Page 38 of The Biting Bargain

I don't notice it right away, but the atmosphere smells of sex and musk, and then I hear a stifled moan. On a half-hidden sofa, a little off to the side, is a vampire kissing a gorgeous woman lying on the chaise longue, her dress peeled off her shoulders, while another blonde woman kneels between his legs and is very busy sucking him off.

I take in a startled breath, still staring at them as Vincent, obviously unimpressed, tugs on my leash and we make our way through the tables. But I can’t unsee it. Everywhere, in hidden corners and nooks, people are in various stages of undressing and mating. Always at the edges of the room, always half-hidden by shadows, entwining plants or strategically placed curtains. But blatantly there. The sound of muffled moaning, bodies touching. Heat pools in my belly and I grit my teeth.

A vampire is drinking from his drone, fangs slammed into her shoulder, one hand between her legs. She’s clinging to him, whimpering. Another couple, half hidden in the shadows, are tightly wrapped around each other and it's hard to tell if he's already fucking her against the wall, or not yet. On another chaise lounge, two beautiful women are kissing, both of them bare chested, while a black vampire lounging next to them is watching with bored interest. One of the women opens her eyes, her gaze hits me like an azure diamond and I quickly look straight ahead.

"Scandalized, little dove?" Vincent chuckles next to me.

"Is this how your parties usually go?" I press out, and he flashes me a sidelong glance.

He smirks, gently pulling me along. "This is the playroom. People come here to gamble and…well, play."

"No shit," I whisper.

He smirks some more. "No worries, we are only here for the former. Unless you feel differently inclined."

"No, thank you…"

He shrugs, leading us to a card table. Four gentlemen and a black lady in a beautiful emerald gown are playing something that looks suspiciously like poker, but as far as I'm concerned they might as well be reading fortunes or dealing in stocks, that's how much I know about poker. Just then, a gentleman in a dark blue suit rises and slams his cards on the table before walking away, cursing under his breath.

"Looks like a seat just opened up," says the lady. She is stunningly beautiful with sharp features and doe eyes. She flashes Vincent a fanged smile. Out of nowhere jealousy clenches in my chest like a defiant fist, and I squash that weird feeling down.

What the fuck? Let her grin at him as much as she wants. It’s none of my business.

Vincent takes a seat on the only vacant chair. After some awkward fidgeting on my part, I come to stand next to him. The leash hangs loosely between us. I glance around. Across from me a menacing vampire perches on the chair who looks like a Viking in a pinstriped suit. His red-haired companion stands next to him. She’s only wearing a corsage and a leash on a collar, her gaze lowered to the ground.

Apparently, that's how things work around here. Fair enough. I'll just stand then, I don't care. Just like I don’t care about the unambiguous looks the black vampire lady casts at Vincent while the dealer deals a new hand. Absolutely and totally don't care.

They play several rounds. Vincent wins them all. And hands down. The stack of chips in front of him grows rapidly.

I stare, my eyes widening with each second as the third round goes on, and the fourth. Vincent casually trading cards, expression unaffected, waiting, waiting some more, only to put down his hand — and cash in.

Eventually, the lady in green calls it a night.

"Too bad I have other commitments tonight. Gentlemen."

She rises, fan popping open, winking at Vincent. He doesn’t seem to notice, but I can barely contain the strange bubbling anger in my belly. She throws me a glance, chuckling as she leaves, but the smart retort — which would probably have gotten me in trouble anyway — gets stuck in my throat. Because none other than Stellan DiAngelo settles into the vacated seat.

"Renard," he says. "Mind if I join you?"

A lump of ice clenches in my throat. Damn, it’s him again, white suit, cocky smile and everything.

"Be my guest." Vincent doesn't let on. But am I imagining things, or is he gritting his teeth?

The mood at the table instantly switches into High Noon duel mode. The game continues, the dealer deals, and with growing dread I watch Stellan and Vincent settle the game between them. The other gentlemen at the table fold one after the other, each slamming their cards onto the table, leaving with frowns on their beautiful faces.

Two more rounds later, Stellan leans back in his seat, pouting.

"This bores me."

Vincent doesn’t even blink. But I sense the sudden drop of temperature. In my head, an imaginary high-noon clock strikes for the first time.

Vincent crosses his arms in front of his chest, his elbow brushing my thigh lightly, causing a zing to run through me head to toe.

"What could possibly bore you about a game worth several thousand dollars?" Vincent's voice drips with disdain.

The clock in my head strikes again. Booonggg!

"Let's raise the stakes." Stellan smirks.

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