CHAPTER 2
PUNCHING IN THE CODE to the private door at the back of the building, I notice my fingers tremble—they rarely tremble.
This is fear. Real, human fear. An emotion I’ve spent years trying to suppress, ignore, and forget.
Fear reminds me of what I have lost, of who I have lost. Fear is a luxury I can’t afford in my line of work.
So, why is fear presenting itself right now?
The door swings open with a metallic click, revealing the back room where the real action happens.
Plush velvet booths line the walls, each one cradling its occupants and forming a semicircle around low tables laden with bottles and glasses.
The scent of blood—fresh—smoke, and alcohol hits me immediately, mingling in a dizzying cloud.
Evan sits in our usual corner, lounging in the center of the largest couch. He has an arm draped around a woman whose glazed eyes and dopey smile tells me everything I need to know. The puncture wounds on her neck are fresh, tiny droplets of blood still beading on her skin.
Four other vampires and some of their human companions occupy the remaining seats, including Haden and a man who has to be Marcus from the way his head is snugly tucked under his arm, all in various states of inebriation and consciousness.
Marcus doesn’t look like Haden’s type at all.
Bold and flashy is usually his point of attraction, a sharp contrast to his own angelic features—take Jaxon, who reclines next to the couple with a cigarette between his fingers, geometric tattoos gracing his arm, and a muscle tee accentuating his physique.
Marcus, on the other hand, carries a slender build much like Haden himself, with neatly trimmed hair combed to the side, a tint close to black.
His plain button-down is wrinkled at the collar, as if he’s been fidgeting with it.
Marcus reminds me of a pigeon among falcons: seemingly out of place, yet somehow finding comfort in Haden’s protective embrace.
In between them and Evan lounges Beth, her dark hair flowing in soft waves and her petite frame belying the strength beneath within her lithe muscles.
Leaning against the wall stands Ivy, her blonde hair the shade of honey. A wry smile plays on her lips as she nurses a glass of plasmapolitan—cosmo with a dash of plasma.
Kyla’s absence is especially conspicuous now that I know what she’s been up to.
“Finally!” Evan calls out, raising a glass in my direction.
Without a word, I snatch the glass from his hand and down its contents in one burning gulp. I slam the empty glass on the table, heaving a sigh to get myself to calm down.
“Trouble in paradise?” Haden asks from across the table, his short, brown coils catching what little light filters through the smoky room. His full lips press together in a thoughtful line, staring off into space, as if preparing for an earful.
“Did Prince Charming stand you up?” Evan guesses, all too eager for me to tell him that he is right.
I ignore them both.
“Someone is dead,” I mutter, low enough that only the vampires can hear me. “A human. Drained completely. And another was nearly killed tonight.”
“Not one of us,” Evan says, more statement than question.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Kyla Rogues.”
“Kyla Rogues,” he repeats slowly, registering the words with such delay that they seem to echo through him twice before he accepts they were spoken at all. “Oh, yeah. Said she was going for some fresh air. Or was it meat? Did she get caught?”
Haden shakes his head with a click of the tongue. “Sloppy work.”
“She’s always careful,” Evan notes, his pupils unnaturally dilated, a telltale sign he’s been partaking in more than just cigarettes and alcohol.
“Not tonight, she wasn’t,” Haden remarks in an overly casual tone, making everyone burst into contagious laughter.
He takes a long drag from what I now recognize isn’t just a cigarette. The piquant, musky aroma of cannabis registers within me—hard to get and highly illegal, being the main cause for perpetrators to engage in bloodsucking without regard for the consequences.
“Where did you get that?” I demand, my eyes darting between the group.
“Viktor,” Haden says with infuriating nonchalance, taking another hit.
“The plug.” That slippery dealer who operates from a windowless basement beneath a butcher shop, where the stench of raw meat masks the scent of various substances that flows freely among his clientele.
He isn’t a vampire, but certainly profits from their existence.
Viktor is what locals call a blood broker, facilitating transactions between desperate humans willing to sell their blood outside the system and greedy vampires looking to circumvent ration limits.
He also deals in various substances that enhance the high of a bite for humans, or intensify bloodlust for vampires.
Last I heard, he even expanded his enterprise to include smuggling unregistered vampires into Penn City, those too dangerous or damaged to go through proper channels. The thought of him operating so openly now, supplying my friends with illegal substances, makes my skin crawl.
