The Vampire's Exclusive Donor

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

SIX MONTHS AGO

The bell above the door chimes as I shove it open, a gust of chilly autumn air rudely smacking me in the face before I even step outside.

“Later, Ronnie!” I call over my shoulder absently, only half-expecting him to hear me over the dull thump of music pulsing through the tattoo shop.

“Whoa, hold up,” he immediately calls back, his gruff voice muffled behind the thick curtain at the rear.

I pause mid-stride, torn between professional obligation and the urge to make a run for it.

It’s been a long ass day. I was on set by noon for a print modeling shoot, then barely had time to change and scarf down a cup of instant ramen before clocking in here and firing up my tattoo gun. Four back-to-back sessions later, my exhaustion is bone-deep.

All I want to do right now is to crawl into bed and pass the fuck out… but considering this place is my most consistent source of income, I should probably find out what my boss needs, first.

I reluctantly turn around, the door swinging shut behind me with a dull thud. The curtain at the back of the shop rustles, then Ronnie’s bald head pokes through, his steely gray eyes locking on mine.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll walk you home,” he offers.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” I sigh, waving him off as I pivot for the door again.

“C’mon, just wait,” he presses. “You know it’s dangerous to walk the streets at this hour. There could be vampires lurking.”

“Vamps don’t scare me,” I scoff, glancing back at him with a smirk. “I bite, too.”

He gives me a withering look that basically amounts to ‘you’re gonna be the death of me, kid’.

“Bex…”

“Goodbye!” I sing-song, cutting him off before he starts in on one of his lectures by shoving the door open and slipping out into the night.

The cold bites at my exposed skin the moment I step onto the sidewalk.

I suck in a breath and pull my leather jacket tighter around myself, boots hitting damp pavement as I start the two-block walk to my apartment.

It’s in a shitty part of town, but so is the shop, so at least my commute’s efficient.

Not like I could afford anything better anyway.

Not yet.

I’ve been grinding my whole life, taking whatever jobs I can stack on top of each other to claw my way up from the bottom.

Lately, that’s consisted of tattooing in the evenings, taking modeling gigs whenever they come through, and snatching up side hustles when they don’t.

It’s not glamorous, but it’s momentum. Momentum means I’m getting somewhere.

Financial freedom isn’t some far-off fantasy I tell myself to sleep better at night. It’s close– close enough that I can almost feel it brushing my fingertips if I just keep saying yes whenever opportunities show up.

It’s pushing two a.m., and there’s a haunted atmosphere to the city at this hour.

The streets are quiet, the shadows are thick, and it always feels like somebody’s watching from the cover of darkness.

The air’s still damp from the storm that rolled through earlier tonight, puddles on the asphalt reflecting warped slices of neon and streetlight.

I keep my head up and my senses sharp, more out of habit than fear since I’ve always had to watch my own back.

Nothing lunges out of the dark.

Nobody tries to drag me off into an alley.

Boring.

My building looms at the end of the block– an old warehouse someone tried to make trendy a decade ago and then promptly gave up on halfway through.

The lofts are full of exposed ductwork, concrete floors, and giant windows that leak heat in the winter and trap it in the summer.

The rent’s cheap, though, and that’s all that really matters.

I slide my key into the lock and shove the door open, the smell of weed and Chinese takeout hitting me immediately when I step into the warm, dimly lit space. My roommates are exactly where I expect them to be– curled up together on the couch with the soft glow of the TV flickering over them.

“Hey,” Alaia murmurs sleepily, lifting her head from Devin’s thick shoulder just enough to glance over at me. “How was work?”

“Slow,” I reply, shrugging out of my jacket and tossing it onto the hook by the door. “Two appointments, two walk-ins. All of them stingy as hell on tips.”

“Lame,” Devin sighs, absently twirling a strand of Alaia’s blonde hair around his finger. “Glad I didn’t go in.”

“Yeah, well,” I mutter, kicking off my boots and nudging them into the corner. “Something’s better than nothing. At least now I’ll make rent this month.”

