Before we start...Be sure to Get a free story just for signing up!

IMPORTANT NOTE: If you read The Alpha's Addiction, skip ahead to Chapter Nine. I included this novella in the The Alpha's Bite.

***

Davian

My stomach knotted at the scent of hopelessness in the air. Dozens of empty eyes looked at me. I doubted the shifters before me even knew they were conscious.

The Contessa had warned me it would be bad, but until now, until it was in front of me, I hadn't understood the horror. I pretended to inspect the shifters, fighting to keep my expression even and measured. My mission relied on me swallowing my disgust. In this place, in this moment, buying shifters was just another business transaction. Life served the immortal, not the other way around.

I wondered if the Contessa had known so many shifters were involved.

The line of eight female and three male shifters stood against the wall in the strip club basement, waiting for me to make an offer. This wasn't even all of them. Sources said Zion had an ongoing supply. He was moving more shifters than anyone else in history. Usually, the shifters rose up and fought back, but not this time.

Zion walked up and down the row of ragtag shifters standing before him, some held in place by his men, others too beaten down to do anything other than follow orders. Their clothes were torn and stained with blood, and their slack faces held vacant eyes that didn't respond to anything...not even the insistent thumping of strip club music from the floor above.

By contrast, Zion himself looked out of place in his designer suit—navy with a light blue handkerchief in the pocket, and underneath, a crisp white shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. He dressed like a rich man, one who'd taken a very wrong turn somewhere. Which actually, he had, and by his own choosing, too. It made his mouth twitch in a self-satisfied smirk. The dark hole he'd dug for himself was making him a very wealthy vampire.

"These are all from the same supplier?" I asked, careful to keep my expression neutral. Zion must suspect nothing.

He nodded and flashed a gleeful smile. "I have a connection inside the packs." His voice had a patois I couldn't place. Maybe Creole. Or French-Canadian. Or maybe he just faked it. I'd seen vampires do that before. Accents were always hot in the US.

I raised an eyebrow. "The packs know about this?"

He scowled. "What do you care? You're just here to buy, right?"

"Just curious," I said, forcing a casual smile.

"You're not a bleeding heart, are you?" He picked out one of the shifters—a blonde with pale skin and dead eyes—and yanked her forward. "This one," he said, shoving her toward me. "She's still high from her last hit, so you'll taste it, but it won't be enough to affect you."

I caught the woman, her weight so light I felt like I'd been handed a sheet of paper. Her jeans hung on her undernourished frame. A hint of lilac clung to her, like a stubborn spring refusing to bow before the lingering darkness of winter. Blonde hair outlined the heart shape of her face. She had a natural beauty, but looking into her eyes, I saw nothing, not even a spark of awareness. She'd become a husk of someone who'd once had a life. 

"What do you want me to do?"

"Claim her. Show me I can trust you." He crossed his arms, waiting.

My fangs throbbed in my mouth. It had been a long time since I'd fed. But the woman in my arms could not consent, and claiming someone against their will had been forbidden for the last hundred years. The world would be full of thralls otherwise. Someone would notice and vampires didn't want to be noticed. We preferred to cloak ourselves in shadows and let the light fall someplace else. Which was why Zion's operation needed to be shut down—quickly and quietly.

Lifting the woman up a bit higher, I nudged her head back with one hand, exposing her ivory neck. She blinked at the movement, but otherwise remained still. Her neck was a long, arched expanse of smooth skin, like soft, untouched snow. Her pulse quivered in the hollow of her throat. It was too much. I had to look away.

"What's her name?"

"Who cares?" Zion shrugged. "You can call her whatever you want. She'll be yours, after all."

"Adele," came a whisper so soft I almost missed it. Her blue gaze met mine, and something flickered in her eyes this time, something alive and aware.

"Davian," I whispered back.

"She's food," Zion said. "Why are you introducing yourself to her? Just feed."

I shot him a dark look. "In my time, we knew each other's names." There used to be salons where we mingled with humans, hand picking the best and offering them a sort of patronage in exchange for their blood. We'd had rules of engagement that all civilized vampires followed, but that had since faded. The modern world used time against us and eroded the eternal.

