Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
“So…” Alaia presses, her blue eyes gleaming beneath the warm glow of the living room lamp. “What do you think?”
I bounce up and down a few times, testing the cushion beneath me. “It’s nice.”
“Nice?” she scoffs, slapping a hand against her chest dramatically. “That thing cost like four grand!”
My brows shoot up. “For a couch?”
“For luxury,” she corrects.
“That’s… insane,” I breathe, shaking my head as I glance down at the buttery tan leather beneath me. “You could buy a fucking car for that.”
She rolls her eyes, folding her arms. “A car wouldn’t match the aesthetic of our living room though, would it?”
“Since when do we have an aesthetic?” I snort.
“Since we started making enough money to actually buy furniture instead of poaching shit from beside dumpsters,” she replies with a shrug.
I glance around the room, cataloging all the upgrades she’s made over the past few months.
In addition to the couch, there’s now a sleek glass coffee table sitting atop a cream-colored rug, a pair of matching end tables, and an actual TV stand replacing the warped dresser we’d been using.
The place is starting to look like somewhere functioning adults live instead of a trio of degenerates barely scraping by, which I don’t hate.
And considering our old couch was one busted spring away from collapsing completely, we definitely needed an upgrade.
Just… maybe not one that costs two months’ rent.
“I feel like I should be wearing gloves just to sit on this,” I mumble, running my palms over the smooth leather.
Alaia barks a laugh, flipping her blonde hair over a shoulder. “As if the couches you’re sitting on every night don’t cost ten times that. Vamps fill their homes with expensive shit, so why shouldn’t we?”
Many reasons come to mind– the biggest being that the rich vampire clientele at Bite are in a very different financial position than we are as donors– but there’s no point in arguing.
Alaia’s been drunk on the lifestyle since the money started rolling in.
In addition to the apartment upgrades, she’s invested in designer clothes, expensive makeup, and more purses than any one person could ever need.
Maybe it’s shallow, but after a lifetime of struggling to make ends meet, I can understand the appeal of finally getting to have nice things.
And if she wants to spend her blood money on lavish furniture rather than saving it to invest in her future, that’s her prerogative.
“You do you, boo,” I sigh, pushing to my feet. “I’ve gotta go get changed.”
Her gaze flicks over me as I stretch my arms over my head. “You’re working tonight?”
“Mhmm,” I hum. “Just a standard feed with one of my regulars. Should be back by ten.”
“Ooh, which one?” she asks, perking up.
The corner of my mouth ticks upward. “Henry.”
Alaia narrows her eyes thoughtfully. “Is he the one who looks like Richard Gere?”
“Yup,” I reply, my smirk deepening. “Major daddy vibes.”
“Lucky bitch,” she laughs.
Technically, we’re not supposed to discuss our work at Bite– client confidentiality and all that– but some rules are impossible not to break when you live with another donor.
Swapping stories after engagements is half the fun, especially when the clients are weird, hot, rich, or some chaotic combination of all three.
“What about you?” I ask casually.
Her grin turns wicked as if she’s been waiting for me to ask. “Devin and I picked up a joint engagement,” she says, wagging her brows. “Private party.”
“Orgy?”
It’s a rhetorical question– vampire ‘parties’ always seem to end the same way.
“God, I hope so,” she groans, clasping her hands together eagerly. “We’re supposed to show up in masks and formalwear, so it’s either that or a fancy murder cult.”
“With vampires, it could honestly be both.”
“See?” Alaia cackles. “This is why we’d never survive normal jobs anymore, we’re spoiled by the intrigue of it all.”
She’s not wrong. It’s hard to contemplate going back to some boring gig earning minimum wage after spending your nights drinking expensive liquor in penthouses while immortal rich people flirt with you like you’re the last dessert on earth.
I shake my head with a chuckle, starting for my bedroom. “Have fun, girl. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“The options are endless, then!” she calls after me, her laughter following me down the hall as I slip into my bedroom and shut the door behind me.
The noise of the apartment dulls instantly, replaced with the low hum of my window AC unit and the faint bass of music drifting in from somewhere out on the street below.
I check the time on my phone– I’ve got a little less than ten minutes to pull myself together before the driver arrives to pick me up. More than enough.
