Ember closed the door. Nate heard her slide the three bolts into place as she did every time she was locking down for the night.
He rubbed his thumb back and forth across his forehead. It was the final confirmation he’d needed. It was unmistakably her. His memory wasn’t playing tricks. Nor was it some coincidence or twist of fate: it was the sheer logistics of Lowtown dictating it was inevitable their paths would cross again one day.
Though, reassuringly, even when he’d challenged her, she’d seemingly remained clueless of the connection.
He closed his own door, shutting her out as much as she’d shut him out. He stepped over to the kitchen. Spreading his arms, he rested his palms on the countertop and lowered his head.
More than ever, he needed to be thankful that the night before had finally marked the beginning of the end, the celebratory hug in the café having told him all he needed to know.
Taking the place across the hall from her had been a good choice, despite the risks. Risks born out of what was clearly mutual attraction, just as he had long suspected. Risks that had intensified as she’d stood in front of him in that stairwell, maintaining eye contact with him for longer than either of them had ever dared.
He’d seen her gaze wander over him. He’d heard her pulse increase. He’d detected the more anxious pace of her breathing. Despite her sternness, her coldness, something in her had reacted to him in a way she wasn’t comfortable with – maybe hadn’t been willing to acknowledge to herself. And she had confirmed why.
And because of that, it had taken balls to confront him like she had, now more than ever with her being so close to leaving. But he couldn’t be gone like she wanted. That was the bottom line. His necessitated intervention the night before had proven that.
And her intervention in saving him, though at first having escalated his suspicion that she might know more than she had let on, had instead left him feeling she was simply what he suspected all along: just kind.
He made his way into the bedroom. He removed the contents from his holdall he’d left on the chair. He took out the compartment at the bottom. He grabbed a couple of the pre-filled syringes and headed over to the bed.
If she’d found them, she would never have had to put herself on the line.
He twirled them in his fingers before casting them aside. Tonight he needed more.
He stripped off his workout clothes and rinsed off in the shower. He pulled on his T-shirt and jeans, grabbed his keys and headed out.
He didn’t care that he slammed the door this time. If anything, she might sleep easier knowing he wasn’t there.
He locked and secured the outer door and made his way down the dark alley.
He headed to The Hive, nicknamed as such as it spanned a tunnel of cellars. Situated near the Midtown border, it had remained one of Lowtown’s best-kept secrets, particularly as it wasn’t in anyone’s best interest for it to be disclosed – and especially for the sake of its frequenters from Midtown and Summerton.
That was exactly why the place had been set up: for the privileged to get their fixes with Lowtown and Blackthorn residents whilst maintaining the relative safety of being close to the Midtown border. The Hive was a carefully controlled operation, equally beneficial to both parties. It was also one of the rare establishments, aside from those owned by Caleb Dehain, one of the most powerful vampires in Blackthorn, where everyone who was there was guaranteed to be there voluntarily.
The alternatives were in abundance: places where participants were victims of the system, or were there out of sheer naivety. He’d come across more than his fair share of feeders in pretty bad ways in those types of places – feeders who had got mixed up with the wrong sires or vice versa. Because there was a dark and violent side to feeding for those who got their kicks that way, resulting in the feeder–sire relationship – though not illegal – remaining a frowned-upon system. Rumours rarely focused on those who managed to get in with the right sires doing well out of it, especially those who stood no chance of getting into Midtown anyway. The Hive was one such place.
It was, in essence, a playground for the wealthy. It was the ultimate high, the most extreme role-play for those bored with their low-risk, privileged lives, those having grown up schooled in the dangers of Blackthorn, of Lowtown and the third species who inhabited both. Visiting The Hive was the ultimate abandon and escape from reality and responsibility. It was a place where women and men faced their fears and embraced them, owned them even.
Vampires, in particular, had always been the main attraction – offering the blurred line between fear and arousal that was a potent high for many. Sex with one of his kind was the ultimate aphrodisiac and the wealthy paid the establishment healthily for the opportunity. Because it was only the wealthy and the powerful who could get away with it. Who could talk or bribe their way back across their respective borders. Who could afford a legal team to fight their corner if complications arose.
And that meant The Hive presented an abundance of opportunities for his business. He’d started getting involved with the place when he’d needed items that could only be acquired from across the borders, a session with him his mule’s reward for successful delivery.
