Chapter Ten
Did she love him? Emily found herself studying Nicholas with disturbing intensity throughout the meal, and even after Michael had returned to his parish. When the priest first said the words, she had been shocked. An automatic denial came to her lips. As she mulled over the idea, she became less sure. Her uncertainty frightened her almost as much as the original statement had.
She shifted positions on the sofa slightly to better observe him where he stood looking out the window. He had his back turned to her, and she studied his form at her leisure. He had bound his hair tonight, and he wore a simple red sweater and faded blue jeans. She propped her chin on her hand. The way the light reflected off his dark hair caught her attention, and she focused on the varying shades of dark-brown and black. Her fingers itched to run through his hair.
Emily realized she was arousing herself and cleared her throat. He turned around immediately, and she was sure he had caught her staring. She fought down the flush struggling to stain her cheeks and forced a smile. “Michael’s nice.”
He nodded and walked over to the sofa. He stood behind it, rather than sitting down.
His position forced Emily to look up at him, and she craned her neck. “How did you meet?”
He hesitated a long moment before answering. “I recognized him.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“We met about sixty years ago. I recognized his soul.” Nicholas’s mouth twisted. “He’s my father.”
She blinked. “What? But he’s a priest.”
He brushed his hand against her cheek, where the marks he left earlier had faded long ago. “He used to be my father. Aside from you, he’s the first person I met from the past.”
“Does he know?”
Nicholas nodded. “Yes. I thought he would think me insane when I told him, but he had recognized me too, on a subconscious level. It took little time to convince him.”
She touched his hand, disconcerted by how pleasant it was to have him stroking her skin. “You made him a vampire so you wouldn’t lose him again?”
Nicholas stiffened. “He was a priest. Of course I didn’t change him.” His tone was icy, and his hand dropped away. “Though it was my fault he was attacked.” His eyes revealed his anguish. “If I hadn’t introduced myself—”
She touched his arm, and he relaxed. “What happened?”
“Koss,” he spat through clenched teeth. “To hurt me, he changed a priest to a vampire. He had no idea Michael was a reincarnation of my father.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why does this Koss want to hurt you?”
Nicholas’s eyes lost focus, and his voice softened to a whisper. “It’s not important.”
“But—”
He looked down at her, and his expression was clear again. “I had thought to take you out tonight, after Michael left.” His mouth curved into a seductive smile, displaying a hint of his fangs. He rubbed his thumb across her lips. “Unless you would rather stay in?”
She swallowed, desperate to ignore her body’s yearnings and restore order to her besotted brain. “It might be…nice to go out.”
He laughed, and didn’t look at all put out. “I thought you might say that.”
She looked down at the simple black dress. “Is this okay?”
He nodded. “It’s perfect.”
“Where are we going?” she asked as she stood up.
“A club.”
Emily shook her head. “I can’t. I’m not old enough…” She trailed off when the realization hit her that she would never reach her twenty-first birthday. She would be twenty forever. She bit down on her tongue to avoid mentioning it, not wanting Nicholas upset with her again when he seemed to be in an ambiguous mood.
He waved a hand. “It won’t matter. This is a special club, and not likely to garner the attention of authorities.” He took her hand. “You’re with me. You’ll get in.”
She nodded and followed him to the door of the apartment, stopping only to grab a jacket. Nicholas didn’t bother with one. Once she had slipped it on, he took her hand again and led her into the hallway. She stared at him from the corner of her eye in the elevator, trying to decide what mood he was in. He seemed brooding, she decided. Perhaps even melancholy.
When they left the apartment building, he hailed a taxi.
“What about your car?” she asked as she slid in first and smiled at the driver. He was surly-looking, with greasy black hair and yellowed teeth that she saw when he grimaced at her.
“Parking is a problem at the club.” Nicholas settled in the seat and directed the driver to their location before he scooted closer and put his arm around her shoulder.
Emily started to protest as he kissed the pulse point at her throat, but gasped instead when his tongue flicked across the sensitive area. She tensed, waiting for him to bite her—eager for him to bite her.
“Your blood is tainted,” he whispered in her ear, and his breath caressed her lobe. “We’ll feed tonight before we go home.”
She nodded, as her throat was too thick to speak. She wanted to tell him nothing would happen when they arrived back at the apartment. She should apologize for giving him the wrong idea or leading him on, make it clear she wouldn’t make love with him, but when her eyes locked with his, she forgot all about her good intentions and moved forward to press her lips against his.
Nicholas gathered her in his arms, pulling her tightly against him. She could feel his heartbeat echoing hers like a shadow. Her fingers moved to the hem of his sweater and slid underneath the soft cotton. Emily raked her fingers across his stomach and heard him hiss softly.
“The cab,” he said in a hoarse voice. “It’s stopped.”
She looked up and realized they had parked on the side of the street. The driver was eyeing them impatiently. She pulled away from Nicholas, who fished money from his pocket before sliding out. She followed him and paused to eye the pedestrians milling around the streets. They were an eclectic bunch of professionals and casuals. Amid the sea of leather were glimpses of Gucci, Armani and Saville Rowe. A young girl with purple hair and a shredded denim jacket clutched a silver Prada bag.
“Come on.” Nicholas took her arm and pulled her forward. They walked half a block and paused before a black door with a red symbol.
Emily looked up and saw a neon light flashing the name of the bar:
Transfusions
.
“Stay by my side,” Nicholas said as he draped his arm over her shoulder and steered her to the door. “You reek of nouveau, and there’s always some vampire out to prove themselves.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
He opened the door, and mellow jazz music flowed onto the street. He paused before entering. “Some consider it fashionable to make a vampire kill. A first human kill doesn’t count for anything with these kids.”
