Page 2 of The Biting Bargain

Aha, a curious supermodel.

"Frankly, we were not displeased with your application," she goes on. "You're the perfect match for one of our oldest clients. He's a "Bite Only" exclusive as well. Lately, we’ve had trouble matching him because most of our drones are here for the… perks."

I am very aware of why she doesn’t spell things out. This club is for sex. Filthy rich vampires come here to drink and then play with their food. And the food — humans in all shapes and sizes — loves to come here to be played with. In fact, some would sell a kidney and their grandmother right along with it, only to stand where I am standing now.

I thought about this for a long time as I filled out all the paperwork for Club Sanguine. Marigold and I weighed the differences between blood donation and straight-out whoring long and hard.

"But it's adrone service," my friend said with an eye roll as our discussion looped back to that point for the fifth time. "They pay for yourblood. Literally. Everything else is extra. Work perks."

That word again.

But I know Marigold is right. They only pay me for my precious blood. And if I get laid by a sexy vampire in the process it’s nothing to be ashamed of. But I still checked"Bite Only"rather than the ominous alternative,"All."

Being impulsive and following my libido has always been a mistake in the past. I need to focus on solving my problems, not creating new ones.

Jasmin shrugs and tucks the iPad under her arm just as the elevator doors slide open with a subtle chiming sound.

"This way, please."

Heart pounding, I follow her down another beige hallway. Everything is sleek and new and expensive, like a spaceship for billionaires.

I lied to her. I am not a little nervous, but freaking call-the-fire-brigade-I’m-jumping-out-of-the-next-window nervous. Lord knows I'm no wallflower. I enjoy sex as much as the next best gal with a semi-intact libido. I've even halfway overcome my many complexes. I would never judge anyone who ticks"All"on the application form, in order to get showered with pleasure by filthy rich vampires.

I'm only here for the cash, though. Blood donation. Sexy elephant in the room or not, this club is just a very fancy version of blood donation. Nothing more.

I need to focus on that.

No need to be nervous, Pollyanna. Get yourself together.

"Okay then, here we are." Jasmin beams.

We enter a gigantic room as luxurious and streamlined as the rest of the building. But all I see is the huge panoramic window. My breath catches in my throat as I step forward and stare out like a bumpkin. Nighttime New Hamburg is sprawling at my feet, the fancy part of downtown, concrete muscle and skyscrapers glittering in the darkness.

Jasmin chuckles at my reaction.

"Take a seat and let’s go over the rest of the rules." She slides onto the U-shaped, creamy white leather sofa, crossing her perfect legs.

I tear myself away from the window and stalk over to her. I sit down carefully on the very edge of the couch, a leaden ball in my chest. One thing is clear: I fit in here about as well as a circus clown fits into an art exhibition. The sprawling room drips with minimalist luxury, lots of sterile space filled with few lavish nonessentials.

From the ceiling dangles a thing that's probably an art installation or a lamp — or both. Atop the kidney-shaped curved coffee table there’s a wide, wooden bowl stacked with various wooden spheres, each a different shade of beige, and each probably more expensive than both mortgages on Dad's restaurant. Filthy rich vampires obviously need a certain rich ambience along with their meals…

"Okay, where were we?" Jasmin pulls out her iPad again. "You read the dress code info?"

My throat thickens even more and I clear my throat. "Yes," I press out. It was all in the email.

"Please wear a tasteful but revealing outfit, such as in cocktail dress or a button-down blouse. Specific brands or labels are not necessary. The important thing is that the arms are not covered and there is free access to your throat and décolleté."

Jasmin eyes me. It's not unkind, and yet my cheeks heat up and I feel like a bug under a microscope.

"You're wearing long sleeves," she remarks. I look down at my hands sticking out of the hem of the dark, silky sleeves of the dress Marigold lent me. The fabric is light and cool against my battered skin. My shoulders tense.

"Is that a problem?" I press out. Jasmine smiles.

"It deviates from the guidelines. But don't worry, it's fine for your first night. Just make sure your hands and forearms are freely accessible next time."

"Sorry," I quickly say, forcing a grin. "It was my assumption the main focus would be on this area here."

I make a circular hand motion in front of my not-ungenerous cleavage and Jasmine grins in response.

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