Vamped Up (17 page)

Violet’s heartbeat fluttered wildly on her neck. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure. He didn’t have to run a hand between her thighs to know she was wet and willing. “I’ll see what I can do,” she purred. “See you in five.”

When she was around the corner and out of earshot, Ruan leaned over and whispered, “Not that I’m trying to cock-block the move you’re making here, but now’s hardly the time.” His voice was so low, Dante could barely make out his words.

Dante kept his eyes on the floor. “They keep the cargo downstairs. If Violet can clear the guards out, we may have a chance of getting one-on-one time with an elder before the bidding starts. If we can avoid calling attention to ourselves, that’s what we want to do.”

“How the devil do you know all this?”

Dante sighed heavily. “I used to work for Juan Carlos. When this operation first got up and running, I needed a job with some action and he needed someone with sketchy morals.”
To say the least.
“The requirements matched up so I did his dirty work for awhile. I hunted elders, tracked them, watched them, and documented their mawares, until he decided their time was up and he could get the most bang for his buck. I quit right after they moved the market to this place.”

Ruan’s gaze sank into the shadows on the far side of the grand room. “You’ve got quite the resume. Does he, or anyone else here, know what you’re capable of?”

Back to the teleporting gig. “Are you kidding?” he whispered. “If Juan Carlos got wind of that, I’d be chained down in his basement with the next elder wave. No, everyone I’ve ever told is dead . . . except you.”

“I appreciate the addition of the last part, by the way.” Ruan looked like he was teeming with questions. Like they were pushing right against his lips . . . but he held them back. “So what if your girl Violet can’t clear out the guards downstairs?”

“Then we start bidding. But do you see those therians over there?” He nodded sideways to the goon squad against the wall who were new and eager to use the guns on their belts. “The instant we make our payment, they’ll know who you are and which elder you purchased. That’s more info than we’re willing to give.”

A muscle-bound therian in an Armani suit and tie squeezed by them, taking the seat to Ruan’s right. A waitress, head to toe in vinyl with flowing black hair and a gagging amount of perfume, sat on his lap, tousling his hair with long manicured fingers. Oh, she was taking his order all right.

“Fine,” Ruan whispered, shooting a sideways glance to the vamps within earshot. “But if things go to hell in a handbasket, I expect you to perform your Houdini act with the elder, go somewhere private, lose any tails, and hold tight until tomorrow night.”

“What about you?” Dante asked.

“I’ll work my own way out and meet you back at ReVamp after the dust settles.” Ruan pulled down the rim on his hat and lowered his voice further.

Dante dragged his attention to an aristocratic-looking vamp in a chocolate brown suit and tie in the center of the floor. “Here we go. A few rotations, a few sales, and we’re right down to business.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“The
Who?
and
What?
are clear-cut. It’s the
Why?
that gets messy.”

Dealing with Blood Addiction: A Guidebook

“G
ENTLEMEN,” THE THERIAN
MC began, his accent rich. “I’m Juan Carlos, your host, and I must say that tonight is a very special night!”

Applause, whistles, and high-pitched hisses consumed the warehouse.

Ruan shot Dante a wary look. “You said this place was low-key.”

“It’s always a special night,” Dante said under his breath. “They always manage to pull an elder out of their hat who has a maware we’ve never seen. A novelty, if you will, that brings in high bids for the house.”

“Wonder how many they managed to find for tonight’s slate.”

Juan opened his arms spread-eagle. His greasy black hair glistened beneath the overhead lights. His thin frame oozed weakness and youth while his clothes and demeanor screamed money and power. Dante swallowed down the bile in his throat. “Tonight we have someone special in our midst. Someone we’ve never had paraded in front of us before. Get your bidding ribbons ready . . .”

Great
. Who’d they come up with now? A fabled elder with two mawares? A two-headed elder? The elder from the black lagoon?

“Tonight, gentlemen, we have someone who’s going to start our bidding higher than it’s ever been. Tonight we have someone who will raise the roof off this place. Tonight we have someone whose maware is still masked. Tonight, gentlemen, we have,” Juan paused, measuring the anticipation in the room. “Tonight we have a virgin in our midst!”

Gasps rang out, followed by whoops and hollers. Ruan clapped slowly. “What a crock,” he mumbled. “Like an elder’s gonna walk this earth for hundreds of years and save herself. Can’t believe these vamps are buying into it.”

Dante checked the stairs to the basement behind him. Two elders, probably the most valuable of their stock, had filed out, their identities hidden by heavily hooded cloaks, armed guards on their heels. The lights flowing from downstairs dimmed. Time was up. Violet was waiting to be bloodied within an inch of her life just so he’d bite her on her damned pleasure spot. Here came that bile uprising again . . .

Dante wondered how many more elders were down there. One? Maybe two? He’d never seen them sink their claws on more than a few at a time.

“You know what I don’t get?” Ruan said, as the two cloaked elders lined up against the far side of the floor, their ankles and wrists shackled together with some sort of thin glowing band. “Why can’t they use their mawares to get themselves out of this mess? I mean, one of the main reasons vamps don’t think the elder black market ever existed is because elders are powerful beings. How’d they manage to let themselves get caught and brought here?”

