Page 19 of Princess Avenged

Chapter

Nine

Phil

After stalking around the city for most of the night, I slide over the stone in Independence Square to expose the entrance to Philadelphia’s biggest vampire club. A club is the last place I want to be. I don’t want to be around anyone. But the sun’s due to rise, and I need to go somewhere.

At Freetown, I could sleep in Ana’s bed, surrounded by the lingering scent of her and the memories of the many places and ways we made love. But if I’m right, if the demon is inside my mind, I can’t risk exposing our community. At least we’ve given Maria and Pierre indefinite paid vacation until our lives are more settled again.

I grunt at the bouncer, and then enter the elevator that will take me down to the club.

I don’t feel as bad exposing the vampires in this club to the demon. I doubt the demon has much interest in a vampire club.

Only one thing interests me.

Grabbing my head, I squeeze my temples. Maybe if I press hard enough, I can squish the demon right out of my skull.

The elevator doors open, and loud music pulses through my body, so loud my internal organs vibrate. Great. The blaring music might dull the demon.

When I enter the club, two tall females step toward me, but then their expressions fill with alarm. Realizing I’m the cause, I drop my hands from my head and the blood rushes out of my reddened face. I’ll have to try harder than that to squish out the demon. Probably crush my skull.

For now, I’ll try whiskey.

Ahead of me, the crowd parts, and I stomp through the club toward one of the bars. The music remains mercifully loud in this area, and as much as I hate whatever is thumping out of the speakers, I’m glad that it’s taking up a lot of space in my head.

“Scotch,” I call out to a bartender, who’s wearing low-riding, leather pants and no shirt. Their exposed skin is coated in glitter and their face is heavily painted with equally loud and decidedly feminine make up.

The bartender serves someone a cocktail, and then sashays toward me. “What’s your pleasure,” they ask. “See anything you like?” Stepping back, they cup their genitals. “You can have anything you like.”

I grunt. Even if I weren’t head over heels in love with Ana, this vampire’s gender-neutral aesthetic is very much not my thing. Nothing against it. Just not for me.

“Any scotch will do,” I tell them. “Give me the whole bottle.”

“My, my.” The bartender scrapes their teeth over their lower lip. “Sounds like your appetite is on scale with the rest of you. And by that, I mean huge.” Their eyes widen with continued interest, and so I turn away, not wanting to be rude, but also not wanting to give any encouragement to their blatant flirting.

“For you, sugar…” The bartender turns toward the shelves of high-end liquor, tracing their finger back and forth through the air as they study the rows of bottles. “I think something special is in order.” They pull a bottle off the shelf and set it on the bar before me.

“Holy shit.” It’s a 52-year-old Macallan. The bottle’s got to be worth tens of thousands. I shake my head. “Too rich for my blood. I just need to get drunk.”

“It’s on me, sugar.” They wink. “And you can be on me too, anytime you like.”

She’s not here. Look elsewhere.

The demon’s voice pierces my mind, and I slam the heels of my hands against my temples. The demon’s voice is quieter in this loud club, but it’s still fucking present.

“Hey there.” The bartender reaches up to take hold of my forearm. “Whatever’s going on with you, sugar.” They lick their lips. “I can make it all go away.”

Releasing my arm from their hold, I pick up the bottle and reach down behind the bar to grab a glass. “This will do.”

The bartender startles, but then runs their hand over their hip as if trying to cover their frightened reaction when I lunged to grab the glass.

“Need ice?” they ask. “Water?”

I shake my head. “Put this on my tab.” I take a few steps away, then spin back, tapping the bottle against my chest. “Phil.”

“Oh, sugar, I know who you are.” They lean against the bar, trying to fuck me with their eyes.

Shaking my head, I turn away, moving further into the club. Again, the crowd parts for me, and I’m glad that my intimidating size and visible anger are keeping the other patrons at bay. Talk is not what I came here for, and my brief interaction with the bartender was a million times more than the quantity of conversation I want tonight. I’m certainly not here to dance, either, or to feed or to fuck, and that sums up the things vampires come here to do.

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