Page 19 of The Vampire's Mercy
“Don’t call me boy,” Vaughn warned.
Layla laughed. “Take your fragile ego away from me. Find someone else to snack on.”
He shot me an angry look, then turned, striding out of the VIP area without another word.
Vaughn. I saw the killer in his eyes, the hunger, the lust. He was a monster on a leash, and my guess was that leash snapped often. Attending illegal feeding balls, killing innocent victims who couldn’t get the right paperwork in place. Yeah, I knew his ilk. I’d killed fuckers like him.
When the vampires were gone, everyone would see the murk they’d swam in. The curtain would be lifted, bullshit flushed out of their eyes. During the war, vamps were nothing but their true selves. Hunters, killers, guzzling blood and turning mortals into vamps without a care in the world. But they never expected our resilience, our tenacity to push back.
Until it all went away.
Layla folded her arms. “Are you alright? You’re too adorable for your own good.”
I nodded, giving her my cutest smile. “When is the king arriving?”
“Soon. Relax, get a drink. Let the night wash over you.”
I’d made the right impression, catered to the king’s tastes, and found myself in the delicate heart of the operation.
Thank you, Aidan.
“Don’t worry about Vaughn,” she added. “I’ll be around to look after you. Now, go and enjoy.” She left me alone, sliding into a booth.
I went to the bar and ordered a sparkling water even though I really wanted a cold beer.
I could sense roses close by. Behind the door at the far end of the bar. I smiled around the rim of my glass, the flowers giving me a boost to chase away my anger.
The darkest parts of my heart called for Vaughn’s death. Right now. They wanted me to go after him, stake him in the middle of the dancefloor before he took someone to his penthouse to kill.
His existence left a festering brand on my soul. I wanted him dead and only I could deliver it. Well, apart from sunlight.
My stakeblade was an infusion of silver and the wood of a cherry tree. A magical pairing brought together in the old war forges, strong enough to destroy a vampire’s heart and kill them permanently—unlike simply beheading them. The damn head would grow back, seeing as vampires were experts in swift regeneration.
But there was no coming back from a stakeblade or from burning up in the sunlight.
I sat on a barstool, drink in hand, taking in the vampires and the mortals who’d offered themselves up for vamp snacking. They were all dressed to the nines, presenting to the higher class of vampires in this room.
These VIP bloodsuckers were the high rollers. They were from the king’s court or big business vamps with their fingers in all the pies. It cracked me up how the sheep scrambled to bein their company, so desperate to be bitten by a classier pair of fangs.
Teeth were teeth.
Vamps were vamps.
You can’t polish a turd.
I checked the time. 11:01p.m. Maybe the king would show up at midnight. Fine. Whatever. I’d be patient.
Vamps passed me by, eyeing me up, chatting to me briefly, but making no moves, clearly having been warned I was off the menu. Now and again, Layla would check on me before disappearing into her booth.
I ordered another water before striking up a conversation with some mortals. We spoke about any old shit from the weather, clothes, how hot the vamps were tonight. Anything that made me fit in, becoming the cutie pie elf waiting for his fruit to be plucked by the highest of all vampires.
Someone pass me a sick bucket.
Midnight arrived. Still no king. I ordered another drink, listening to the babble of those around me, joining in with conversations that made my temples ache.
Where are you?
Layla came over, a beautiful werewolf woman on her arm. “How are you doing?”
