Vampire Thirst (8 page)

The lavish living room was packed to the rafters. At first glance, it looked like a party in one of the fanciest neighborhoods in Europe. At first glance.

Yara went straight to one of the waiters and ordered her favorite drink.

“Room 26,” he replied and, just like the doorman, stepped aside to let her pass. Two corridors later, she opened the door to room 26 and went in.

It was decorated in a sumptuous, Louis XIV style, with dark walls and curtains embroidered with gold flowers. The cedar floorboards were covered by a large snow tiger printed rug. The king-sized bed sat against the far wall, covered with maroon satin sheets and several large pillows perfectly positioned at its head.

Yara heard a soft knock just before the door opened. Two gorgeous men stepped in. They brought a bottle of tequila and three shot glasses.

“Did you order a shot, ma’am?” the one holding the tequila asked. He was tall with amazing green eyes. He wore dark blue jeans and a grey Armani jacket over a smart v-neck that matched his eyes. He smelled like expensive perfume. His light brown hair was perfectly jumbled.

Yara cocked her head at him. “Maybe. What have you got for me?”

“How about hot and feral?” his friend replied,
so
not referring to the drink. He was shorter, but bulkier. It looked like he spent a lot of time at the gym. He also wore a suit jacket, but with a pinch of boldness. His was made of dark maroon velvet, and his Italian-cut trousers matched his Versace shoes.

Yara stared at them both. They weren’t human. That was always a promise of utter, wild, unquenchable bliss and on any other night, she’d be wet by now, but tonight she was almost ready to call it quits and go back home. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Yara didn’t have a home. For the past four decades, her home had been where Z and Sam were. Now where would she go?

The cutie in dark maroon lifted the glasses. “Are your thirsty?”

His friend took the hint and poured them what she’d ordered. Well, in this case, what they had all ordered. There were a lot of ways of choosing your partners in a private sex club. In this one, you could hang around the main area and wait until someone interesting showed up or order from the menu. Each drink meant a type of sex. Yara usually liked the seduction game at the bar, but she had been under too much pressure lately, so tonight she went straight to the tequila shots. Translation: hot and hard threesome.

She took what Green Eyes offered and skulled the amber liquid. It burnt down her throat like a blessing. Cutie in Maroon raised his glass in the international signal for “another one.” And straight up it went. After the third one, the panther in her soul started to quiet down.

Green Eyes took off his jacket and stepped close. His hungry eyes devoured Yara from head to toe. “I wanted to fuck you the minute I saw you walk in, love.”

“Shh, shut up and kiss me.” Yara was so not in the mood for small talk.

He complied. He grabbed her by the neck and kissed her hard. His lips were too thin for her liking, but the warmth of his touch did the trick. Heat shot down her spine and ignited her core.

His friend took the hint and embraced her from behind. His hands lifted her skirt and found naked skin.

Yes.
Her heart sped up, her panther purred. At each stroke of fingers, flicker of tongues, rubbing of thighs, her worries magically vanished, one by one. Yara knew she’d feel as empty as a BBQ plate afterwards, but she didn’t care. She just couldn’t take the loneliness anymore.

There was plenty of time to deal with reality tomorrow.

Chapter 11

The room was dim, but Sam could see her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was long, her blond tresses had been dyed red, her eyes bore the hard lines of sleepless nights. She touched her cheeks. What had she done? She’d left her old life behind...hadn't she? She looked around.

Wait a second. This room looked familiar. Metallic bed, white walls, no decoration...the asylum. She was back at the mental institution! Suddenly, leather straps snaked around her wrists and pulled her down, trapping her on a weird dentist’s chair. A dentist’s chair? More leather straps. Now around her ankles, her waist, her neck, her forehead. Oh, Gods, no! Not again! She battled against the bindings, but that only made it worse. The walls suddenly turned green, the grey floor turned into an ugly brown carpet. Something poked at her back. She couldn't look, but Sam would recognize that feeling from the depths of Hiad. She used to curse at the loose spring in her old bed at the orphanage.

