Savage Thirst (Nymphs and Vampires #1)

Chapter One

Sage

I'm curled up in a suffocating bathroom stall, trying to hype myself up to walk onto the dance floor of this overpriced L.A. nightclub. That's where our target is. And tonight, I'm the bait.

The bass thrums behind the door, pulsing through the floor. I stare at my reflection. Hair pinned up. Neck bare. Black dress with crimson ornaments tracing the hem like blood vines—provocative enough to draw a predator.

A few years ago, if someone had told me I would be hunting vampires for a living, I would have called them insane. Twice. Once for believing vampires existed. And again, for thinking I'd be the one hunting them.

Today, that means getting close without being bitten.

I take a breath. Turn. Step out.

Heat hits me first. Bodies grinding. Perfume, sweat, liquor.

The club pulses like a living thing. But it's not enough to drown out the dull ache in my gut—the kind that has nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with what I've become.

I can almost hear the ground screaming beneath the concrete, nature's pain clawing at my spine.

I breathe in. Out. Just like Darlene taught me. It helps a little.

Frustrated, I clench my jaw. Everything feels too fast. I'm barely past training, and they've got me on vampire hunts. But at least I'm not alone.

I glance to the side. Darlene and Johnny play the part of tipsy lovers at a high-top table, eyes sharp despite the act. Backup for when I'll need them.

I turn back and freeze.

There he is.

Propped against a shadowed pillar, drink in hand, gaze skating over the crowd like he's choosing his next meal.

Kayden Darrow.

I know his file by heart. Born 1717. Turned at Culloden, 1746, at age twenty-nine. Over three centuries of bloodshed and savagery. The file lists atrocities. The truth is probably worse.

But the file didn't prepare me for him. Not the sharp jaw, not the careless slouch, not the way he owns the room with a glance. Photos couldn't capture the predator's hum in his presence, the sheer power of it.

He turns. Our eyes lock like he's been waiting for this.

Caught staring, I force a small, shy smile, then look away. Just long enough to make it look real. Like I'm flustered.

Maybe I am.

"Having a good time, sunshine?"

The deep, wicked drawl brushes my ear, and a shiver rips down my spine.

He's close. I didn't see him move, but he's here now, leaning in. His presence hits like a drug—thick, dark, and lethal.

That same predatory energy from across the room now wraps around me like smoke. Creatures of life, like me, are hardwired to fear this kind of darkness. It's not overwhelming, not if you're trained, but it's enough to sharpen every instinct.

I glance sideways with a slow, seductive smile. "I'd feel better if I were dancing."

His lips curve. "Then let me fix that."

The vampire's hand slides onto my waist, solid and possessive. The contact sparks a jolt through me, going straight to my core.

No matter how much I want to attribute it to mission nerves, I can't.

He leads me onto the dance floor, parting the crowd as if they know something dangerous is in their midst. Maybe they do, somewhere deep in their primal brains.

The beat shifts to low and sensual. It pulses through our bodies like a shared rhythm. We move together, drawn in tight. His dark brown eyes lock onto mine, the hunger there smoldering and unashamed.

His hands skim down my sides, slow and deliberate, stopping at my hips. He pulls me closer, bodies aligned, breath mingling. Every touch lights a fuse beneath my skin. I can't think. Can't breathe.

This hasn't happened before.

I've hunted fledgling vamps, sure, but never an old one like him. This reaction isn't influence. I'm immune to vampire mind tricks. So what the hell is this?

I need to move to stage two. Fast.

I curl my arms around his neck, my body pressing into his. I lean in, lips brushing his ear. "Want to go somewhere… more private?"

I pull back, parting my lips just enough, eyes locked on his. The message is clear.

His gaze drops, first to my mouth, then my neck. Something wicked flares behind his eyes, and a ferocious grin spreads across his lips. Without a word, he takes my hand and leads me through the crowd.

The hunt is on.

He leads me into an empty room, some forgotten storage space stacked with tangled Christmas lights, busted speakers, and dusty crates of empty glass bottles. The second the door shuts, the air shifts.

He grabs me without warning and lifts me onto a ledge with such effortless strength that I gasp, my fingers fisting into the open collar of his black shirt. He steps between my knees, and all I can see and sense is him.

A slow grin spreads across his lips as his grip eases. "You wanted private, sunshine. Now we're private."

Not for long, I think. Darlene and Johnny will know where I went. One press on the ring, and they'll be here in seconds.

