Page 3 of Vampire Savage

I’ve been around vampires before; I’ve been to the Barrows, even. Each time, it only adds more fodder to the craving I dare not admit to anyone, not even my best friend.

If I gave in, I would earn more wrath from my father than if he learned I’m no longer “pure.”

I want to know what it’s like to be fed on by a vampire. I’ve seen it at the Nightshade’s club, Noir. Vampires embracing others, holding them close as they sink their fangs deep. I’ve stolen glances, envious of the rapture on the human’s face as their vampire’s mouth suckles at their flesh.

I crave to experience it–to, for a few moments, be the sole focus and desire of another creature. To be the life force of another, to be embraced and accepted and needed in such a primal fashion.

A throat clears politely, and my thoughts rush back to the present. My cheeks blaze, and I relax my grip on the now empty flute and school my face into a pleasant smile. One of the staff, a young man dressed like the rest of the staff in a white button-down and black vest, holds a gold and black patterned tray, on which my small purse rests.

“Your phone has rung twice in a short span of time, Ms. Foster,” he explains politely. “We thought it best to notify you.”

My smile turns genuine as I reach for the purse, trading my glass for it. “Thank you.” Before he leaves, I slip him a tip, which he accepts with a smile and polite nod before leaving me to check my missed calls in peace.

Two missed calls, the most recent being three minutes ago, and four text messages. All from the same person.

Before I can return the call, my phone lights up once again, vibrating in my hand. I can’t hide my smile and turn my back to the room as I answer.

“Niamh,” I sigh out my best friend’s name with gratitude. “What’s wrong? Is it Charlie?”

Charlie isn’t real. It’s the codeword we came up with when we met in college. She’s six years older than me and was the only other woman in the doctorate program. Rather than treating me like a child because of our age difference, or like a pariah who hadn’t earned my place in the program, she decided we’d be best friends and become a force against the rest of the students in our program.

“Oh, thank god you finally answered,” Niamh’s smoky voice came. “Yes, it’s Charlie! I know you had a performance tonight but is there any way you can come help? I really need you.”

Charlie was a fictitious child that we use as a code and excuse to exit social situations. Niamh usually uses it to escape horrible dates, and I use it as an excuse to leave these soul-sucking events.

“Of course,” I say, turning back towards the room. Unbidden, I look back towards the bar but my mysterious stranger is gone. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Escape plan executed, I slip through the crowd and head towards the elevator. My family driver will have waited in the parking garage, and only one person tries to stop me. I plead my excuse, making empty promises to get lunch together, before sliding into the elevator and pressing the Door Close button harder than necessary. Swiping open my phone again, I read Niamh’s text messages and purse my lips. I’d planned on going home, changing into pajamas and crawling into bed to watch the latest episode of my favorite cooking competition but Niamh had other ideas.

When the elevator doors open, I reach back and remove the pins holding up my hair as I speed walk towards the silver town car to my left, the click of my heels echoing in the silent garage. The garage is full of cars and no one else is walking on the level, but I slow because that same awareness is back. Gaze darting between the concrete pillars and at the tinted windshields of dark cars, I see no one. I speed up, grateful for the flowing skirt of my black performance dress. I’d feel too much like a little mouse scurrying away if I was in a tight dress that made me keep to tiny steps.

Dragging my fingers through my hair, my driver, Simon, hurries out of the car as I approach to open my door for me. After the door closes behind me, a rough breath escapes my lips and I tell myself I’m just being silly. Of course, someone was looking at me. There are other drivers here and they were probably all looking at me to see if I was their client ready to leave for the night. Simon returns to the driver’s seat and turns the ignition while looking at me in the rearview mirror.

“Home, Ms. Foster?” He’s been my driver for long enough to know my usual routine and his hazel eyes are crinkled with kind familiarity. He’s older than my father and sometimes, when I really need a shoulder to lean on, he’s been there for me. The silent support of a kind man who doesn’t care how much money separates us. I try to repay his kindness any chance I can get, which isn’t as often as I should.

“Actually, let’s go to Kell’s. Niamh’s there,” I say and slide my kitten heels off, rolling my ankles.

“You’ve still got a bag in the trunk. Would you like it now?”

I perk up at that, relieved. A conservative but still expensive cocktail dress isn’t quite the right outfit for a casual, blue-collar pub. I usually keep an emergency bag of clothing in the town car, a habit held over from when I was a kid and still clumsy. Then it was easily adjusted to when I was in college and wanted to fit in better with the students around me. I wave him off, though. “I’ll grab it when we get there.”

He nods and as we pull out of the parking spot, I fire off a text to Niamh, letting her know I am on my way. At least at our favorite pub, I’ll be able to get a burger and tots.

Chapter Two

LAN

Wrens are a type of bird. They’re tiny things, small enough I could wrap my entire hand around one and crush it without effort. They’re shy creatures, difficult to spot in nature because of their brown coloring, which helps them blend into their natural habitat. You find them best by listening, their musical trills bold and captivating where their personality is shy.

This Wren is plain compared to the women wearing brilliant-colored gowns and weighed down by jewelry; she’s wearing a knee-length black silk dress that allowed her to straddle her cello during the performance, the boat neck giving the slightest tease of her collarbone and with her hair the color of strawberries twisted into submission, the elegant slope of her neck is on display for all to see. She hides under simple dresses and demure expressions, moving through the sharks of society without causing a ripple.

It makes me long to bare my fangs and throw boulders in the waters, just to see her reaction.

She sensed my attention at the beginning of her performance, before she slipped into her music, and later in the cocktail reception. Her curious gaze touched my shoulders when I’d stood with my back to her, then later when I’d followed her into the parking garage, she’d sensed me again despite being hidden in the dark shadows above her.

A sick glee filled me as I crawled across the ceiling beams and listened to Wren tell the old man to drive her to a pub on the edge of Newgate. It’s on the opposite side of the city from the Barrows, but I’m as familiar with Topside as I am with every dank gutter in my sire’s kingdom.

It’s so much more delightful when they’re afraid.

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