“These elders are young. Newly transitioned. They haven’t come into their full mawares yet and often make themselves easy targets as they try to discover and test them. See those bands on their wrists and ankles? That allows them to move freely, yet prevents them from using their mawares; they’re reduced to weak mundanes. Remember the maware that prevented you from seeing this place?”

Ruan nodded, his emerald eyes blazing beneath the rim of his baseball hat.

“About a hundred years ago the same powerful elder cast a spell that not only prevented elders from using mawares in the building, but expanded it to a ten-mile radius of the grounds. That’s why there’s no return policy once you leave the building. If your own purchase kills you, the market bears no responsibility.”

Ruan folded his arms. “Why would an elder do something like hindering the mawares of their kin, something that would jeopardize the strength of her own . . .” His eyes widened with realization. “ . . . unless he or she wanted a way to gather them together and control them . . . to be the one elder holding all the power . . .”

Dante returned his attention to the empty stairwell. “I’m gonna let your wheels turn while I go and make sure the basement’s ready to go. I’ll text you when the coast is clear.”

Dante slid out of his seat and barely heard Ruan’s “got it” before Juan Carlos piped up.

“Our first sale has arrived on the floor!” he boomed, as if he had an amp backing him up. “Behold the virgin. The beauty. Isn’t she everything I promised you? We’re going to start our bidding at one hundred thousand dollars.”

Red Ribbons shot into the air—bidders already making their intentions known. They hadn’t even seen the mystical elder or learned what she could do! She could be a grotesque old bat with pinchers for teeth and a wavering maware for all they knew.
Fools.

The crowd rose to their feet to see the beautiful virginal elder in their midst. The walkway behind Dante’s chair filled before he could get very far. He weaved in and out of hungry vamps and twitchy therians, slamming shoulders right and left to get by. They raised their bidding ribbons as he passed, their prize still cloaked.

Juan Carlos hadn’t moved the bid higher than the initial starting point of one hundred thousand. Clearly he was waiting to see the hype to know just how high the virgin could get the bids.

Dante knew the instant the virgin’s cloak was removed, as the entire warehouse quieted.

Men caught their breath and stood motionless. Air stilled. Every pair of eyes in the room focused on the center floor. Even the red-headed blood-doll waitress in the corner turned mid-order and stared. Dante couldn’t help but wonder what was so special about the virginal elder that had the place still as a tomb.

As he squeezed between a wall of onlookers and stared down at the wide stone floor, he gasped. She wasn’t like any elder he’d ever seen, and he’d tracked more than he could count over the years.

From a distance, Dante could see why this elder had remained a virgin through the ages. There was nothing seductive about her. At least nothing that Dante could see through the crimson-red cloak she wore. No round, ample breasts or wide, grab-em-and-ride-em hips. In fact, the robe fell from her shoulders straight to the floor. There was no come-hither gleam in her eye that grabbed him from afar or luscious ruby-red lips that begged to be suckled, either. Although her features were petite and feminine—with a small button nose, thin lips, and high cheekbones—she was pretty, but . . . plain. Small breasts hidden beneath heavy fabric. Tiny hands stuck out through the cloak’s sleeves. Long brown hair tied into a single braid slid over her right shoulder down the front of the robe. She looked ordinary, naïve, and very young; no older than twenty-five.

Juan Carlos whistled over the dissention of the crowd. They were expecting elder perfection. Mind-spinning beautiful. “Might I remind you she’s a virgin and we have rooms for rent downstairs after tonight’s festivities!”

Despite the woman’s average appearance and the hefty price tag over her head, it seemed elder cherries were too rare to resist. Aristocrats, vampires, mundanes, and therians alike gathered near the center floor, ready to bid. Dante dodged through a few blood-dolls and around a muscle-bound guard, and headed straight for the stairwell.

“Gentlemen,” Juan Carlos announced. “Who among us will start the bidding?”

Ribbons flew through the room.

“One—two—three hundred thousand!” Juan Carlos yelled excitedly above the bustling bidders. “Three and a half to the therian in the corner! Can I get a solid four?” The crowd mumbled. “Gentlemen, this elder is the purest on record. Her temple has never been breached. Her blood would be just as pure. Who could turn away such a delicious snack for a measly four hundred thousand? Look to your pocketbooks, gentlemen. This broad is worth the stretch!”

A scratchy voice boomed, “One million dollars,” from the far back.

All eyes, including Dante’s, shot to the shadows. He’d never heard of a bid flying that high.

Juan Carlos yelled, “Sold! One million to the therian in back!”

Mumbling in disbelief, bidders slowly returned to their seats to wait for the next elder whose price tag certainly wouldn’t match the sky-high million they’d just witnessed. Shaking his head, Dante spun around a short, squatty therian and made a bee line toward the stairs. A million-dollar bid was the perfect distraction Dante needed to slip down to the basement undetected.

“State your name for your new owner, elder,” Juan Carlos commanded, high and mightily.

Silence.

