He pulled his coat tighter around his throat as the blood oozing from his gashes slowed to a trickle. He’d have to change before he met Saxon for their hunt tonight. Otherwise, he would be ringing the dinner bell for the increasing number of killer vamps roaming the streets of Boston. A new threat had started to rise from the Savages, one Ronan and his men were working to take down.

Striding forward, the carpet muffled his steps as he passed the closed doors lining the corridor. Not even his enhanced vampire hearing could detect any sound from the rooms. This hall was a place of hedonism for those who could afford to pay for it.

He’d been in a few of the other rooms, with other women, before moving onto Carha’s area. Carha’s was the biggest out of all the rooms, but they all had a similar setup. However, each vampire who ruled behind these closed doors did something different with their space.

At the end of the hall, he pulled open another heavy, metal door and stepped into the main club area. Unlike many of the other clubs in Boston, this one didn’t pulse with rapid dance music and flashing lights. Bodies didn’t pack the dance floor because there was no dance floor. The humans came here to pretend they were vampires; the vamps came to feed on the fools and to indulge their debauchery in the back rooms.

Numerous booths, mostly hidden in shadow, encompassed the club. The only light in the place hung over the bar. It illuminated the bottles lining the twenty-foot-long, glass mirror. Most of the bottles were only liquor, but at either end of the bar were massive jugs that held special, bloody concoctions. Those exclusive mixes sold with far more speed than the regular alcohol did.

A few of the jugs were nothing but straight blood, kept at 98.6 degrees. Usually, no one bothered with the blood; it was mostly for the ambiance, but occasionally a famished vampire would drink some while stalking their prey.

People gulped down their fake bloody mixes, while the vampires sipped at theirs and pursued what they’d come here for, humans. Aiden scented the air as he watched the occupants, but he didn’t detect the scent of refuse wafting from the inhabitants.

The sun had just set, so he hadn’t been expecting to find any killer vampires here, but he had to be certain before he left. Carha made sure this club remained exclusive, but turned vamps couldn’t scent the killers of their kind like a purebred could so she wouldn’t know if one walked through the door. He’d encountered a few killers in here before. Carha prohibited killing in her club, but they still came for some of the other decadences she offered.

On the rare occasions he’d scented the killers in here, he’d waited outside to destroy them when they left.

Ronan and his men called the killer vampires amongst them Savages, Aiden had mostly adapted to that, but he and his family had always called them killer vamps, and occasionally he slipped back into that.

He’d better start adapting faster if he was going to be one of Ronan’s group, the Defenders. Every day he was getting closer to making it through his training and joining Ronan. It might still be a couple of years before they fully welcomed him into their group, but Lucien had told him he was progressing faster than most and was already way ahead of the curve.

He suspected he’d done so well because he’d gone at his training with a single-minded determination and a sick joy at being able to bestow death on those vampires who deserved it. He needed that outlet to kill. Otherwise, he would go for an innocent.

At one time, joining Ronan’s group had been a dream he’d worked tirelessly to achieve. Now, the goal felt as empty and hopeless as the rest of his existence. He’d been confident that training, fighting, and killing would ease this nothingness in him, but it was becoming as unfulfilling as everything else that once eased him. All the fighting, bruises, and broken bones endured while training with Ronan and his men had done nothing to curb his hunger for more.

He’d tried meditating for a while, but a couple of months ago he’d found himself fantasizing more about tearing a person’s throat out and drinking all their blood than focusing on his breathing. He’d stopped afterward.

As time progressed, staying still became the worst thing he could do, so he moved constantly. He hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep a night in the past six months because he hated closing his eyes.

He slept only when exhaustion took over.

The smoke of the room stung his eyes, and he blinked against it. Some of the smoke was from cigarettes, as no one in this place obeyed any law set forth by humans. The people here believed the flaunting of rules and health codes was another sign they skirted the edge of danger; the vampires did it because some of them liked to smoke.

The rest of the smoke in the room came from the fog machines in the corner, discreetly hidden within decorative coffins. The music speakers were also concealed in those coffins. The woeful music made him snicker, but the humans ate it up, and they were the main menu for the vampire clientele Carha wanted to attract.

Studying the room, Aiden picked out each of the separate heartbeats and the blood pulsing through the occupants’ veins. His fangs pricked, his mouth watered, and his cock stirred as he pictured sinking his fangs into the throats of some of the women here.

