Page 45 of Accidental Vampire

“Join me?” It wasn’t a command, but it wasn’t a request either. Not like I was going to sit in the car while the mortal binged on candy, was I? His gaze was level and unchallenging. Maybe he knew I wouldn’t respond well to an order. Maybe it was deference to my position in society, the shiny glow of Veronica that clung to me. Maybe it was something else.

I stepped out of the car. Shaw only increased his pace when we were matched evenly on the sidewalk. Scaffolding covered the walkway, turning it into a tunnel. I pulled at the hoodie I was wearing. I hated these things; they lacked structure and were untidy. I frowned. It was Veronica who hated them. She banned them from Ruelle a decade ago, at least. Too casual for her taste. If she had her way, we would undoubtedly be in doublets and corsets. I adjusted the watch on my wrist. Well, shit. I hadn’t chosen it either. Aurora did. I shook my head. I was just a fucking doll to be dressed up, made pretty, and used.

We made a left at the corner, my mood growing darker, pulling more vile thoughts forward. Half way down the block, Shaw stopped and stared across the street. I pulled myself out of my pathetic thoughts to follow his line of sight.

Fuck.

We were at Halberd’s.

I trespassed into the meatpacking district all the time, under the stipulation that I would not go to Halberd’s. I wasn’t forbidden, it was just bad manners. As Patron of his family, Rolf Halberd was at odds with Veronica, but not to the level of warfare. He resented her position that she beat him to America, and had amassed more power than he could dream. By the time the wars were over, he had barely managed to scrape together passage on a ship and he took out his considerable frustration on the mortals around him. The two Patrons took petty pot shots at each other across the centuries, their families absorbing the damage. Everyone believed Halberd had set fire to Veronica’s first home in New York. I knew for a fact that Veronica had his favorite paramour killed in the 50s. Juliet had saved a pinky finger and had it embalmed as a Tribute Day gift. Veronica’s favorite pet showing up in Halberd’s playground was an awful idea.

And Shaw would know all of this.

He gave me a wicked grin and stepped off the curb.

“Fuck me,” I muttered, joining him. To back out now would look weak. And I wasn’t about to have an argument in the street with Shaw.

I zipped up and pulled the hood down over my face, understanding its purpose now. I didn’t want to be recognized here. Until I figured out what to do about Tiffany, it was best to fly under the radar. I didn’t know if being seen with Shahid Helios would help or hinder the situation.

Shaw pulled the door open and breezed past the vampires stationed at the entrance. They weren’t security, not really. We were long past the days of storming castles. The music was obscenely loud. It was shocking that this alone didn’t get mortal attention.

The space was enormous, with high ceilings and concrete floors that stretched out in all directions. It could have been a parking garage with the dim lighting and industrial feel, but it was more likely a derelict factory. This was called the meat-packing district for a reason. Meat processing facilities were quickly modified into clubs, some seedy, some posh, within a ten-block radius. The underground nature of it and the fact that law enforcement sought to contain rather than police the area made it perfect for vampires these past few decades.

Pockets of light poured down on key features like a bar area with shiny metal surfaces and a raised boxing ring in the center of the space. Groupings of couches littered the space. Ruelle had an air of luxury and sophistication that covered up all the sex and blood that happened in dark corners. There was no facade here, all our base instincts were out in the open.

I kept my head down, but caught enough in my peripheral vision. A woman in a well-tailored suit was reapplying ruby red lipstick, matching blood stains marred her crisp white shirt. A tall man with a tattoo snaking up his chest had someone drinking from his neck and a petite brunette curled in his other arm. She had his fly down, working him slowly, looking almost bored.

And there were mortals here.

We passed the illuminated ring, several were clamoring into it. A few more were crowded around a mortal, he was beefy, with unnaturally tanned skin. I dared a quick glance up. They were going to put him in the ring with a vampire. She was tall, with ebony hair and a violent neon green streak in it. She was lounging against the uppermost rope, looking deceptively weak. The mortal looked at her like she was a victim. He’d be dead by morning. My unease grew. If Veronica knew...

An older woman was perched on the edge of a pool table, bite marks on her inner thighs that were streaked with blood. A pale body was stretched along a low leather bench. He had a build similar to Sugar, like he didn’t get proper nutrition as a child, his bones growing long but lacking substance. Naked from the waist up, bruises and puncture marks peppered his limp arm that hung off the edge of the bench. It was hard to tell at this distance if they were bite marks or tracks. It was also hard to tell if he was breathing.

Shaw moved through the room like a fluid. People gave him space, but I didn’t sense animosity. Wariness, but not concern. He flowed to a stop before a plush seating area, one large leather couch and a collection of high round cocktail tables.

“Shaw,” Halberd called in a friendly voice, “did you get a permission slip to come into the city today? Wouldn’t think you’d need a chaperon.” His voice wouldn’t carry far with the pounding, harsh music, but the half-dozen or so vampires basking in his glow would hear well enough.

“I came for what’s mine.” The softness of Shaw’s voice didn’t match the weight of the menace it carried.

The smell of blood clung to everything, like a fog of it was in the air. I looked back to the boy on the bench. He hadn’t moved. He’d become part of the rancid decor, a thing that served a purpose.

“What is it you say?Possession is nine tenths of the law?” There was a round of chuckles at Halberd’s quip.

Shaw didn’t banter back. He left his stated purpose hanging in the air. He only needed his rigid posture to convey his intent.

“Her name is Emily. She’s a child, 19. I want her back.” His banked rage was almost tangible.

A woman approached the boy on the bench. I angled myself so I could see both Shaw and the bench from under my hood.

“You took her from Brooklyn.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” Halberd was dismissive.

“She has a tattoo on her wrist.”

She stroked a knuckle down the back of his cheek, tucked a stray bit of hair behind his ear.

“We don’t have anything like that in our inventory.”

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