"These are not your average vamps, dearie. Not by a long shot."
Black and Red have been Nightwalkers for longer than they care to count, and that alone is unusual enough to attract unwanted attention.
Life and survival in the Blue Light District is...
I sniffed furtively, wondering when the load of regeneration sludge got dumped into his cozy little flat; something smelled rank. Goodwill my ass. He didn't strike me as the sort; not then, certainly not now. A vamp was a vamp was a vamp.
"What would you offer, to receive my goodwill a second time?"
Smarmy, condescending asshole. The vamp's tone chafed against the residue of pleasure still thrumming in my veins.
What did I have that he hadn't already threatened to take? What did I have that wasn't already forfeit? Why did this feel like a fucking trap? Nothing I possessed held enough value for the likes of him, not enough to sway his choice.
Jhez had nicknamed him aptly: Le Gross Shite, a derogatory title in street patois— spoken by pushers, dealers, and Nightwalkers. Impromptu performances were her forte. She stared at the vamp with wide eyes, fingers clawed into the carpet, not cowering so much as crouching, coiled, thick Docs drawn beneath her.
She was the only unknown, the only variable for the vamp. Garthelle fed so deeply, the vamp couldn't help but feel every shift in my aura, thoughts, and emotions.
Fascinating to consider, when he'd played with torturing me that way. Had he felt it, too? He stared down at me, and I found enough courage to meet his gaze. The harsh quality of his words didn't reflect in those eyes. What I saw there, in fact, conflicted with his tone.
That expression of curiosity, interest, didn't fit. His tone said if I didn't handle this situation correctly, I was good as dead. But his gaze suggested lenience, that he might be amenable to haggling.
Did I dare risk it? What did I take from him?
I reached inward, expecting that shard of energy I'd swiped would still throb through my aura with a tang of vamp emotions and sensations. Instead, my aura was a pond with all the silt stirred up, nothing distinguishable.
What had he meant by 'making use of the link'? How had I 'forged' anything?
He remained still and silent, waiting. With the patience of a marble statue. Or the disapproving gargoyle perched on the corner of the old courthouse in the Blue District.
With a sigh, I relented to playing along. "What would you have me offer, Monsieur Garthelle?"
Instead of answering, he let the silence stretch and curled his lips into something between a smile and leer. Then he retreated back across the room, once again slipping from sight into the embrace of shadows. I took advantage and scrambled to my feet, hauling Jhez along with me.
The security system wasn't about to open the door to the suite. But the couch, its matte black softness inviting, drew my eye. Surely he didn't mind if we sat somewhere aside from the floor. It hardly mattered if he chose to kill me. This particular piece of furniture already carried the taint of my aural presence.
"How long have you two been freelancing on Nightwalker Boulevard?"
Jhez hissed. I blinked rapidly, processing the path leading from my offer to this query. This night kept dragging on and on. I'd moved past exhaustion to dead on my feet. Figuratively and literally, as it turned out. I pushed Jhez past me toward the couch.
She went, dragging me with her. "About a decade, monsieur."
The real count exceeded twice that, but who would've believed such a claim? Surely not a vamp, even if he could use his magical aura powers or whatever to detect whether Jhez spoke truth. A decade, on the other hand, was a realistic time frame for a Nightwalker who exercised caution, given the stereotypes.
It took a special kind of Nightwalker to execute a . . . what did he call it? Ah, yes. A chi-theft. Jhez and I weren't generally considered cautious by our peers, but that was another story altogether. She yanked me down onto the couch beside her with a finger hooked through a belt loop. I went, annoyed at her risking my favorite pair of jeans.
"The two of you have acquired quite a reputation."
"My ego's not so large that I inquire after the opinions of others." I sank back into the couch, luxuriating in the soft comfort. Anything to distract me from every hair on my body standing up. Reputation, huh?
Jhez met my gaze, her eyes tight with anxiety. This hole we dug just got a lot deeper than it was a few minutes ago.
A soft chuckle floated from the shadows. And then I found him, emerging into visible proximity yet again, stalking over to stare down at me. I rested my head on the back of the couch and quirked an eyebrow. It helped maintain the facade of 'calm, unaffected Nightwalker.' Never mind that I did my damnedest to convince myself of it, every bit as much as the vamp.
"You would work for me. Both of you," he said, gaze darting toward Jhez. "That is my price."
I had so many issues with his proposal, I didn't even know where to begin. "Work for you?"
"Yes, work for me. The two of you are . . . unique, in some way. A delicacy. And it just so happens I'm entertaining distinguished guests in the very near future."
I swallowed so hard my throat hurt. I reached a hand out toward my sister, grappling for her hand blindly, and squeezed hard. She squeezed back with matching force.
"So we're to be your...appetizer course or something?" Jhez asked, interrupting his laser focus on me.
He flicked a hand. "Nothing so crass as all that, I'm not running some Alpha Circle club. You'll be compensated handsomely for your services. And it will get you off the streets, as well. Unless you enjoy the prospect of becoming some john's leverage against me? Or being drained by the next one who figures out what you've done? You're both far from innocent of any wrongdoing in this entire fiasco."
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