Page 62 of Blood Owed (Blood Mafia 1)
Grayson’s sitting in a corner booth, feeding from one of the blood whores. She’s smiling as he drains her wrist; the fluttering of her eyelids tells me he’s nearing the danger zone. Thankfully, he’s opted not to use the privacy curtains, so he was easy to find.
I sit across from him, waiting for him to stop feeding. When he doesn’t, I shove his shoulder so he doesn’t kill the woman. She’s nothing more than a junkie, and she’s too far gone to care if she dies. If done correctly, vampire bites can release a flood of endorphins, making the person being bitten feel as though they’ve taken a hit of pure, unadulterated opium.
Grayson hisses at me but pulls his mouth away from her wrist. He drops her arm onto the table, making the candle in the middle flicker, and licks his top lip before wiping the rest of the blood on a napkin. “What?” he growls the question and tosses the cloth on the table.
The woman leans against him, gripping his shirt. He lifts her over his body and sets her on the floor. She wobbles where she stands.
“You’re done for the day, Carly,” Krik tells the woman, pushing her toward the recovery room.
Krik, the weasel of a vamp, sits next to me. “What’s your poison tonight, Colt? Lynne is fresh if you want her.”
I shake my head. “Someone different, anyone but her will do.”
He smirks. “She’s handsy, isn’t she?”
“She’s not a good blood whore. She’s going to get killed one of these days for groping the wrong vampire.” I frown, thinking about the last time I fed from her. She’d stuck her hand in my pants while I’d been feeding.
Most blood whores are too concerned about the next rush to care about the sexual inclinations a vampire bite can provoke, but not Lynne. She’ll either end up a pet or dead. Vampires don’t like when the food has a mind of its own.
What about Demi?
I scowl, dismissing the thought. Demi is entirely different. She’s not a human, she’s a Hunter. She’s full of fire and fight.
It helps that she’s not a blood whore.
Krik slaps my shoulder before going to grab a feeder.
Grayson is staring at me.
“What?”
He shrugs. “You look frustrated.”
“Demi,” I say as explanation.
“Ah, our little troublemaker. What’s she done now?”
Krik shoves a woman into my lap before I can answer him. She’s unmarked as far as I can tell, so she’s very fresh. Krik doesn’t mark them until the second week; if they haven’t been claimed as a pet by then, they’ll likely remain a feeder and thus get marked with a small tattoo to show she’s owned by Blood Mafia.
Her heart flutters in her chest when I turn and smile. She’s trying not to be scared which only triggers my instinct to chase. Combine that with Demi’s teasing and denial, I lose control for a moment, savagely ripping into the poor woman’s wrist.
She squeaks in pain, quieting when I remember who I am and force her body to relax. Her light blue eyes don’t leave mine, and I watch as her pupils blow to full black. Her mouth slips into a familiar curve, and she slumps back against the booth.
There it is: the truest form of addiction. This one won’t be a Pet, I can already tell how much she enjoys the high. Her blood is bland compared to Demi’s, almost unenjoyable, but I drink deeply, trying to chase away the blasted woman’s effect on me.
Grayson whistles. “Damn, Demi must have done a number on you.”
The woman whimpers softly, and it snaps me back to reality. I lick the wound, helping seal the bite marks, and place the woman’s hand in her lap. She sits in a daze.
Grayson chuckles. “She’s new.”
I nod. “Vic took Jennifer, Molly’s replacement.”
He looks to the dance floor. “Molly?”
“Nick killed her.”
“Ah,” he says and sighs. “He’s got a nasty habit of drinking too much.”
