Page 9 of Born Chaos

I close the fridge and grab my phone. Without thinking this through, I dial the number, holding the device to my ear.

“Everything okay?” Roman’s voice answers, surprising me with his tone.

“Yeah, fine,” I say, my brows furrowed. “Hey, don’t judge me for asking, but what are the terms of a human coming into your nightclub?”

There’s a long pause, like this is literally the last question he expected me to ask. “Any human who comes into the club knows what happens in it.”

“And any human who comes in is free game?” I ask. I feel the adrenaline surging in my body. And it feels good. My senses get more heightened. I can smell every human on this floor, and up and down several other floors. My vision catches every dust mote around. At the thought of blood, I feel the toxins already pooling in my mouth.

“So long as they consent,” Roman says, slightly concerned at my last question. “But there isn’t much other reason why a human would come to Roman Nights in particular.”

“Would there be many people around right now?” I ask, heading into my bedroom to get changed.

“It’s early,” Roman notes, and I glance at the time on my phone. It’s nearly eight. “But the crowd is growing.”

“I’ll be there in twenty,” I say and end the call.

I feel like I’m hardly thinking straight. I’m grabbing clothes and yanking them on, but the thought of a beating pulse in someone’s neck has taken every ounce of my thought process. I can’t stop picturing the satisfaction that will race through me when I finally feel that hot liquid in my mouth.

Black pants, black shirt, and a black leather jacket. I yank a brush through my hair, grab my phone and my keys, and I’m out the door.

It’s dark outside, save for the streetlights. And it’s a Sunday night, so the evening isn’t exactly busy. So, I travel faster than your average woman. My strong legs carry me fast and smooth. Roman’s club is a few miles away, but the distance disappears quickly with my motivation and the strength of what I sometimes forget I am.

I can smell it before I can see it. People. Dozens of people. Warmed people. People wearing perfume, cologne. There’s the scent of alcohol mixed with it. It smells like a party, it smells like dinner, and I move all the faster.

And there it is. The glowing red sign reads loud and clear, ROMAN NIGHTS. Dark, glittering, deceptively beautiful.

But a sour glare takes over my face when I see Roman standing right at the doors, obviously waiting for me.

I try. I really do try not to notice the way he looks as I approach. He’s dressed in black jeans and a black button up shirt that’s only buttoned two-thirds of the way up his chest. The sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, exposing the tattoos on his right arm. I want to hate that stupid, wild black hair of his, but it’s hard not to appreciate the way it falls into his face. And then there are those brilliant blue eyes.

It’s too bad his personality is so damn annoying. It’s too bad he’s so damn nice to look at.

Those blue eyes fix on me, watching me the entire time I walk up the sidewalk. He stands there with his hands in his pockets, looking calm, relaxed, but I see the tightness in his shoulders, and I’ve done enough crazy things with him now to recognize that look in his eyes. The one that tells me he’s on guard, and he’s expecting the worst.

“What’s going on, Juliet?” he asks as I walk up.

“Nothing. Why?” I answer as I breeze right past him. The bouncer at the door takes note of the tattoos on my left forearm and hand and lets me pass.

“Because you haven’t been here in six months, and all of a sudden you’re looking for a willing participant. It’s rolling off of you in waves. You’re burned up about something.”

Well, that’s annoying. Since when could Roman freaking De Luca read me so well?

“Well, let’s count the bad things,” I say as I walk down the hall. “I’m carrying around the retrieved gift of my dead mother. A dead man told me my relationship is doomed. I died again just over a week ago. I’m pretty sure I’m disappointing everyone in my life somehow. And I’m buried in all these stupid truths and secrets that I can’t talk to anyone about.”

“Seems secrets and lies aren’t enough to keep you from turning his proposal down.” I look back at him to see his eyes fall down to my left hand.

A disgusted sigh escapes my mouth, and I shake my head. “I really don’t want to talk about my relationship with you, Roman.”

Without waiting for his spiteful retort, I step into the belly of the club.

There are eight vampires here, besides myself and Roman. I can’t tell the difference between humans and the gifted, but there are forty-seven strangers who definitely aren’t vampires. I wander through the crowd, barely able to contain myself. Everyone smells so damn delicious. My mouth is watering, and I feel my fangs lengthening in my mouth.

The music pumps through the speakers, loud and deep. I feel the vibrations of it down to my bones. And it feels good. It feels numbing. And that’s what I need right now.

I scan the potential donors. Everyone is in groups, laughing, dancing, drinking. I’m not really sure how to do this. I don’t think it’s morally right to just grab someone, drag them into a dark corner, and start drinking their blood. But am I really supposed to just walk up to someone and go “hey, can I please sink my fangs into your neck and drink your blood?”

I reach the opposite side of the room, feeling a little defeated but thirstier than ever. I turn back, surveying the room.

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