Vampire Fight Club

“Hey, guys, look at this.” Shade held up Vaughn’s arm, and under the glow of the ultraviolet lamp on the wall, a stamp glimmered beneath blood on the back of his hand. “One of the other victims had a similar stamp.”

“Thirst,” Wraith murmured. “Nice place.”

Vaughn’s voice rang through her head. Th-thirst. She sucked in a harsh breath. “That’s what Vaughn said when he came in. I thought he was asking for water. What is Thirst?”

“Vamp club.” Wraith propped his hip against the counter and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “Shifters and weres go too, and a few humans who are in the know about us.”

Vaughn had been even more of a recluse than she was. So why he’d go to this vampire club was a mystery. A mystery she was going to solve. If she had only a few weeks left to live, she’d make the most of them, and she’d get revenge for her brother.

A forbidden thrill shot through her at the thought, and yep, that had to be a symptom of the pending insanity, because the idea of violence had never excited her. And somehow, she couldn’t even bring herself to be upset about it . . . which was probably another symptom.

Very gently, she tucked Vaughn’s hand under the sheet. “Looks like I’m going to pay a visit to a vampire hangout.”

“Lena, if Thirst is a cover for a fight club, it’s too dangerous for you.” Eidolon’s tone softened to the one he used with children. “When your father asked me to give you a job, he also asked me to look after you if anything were to happen to him.”

She stared at the handsome doctor, surprised by his admission, but it didn’t change anything. “You can’t stop me,” she blurted out, and wasn’t that mature? She might as well stomp her foot, too. Breathing deeply, she found her big girl voice. “I need to do something that matters in the time I have left.”

The doctor closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they were resigned. “Give me an hour to do some research.”

“I’ll do recon,” Wraith said, his blue eyes bright with mischief. She didn’t even want to know what he had planned. With Wraith, it could be anything.

Shade popped a stick of gum in his mouth. “I need to clean the rig, but let me know if you need anything.”

The brothers left her alone with Vaughn, and she sat with him, remembering all that they’d been through, from games of hide-and-seek as cubs, to mourning their father’s death. An hour later, Lore, the fourth Seminus brother, arrived to take Vaughn to the morgue.

“I’m sorry, Lena.” Lore placed his hand—gloved to prevent any accidents with the lethal power he wielded—over hers. “I’ll treat him well.”

As he wheeled Vaughn away, Eidolon arrived with a cup of coffee. He handed it to her, and she took it, hoping the hot liquid would ease the chill that had settled in.

“You can access Thirst either through a secret entrance behind a human Goth club called Velvet Chain,” he said, “or from a hidden door in the sewer beneath it. Since it’s mainly a vampire club, non-vamps are expected to donate blood.”

“Not if they work there.” Wraith swept in the way he always did, like a tornado. “The club employs six medics. And they’re hiring.”

Eidolon frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because they’re now short two medics. I convinced one to quit.”

“And the other?” Eidolon asked.

“I convinced him to die.” Wraith flashed fangs. “It was that douche you fired last year for swapping out patients’ pain meds for vitamins.”

“Excellent.” Eidolon nodded in approval. “But I still don’t like the idea of Lena going into that den of violence.”

“It’s not your decision,” she said quietly.

“You’re right,” E said. “And I wish I could send someone with you, but we can’t afford to lose any more hands.”

“It’s okay. I have to do this.”

Wraith clapped her on the shoulder. “We’ll check in on you.”

Before she had a chance to thank him, Eidolon rounded on her, danger rolling off him in a scorching wave she felt on her skin.

“If anything happens to you,” he said, in a voice as deadly as she’d ever heard from him, “I promise we’ll bring that club down so hard nothing will be left standing.”

“Especially not the f**ks who run it,” Wraith added, his eyes glittering with anticipation.

Funny thing. People talked big, said stuff like that all the time but never followed through. Without a doubt, these guys meant every word.

Chapter 3

Vladlena was a nervous wreck as she entered Thirst for the second time that day. Earlier in the afternoon, she’d spoken with the assistant manager about the medic job. He’d been impressed with her credentials, and after the interview, he’d sent her on her way with high hopes for a callback. Four hours later, she’d gotten the call.

Marsden had spoken with Eidolon, and now all she had to do was impress the big boss, some vampire named Nathan.