Keeping his eyes on the stairwell and off the elder center stage, Dante pushed through two bulky vamps who were keeping a close eye on the shadows, then slinked past another two. Another few steps and he’d be down the stairs, into the dark, and out of sight.

“I told you to state your name, elder!” Juan Carlos yelled from the main floor. “Disobedience will not be tolerated in this house.”

The crisp sound of open hand to cheek stung Dante’s ears. His feet slowed to a halt. His gaze remained fixed on the stairs, his mind on his mission. From the sound of it, Juan Carlos had smacked the virginal elder clean across the face. The crowd applauded. Every eye and ear seemed to be watching, listening, murmuring.

In the year Dante had worked for Juan Carlos, he’d learned there was one thing that pissed off the ring leader more than anything: disrespect. Disobeying a direct order, like refusing to say her name when he’d asked her, would earn a slap in the face . . . and the exact reason Juan Carlos had returned the favor. If the elder had any brain in her head she’d state her name and be done with this whole thing.

Keeping his head low, Dante took a single slow step down the stairs, and then another. Soft, hushed voices surfaced in his thoughts and became stronger with each stride. He swallowed hard and pushed them back.

“I said state your name,” Juan Carlos growled.

More silence. Followed by another quick smack and more cheers by the crowd.

Dante’s eye twitched and his fingers went numb on the handrail as Juan Carlos slapped her again. What was wrong with that woman? Why wouldn’t she tell him her name? Juan Carlos had to know her identity already; one of his hunters managed to locate her and drag her here, after all. He was simply riding a power trip. He wanted her to speak it to the crowd so they could hear the fear in her voice. So they could rejoice in its tremble. And now, she’d presented a challenge. A war between the all-mighty black market ring leader and the lone virgin who defied him.

Stupid girl.

This wasn’t going to end well.

Dante forced himself to descend another stair. This wasn’t his business. Not in the least. Whether an elder wanted to reveal her name on her own accord or have it beaten out of her was her own damn prerogative.

Piercing pain stabbed through his temples. He hunched over, squinting, rubbing hard circles with his forefingers. A low, dark growl of a voice pushed through the ache.

Make him pay for his sin . .
 .

An angry roar filled the warehouse, followed by another smack and more laughter. Dante took a jagged breath and clenched his jaw, willing the voices to subside. The evil speaking through his mind had faded, but lingered only breaths away.

As the cycle of crowd roars and hard swipes against the elder’s skin repeated again and again, Dante’s steps slowed, his stomach balling into one giant knot. He stopped before diving into the dark of the basement completely. He turned back. He climbed each stair slowly, knowing he should be meeting Violet and getting the hell out of here. But no woman, disrespectful or otherwise, should be smacked around in front of a group of wealthy snobs in suits and loafers for their twisted fucking amusement.

He squeezed through the drama-hungry crowd, not sure what the devil he was going to do when he reached the front bumper. He couldn’t just go in and overstep his bounds. Juan Carlos probably wouldn’t remember him anyway, and even if he did recall his former employee, it’s not like he’d listen to Dante’s request to stop the beating so he could focus on stealing one of Juan’s captive elders.

When Dante got a clear, up-close view of the nameless elder, his stomach dropped. Red and swollen cheeks begged for the stroke of a sympathetic hand. Soft brown doe eyes peeped out through thick lashes, measuring the crowd, though not focusing on anyone in particular.

Dante couldn’t help but stare at the elder, his eyes honed in on the way her skin seemed to glow. At least the skin he could see sticking out from the fabric cloak. Her hands looked luminescent. Glowing. Too perfect to taint with a man’s touch.

Time crawled as Dante shuffled closer to the center floor He was a few rows back now, descending to the pit. Where were his feet taking him? He shouldn’t be involved. He should turn away. He should separate himself from this. But his body wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t pull his eyes off
her
.

Every vamp and therian in the warehouse faded away to insignificant blurs. Lights overhead seemed to brighten, heightening his senses. His heart pounded in his ears. His mouth dried. Hands clammed.

The closer he got to the elder, the more he realized his first impression of her was dead wrong. There was nothing plain about the way her lips pursed into a perfectly kissable heart. There was nothing ordinary about the way her braid, tied with a summer-sky-blue ribbon, made her appear demure and delicately feminine. And there was certainly nothing average about the subtle red undertones that streaked through her hair like flames in a warm hearth.

“Holy mother in heaven,” he breathed, chest constricting. “She’s an angel.”

Juan Carlos pressed against her, his lips brushing her ear. He didn’t, however, lower his voice. “I said give me your name, elder. I won’t ask you again.”

Sighing, the beauty lifted her chin—a motion of strength that had Dante squaring his shoulders to the center floor and holding his breath. For someone facing a vamp with obvious anger issues, a passive-aggressive move like that could get her killed. She had to know it.

Just say your name and be done with this.

Dante reached the front bumper and stood motionless amongst the other vamps crowding there. Now it was Dante who wished for her to say her name simply so he could hear the sweet tremor of her voice. One word . . . one word is all Dante needed to prove his theory: she was an angel sent straight from heaven.