His gaze drops immediately, his hand dragging over his jaw. “Yeah, about that…”

“Dev,” I snap, a frown pulling at my mouth. “It’s due tomorrow.”

He winces as he looks up at me. “Think you can text Ted and ask him for another week?”

Of course.

Ted’s our landlord. I made the mistake of sleeping with him once, and he’s made it clear he’s eager for another round. He’s not getting it, but the false hope comes in handy when rent’s late. Which is often.

“Again?” I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I hate how this always becomes my fucking problem to handle.

Devin makes decent money as a tattoo artist when he actually shows up to work. The problem is, most of it goes straight up his nose. If he kicked his drug habit, he’d never be behind on rent and could probably afford to live in a place a hell of a lot nicer than this one, but… priorities.

He shrugs, unbothered. “Bookings were light this past month.”

“Maybe Alaia should get a job, then,” I shoot back, gesturing toward her. “Help out like the rest of us.”

“She has a job,” Dev drawls, pulling her in closer. “She’s my muse.”

I roll my eyes so hard I damn near glimpse the back of my skull.

Alaia smiles up at him dreamily, then turns back to me, shrugging. “Sorry, girl. You know I’m not good with schedules.”

“What about gig work?” I ask, already digging a hand into my back pocket. My fingers close around the thick, matte black business card I tucked in there earlier and I pull it free, flicking it toward her.

“What’s this?” she asks as the card lands in her lap, picking it up. The red foiled lettering catches the light as she tilts it, one word stamped dead center: bite.

“Got it from another model on set this morning,” I reply, crossing my arms. “She said it’s a high-end agency that caters to vamps. Live feeds for quick cash.”

The temperature in the room drops instantly. Devin stiffens, Alaia’s grip on the card tightening a fraction. Not surprising. The mention of vampires tends to have that effect on most people.

Vamps went public over sixty years ago, but that doesn’t mean anyone’s fully comfortable with them. They mostly keep to themselves– their own rules, their own lifestyle, their own quiet hierarchy that humans don’t get to touch. Except when it comes to food, since humans are food to them.

“Isn’t that, like, illegal?” Devin asks, his brows drawing in.

“Technically,” I say with a shrug.

Feeding from a live source was outlawed decades ago; part of the deal that lets humans and vampires coexist without open panic. Blood banks keep things clean, controlled, and compensated. But where there’s a rule, there’s always someone figuring out how to bend it.

“She said this place runs clean,” I add. “White-glove service, private drivers, top-tier clients. Total anonymity.”

Devin reaches over and plucks the card from Alaia’s fingers, flipping it in his palm. His thumb drags slowly over the embossed numbers on the back like he’s already doing the math. “How much we talking?”

“Three hundred per bite.”

His head snaps up. “No shit?”

I nod, a slow grin spreading across my face. I had almost the exact same reaction when that model handed over the business card this morning and gave me the rundown.

Alaia leans forward, interest sparking bright in her eyes. “Just for one bite?”

“That’s base rate,” I say. “You can make a lot more depending on what you’re willing to do.”

“Like what?” she asks, curiosity threading through her tone.

I smirk. “Apparently feeding makes them horny. You sign up for higher-tier stuff, you can charge for extras.”

Dev huffs a laugh, while Alaia’s eyes gleam. She’s hooked.

He notices, nudging her with his shoulder. “Don’t even think about it,” he mutters.

“Why not?” she shoots back. “It’s not like we’re exclusive.”

Understatement of the year.

Those two blur lines for fun. I’ve been dragged into their bedroom more times than I can count, and not once has it been boring.

“True,” Devin grumbles, his jaw tightening a fraction. “But I don’t love the idea of some vamp getting handsy with you.”

“You’re just afraid she’ll like it too much and leave your sorry ass,” I snort.

He flips me off, but there’s no real anger behind it. Insults are practically our love language.

“I’m gonna call them tomorrow, see if I can get on the roster,” I say coolly, unwinding my messy bun and shaking my hair loose, the short dark strands falling around my face. “You two interested?”