When the sun went down tonight, I received two engagement requests through the Bite app. One from Henry, a regular who always tips well and never makes me regret accepting his bookings, and the other from Vincent.
Just seeing his picture on my screen was enough to make my stomach twist. After the way things ended last night, I noped out of his request immediately. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I accept another engagement with that creep.
Tossing my phone onto the bed, I cross the room toward the clothing rack that’s basically taken over an entire wall, thumbing through the hangers for something to wear.
Being best friends with a vampire king’s lover certainly has its perks– Taylor’s taken me shopping so many times that my wardrobe has exploded.
I’ve got silk, leather, lace… something for every kind of client, every kind of mood.
Every version of me I’ve had to become for Bite engagements.
It doesn’t take long to settle on something that fits Henry’s taste.
He’s got a thing for skirts, so I go with a black leather mini with just enough stretch to move comfortably in, pairing it with a sheer black chiffon top that hints more than it shows.
The full effect is classic, polished, and just a little dangerous.
He’ll love it.
I change quickly, then step in front of the mirror, running my fingers through my hair.
My cropped black bob falls sleek and sharp around my face, the dark strands framing my cheekbones perfectly.
I rough it up a little to soften the effect, then reach for a tube of lipstick.
The shade is ironically called Blood Lust, which I picked up as a joke but now genuinely love.
The deep crimson makes my full lips pop against my bronze skin, makes my teeth look whiter, and always scores compliments from the vamps.
They all seem partial to the color red– probably because it reminds them of their favorite thing.
I swipe on a few coats of mascara and a healthy amount of eyeliner to pull focus to my big green eyes, then give myself a final once-over in the mirror.
Perfect.
The marks from Vincent’s fangs last night are long gone, thanks to the tube of Rapi-Gen cream in my medicine cabinet.
A gift from Bite as part of my onboarding.
It’s a miracle tissue-regeneration compound that only the ultra-rich can afford, but it’s a necessity when you’re getting bitten multiple times a week because it completely heals minor wounds in just a few hours.
Donors are required to apply it after every engagement, so it’s become part of my regular bedtime routine– teeth brushed, face washed, Rapi-Gen applied.
Then I wake up fresh as a daisy, skin smooth and ready for the next client’s bite.
It’s amazing how quickly this has become my new normal.
After sliding into a pair of black pumps, I grab my purse and make it out the door with two minutes to spare. A sleek black town car idles at the curb, and I slip into the back seat, smoothing my skirt as I settle in. When I glance up, I blink in surprise as I catch a familiar face in the rearview.
“Matty!” I chirp, genuinely delighted.
His eyes crinkle with a half-smile as he shifts the gear into drive.
I lean back against the seat, folding my arms with a dramatic little huff. “Oh, are we back to the silent treatment?”
He cracks a real smile, his gaze flicking to mine in the mirror. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
“Nah,” I scoff, waving him off. “I won’t tell. You get pretty good at keeping secrets in this line of work.”
I wink at him, and he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he pulls away from the curb.
“Why’d you get into this kinda work, anyway?” he asks after a moment.
“Same reason everyone does,” I shrug, fingers absently trailing over the platinum bracelet on my wrist. “Money.”
He nods slowly, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.
I tilt my head, studying him in the mirror. “What about you? Did you always dream of becoming a chauffeur for walking blood bags?”
He winces, eyes flicking up. “Is that really what they call you?”
“Not to our faces,” I smirk.
Matt goes quiet again, his attention settling back on the road ahead. The glow from the passing streetlights cuts across his face every few seconds, illuminating the tension straining his jaw before plunging him back into shadow.
“You ever think about doing something else?” he asks quietly.
“Sure,” I reply lightly, settling deeper into the leather seat. “Nothing else I’ve found pays this good, though.” I pause as I study his reflection, then grin. “Honestly, you should consider signing up. You’re cute, I bet you’d rake in way more as a donor than you do as a driver.”
He lets out a low grunt, shaking his head. “No thanks.”
“Why not?” I press. “You got some moral objection to blood donation?”
“No, I just…” he trails off, jaw tightening. “I’d rather not interact with vampires.”
I huff out a laugh. “Trust me, they’re not that scary.”
He meets my eyes in the mirror again. “I don’t trust anything that drinks blood to survive.”
“Fair,” I chuckle.