Emily’s eyes widened. “You mean they kill each other?”
“Stupid fools,” he muttered. “You’ll be an easy mark if you get separated from me.”
She nodded and pressed herself against his side as they entered the dimly lit bar. The moment she stepped inside, she felt different. It was like the sensation of pressure dropping right before a storm. Tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up, crackling with static electricity. The room hummed with power.
The bar itself was decorated in black and red. Black walls, a black floor, red stools, and red upholstered benches, all full. A black bar stood in the middle of the room. Most intriguing of all was a line of people sitting on high-backed barstools against one wall. There must have been ten or twelve of them sitting so close together they couldn’t possibly have room to move. Four burly men stood in pairs at each end of the men and women.
Nicholas saw where she was gazing. “Donors.”
She frowned. “Donors?” Hadn’t Michael mentioned something about them?
“They take money for their blood.” He took her hand and led her across the makeshift dance floor, finessing them through several straining and gyrating couples that seemed unaware of the rhythm of the jazz music flowing from the jukebox. “Normally, I wouldn’t touch any of them, but I don’t want to spend time hunting tonight.”
She tensed as they moved closer. “I…you’re—”
“We’ll have a snack,” he said with a feral grin.
She shook her head, though she was reluctantly fascinated as she saw another vampire approaching the group of humans. He was young, surely not more than fourteen, but he passed two bills to one of the bouncers as if they were pennies. After paying, he walked up and down the line of donors, eyeing them critically. He finally settled on an older looking teenager with a shaved head and zombie-like expression. She was pliant when he pulled her from the chair and into his arms.
“He’s so young,” she whispered to Nicholas. “How could anyone turn a child?”
Nicholas eyed the young vampire who was feeding, then shook his head. “He’s pure, Emily.”
She blinked. “Pure?”
“He was born from two vampire parents, not changed.”
“What?”
Nicholas pulled her closer and leaned down to speak into her ear. “Pure vampires age, but only for a few years. A short while after puberty, when the vampire gene kicks in and they stop making their own blood, they stop aging. That’s when the bloodlust starts. Most look no older than fifteen-years-old. A handful might stop aging at sixteen or seventeen, but no pure vampire ever looks old.” His eyes slid over form. “When you come into your powers, you’ll probably be mistaken for pure.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s cruel. How can parents do that to their children?”
He shrugged. “How is it cruel? They have the same advantages of changed vampires, and they don’t have to go through the painful bother of dying.” He laughed. “Now, have you chosen which one you want to purchase?”
She shook her head. “It’s like prostitution.”
“Some call them blood whores.” He shrugged again. “Blood is blood, I suppose.” He pointed to two young men at the end of the line. “They look fresh. There’s still color in their cheeks, and their eyes are alert.”
Their eyes looked full of fear to her, but she didn’t say that. “Do they die?”
“No. Donors work one night a week and make enough for a whole month. Each never gives more than two pints on a shift.” Nicholas waved a handful of bills at the bouncers, and a heavyset black man, with a neck as large as a tree trunk, stepped forward. “Those two on the end.”
“What happens if someone wants more than two pints?” she whispered apprehensively, remembering her actions from the previous night.
“That’s what the bouncers are for. They protect the donors and collect their money.”
“Pimps,” she said with a shrill giggle as the black man brought one of the boys to them. He was tall and skinny, and barely past legal. She stared into his frightened eyes and tried to summon a shred of pity for him to keep her from drinking. Her eyes darted to the T-shirt pocket of the bouncer, where a wad of cash was visible through the thin red cotton. Unlike last night’s victims, this young man knew what he was getting into.
Nicholas took the boy from the bouncer and tilted his neck. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”
She nodded and eased forward. Emily was still afraid she would try to take too much, but she was hungry. She touched his face and snuggled against him. She felt his cock poking against her hip when she burrowed against his neck. She hadn’t even bitten him yet, or convinced him the experience was sensual. He must be very young indeed, to simply respond to the sight and scent of a pretty girl.
Emily slid her fangs through his neck. She was careful to tell him it was enjoyable, while curbing the impulse to tear into the vein and rip it wide open. Perhaps it was easier when she wasn’t ravenous, because she had a better sense of control this time. The blood trickled into her mouth at a delicate pace. It made her impatient for more, but she was able to resist her darker impulses. When Nicholas touched her shoulder, she tore herself away and turned her head as the bouncer led the boy from the room. She assumed he couldn’t give any more blood for a while.
She stood nearby as Nicholas fed on the other boy, who appeared equally scared. She watched the way his throat moved when he swallowed and wanted to push him aside to have more. Fortunately, the hunger wasn’t at a fever pitch, and what she had consumed would sustain her for the remainder of the evening.
When Nicholas had finished, he led her to the bar. “Do you want alcohol?”
She shook her head. “Just a Sprite.”
He placed their order and waved to a table nearby that had become free. “I’ll join you in a minute. I want to talk to Lenny.” He turned back to the tall, cadaverously thin man behind the bar, who must have been Lenny.
“Okay.” Emily was nervous when she left his side, but reasoned he could turn around and see her easily enough. Still, she felt exposed as she scanned the bar, meeting several pairs of assessing eyes. When she reached the table, she huddled into the booth and tried to tune out the bustle of the bar.
“You’re new,” a voice announced.
She looked up to find a man near her age standing in front of the table. He had thick blond hair, dark-green eyes and an incredible tan. “How did you get that tan?” she asked before she thought better of striking up a conversation.