There’s a beat of silence where Dev glances at Alaia, something unspoken passing between them.

“Three hundred for one bite,” Devin repeats slowly, like he’s trying to taste the number.

“Fifteen minutes, tops,” I add. “That’s what she told me. In and out.”

“In and out,” he echoes, brows lifting. “That’s… insane.”

“Right?” I grin, crossing the room to flop into the armchair opposite them and tucking one bronze leg up underneath me. “And remember, that’s just base level.”

Alaia plucks the card back from Dev’s hand, studying it again like she’s trying to see past the sleek surface into whatever’s hiding underneath. “There’s no website?” she asks, turning it over.

“Black market businesses don’t typically have a homepage,” I point out, easing back against the cracked leather.

“She said you just call the number and schedule a time to go in. They take pictures, run bloodwork, and build your donor profile. Then vamps can request engagements with you through their app.”

Devin huffs. “And then you show up and bleed for some stranger? That’s not weird at all.”

“You tattoo people for a living,” I deadpan. “You’ve literally had strangers bleed all over you.”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“Is it?” I tilt my head. “You’re still dealing with bodies and blood. Only difference is, this time you’re getting paid more for less work.”

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

Because I’m right, and he knows it.

Alaia’s thumb traces over the red lettering again. “White-glove service, huh?” she muses. “So some rich vamp picks you up, feeds, and sends you home with cash?”

“That’s the gist,” I murmur. “I’m sure we’ll learn more when we go there to sign up.”

“You sure you wanna do this?” Devin asks, his skeptical gaze dragging over me. “Vampires are freakishly strong, Bex. You’re so puny that a vamp could carry you off one-handed.”

I scoff and flip him the bird. “Don’t make me kick your ass just to prove a point.”

He snorts under his breath, but he knows damn well I mean it.

I’m used to being underestimated– people tend to take one look at me and assume small equals defenseless– but being five-foot-nothing doesn’t automatically make me easy to overpower. If anything, it just means I learned early how to fight dirtier than everyone else.

“Okay, but even by our standards, this still seems sketchy as hell,” he presses. “Aren’t you even a little concerned about getting caught?”

I lean back, stretching my arms over my head. “Concerned doesn’t pay rent,” I reply simply.

That shuts him up.

Silence settles over the room, all three of us thinking the same thing. That as far as making money goes, it almost seems too easy.

“Feels like a trap,” Dev mutters finally.

“Everything’s a trap,” I sigh. “At least this one pays well.”

Alaia giggles softly, her eyes flicking between us. “I mean… we’ve done worse for less.”

Another understatement.

Dev once snorted a shot of J?germeister for twenty bucks, which was hardly worth the hour he spent puking in the bathroom afterwards.

I grin, pushing up out of the chair and crossing the room. Snagging the card from Alaia’s fingers, I twirl it between mine as I head toward the kitchen.

“This seems like a bad idea,” Devin grumbles.

“Bad ideas are kinda our brand,” I shoot back, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a beer off the shelf.

My roommates’ recklessness is part of what drew me to them in the first place. Wild recognizes wild, and the three of us are cut from the same cloth, our skin branded with tattoos and our souls tarnished by bad decisions.

The last girl I lived with kicked me out because she didn’t like the way her boyfriend stared when I walked around in my underwear, but that’s never been an issue here.

Alaia and Devin are free spirits like me– messy, chaotic, and impossible to scandalize.

The only person I’d probably rather live with is my best friend Taylor, but she’s never really been a roommate kind of girl, making this arrangement the next best thing.

“So, are you in or what?” I ask as I turn back around, nudging the door closed with a hip.

“Of course I’m in,” Devin scoffs, the corner of his mouth quirking despite himself.

I pop the cap off my beer and tip the bottle toward him in a mock toast, grinning wickedly before taking a long sip.

I can already feel it– something shifting, like a door cracking open just enough to let something new slip through.

Opportunity. Risk. Something bigger than the same cycle we’ve been stuck in.

Tomorrow, I’ll call.

Tomorrow, everything changes.