What? The orphanage? How did she get here? She had to get away. Where was Zoricah? She should've been back by now. No, she won't come. Sam had fucked up one time too many. Her leader had given up on her. Sam's body was suddenly pulled up to a standing position by invisible hands. She faced the door now. The straps were gone, but she couldn't move. Something was holding her still. She tried to run, but her legs were too slow. She forced her limbs to obey.
Quick, quick, you're running out of time! He's coming!
She finally reached the door and turned the knob. An explosion of light hit her square in the face. She lifted her hands to protect herself, but it was too late. The strange light had entered her body and was consuming her blood. She felt the electric shock course through her veins.
It hurts, sir, please stop. I promise I'll be a good girl. Please, stop. Stop!

“Stop!” Sam woke up with a start. She swallowed dry and tried to breath. She ran a shaky hand through her hair. It was soaked in sweat. By Apa Dobrý, she hadn't had a nightmare like that in over two decades. She sat on the side of the bed and planted her feet on the cold wooden floor. The chill felt good. It felt real.

A dim sunlight seeped through the blinds. It was probably late afternoon. She stood up and hit the lights. Yara moaned on her improvised bed that Mrs. Wilkinson had put at the other end of the bedroom.

“Sorry,” Sam whispered, and switched the lights off again.

Yara mumbled something in Portuguese and rolled over to face the other side. In less than a second she was snoring again.

Sam tiptoed to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She drank some water straight from the tap, and after a few gulps, she straightened up and leaned on the basin. She felt like a car crash. She lifted her eyes and stared at her image in the mirror. She looked like a car crash too.

She turned the tap back on, splashed water on her face and thanked the Soartas for the night Zoricah broke her out of that mental institution. To be fair, her years in there felt much like her freaky nightmares. All she could remember were disjointed images of people in white coats, the feel of the leather straps holding her down, the sound of the high-pitched beeping of the shock-therapy machine, the stench of burnt flesh.

Sam brushed the tears off her cheeks and turned the tap off. Crap, she had to get a grip on herself. She would not be tormented by those memories again. She could not let her past dictate her future. Yes, she was scared shitless – and yes, she should probably call Zoricah for support – but if she did that, she would be letting her fears control her. And she'd had enough of that shit. Hikuro's fuming eyes came back to her mind. "Did I hurt you?" No. "Did I offend you?" Gods, no. But she had shoved him away, hadn't she? Why? Because she had freaked out. She had stopped what could've been the best night of her life because she was a chicken shit. That's why.

Sam glared at her reflection in the mirror again. Dark shadows encircled her blue eyes. "Enough with the fucked-up-kid crap," she snarled at the woman staring back at her.

She straightened herself up. Shoulders squared, chin up. It was time to take the reins and un-fuck what she'd done.

After taking a long, warm shower, she tiptoed back into the bedroom, grabbed a pair of dark blue jeans, a brand new blue tank top, boots, Yara’s trench coat – because hers was full of holes and dirt patches – and left. Oh, crap, her purse. She turned back around and grabbed her purse by Yara’s bed. Her eyes landed on the blue patches on her friend’s wrists and neck. Oh, Gods. Sam’s heart sank. Sam knew Yara liked going to private sex clubs but only on really dark nights did she come back bearing evidence. Those marks meant her friend was on the verge of a breakdown. Sam exhaled and made a mental note to take Yara to dinner or go watch a movie with her, or something. It had been a long time since they had just relaxed and laughed together. She missed those days. Yes, the Hiad with this bloody mission. Tomorrow they’d have a break. Tomorrow though.

After closing the door behind her, Sam went to the kitchen and said a few hellos to the crew while she fixed herself a quick bite.

Now, where should she start? Late afternoon...Hikuro would still be asleep.

Well, she knew Phillip liked BDSM stuff. There were a few hard-core places she knew of in London. She would hit those first and then, well, she’d find a way of making up for the debacle of the night before.

Chapter 12

A few hours later, Sam opened the mini-cab’s door and looked up. Yep, it was still raining. She paid the fare, covered her head with the trench coat and got out of the car. The pub across the street carried an old wooden sign displaying the name “Pig and Whistle.” There were a couple of drunkards near the entrance but nothing to worry about. She had lived around that area when she had first come to London with Zoricah a few decades before. Islington had its rough streets and dark alleyways, but all in all it was a fairly safe place – for a trained fighter.

