Vampire Dragon (16 page)
Boris bowed, first to Darkwyn and then to her. “You have done well for yourself, mistress. He is taller and broader than the others, wider of shoulder. His strength is unparalleled in our vampire community.”
“She knows my qualities,” Darkwyn said. “As I know hers. In the physical sense.”
She pinched him.
“Do it again,” he whispered, as Boris watched.
Boris cleared his throat and set a ticket on the counter. “I’ll look over the selection of blood drinks,” Boris said, turning and steering clear of Darkwyn, who actually
wanted
to kick some vampire butt, or so it seemed to her.
wanted
to kick some vampire butt, or so it seemed to her.
“Darkwyn,” Bronte said. “You have the key to the private stock of blood drinks. They’re stored on the opposite wall,” she said, dragging him toward the Music Room. “Customers run a tab or use a credit card. Zachary will take payments tonight. Watch and learn.”
“Have you ever slept with Boris? Because he looks like he
wants
to sleep with you.”
wants
to sleep with you.”
“Of course not. Pay attention so you can do your job.”
“Your wish is my command, in and out of bed,” Darkwyn proclaimed, a little too loud.
“I know this is a weird world, and Boris got possessive,” she said, “so I forgive you, but stop trying to stake your claim.”
Speaking of stakes.
“Why do silver stakes and knives of all kinds decorate these walls?”
“Why do silver stakes and knives of all kinds decorate these walls?”
“Silver and stakes are fictional ways to kill vampires. Call it symbolic artwork.”
“Right, forgot. Learned that today. Did you ever have to stake a customer?” he asked, running his hands up her purple corset.
“I’m gonna stake you if you don’t get your stroking thumbs from beneath my breasts.”
TWENTY-ONE
Jaydun and Bastian crashed Drak’s as they delivered
Puck’s aviary-style floor cage from Vivica’s. Darkwyn had them put it in the corner of the Master’s Den.
Puck’s aviary-style floor cage from Vivica’s. Darkwyn had them put it in the corner of the Master’s Den.
Puck flew in behind them. “Watch the bloodsuckers. Eat some garlic. Can’t drink my blood!”
Darkwyn put Puck in his cage, and leaned in to whisper. “One more comment about Bronte’s customers and there’s a black cage cover between you and them. Just sit here, watch the nice, ordinary freaks, and keep your bird mouth shut.”
“Ordinary?” Puck ruffled his feathers. “Faith: Belief without evidence in what is told by one who speaks without knowledge, of things without parallel.” Feathers flew. “Weirdos!”
Bronte had to smile at the way Darkwyn attempted to keep Puck in line. “Nice ordinary freaks, indeed,” she whispered in Darkwyn’s ear. “Weirdos?”
Darkwyn grabbed the cage cover.
“No. No freaks, no weirdos. Just sweet, kind vampires. Puck’ll be good. Nice Puck. Smile for the vamps.” He
click
,
click
,
clicked
his beak,
click
,
click
,
clicked
his beak,
Darkwyn put the cover away. “For now,” he said, and returned to work. “Bronte, I understand the private stock of blood drinks, but what if someone wants a mixed drink?”
“For cocktails, call Bite Me, downstairs, to have them delivered. Food, however, is not allowed in Drak’s.”
Darkwyn made the call and told the customer he’d bring it to the Crimson Room. “Bronte, are people going to take bites out of each other? You said they live like vamps.”
“Read the sign.”
“No bloodletting, blood bonds, blood-play, or fangbanging on the premises.
Violators
will be prosecuted.”
Violators
will be prosecuted.”
“I don’t want to know what that means,” he said, “or maybe I should loosen up and try it. Fangbanging, hey?”
“Try and you’re dragon toast. The police will come if I call. People going to the Music Room can rent iPods, disposable headsets, bedrolls, or they bring their own. I’ve already set up the light show and it’ll run all night. Sleep masks are available to rent to vamps who don’t like the light.”
“Seriously? Vamps come here to sleep?”
“The Music Room is for the ‘I vant to be alone but vith my own kind’ vampire. It has black walls, bunk-bed style coffin slabs where they lie down and wear earphones, listen to music, enjoy a light show, or not. They might stay for a while and then move into the Crimson Room when they unwind.”
Darkwyn squeezed her hand. “Where will you be all night?”
“Everywhere. Pretty much everybody wants to talk to me. Some guys try to put their hands on me. That’s when you turn into a bouncer. I’ll let you know when. Kick the bastards out. No, don’t kick. Order them to go. And if a woman tries to touch you, I’ll be on her like blood on a silver stake.”
“Nice,” Darkwyn said. “A woman as ready to fight as me. We’re made for each other.”
“You’ll excuse me if I need a discussion or three, dragon man, and a bit of time with you, before I respond to that.”
Darkwyn bowed, which she loved. “Yes, mistress.”
“We close at 1 AM because that’s the law for Salem bars, and some of our private stock blood drinks have alcohol in them. Those belong to the people who use the Crimson Room. It’s like a higher class club. Be friendly at all times, but stern at closing time, and get them out by one o’clock.”
By nine PM, Drak’s was hopping, and Bronte wished she hadn’t had to start Darkwyn on such a busy night. Still, he held his own.
