Page 2 of Black Bird

“What do you want? I’m a bit busy.”

He raised his brows at that remark.

“That you are. I thought we had an agreement, Dahlia.” He turned the silver ring on his thumb.

“If you’re talking about the body count, I’ll remind you that I’m not responsible for all of them.”

“Maybe not, but you’re responsible for the coven that’s piling them up.”

“And do you forget that the coven you’re speaking of still includes you? You have a responsibility to us, too. You don’t want us feeding on humans, then hold up your end.” She crossed her pale arms across the desk.

“I can’t control the supplyandmanage to keep the veil up to conceal us if you can’t keep these numbers down. Find another way.”

“What way? You want us to start feeding on livestock? Go back to medieval methods? Those methods included a great many humans, Athan. We didn’t hide back then. How long would you say you’d deign to survive feeding off a fucking chicken?”

Athan’s chair scooted back as he abruptly raised from it and pressed his palms to the desk. “This is why I wanted nothing more to do with this fucking cult. You still think because we’re immortal that we’re above eating a chicken, Dahlia? In all these centuries, you still don’t have a shred of humanity. I can count on one hand how many cannibalistic cases I’ve come across in the past twenty years. They don’t eat each other. Why thefuckshould we?”

“Humanity? Athan, we’re nothuman. And while you might harbor your guilt with every mark you ink on your skin, neither are you. And we wouldn’t feed on them if we had a steady supply coming in from EverLife. We give them plenty of money. Black Bird is thriving. So, you tell me why our blood bank doesn’t match what we’re putting out? Truth is, we’re not above eating a chicken, or feeding off a horse if we have to … butwe shouldn’t have to.And you mark my words, little soldier … if I don’t start seeing blood bags lining up in that storage facility in the next few weeks … I’ll cut our funding to EverLife, and our deal is off.” Dahlia stood, a cruel smirk gracing her red lips.

“I can’t help it if disease becomes an issue. You pull that deal and I’ll promise you something in return … and you can bet your blown out ass, Dahlia, that I’ll keep it.” She huffed a laugh as her eyes rolled.

“You wanna kill me, Kane?”

“I fucking will, and I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

“Oh, I bet. I’d say you’d miss me, pet … but you seem happy with your new puppy.” Her white teeth gleamed, and her elongated canines slid further out.

“Rhaena is a good person, and she ain’t got a damn thing to do with this. You owe your discretion to her just as much as you owe it to me.”

“I don’t owe you shit. You’re two hundred and twenty-seven years old this year, Athan. You still have seventy-three years left before you fulfill your debt to me for leaving this place. I let you live your lonely little life … you cover our asses and supply the plasma. It’s very simple. Replenish the stock and fuck whatever doggy you want. We’ll stop littering Boston with bodies. Nobody ever said there wouldn’t be obstacles. That was never part of the deal … so I don’t really see how it’s my fucking problem.” Dahlia leaned over her desk and winked, her wicked mouth a breath away from his. “Now get out.”

Athan growled under his breath, baring his teeth at the monster that held the keys to his freedom, and then pushed off the desk to storm out the door. As he began turning the handle, Dahlia cut him one last time.

“I know that look, Kane. I wonder how long you’ll hold out this time before you end up with another tattoo. I’m willing to bet this club that it won’t be a cluck-cluck.”

He didn’t have to look at her to know the sinister smile that she was wearing on her flawless face. He ground his teeth and jerked the door open, cursing impressively as he stormed down the dark hallway. The club was raging beyond the large door, and he pushed past Dahlia’s little guard dogs standing on either side. The larger one to his left, Decclan, used to be the only thing he had close to a friend in this coven—while he’d spent his ten years shackled to Dahlia’s side …and her bed. Decclan hadn’t supported his decision to make a deal with the Devil and leave Black Bird to go live across the city in an apartment alone. In Athan’s eyes, that had been the end of their camaraderie. No one that lived among the damned gave a shit about human life. Even though every one of them started out as such.

