Page 23 of Vampire Savage

Pleasure, sweat, blood, rapture, and other scents flood the room in spite of the heavy ventilation installed.

It takes me a matter of heartbeats to sort through every scent, every sound, every glimpse of a body to determine that whatever is causing this oddity isn’t here. Lip curling in a snarl, I stalk through the floor, disregarding the established path and walking straight towards the entrance even if it means through scenes in play. No one protests, and it’s a damn good thing because I’d likely rip out their throats without stopping. Then I’d have to deal with Malachi, Ambrose, and paperwork.

When I get to the entrance, Daniel is there, manning the door as expected. He seems surprised to see me, raising one of his dark brows sharply.

“Problem, boss?” His voice is low, otherworldly, and sinister enough that the group of humans at the front of the line recoils out of primal instinct.

“I haven’t decided,” I murmur, looking past him and along the line. Nothing but excitement and arousal emanates from the crowd lining the sidewalk waiting to get in to Lush. I jerk my head in a nod and Daniel unhooks the line for me, and I move to the curb, ignoring the heavy stares of those in line. I’m more than a familiar face here at Lush though most do not know I run the place. The area directly in front of me is bathed in a bright violet thanks to the Lush sign above me, and the rest of the street is illuminated by the different neon lights of the surrounding clubs and establishments. The sidewalks are busy, the Barrows coming to life at night, and music bursts into the cacophony each time a door opens.

It’s a chaotic maelstrom of scents, sounds, and sights and where I feel most comfortable. Right now, though, I wish they’d all just shut the fuck up.

Another lightning bolt of fear slices through my head from the left. I snap my head in that direction, nostrils flaring, and inhale deeply while casting my senses wide. A thread of rosemary, lemon, and mint cuts through the rest of the detritus of smells surrounding me. Woven through it is a sour scent of fear.

Wren.

I take off, fast enough the people in line shout in surprise as my passing buffets them back against the building. I weave through the pedestrians, focusing solely on Wren, tracking her scent like a damn bloodhound except better. She’s close and I skid to a stop, outside of a side alley her scent is thickest at. Along with a troll. Rage fills my veins as the damn male bends his head closer to Wren, who watches him with defiance even as fear ripples from her.

“Even if you are a vamp’s blood donor, they’ll just get a new one. Humans mean nothing to them, with how short your lives are compared to theirs. But I’ll play along. Who is this scary vampire I should be shitting my pants in front of?”

How dare this fucking scum of the earth creature touch Wren? The urge to slaughter this troll, to protect her, erupts in a dark cloud from the void of my soul, elongating my fangs, and my nails sharpen into claws. The unease scratching along my ribs morphs into bestial fury, and a snarl rips from my chest even as my vision turns red. The fucker has his godsdamned claws on her perfect neck.

Wren and the troll look at me, Wren’s eyes widening at the sight of me. The scent of her fear vanishes and a wave of satisfaction curls around me. The satisfaction turns sinister once more when I move my gaze to the troll and fear spills from him.

“Me.”

My voice is harsh, ripping through the air between us like a blade, full of promises of death and pain. The troll falls back from her, turning towards me and raising his hands.

The alley is dark, too dark for a human like Wren to see, but for the troll and me, we might as well be facing off on a cloudy day. He’s at least a foot taller than me if he didn’t hunch so much, his long, spindly arms hanging low near his knees. He’s got an over-pronounced brow ridge, a long, pointed nose better suited to a human’s witch costume, two tusks curling up from his mouth from his lower jaw, and violet slit eyes.

Many creatures who aren’t able to pass as human have adopted the punk and grunge fashions and this troll is the same with shabby red and black plaid pants with chains hanging from the belt loops, and a sleeveless black shirt that might have had some sort of design on it at one point. The most important feature, the one I look for and find missing, is a ring on his nose or on an oversized, pointed ear. No kin ring means he’s on his own.

Which means I can dispose of him without ramifications.

“Whoa, man, I was just trying to get her wallet–”

I leap forward, crossing the distance between him and me in a blink, and wrap my hand around his throat before spinning and slamming him up against the wall opposite of Wren. Fear rushes from him and I drink it in. It’s so deliciously bitter and sour and I delight in it. I ease my face close to his, filtering out the stench of his pallid blue skin and filthy clothes.

“You touched what is mine, troll,” I speak, letting my vampiric power flood my words. His heart is a rapid, frantic beat as his situation sinks in. The troll doesn’t try to escape, deciding to skip the arguing stage and go right to pleading.

“I’m sorry man,” he gets out and squeaks when I tighten my grip, my sharpened nails cutting into his thick, leathery skin like paper. “I thought she was just an easy mark. I didn’t smell your mark. Please, dude!”

A cruel grin twists my lips and I shake my head slowly. “I don’t give a fuck. You scared my little bird. Now you’ll pay for it, kinless.”

His violet eyes go wide, understanding hitting him as I purr out the last word. Being kinless, or without a pack or clan, in the Barrows means anyone can seek out retribution or justice against them without concern of Ambrose’s rules. His fear grows even higher and when he swings his right hand at my face, I catch his wrist with a dark chuckle.

With a jerk, I snap his wrist, and a howl of pain echoes through the narrow alley. I dig my nails deeper into his neck, his dark red blood running in rivulets down his throat and my hand, staining my white shirt.

His howls lessen, but he’s starting to scramble against me as desperation takes over. He looks over my shoulder to where I sense Wren still stands. “Help–”

“No!” I spit out, jerking him to face me, rage twisting my face. “You don’t get to speak to her. You don’t get to look at her.”

The desperation to survive takes over the troll, making him rash and chaotic. He flails his other hand at me, this time going for my exposed side. I whirl us around, as if leading him in a deadly waltz, before throwing him away from me with a roar. He staggers back, deeper into the alley, stumbling over the trash littering the uneven ground. I don’t give him time to recover, leaning back and planting a kick to his stomach, just below his lungs, sending him to his back with a crash. He might have been able to scamper away like the rat he is if I hadn’t followed through my kick, pinning him down with my foot. He swings up, his long arm capable of slicing deep gouges in me if I let it. I catch it with both hands, wrenching it towards me. It fills me with fucking glee as I feel the bone pop out of socket, the tendons and ligaments straining until they snap. I revel in his screams.

I drop his now useless arm, and still keeping him pinned, I reach down and grab his other arm, the one with the broken wrist. Holding it aloft, I twist it away from me and give his lungs a moment of relief by kicking his elbow, shattering his arm so brutally two bones burst out of his skin in a spray of blood. I bare my fangs, the air filling with the metallic scent of power for my kind.

The troll is crying now, thick green snot blubbering from his long nose, blood splattered across his face and more running from the punctures on his neck.

Anyone else would leave him as easy prey for those who lurk in the Barrow’s shadows. But my rage at his transgression isn’t yet satisfied.

---