I snatch the joint from Haden’s fingers. “You’re dealing with Viktor now?”
“Mean,” he pouts, reaching for the joint I confiscated.
I hold it away from him, my eyes scanning the booth. The humans are clearly too far gone to notice or care about our conversation, ecstasy glazing over their eyes as they bask in the afterglow of vampire bites.
Despite Haden’s protests, I crush the joint between my fingers.
“Someone is dead,” I repeat, leaning forward with my hands braced. The playful atmosphere evaporates instantly at the slamming sound of the table. The vampires straighten in their seats, realization flickering across their faces. “And you’re sitting here high as a kite from Viktor’s garbage.”
“Shit,” Evan curses, his arm slipping away from the human beside him. “We’re—”
“In trouble.” I glance nervously at the door.
Evan blinks hard several times as if trying to force his pupils back to normal size. He is frozen in place, apparently believing that immobility will somehow mask his intoxication. “I was going to say innocent,” he says. “We’ve been here the entire night.”
“So have keepers. All over the district.” I stifle a laugh at how still he sits. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was posing for a portrait. “And why are you sitting like that?”
“I always sit like this,” he insists, voice dropping an octave in what I assume is his attempt to sound sober. He then reaches for his glass, his hand moving in a straight line as if following an invisible track.
I facepalm, coming to terms with the fact that they have likely only processed half of our conversation before this. I reach for the pocket of my coat, pulling out a small tin. As I pop it open, a collection of pale green candies resembling ordinary mints reveals itself.
They seem deceptively plain considering the power they pack.
“Eat these,” I command, tossing one to each vampire in our circle.
Vitaequils. They will clear their heads in about five minutes—the amount of time that could mean the difference between lighthearted fun and irreversible catastrophe.
The tiny, compressed tablets are a lifeline in situations that require a vampire to sober up quickly, like right now, so I carry them everywhere I go.
The science behind it is quite complex, something about enzyme stimulation and some type of synthetic plasma. Things that keep the bloodlust at bay when common sense can’t.
For creatures whose entire existence revolves around the delicate balance of blood consumption, a momentary lapse of control is always lurking around the corner, especially when indulging in substances that fuel the thirst. Vampires heal almost anything, but not the guilt of what they might do without these.
Evan catches his with surprising dexterity despite his current state. “Always prepared, aren’t you?”
“One of us has to be.” I watch as they reluctantly place the candies on their tongues, the chemical imitation of cinnamon and lemon making most vampires grimace.
As expected, their faces contort as they swallow.
“Fuck, these taste worse every time,” says Haden.
“You’re welcome,” I state dryly. After a couple of minutes, the effects finally begin to take hold.
“Now, focus. We need to talk about Kyla and what this means for all of us. Max already put two and two together and figured out we’re skirting the law.
He threatened to turn us all in if it happens again. ”
“Us?” Evan snaps. “He threatened you, too? That’s ridiculous. You’ve never bloodsucked in your life.”
I sigh, nodding in what feels like shame.
I know Max is right. And I know I’m wrong. Still, a part of me wishes that he wouldn’t have said that. That he would’ve lied for me instead. But that’s exactly what makes him a good person, and why I fell for him.
With him by my side, I can be fixed.
“I’ve kept silent about others doing it, which makes me complicit. This incident just proves that keeping quiet about it is just as bad as the act itself. People are dying.” I sit down to meet them at eye level. “This needs to stop.”
Evan leans back with his arms crossed, skeptical rationality coloring his gentle rebuttal. “People die more in car accidents than they do from bites, Serrie.”
“Because bloodsucking is illegal, driving isn’t.”
“Exactly. Why do reckless drivers who break the rules get a fine or jail time at most, but vampires get a death sentence? It’s like we’re being punished for simply existing.”
I look at Haden, usually the reasonable one of the two, who gives me a shrug in response. “What? He’s got a point.”
“Seriously?”
“See? Screw the system.” Evan caps the catchphrase with an insouciant fist pump, igniting a spark of rebellious fervor within the others.
“Would you rather live in the comfort and safety of this city, or risk being hunted outside?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Evan crosses his arms and throws me a cheeky, almost combative wink. “You can hunt me anytime, darling.”