She halted just inside the main entrance and eyed the crowd, which seemed heavy for only six o’clock in the evening. But then, the patrons who came here lived all over the globe, so really, time in an underworld club was meaningless.

The scent of lust, blood, and booze was thick in the air, and as she navigated her way toward the medic station, she caught whiffs of aggression, as well. No doubt a place like this saw its share of fights. But it wasn’t the regular bar fights she was interested in. There was a sick, twisted sport going on here, and she’d make sure those responsible for her brother’s death paid.

One of the bouncers pointed her to Marsden’s office, which was far down a long hallway at the rear of the club.

“Thanks for coming, Vladlena.” He dipped his head in greeting as she entered, and she wondered if the gelled spikes in his ash-brown hair were as sharp as they looked. With his funky hair, piercings, black-painted nails, and jeweled fangs, he was one odd-looking guy. “Like I said on the phone, everything looks great. Getting Nathan’s okay is mainly a formality at this point, but he’ll probably have some questions for you.” He pointed to a door across the hall. “Good luck.”

The “good luck” didn’t sound promising, and she wondered what she was going to be dealing with. Inhaling deeply to steel herself, she tapped on the door. A gruffly spoken, “Enter” was the response, and she pushed open the door, unease curling inside her chest.

At first, she didn’t see him. She was too busy admiring the giant oak desk scattered with some sort of tickets marked with GLADIUS, the exotic—and expensive—Persian rug, the artwork on the walls. Then she stepped fully inside and looked toward the wet bar to the right.

He was standing with his hip propped against the bar, long fingers caressing a glass of amber liquid, his crystalline azure eyes drilling into her. Shiny, black-blue hair fell in a straight curtain below his broad shoulders, and damn it, she hated when males had better hair than she did. Sharp angles defined his face, from high cheekbones to a strong jaw, and when one corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile that revealed a gleaming fang, her pulse did an excited flutter.

Her roommate, Blaspheme, would say that from his expensive loafers to his well-fitting black slacks and gray silk shirt, this male exuded pure, hardcore sex.

Not that Lena would know anything about that.

“Um . . . hi, Mr. Sabine. I’m Vladlena—”

“Take off your clothes.” His husky voice, tinged with a faint French accent, was so mesmerizing that his words didn’t register for a few seconds.

Finally, she blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Marsden sent you, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then strip.”

He moved toward her, and with every step, her heart hammered faster. He’d been carved from a stone slab of danger, power, and grace, and if he possessed even an ounce of softness, she’d eat the file she was holding. The room shrank as he closed in on her, erotic energy pulsing off him and making her skin tingle. Those wide shoulders rolled, reminding her of a lion on the prowl, and although at five-nine, she wasn’t short, he was at least seven inches taller. He could crush her with his pinky finger, and here she was, in the place her brother had lost his life, alone in an office with the male who might be responsible.

“I didn’t know that getting na**d was part of the job requirement.” She was proud of the way her voice didn’t waver. Much.

His expression hardened even more, something she hadn’t thought was possible. “Jesus. Where did Marsden find you?”

This was not going well at all, and she clutched the file in her hands tighter to keep them from shaking. “I applied for the job this morning.”

“He’s taking applications?”

“You’d rather your medical personnel pop in off the streets with no training?”

A deep frown pulled at his brow, and then he laughed, and good gods, he was impressive when he did that. “You’re here for one of the medic positions.”

So the guy was handsome, but not too bright. “Of course.” Taking a swig of his drink, he dropped his eyes to her feet. Slowly, he dragged his gaze back up her body in a blatant, sensual appraisal before settling on her mouth.

“Well, then,” he drawled. “How badly do you want the job?”

Nate waited for a reaction from the female—beyond the shocked-out expression that included a dropped jaw, wide eyes, and utter speechlessness, anyway. He’d figured out immediately that she wasn’t a screw sent by Marsden . . . well, almost immediately, though he hadn’t determined why Mars had sent her. In the first few seconds, he’d just been happy his lieutenant had sent an attractive but plain female who was actually wearing clothes, and not one of the fangfuckers from the club decked out in an outfit more appropriate for the bedroom than a bar.

This female was different from anyone he’d ever seen at Thirst, from her scuffed black flats and well-fitting but conservative charcoal slacks to her long-sleeved sweater. Her minimal makeup emphasized high cheekbones and full lips, and he had the oddest urge to ask her to take her blond hair out of the tame, hip-length French braid so he could see if it was as silky as it looked.