Sometimes, after a session with Carha, he would find a woman to take into the second hallway leading away from the main barroom. More soundproof rooms lined that corridor, and each of those rooms held only a bed. The staff changed the sheets every time a couple exited one of the rooms, but he never used the beds.

For him, sex wasn’t about touching or love. Like the whip, it was a way to find an escape from himself, if only for a short time. He preferred as little contact with his partners as possible and found standing made that goal easier to achieve.

He became semi-erect as he watched the couples fondling each other, but he would deny himself sex today. He hadn’t been able to deny himself the gratification of Carha’s whip for a week; he would forgo sex for one fucking day.

It would be his penance for the weakness that had propelled him to seek the brutal slices of Carha’s whip. He’d lost count of the lashings after twenty-five tonight, but she’d beaten him more than usual before he’d stopped her.

Bowing his head, he ran a hand through his short hair and tugged at the ends of it. He recalled Ronan’s words from almost six years ago now…

“The beast, the demon, whatever it is you call what lurks within all vampires. In purebreds, it’s stronger and more incessant. Upon reaching maturation, it becomes this insatiable, clawing thing inside of us that is only eased by finding our mates or by losing ourselves to the pleasure of the kill. In each of us, this insatiable hunger shows itself in different ways.

“Some of us seek out pain, others of us covet copious amounts of blood. Some cannot have enough sex, some lock themselves away from humans, and others give in and kill in order to make it stop. In all purebred males, maturity means three things, they stop aging, their power increases and continues to do so as they age, and they hunger for things so endlessly it nearly drives them mad.

“What you will yearn for most after maturity is in you now. You already know you have a penchant for one thing over another, and it doesn’t have to be only one thing. Many experience a combination of heightened urges, but there will be one that is more dominant than the others.”

Aiden hadn’t stopped aging at the time Ronan revealed this, yet the words were emblazoned on his mind. Until then, he’d been looking forward to reaching maturity, gaining power like his older brothers had, and finally being able to fight with them again. They’d still wrestled and thrown each other around after Ethan and Ian stopped aging, but he’d known they were holding back with him in a way they never had before. It had pissed him off.

After Ronan told them this information, Aiden had spoken with his brothers about their experiences when they stopped aging. Ethan admitted he’d started seeking out pain and blood more. He’d also locked himself away from humans because he’d feared hurting them. Ian occupied his time with an endless array of women. They both agreed they’d sought those things out more before they’d matured into purebred, vampire adulthood, but it became far more intense afterward.

After hearing Ronan’s words and speaking with his brothers, Aiden found himself no longer looking forward to maturity. He dreaded it. Not because he didn’t think he could handle craving something more, but because he didn’t have a penchant for one thing over another.

Even then, he’d wanted all those things in equal measure. However, his desires then had been nothing compared to the day when he’d opened his eyes and realized he’d become an adult vampire.

From that day forward, he’d craved sex, blood, pain, and death more than he’d ever believed possible. He hadn’t locked himself away because he’d known that by joining Ronan’s men, he’d have an outlet for his incessant need to see the life fading from another’s eyes. If he didn’t have the outlet of destroying killer vamps, it would only be a matter of time before he turned on innocent vampires and humans.

A couple of weeks ago, he’d asked Declan, one of Ronan’s men, if there had ever been a purebred vampire who wanted everything with equal measure once they stopped aging. Declan had stared back at him with sad, knowing eyes.

“You’re one,” Declan stated.

Aiden hadn’t been astonished when Declan grasped this insight into him. He’d come to realize Declan saw and understood far more than any normal vampire should. It was why Aiden had taken his question to Declan instead of any of the others.

“Have there been any others like me?” Aiden had inquired.

“There have been a rare few.”

“What became of them?”

Declan folded his hands behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. “What they chose to become. Some turned Savage, another continues, and others died.”

Aiden hadn’t bothered to ask who the one was that continued. Declan would never tell him.

“There have been a rare few.”

Those words had looped through his mind over the past two weeks. I guess I’m one of the lucky few, he thought with a bitter laugh.

There was always the chance he could find his mate, as so many others in his family had. His younger sister Abby had already found hers. He didn’t hold out much hope for himself though as he doubted he’d stumble across his mate in time to save himself.

And if he did find her, did he want to saddle her with someone like him and this bloody, brutal life he led? Whether she was a vampire or human, would she stay with him, or would she run screaming when she realized how messed up he was?

He certainly wouldn’t blame her if she ran. He was a perfect storm of mayhem swirling altogether, one that probably didn’t deserve saving anyway.