Although she’d love to get her hands on the Guardian who did the killing—she’d never encountered a living vampire who had the powers he did—the real enemy was his superior, who’d orchestrated and approved the whole thing. He was the one she wanted, because once that thorn in her side was out of the picture, the rest of them would be easy pickings.
She resisted the urge to nervously touch her earring again. Instead, she folded her hands carefully in her lap and watched her guest.
“This really is quite lovely,” he said after taking a sip.
“Thank you.”
Ventra was completely aware that Loric Rayne, second in command under the new Overlord, held her fate in his hands. These next few moments were crucial.
Even though her two loyal bodyguards were stationed just behind the dining room doors, she didn’t want to have to use them, for if she did and Rayne was killed, she’d forever be on the run from the Alliance. Her future in the organization was teetering on the edge of a blade right now and it was because of those goddamned Guardians. All she’d ever wanted was respect and they’d taken that from her. Those self-appointed protectors of their people had no real authority anyway. Centuries ago, they’d usurped the power from the old ones, convincing their people that humans and vampires could exist peacefully, yet secretly, side by side. Well, that was bullshit. There was a reason vampires had fangs and a craving for blood. Because they were meant to feed from humans, not make friends with them.
Rage erupted inside her, but she didn’t let it show on her face. On the outside, she was as calm and cool as a glass of ice water—sparkling, with two twists of lime and a fancy little umbrella—but inside, she was a boiling caldron of oil. “I’d be happy to show you how I prepare it.”
“You didn’t import it?” He swirled his glass again and watched how the blood clung to the sides like a fine wine. “It’s got quite a zip to it. More than I’d have expected from the supply up here.”
“No, sir. Harvested from a local human under a technique I came up with.”
Because the UV levels in the Northwest were fairly low, the energy in the indigenous population was low as well—a big reason most vampires hated living too far north. But if the host was exposed to several hours of UV light—either a full spectrum tanning bed or a sunny day—their blood was infused with more energy than what was typical here. Not quite to the levels you’d find in humans down South, but much better than one pulled directly off the street and drained. A little patience and prep work always paid off in the end. Other vampires were willing to pay more for the fortified stuff and although it wasn’t as good as Sweet—hell, nothing was as good as Sweet—the supply was much more plentiful, which meant a lot more money in her, and the Darkbloods’, coffers.
“Yes, I’m very curious. I’d like to see how you do it sometime.”
Her tightly knotted shoulders relaxed just a touch. The fact that he referenced a sometime meant that there was hope for her within the organization. Maybe he didn’t come to Seattle to kill her after all and she would be given a chance to make things right. She had a few things in place already, and if given the chance by her superiors, she’d strike the Guardians when they least expected it.
After I get through with them, they’ll wish they had the agreement some of their other field offices have with the Alliance.
“As I was saying,” Rayne said, his gaze wandering to the center of the table, “you’ve put me in a precarious spot. I went to bat for you in Prague, believing you had what it took to exploit the Seattle area to its fullest. Blood raves, blood clubs, pinpointing our target market through that video game, and Sweet addictions on the rise. I had high hopes for you, Ventra, but I’m afraid you’ve greatly disappointed me. Your failures don’t sit well with the Overlord. And when he’s not happy, I’m not happy.”
Setting down his now empty glass, he reached for the centerpiece, which was laid out on a plastic sheet covering the table. “But I’m willing to give you another chance.” With the pads of his fingers, he caressed the skin of the donor host’s belly with great care.
When the female whimpered, Ventra shot her a withering look that said “Move a muscle and I kill you and your sister.”
The look in Rayne’s eyes was almost trancelike as he continued to gaze at the living centerpiece, which gave the concept of body shots a whole new meaning. With her golden skin and the smell of sun in her hair, she was a beautiful girl, giving him every reason to stare. But then again, he was probably trying to decide which vein to start with first. Drinking from a live sweetblood could be pretty intoxicating. Who the hell cared what they looked like, although Ventra was a firm believer in the power of eye candy.
“But only if,” he said, pushing his chair from the table and standing up, “you can do something to prove you haven’t lost total control here.”
He leaned over the female and the greyed-out whites of his eyes darkened further.
“Oh, God, please. No.” Black mascara tracked down both sides of the human’s face.
Rayne tilted her head to the side, and without any more preamble than that, sank his teeth into her neck. She screamed and arched her body as best she could, but the bindings on her ankles and wrists kept her firmly affixed to the tabletop.
Ventra had debated whether to gag her or not but at the last minute decided to keep her au naturel. And she was glad she did. Many vampires liked the thrill of hearing their victims scream in terror—the fear added a special zing to the energy—and Rayne seemed no different. With his lips seared to her neck, he swallowed mouthful after mouthful of her sweet blood.
After a few moments, when the girl’s screams had died down to a weak whimper, he lifted his head, his lips stained deep crimson.
“Magnificent.”
“Glad you like her. I kept her outside all day to maximize the ultraviolet energy in the blood.”
His gaze roamed the female’s body. “Ah, that explains the bikini then. And the smell of the sun on her tanned skin.” He removed his expensive Italian suit jacket and set it carefully over the back of his chair. “I have faith in you, Ventra. You’re able to think outside the box. This—” he swept his hand along the woman’s thigh and rested it just inside her knee “—is evidence of that. I believe you have what it takes to make even the most dismal city a success.”
She beamed with pride that such a powerful player in the Darkblood organization felt so strongly about her. She vowed not to fuck it up this time.
He loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his handmade dress shirt. Indicating the female’s right arm, he said, “Remove the binding. I’d like to try that vein next.”
DOMINIC SERRANO FLATTENED his back against the dingy brick wall and waited for his team to get into position. Peering through the darkness, past a torn blue awning outside an import/export company in south Seattle, he had a clear view of the target location.
Knee-high weeds grew in the cracks around the entrance and a few fast-food wrappers had gathered in the shallow door well. A basket with long-dead plants hung from a hook to the left of the roll-up doors. Situated in a run-down portion of the industrial district, the warehouse appeared to be vacant, but according to their intel, it was anything but empty.
He glanced at his watch. A few more minutes till they went in. Several days ago, they’d learned that Darkbloods were expecting a large shipment of illegal weapons and Guardians weren’t about to let them get distributed.
Had it really been almost three years since he’d last been to this part of town? It was where he’d charcoaled one of the DB bastards chasing Mackenzie. He flexed his fists and felt her blood coursing through his veins.
Fighting their enemies always cranked up his energy level. Given their