I wrap my arms around his neck and tilt my head with a teasing smirk. "Nice place. You bring all the girls here?"

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound dripping with sin. His hand drags along my side, then brushes the bare line of my neck. Knuckles graze my cheek, hot and unhurried, and I feel the burn trail through my whole body.

"Do you really want an answer?" he murmurs.

He steps closer, pressing into the space between us. His scent envelops me—spice, scotch, and something darker, something that smells like temptation itself.

His fingers slide into my hair, firm but slow, pulling me toward him.

I should stop him. But I don't.

Our lips meet and it's pure fire. His mouth claims mine, and somehow, my body knows this rhythm. My lips part, our tongues tangle, and I melt into him. Every nerve sparks. Every thought dies.

It feels too good, and it's very, very wrong.

His other hand roams my back, drawing me tighter, deepening the kiss until nothing exists but heat and hunger.

The world disappears. No nature's scream. No mission. Just him and this moment.

When we finally pull apart, I'm breathless. His eyes are black fire, devouring me.

"Look at me," he says, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing my gaze to his. I can't look away. His pupils are endless, a void I could fall into.

"You're not going to scream for help, sunshine," he purrs. "You're going to enjoy this. I'll just have a little taste."

I go still, feigning submission, letting him think his influence has taken hold. His gaze rakes over me, hungry, sure, but there's something else beneath it—a raw emotion I can't understand.

He leans in again, brushing his lips against mine, whispering like it's a confession meant to vanish in the dark. "I haven't wanted someone this much in a long, long time…"

He tilts my head gently, exposing my throat. I let him.

He breathes me in, mouth trailing soft, tender kisses from my jaw to my shoulder. Each touch sends tingles down my spine.

This isn't how vampires act when they think you're under their influence. They bite and feed. They don't draw it out like a goddamn seduction.

His lips linger, his breath warm against my skin. He's savoring the moment, not rushing it. That's my window. He's distracted. Vulnerable.

The nightshade spray is tucked in the hidden pocket of my dress. All I have to do is reach…

His teeth graze my neck, and a full-body shiver crashes through me. Not fear, because I know how fear feels all too well. It's anticipation, ecstatic and dangerous.

My fingers tighten around the spray bottle, but I don't move.

I feel his fangs, razor-sharp tips, breaking skin.

Then, a slow pierce. A sharp sting. My breath catches in a choked whimper, the sound raw and strangled.

What the hell am I doing?

Kayden pulls back slowly. Blood smears his lips. My blood. His eyes clouded with something I can't read, search mine.

"You're not…" he starts.

I move.

The spray hits him full in the face—thick, concentrated nightshade, strong enough to bring down an ancient vampire like a drugged bull. He jerks, stumbles, and collapses, body hitting the floor hard, limbs slack, eyes rolling back.

I press on the ring.

Seconds later, the door slams open.

Darlene barrels in first, with Johnny right behind.

"He bit you," Darlene snaps, voice sharp with fury at him. But I feel the burn of guilt because I was the one who let him.

I've never let a target kiss me, let alone bite me. That rule exists for a reason. Vampires can tell when something's off—that I'm not human.

Tonight, I broke both rules.

"Yeah," I mutter, hopping off the ledge. My fingers brush the bite—two small punctures, already starting to close. "Doesn't matter."

I stare down at the vampire sprawled on the floor, still gorgeous even while unconscious.

"Let's get him out of here," Johnny says, and we start moving.

We fall into the usual routine, dragging out a "drunk friend," all laughter and half-hearted apologies. No one questions two women hauling a glassy-eyed guy out of a club. Not in L.A.

Johnny's already got the car running. We shove Kayden into the backseat between Darlene and me. I keep the nightshade spray clutched in my palm, just in case. But considering the dose I hit him with, he should be out for at least a few hours.

The drive to the shipping yard takes just under thirty minutes, even with traffic. Our target site is one of the prepped containers, gutted and rigged for blood extraction.

The car rolls to a halt. A rusted metal door swings open, revealing fluorescent lights, medical gear, two bulky men—Piotr and Konstantin—and the nurse, Vanessa, already gloved up and scowling.

"Took you long enough," she mutters, grabbing the catheter and blood bags without looking at me.

The two goons say nothing as they strap the vampire into the chair, chains clinking as they lock him in place. They don't speak much. When they do talk to each other, it's in some old Slavic dialect that sounds like curses.

"He's the oldest target we've pulled," I say, defensively, without meaning to be. "We had to be careful."