Page 9 of Vampire Savage

I’m frozen under his warm gaze again. He says my name reverently, with approval and appreciation. A part of my brain perks up, wanting to hear it again, to soak up the praise dripping from the vampire’s lips.

“It tells me that you are tenacious, a hard worker; someone who strives for perfection, to master subjects not just for yourself but for others. It tells me that despite hurdles and obstacles others wilt and crumble before, you are strong enough to endure, overcome.” His golden gaze heats, taking my body temperature along with it.

“It tells me that you’re a good girl.”

His words punch the air from my lungs as my body overheats. I’m snared, utterly and completely, and I have no way to find my balance again.

The moment is severed, and I slam back into reality when the server drops off another beer in front of me. Lan tells the man to close his tab and slides from the booth.

“You’re leaving?” I’m absolutely discombobulated.

Standing beside the table, Lan is as tall as I suspected. At least six two, maybe six three. He slides on his suit jacket, the color and fit confirming he was the mysterious man I’d seen at the bar. I could have sworn I left before him, though. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a leather billfold. He drops a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill on the table and then draws out a matte black business card, holding it between his index and middle finger as he offers it to me.

“For the tip,” he indicates the money he left. “I have other business to attend to tonight. If you decide you want to continue our interview, you can contact me here.”

I reach for the card, and he bends his wrist, keeping it just out of reach, and my brows narrow. The warmth in his eyes has transformed into a blaze with clear intent, the smile on his tempting lips utterly salacious.

“I assure you, I’m experienced in all manner of positions.”

He lets me take the card with almost limp fingers before turning and striding towards the bar. I wrap my hand around the card, ignoring the sharp edges cutting into my palm, as I watch him sign his receipt and stroll out of Kell’s without a single glance back at me.

When Lan doesn’t reappear, I collapse back against the bench seat. A moment later, Niamh is sliding into the booth, eagerness brightening her.

“So?” She immediately presses.

I can only shake my head, still reeling from the entire interaction, and take a long, long gulp of the fresh beer. I slide the card Lan gave me into my pocket, keeping it a secret for now. My best friend starts to coax everything that happened from me, and I recount it almost feeling like it happened to someone else.

The card searing into my upper thigh reminds me otherwise.

Chapter Four

WREN

My father’s office is on the tenth story of the building that comprises Benoit Technology Corps. When he first purchased the building seven years ago, he expanded the original administration section of the building upwards, adding on another five floors. When I asked why, since we had yet to employ even half the people we’d need to meet our expansion demands, he simply stated it was so he can watch over his growing business empire and rivals.

Standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up two of the four walls of his enormous office, I can’t disagree that the view is spectacular. The blackout shades are fully retracted, giving me a panorama of Newgate. With our location in the southern business district of the city, there is even a view of the broad river and on the perpendicular side, Oldgate—the Barrows.

It’s that view I face now, as opposed to the one to the left of me looking over Newgate and the buildings as they increase in height the closer to the city center they get. Everything in view is brilliant and warm in the late morning sun. It’s as if the city strove to clean itself of any connection to Oldgate, mandating all buildings be built in pale colors and rigorously cleaned to ensure the image of wealth and prosperity Newgate represents.

I wonder if those in the Barrows call this city Topside because our buildings tower over them, reaching into the sky as if the city itself is straining to touch the stars.

My eyes don’t linger on the near eye-watering bright buildings of the city I live in, but on the bold, dark length of Oldgate in the distance. From where I stand, the city limits of Oldgate are seven miles away.

Is Landon in Oldgate now? Very few supernaturals live in Topside, I’d learned, and almost all of them live close to the river. Landon, with his luxury suits and casual display of wealth at Kell’s, doesn’t strike me as the type to live in the small, less affluent homes or apartments that make up those neighborhoods.

It’s been a week since he gave me his card. It’s matte black and embossed in a metallic bronze is only three things. His name and a phone number below the Nightshade symbol of a weeping Belladonna flower.

I should have gotten rid of it, but instead I’ve kept it in my wallet only to take it out in the privacy of my bedroom. Twice I’ve come close to calling Landon, once as far as inputting the number from the card, before my courage failed me and I deleted it.

My lack of courage hasn’t kept the vampire out of my thoughts, though. Landon has occupied every spare moment to the point of distraction. I’ve thrown myself into work, diving into the details of the projects and proposals within my department and working late into the night. I tried to play my cello once, but all I could think about was performing for Landon and then how he might show his appreciation for my skill with those dexterous fingers of his and those too sinful of lips. How he might murmur my name, full of praise, in my ear and against my skin as he explores me.

How he might sink his fangs into my flesh and feed from me.

It is unnerving, the power this vampire has over me after a single meeting, where nothing beyond a few bold insinuations were offered.

The door opens behind me, allowing me to wrench my thoughts back under control and turn to face my father as he enters, my hands clasped demurely in front of me. The office is a perfect reflection of my father, Oberon, seamlessly blending modern style with old-world masculinity. His desk is large, but not ostentatiously so as many other men in his position seem to require. It’s dark walnut, and often reminds me more of what a war general may have had when kings and queens still ruled the world. Two monitors take up half of the space, and he keeps it as meticulously clean and organized as he does everything else in his life.

“Has the issue with the hydro pistons been resolved?” He asks in lieu of a greeting as he marches to his desk, a leather portfolio open in his hand. This is the first time I’ve seen him since before my chamber performance, and I swallow down the emotions threatening to tighten my throat.

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