Sam crossed the street and went in. The bronze rims added to the ugly “once flowery red, now ugly maroon” carpet confirmed Sam’s suspicions – the place probably hadn’t seen cleaner since the day it opened a few hundred years ago. The small, round, wooden tables cramped along the dining area were the only thing that suggested she had not gone into a time machine and was still in the twenty-first century. A few old men were drinking at the bar and another bunch was trying their luck at the slot machines at the back. Sam was overwhelmed by the stench of stale beer and body odor. May the Soartas help her, but she missed the time when people could smoke in pubs. Not that Sam smoked herself, but she had to admit it helped conceal the real smell of the regulars who insisted on rushing to the pub as soon as the five-o’clock bell rang at the factory – like the one looking at her through his yellow, cirrhosistic eyes.
Charming.
Ignoring his attempts to get her attention, Sam had a look around, almost hoping Phillip wasn’t there.  

Bingo. After three BDSM clubs and a couple of play parties, she had finally managed to get a solid tip-off.

The tall draconian was at one of the tables by the window. Blond, wavy hair, inviting blue eyes. Yep, that was Phillip alright. As always, he looked very pristine in a light grey suit and white shirt. But the pièces de résistance were his white snakeskin shoes, from Italy, no doubt. Phillip was well-known for flaunting his riches through his wardrobe, but his impeccable grooming was not at its best today. He had a black eye, swollen lip and broken nose. Sam knew that dragons healed fast – not as fast as vampires, but fast enough – so those injuries were quite recent. Sam wondered who had inflicted them on the draconian and why.  And what in Hiad was he doing in a dump like that?

Their eyes met. He paused, as if not knowing what to make of her presence in that bar. Whatever had crossed his mind vanished in a moment, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

Show time.

Taking her drenched overcoat off in the provocative way Yara had taught her, she walked – no, she swaggered – to the table where he was.

“Hello, Phillip.”

“Please,” Phillip replied, beckoning for her to take a seat. “Thought you girls had been wiped out after the no-show last night.”

You are in control. You are in control. Act casual, damn it. “Bad hair day,” Sam replied. “Happens to everyone.”

His lips curled up in a lazy smile. “What would you like to drink?” he asked, while giving her a once-over.

Sam swallowed dry. “Nothing, thank you.”
In control. In control.
 

Big blue eyes met hers. “Oh, come, come, Sammy.”
Sammy?
“I remember how much you love a vodka cocktail.” His British accent was very distinguished – and frankly, quite annoying.

The first time she’d met Phillip, he had been accompanied by two voluptuous bimbos who kept on touching him in front of Zoricah and Sam. She had been a fresh-green-tomato in the field and their little show made her extremely uncomfortable, and strangely aroused; Phillip was a very attractive draco, after all.

Ignoring her refusal, Phillip raised his glass to the barman, who promptly brought them a round of vodka and Red Bull.

“It may not be a cocktail, my dear, but it’s quite refreshing.”

Phillip raised his glass in a toast.

Sam raised hers in reply and took a small sip. “Phillip, Zoricah asked me to come to you because...”

“Is she back in London?”

“Yes,” Sam lied.

“I’ve heard quite interesting rumors about a mêlée taking place on the outskirts of New York City. Some even dare to suggest she was in alliance with the vampire king.” His sharp blue eyes locked on hers. “Is it true?”

 “Oh, well, I’d say ‘alliance’ is a very strong word.”

Phillip’s suspicious gaze released hers and slid down to her lips, her throat, then stopped on her breasts.

Sam shifted uncomfortably on the chair. “King Tardieh just offered his support. After all, a number of female vampires were abducted too, not only draconians,” Sam added, trying to sound nonchalant. Zoricah had warned her that Phillip was a very good informant, but just like any other snitch, his loyalties were directly proportional to the size of the pot on the table. So, let’s raise the offer.

Sam leaned forward and said in the best bimbo voice she could muster, “Phillip, Zoricah is willing to reward you generously for your services.”

A lazy half-smile lifted his swollen lips. He then reached across the table and took her hands in his. “I’ll tell you what, love, you get rid of your vampire boyfriend over there and we can go to my hotel room and discuss what sort of reward Zoricah has in mind.”