Page 7 of Accidental Vampire

“Black, blue or red?” she called over her shoulder as she hit the bedroom. It was a “bedroom” only because that’s what it said on the floor plan and the fact that it had a California King in it. I’ve never slept in it. I had a place nobody knew about. This flat was for show. Something appropriate for my rank and status. Bollocks.

I knew where Aurora slept, obviously. A forgotten storage room under the old Main Post Office. It was scandalous to be so far south. Hell’s Kitchen was slumming it. Most respectable vampires wouldn’t keep quarters below the Transverse. Oh, and her rooms were pink. Pink soundproofed walls, a pink shag carpet that survived the 70s. Thank god no lace or frills. I could barely stomach over-daying there as she rode my dick and begged for my blood. Both of us were always left unsatisfied. For different reasons.

I rolled my eyes and followed the call of shifting hangers. Black tailored pants were draped across the bed, while she hunted in the closet. Aurora was in white leather pants and a matching halter top leaving her back was bare. She glowed in the gloom. Everything a boy could dream of, wasn’t she? She pulled out a shirt like finding a treasure and laid it across the pants and stepped back to survey her masterpiece.

“Wine, don’t you think?” she said, nodding in approval. “It won’t show any bloodstains.”

I grunted in disapproval and swiped a hand through the array of shirts like testing the temperature of a bath. The fabrics were natural, silks, cottons, linens, all hand tailored. Aurora strolled over and stretched seductively along the edge of the open closet door, making her curves all juicy and tempting. I stopped on a midnight blue shirt I’d never worn.

“So, you want my blood now or later?” She purred.

I scoffed. “You mean Veronica’s tribute.” I was tempted to wag a finger at her like the naughty school girl she loved playing.

“As Legate,” she said. I cut her off with a snort. I was Legate in name only, and she knew it. She ignored me and continued. “As Legate, you’re entitled to tribute too. Maybe I’ll offer to take one for the team and kneel before you with a dagger at my throat.” She pantomimed the dagger offering she would no doubt give later. Her smile was pure sin.

I pulled the blue shirt out to appraise it. Why I was fussing about wardrobe was beyond me? Aurora snatched the hanger out of my hand and draped it over the arm chair. With more strength than her petite frame would suggest, she pushed me out of the closet and stumbled me back until legs hit the bed.

“You’re in a foul mood.”

I just rolled my eyes. Yes, yes, Tribute Day is a big celebration full of family, love and loyalty. But I wasn’t feeling it. I hadn’t been feeling it for decades.

“Well, there’s no use for it then,” she said, fumbling with the side zipper of her painted on pants. “We’re just going to have to fuck you in to a better mood.”

I raised an eyebrow at her as she unwrapped herself like a present. She shimmed her hips out of the leather, revealing the small white triangle of her thong.

She was beautiful, piles of honey waves fell half way down her back. Her skin flushed at the slightest suggestion. She was the kind of beauty they trained me to appreciate. Sometimes I wondered if she was manufactured to satisfy that ingrained taste.

With a flourish, she unfurled the shiny black ribbon hidden in a minuscule pocket. She held it in her teeth as she twisted her hair up into a knot on her head, letting me know her neck was mine if I wanted it. I didn’t need the show. I knew I could have her neck and she would weep for joy. Fire was in her eyes as she laced the ribbon around the back of her neck, making as if to tie it in the front. I grabbed her wrist and snatched the ribbon away, letting it slither to the ground. I didn’t want to play that game with her, roleplaying a newly made vampire begging to be a part of the Family. Not today.

I let go of her wrist to rid her of the leather top. She offered it back to me, wanting to be held down and bound. When I didn’t take her wrist, she forced my hand to her neck, a moan easing out when I squeezed. My freehand traced her perfect proportions and lingered on her nipple ring.

She panted, knowing we were both thinking of me sinking a fang in behind the barbell and pulling blood from her. I walked her backwards to the windows and swiped the curtains open. I spun her around and yanked her wrist up her back. She gasped in pain, the kind of pain that made her predictively wet. She braced herself on a forearm as I pushed her into the glass.

I effortlessly snapped the thin straps of her thong, she spread her legs further to let it fall away. I smiled, just a little, knowing she’d spend Tribute Day with no panties. That would improve my mood. I ignored her moans and shivers as I entered her, shutting my eyes to remember what the sun looked like rising across the rooftops of the city.

SEVEN

TIFFANY

Call it a quirk of New York City, but you could pretty much do anything so long as you looked confident, like you belonged, and you didn’t make eye contact.

I knew there was a dumpster back here so, of course, I peeked down the alley and spotted a bit of gold metal sticking up out of the trash. Maybe a candelabra or chandelier? I sauntered right on down, faking that confidence. Dumpsters in rich people neighborhoods always had the best stuff.

That was another quirk of the city - the outsides of a building didn’t always match the insides. The swankiest of clubs could be hidden in the most decrepit of areas. Monique would totally question my judgment about scampering down shitty looking alleys after dark.

I was forced off the subway after a few stops because even I couldn’t stand the smell. It was just embarrassing to be the alone person in a stinky car. I hopped off at 72nd Street, hoping to air myself out for 20 blocks. Maybe I would air out enough on a long stroll to Midtown and beg Monique to come and pick me up. Lord knows, she wouldn’t drive through Times Square, even for me.

I looked down at the patchouli soaked yarn in my bag. I knew I would have to toss it, but I was too stubborn to let go of it. Hefting it around for an hour would make me change my mind. Doubtful. Finding something juicy to flip from rich people’s trash would make the adventure not a total loss.

When I got halfway down the alley, a nondescript door opened and people filed out. Must be a work break of some kind. They all eerily looked similar. The men were in black-on-black dress shirts and slacks. No belts, though. That was weird. The women were in black skirts and v-neck tops. I looked down at what I was wearing and got a lit bit creeped out. I was basically wearing the same thing. Except the women were in sky high heels. The whole look gave off “wait-staff uniform” vibes. Their boss must be a total asshole to make them do an entire shift in stilettos.

I pretended to check my phone with my tote bag leaning on my leg. I was a bit stuck. I didn’t want to walk through the crowd to get to the dumpster. And I didn’t want to attract attention by leaving either. Hopefully, this smoke break, or whatever it was, would be over quick. I jumped a little when the door banged open and two more people came out.

The woman wore rich chocolate brown silk, a tea length skirt that had a slit practically to the waistband. If I had legs like that, I’d go with something that daring too. The top matched perfectly and the spaghetti straps showed off her strong angular shoulders. And it was definitely silk. The expensive kind. The kind that was never shiny, but had this inner glow that radiated out and caught the eye. The guy was a bit more… well, there was no other word for it - tacky. His suit was cheaper and not tailored to perfection like the woman. It was double-breasted, too. You only saw double-breasted suits on grandpas and billionaires.

I perked up at the thought.

This was just that kind of moment, a perfect meet-cute, where the female main character does something dumb and runs into the billionaire bad boy with mommy issues. I frowned. Yeah, maybe I should back out of this situation. Billionaire romances are full of toxic men that are only enjoyable on paper. Winning Power Ball was a better daydream than suddenly falling in love and poof, all your financial worries are taken care of.

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