck.
And then he let go.
The transformation was instant.