I would bet Zion had been turned after that time. His gauche sensibilities suggested he'd never courted his blood, never bowed over a woman's hand before slipping his fangs into her throat. The violent and the bloodthirsty had been shunned in my time. He would not have survived that era. Not like this.

"Names don't matter anymore," he said. "Now claim her or I'll kill you as the mole you probably are."

"I'm not a mole."

"Prove you're not some patsy from the council. Because that's the only reason you wouldn't feed. Show me you're for real." He reached inside his black suit jacket and pulled out a dagger, the blade tapering to a fine point. "Or I'll kill you and send your dust back to them."

"I'll be quick." I whispered the promise into Adele's ear. Then nuzzling her neck, I inhaled her scent, smelling the fur of the wolf lurking under her skin. My fangs slipped past her skin. The first gush of blood had a faint chemical aftertaste from the drugs, but it sweetened after that.

For a moment, time went backward and I stood in the woods of my childhood, surrounded by musk on all sides. And lilacs, but that came from Adele's scent. My fangs dove into her blood, filling me with her warmth and innocence and a memory of a place I could no longer claim as home.

In the distance, I heard my sister's voice calling for me with a playful laugh. I wandered through my memories, wishing they would sweep me away and never let me go.

I'd thought I'd been unhappy in those days. If the me of then could see me now, I would be a different man. I'd had no idea how bad things could be, and now that I did, I couldn't change anything.

Adele moaned and clutched my shoulder, bringing me out of the dark corners of my mind. I pulled my fangs back and pressed my tongue over the wound I'd left in her neck, waiting until it stopped bleeding. I pushed away the memories as well, trying to forget about my sister, to shove that all back and seal it away. It was an addict I held in my arms. Some strange shifter who couldn't make the past live again. She wasn't Dahlia.

"You're so gentle, so kind," Zion said, his tone mocking. "She's going to love you."

"Unlike some, I've never seen the need to act the savage."

"It's better to teach them not to expect anything from you. Makes life simpler." He grabbed my arm, and pulling a small dagger from inside his jacket, sliced it across my forearm. "Now finish it."

Cold blood dripped down my arm, coagulating in the stale basement air. I shook off the clots and put my arm to her lips. She turned her head away and I gave her a little shake. "Drink."

"No." She breathed more than spoke her refusal, still weak from whatever drugs burned in her system and yet she resisted. She still had spirit. That might get her killed.

Zion snatched her from me and slammed her up against the wall. Her head thunked off the concrete bricks, and she hung there, suspended by Zion, limp and lifeless.     

He waved me forward. "Do it."

I went to her and forced my blood between her lips. I willed her to swallow, fearing what Zion would do to her fragile beauty otherwise. Her throat moved and I hid a sigh of relief.  She was mine, and while I was no good, I wouldn't ruin her like Zion would. She had a better chance of surviving the broken monster inside me.

Zion left us and returned to the line of spirit-broken shifters. Slicing his dagger against his arm, he force-fed them his blood and simultaneously sucked on their wrists, binding them all to him. 

"What are you doing?" I asked, supporting Adele's limp weight against my side.

"Are you that dumb?" He raised his head and glared at me, a garish red ring around his mouth.

"But if you claim them, the buyers can't. My client wants slaves he can make his own."

"It's a light claim. I revoke it once the buyer takes possession. Someone has to control them. Keep them from causing trouble. Don't worry, they'll be clean for their new masters." He pulled the handkerchief out of his suit coat pocket and wiped his mouth. Nodding to Adele, he asked, "What do you think of her?"

"I'll take her," I said with a smile I didn't feel. "And I might want more."

"Ah, excellent. Perhaps you'd like to sample some others? See who you like?" He pulled out his cell phone and checked the time. "I regret I can't stay longer tonight. I have a supplier meeting."

"Dawn's close, anyways," I said. I wanted to leave and find out what Adele knew. "I'll return tomorrow night."

"Stay here. I told you we have guest quarters here. That way, we can get started at first dark tomorrow."

"I have a place," I said.

"It's not as nice as it is here." He clapped a hand over my shoulder and pulled me close in mock friendship. "I insist, actually. I don't like it when new clients wander around."