Athan hated the taste of human blood. To be fair, he hated the taste ofanyblood. He never wanted this life … this dark existence. Surviving off the dwindling supply of the blood bank at EverLife was the smartest and most effective way of sparing humans and keeping them aloof of the presence of vampires among them—but one could only feed on a bag so long before an insatiable need for taking a life drove them purely insane. It would be beyond his control if he got to that point and there would be no stopping it. For every mortal he killed in his two hundred years, he honored them in two ways: keeping something that they had on their person when he robbed them of their souls, and tattooing something significant about them on his body so that he’d never forget their sacrifice. It was the only way he let himself live this long.

The bargain for his freedom to be released from the blood oath—the tether that bound him to this coven and that beautifulbitch… he’d made it an offer no one could refuse. Strike a deal with the CEO at EverLife … pay them for a supply of plasma, and work under the cover of a detective at Boston’s 12th precinct, taking unexplained cases and covering up all evidence that the supernatural dwelled within this city. He’d do it until the year he lived to be three hundred years old, and then she’d free him. At first, it seemed easy. What was over half a century compared to an eternity in this hell? But as the years passed, Athan realized how hollow he had become. Just an empty shell of a being that shouldn’t be here. One that should never have been.

As he prowled his way along the back wall and past the alcoves of insufferable vampires feeding openly on their unsuspecting prey behind the curtains, the tang of fresh blood coiled into his senses making it twice as difficult to fight off the burning hunger. It had been over a year since he’d fed on a human and his veins smoldered within him, begging to be indulged. He caught another scent as he neared the bar. Somethingancient and … strange. He waved Tony toward him, ordering his usual and pushed hard against the trembling of his immortal body as that scent grew stronger. He could have sworn he heard a female voice whispering in his mind to turn around.

Damn, she was a looker. She could almost be mistaken for one of the fanged harlots in this coven that were dancing half naked in the cages above her. Long black hair falling over the shoulder of a heavily tattooed arm, a generously worn band t-shirt and a pair of high-waisted denim shorts over black tights. Had he still been human he might have gone after her … asked to buy her a drink. She looked taken, though. He curled his hands around his lighter and fired up the end of his cigarette, hiding beneath the hood he’d pulled over his face on his way out of the hall.

What the hell is she doing with a douche like Senator Stratford’s kid?

The tug of whatever was different about that pretty stranger seemed to call to him. It scraped his bones—his dead heart. Athan downed his whiskey and slammed the glass against the bar, nodding his farewell to Tony on his way past and making quickly for the door. Everything in his being told him to look back at her … but he didn’t.

It was well past midnight and Sarah’s feet were becoming more sore by the minute as she danced next to Wren, who had found herself a plaything for the evening. They’d already exchanged numbers and sucked the skin off each other’s lips, and it wouldn’t have surprised her at all if the two of them ended up disappearing into one of those booths hidden against the back wall. She looked around the club, finding it more full than it had been hours ago and wondered how the hell anyone could stand to do this kind of thing all weekend. The remnants of her beer were too warm to drink without gagging on it, and she’d decided that she’d celebrated enough and just wanted to go home and spread out beneath the tattered blanket she’d brought from her childhood home in Seattle.

“Wren!” she called above the blaring music. Wren paused her grinding on the beefy brute and leaned in toward her. “I’m gonna go, are you coming?” Her friend gave her a devious smile.

“Not yet, but I’m hopeful!” Wren winked, her red hair damp with sweat. “I think I’m gonna hang out a bit longer. Text me when you get home?”

Sarah raised two fingers and nodded before pushing her way toward the bar. The bartender took notice of her and made his way over, leaning in to take her order. He was tall and slinky, dressed like he was from another time and pale with strawberry blonde scruff that lined his mouth and chin. It matched the strands of the hair that tufted around an old, flat cap on his head.

“What’s your poison, sweetheart? Another beer?” he asked kindly. His voice was gentle, and his accent reminded her of an Italian mobster,but gave her a strange comfort in the darkness that seemed to hover in this place.

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