Business aside, there was only one he consistently met with for his own personal needs. Cordy had lived in Lowtown all her life and had been well looked after by The Hive. Feeding with her was uncomplicated. Few could give themselves up for regular feeds without the hitches of feelings getting in the way. Most of all, she never asked questions. He arrived, and she made herself available. If she needed him for anything in turn, he was there. He’d killed for her in the past and, during times when he’d needed it, she’d trusted him enough to allow him the ultimate high of taking her as close to the edge of death in a feed as either of them could survive. Most of the time, he merely came to collect pre-prepared syringes from her. More often than not, it didn’t involve sex. But sometimes it did. This was one of those times. Not least because he needed a reminder of what he was. In light of his encounter with Ember, he needed a reminder of exactly what he was.
He stepped into the dim subterranean room, lit only by a lamp in the far right hand corner that was draped in clichéd red gossamer. The clients liked that kind of blatancy. There was only one small vent in the brickwork and no windows, so the walls were constantly coated in the lingering aroma of sweat and sex.
He closed the door behind himself. The door that had concealed the small recess for showering in after whatever act had been performed.
Tonight that act was simple. Tonight he needed to feel his extra incisors bite into warm flesh. He needed to feel and taste hot blood in his mouth. He needed to feel his feeder gasp and wince. Tonight he was there to bite and fuck – and get both over as quickly as possible.
He took off his jacket and draped it on the nearby chair before stripping completely – to prevent having to find clean clothing for the rest of the night than anything else.
Cordy, having received his text message, and for the same reasons, was already naked. She turned away from him, just as he preferred, and knelt on her haunches on the edge of the bed.
They rarely talked. There was nothing to discuss.
Tearing open the foil packet, he slid on the protection. Cross-contamination was never an issue between the species. Vampires didn’t carry infections, their antibodies killing anything within minutes, which meant they couldn’t transmit disease either. And the chances of a human falling pregnant by a vampire, let alone it going any length of term, was minimal too. But it was still possible which is why Nate didn’t take risks. Not ever. And especially not with Cordy.
With both his feet firmly on the floor, he took hold of Cordy’s hips. He tugged her back towards him so her parted knees were on the edge of the bed.
He entered her fully on the first attempt, forcing himself inside her just as she preferred, Cordy groaning not with pain as she should have, but with pleasure as she always did.
Her breathing was instantly heavy, more so as he looped her long, dark hair around his fist several times before tugging her upright. His free hand clutched her between her legs to where he was buried deep inside her, applied an expert amount of pressure to her clit, making her flinch, her nails clawing at the hair at the back of his head.
She closed her eyes, relaxing into the sensation, trusting him completely. And the more she relaxed, the more she lost herself. And the more she lost herself, the less she cared that his lips were on her neck, that his incisors were sliding along the sensitive, vulnerable flesh. As was their routine, he didn’t anaesthetise her with his saliva first. As always, she’d want to feel everything. It had always been the same for the past fifteen years he’d been visiting her.
As he felt her climax build, he plunged his incisors deep into her neck. She struggled a little as she inevitably always did, as her instincts for survival dictated she did, necessitating him to tighten his grip on her hair, to wrap his arm across her breasts to prevent her struggles from causing herself an injury.
As his incisors took hold as deep as they could go, his erection buried inside her, he fed.
The metallic taste filling his mouth had him coming moments later. And, during those few minutes, he lost himself in the euphoria, the release, the escape. He forgot about everything except for the simplest of pleasures; absorbed himself in the ecstasy that helped temporarily ease the emptiness inside.
Because she was going.
Ember was finally leaving.
It was all going to be over.
Finished, Nate withdrew. He gently clasped Cordy’s jaw as he tilted her head back a little to check the severity of the wound he had created. Her pulse and breathing, though still rapid from her waning arousal, would return to normal soon enough. There was no permanent damage. He kissed her on the temple before pulling away.
Under the cool spray of the shower, he stared down at the tiled floor, watching the bloodied water trickle away.
He dried off. He got dressed. Glanced across to where Cordy was treating his bite mark in front of the mirror.
‘You want to talk about it?’ she asked.
‘About what?’
‘About whatever’s on your mind?’
It was a first; his mask was clearly slipping.
But he didn’t need to answer, and she wouldn’t push it.
He dropped the money onto the chair. ‘Let me know if you need any more.’
And headed back out of the door.