Unfortunately that ended when Raven Shadow arrived. Raven, with her spare-cut spiderweb outfit, stockings, and fingerless gloves, latched onto Darkwyn, despite the adoring male entourage she brought with her.
Instead of accepting her mask, Raven Shadow went around the counter and practically stuck her tongue down Darkwyn’s throat.
He initiated their separation, and Bronte liked that he didn’t know what to do with her.
Fortunately, Bronte knew, though her immediate inclination was illegal. Nevertheless, she grabbed a red mask, handed it to Raven Shadow, and led her into the Crimson Room, where she handed her off to Boris, who was only too glad to take the seductress in hand.
Back in the Master’s Den, she checked on her “mate.” “You okay, Darkwyn?”
“Kissing that woman was repulsive, bitter to the taste, and not a little alarming.” Where was Jagidy when a freaky she-vamp needed a smoke test? Dragon’s blood, I must have shut him in my apartment, again. “We’re not used to doors.”
“
We
who?”
We
who?”
“Oh, sorry, I’m talking more to myself than you. That woman stunned me.”
Bronte patted his cheek. “I’ll calm you, later.”
He caught her hand. “Promise?”
Back in the Crimson Room, Bronte got chatted up by a couple of her finest and most frequent patrons, with no choice but to be polite, until Raven Shadow disappeared.
As Bronte noticed, Zachary rushed in and pulled her into the Master’s Den, where Darkwyn stood, the center of attention.
“It’s not quite Darkwyn’s fault,” Zachary whispered. “A role player, the reality-show psychologist who makes people confess their darkest secrets, he goaded Darkwyn by challenging his manhood.”
“I’ll give him his manhood,” Bronte whispered, “on a skewer.”
“He’s alpha,” Zachary said. “Cut him a break. Defending his manhood is instinct.”
“After the Sorceress of Chaos transformed my legion into dragons,” Darkwyn said, “she banished us to the Island of Stars. That’s the farthest life plane from here, right before the nearest death plane.”
“Suddenly you’re defending him?” Bronte asked Zachary.
“He’s following his instincts. It’s the way he’s survived.”
“What’s it like there?” a vamp asked Darkwyn.
“It’s a death trap now, with the lava sea overtaking the island, but it was beautiful, once. Our four moons change color with the seasons, a green sky, beach sand made of raw diamonds.”
“Diamonds?”
“Some the size of your fists.”
Greed, Bronte saw in some eyes, and not only for the diamonds. Grist for the sensation mill, a gossipmonger’s or a slimy journalist’s dream.
“What’s it like being a dragon?” Raven Shadow asked, clutching Darkwyn’s arm. “Did you have a lady dragon?”
“We were a Roman legion of
male
dragons, claws, big teeth, chase your food and eat it kicking.”
male
dragons, claws, big teeth, chase your food and eat it kicking.”
The crowd laughed. But Bronte felt sick, for more than the usual reasons. She tried to get Darkwyn’s attention by waving from the back of the crowd, but failed, and if she made a fuss, his words would rise in importance.
Stay cool
, she told herself.
Stay cool
, she told herself.
“What did you like best about being a dragon?”
“Flying, just for the fun of it.”
“So do you still have a little dragon in you?”
“I still have a big dragon in me.” Darkwyn spread his hands wide, big-fish-story style. “You don’t wanna make
me
mad.”
me
mad.”
Bronte wove her calm way through the crowd. It made her nervous that a role player took notes. Some snapped cell phone pictures or recorded him.
“Everyone, back to the room you came from,” she suggested, playing Vampiress.
Darkwyn’s audience groaned as they cleared his Den, all but Raven Shadow, her body wrapped around him. “There you go, Raven, back to play with your vamps. This one’s mine.”
To kill.
“Zachary, go on up to bed.”
To kill.
“Zachary, go on up to bed.”
Alone with Darkwyn for a minute, Bronte turned on him. “What the hell were you thinking? Some idiot’s bound to think you were telling the truth.”
“Truth,” Puck said. “An ingenious compound of desirability and appearance.”
“Shut up, bird,” Darkwyn snapped. “Bronte, Raven Shadow has fangs with blood on them?”
“You really don’t focus well, do you? Dentists create fangs. Raven’s have lipstick on them. They stick out too far. She got a lousy fang job.”
“You mean they’re fake?”
“As fake as her boobs
and
your dragon stories.”
and
your dragon stories.”
“I should be insulted.” He stepped away from her. “Bronte, do you still have a three-inch gash on your right temple?”
“No.”
“Roar.”
TWENTY-TWO
“So now I know,” Darkwyn said at one that morning as
he followed Bronte to her apartment, getting his hand slapped away from her furiously silent person.
he followed Bronte to her apartment, getting his hand slapped away from her furiously silent person.
“I understand now,” he said to draw her out. “I dole out masks, classical music, private label blood drinks, and I bounce fangbangers, but not so they really bounce. I’m friendly, meaning I don’t beat up the customers, even if they attack me, and I don’t talk about who I
really
am.”
really
am.”
“Too late. The barn door’s open, Dragula.”
“Do we have a barn?”
“Up yours!” she said.
“Up my what?”
She turned on him, again, at the top of the stairs.
A step below her, he fought to keep from falling, he was so surprised. “I don’t understand why you’re so mad,” he said. “I told you I was a dragon and you didn’t tell me to shut up about it.”
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