I almost laugh at that-the empty, earthy scent reminds me of a drain pipe, or a root cellar. Or a tomb.
The bartender-another human with a blank face and satin choker-pours us drinks without commenting on how early we are.
“Can you let Frangelico know we’re here?” I ask our guide. The pasty human blinks at us but nods and disappears into the back. “Did you see any fang marks on him?” I ask Trey in a whisper.
“No. But he could be a junkie. He smells wrong.”
Trey picks up his drink but doesn’t taste it. His gaze sweeps the room like a guard on the the lookout. “So this is a vampire club? Kinda boring.”
“We’re hours early.”
“You think Frangelico will meet with us?”
“Maybe. Or send one of his lieutenants. Julius Caesar or whatever.”
“Oh yeah.” Trey shakes his head. A group of people enter the club, and he straightens. We both fall silent, scanning each figure. They’re all thin and beautiful and plastic-looking, but none of them are vampires.
We stand in the corner for over an hour, pretending to nurse our drinks without actually touching them, and watch the place fill. At some point a DJ shows up and starts blasting the latest popular dance tunes. The floor swells with bodies bumping and grinding. “The leeches aren’t having any problem making this place popular,” Trey murmurs in my ear so I can hear him over the sinful beat.
“I wonder if any of them sense they’re prey,” I muse, my eyes following one particularly beautiful redhead. She’s freckled and curvy, with a sweetness I haven’t seen in any of the jaded crowd. A dark clad form slips out from the shadows, taking her hand and bowing over it. From my vantage point, I can’t see the man’s face, but the redhead looks up at him with an expression of awe tinged with lust. The tall man tucks her hand under his arm and guides her back towards the door, only to detour and disappear behind the coat check area.
“Trey.” I nudge him. “I think I know where the real action is.”
He follows my eyes. “Gotcha. Lead the way. I got your back.”
We set our drinks down and mosey across the dance floor. The crowd parts for us.
The human at the door doesn’t seem surprised to see us. “He’s expecting you,” he says politely, stepping aside to reveal a few steps leading down to another door, painted black to match the walls. The door yawns open, revealing a long set of stairs leading to some sort of basement.
I hide my disgust-how long was he going to let us wait before fetching us to the real Toxic, the club beneath the club?
“Stupid leeches, always playing games,” Trey mutters exactly what I’m thinking. His large hand on my back steadies me as we descend into the shadowy depths. The dark walls shake with the deep bass of the music above us. When we reach the bottom of the steps, we pause a second to let our eyes adjust. A purple neon tube runs around the room near the ceiling, shedding an eerie light. Dark shapes and monoliths loom out of the shadows.
Ahead, the pale skin of the redhead shines like a beacon. She’s like a wraith led by a black-clad emissary, summoning her to Hades. The suit holding her hands turns and I gasp as I recognize the vampire’s beautiful features. Nero smirks at me before guiding his human prey to a piece of heavy wooden furniture topped with shiny leather. A spanking bench.
“Fuck me,” Trey mutters, looking around the room. “Is this what you were expecting?”
“Yep,” I whisper. “Are you ready to use that collar?”
“Only if you’re gonna wear it,” he tells me. I bite my lip to hide the thrill singing through me. I seem to remember Trey has more than a bit of sexual dominance in him, ready to come out. Even as a teenager, he knew just what to do. The glint in his eyes tells me he sees my suppressed excitement.
More people come down the stairs, and we step aside to let them pass. Vampires ooze from the shadows of the dungeon, claiming their humans and leading them away. Throughout the room, tops start tying up bottoms, cuffing them or chaining them to the wall or available spanking horses and tables. The club music is broken by the sound of whips snapping, and the plaintive cries of the eager victims. None of the vampires are playing the role of submissive.
“This is nuts,” Trey comments, but his voice is deeper, thicker. I nod, glad no one can see how tight my nipples are, how hot and flushed my lower belly feels.
“Welcome, wolves,” a smooth voice behind us has us whirling, and lips curled back in a half snarl. Lucius the leech king stands in a spotlit corner, posing in front of a giant portrait of himself. He looks like freaking Dorian Gray, wearing the same sinful smile and red velvet robe as his painted image.
“Hello,” I say before Trey can growl or bark or insult our host. “Thank you for inviting us in.”
“You are always welcome here, my dear,” he purrs, like the lecherous villain in a bad movie. The only thing he’s missing is a pipe and Playboy twins.
The vampire king glides forward and I have to force myself not to step back. At my side, Trey growls. Lucius moves just another inch closer to me and stops, making it clear that he’s not intimidated by Trey. “You asked me about sweetblood.”
“Yes.” I stare at the lapel of his velvet robe.
“It is not a drug, although we vampires find it intoxicating. Look there.”
We follow his pointing to the wall, where a vampire in black slacks and shirt sleeves-his sleeves rolled up to present taut forearms, flogs a wilting woman. The leather strands snap and fall, followed by moans. She doesn’t sound like she’s in pain.
“There is a certain type of person who enjoys pain, yes?” The vampire’s voice echoes right in my ear, sounding like he’s standing much closer than he is. “The body has ways of rewarding such stoicism.”