Page 31 of Victory for Vampires

He rises and comes through just as my comm watch lights up. Everything inside me curls and sparks into hot flames at seeing her name. Or maybe that’s her stroking us through the bond.

When I direct the watch to answer her, her voice sounds small and far away.

“Bad news first,” she says with a tinkly laugh. “Even though this was my only meeting today, my schedule is now full to the brim with follow-on meetings.”

“What’s the good news, darling?” Pietro leans into the watch. “We need to hear you say it.”

“Nothing is final,” she says cautiously, “but it looks good. Everything. Even Grand Portal Station.”

Pietro slumps forward, bringing his forehead to my chest as he grips my right biceps with his fingers. His muscles tremble, our bond filled with relief like I’ve never felt.

“Come home,” he growls. “As soon as you’re able to. Congratulations, amore.”

Her voice goes husky. “I’ll be home as soon as I can get out of these meetings. But we did it, mates. This is going to happen, and I have you to thank for it.”

“Thank us with your mouth,” I say on a laugh. “I’ll keep Pietro occupied until you’re able to return to us.”

“Actually, there’s a great little café called Grind around the corner from my place. You should check it out. They’ve got food and great drinks. Might give you some ideas.”

Smiling at Pietro, I agree. When we end the call, he glances up from my chest area. Our bond is fraught with need.

“Do you need me?” My voice is ragged and rough. The sheer joy of Valentina’s success is overwhelming. We won’t be able to celebrate with her for hours.

Pietro brings his mouth to mine and sucks at my tongue. Biting the tip, he rocks his hips against mine. “I need you, and I want to see this coffee shop. Perhaps we can play there.”

Knowing Valentina, it wouldn’t surprise me if that was exactly what she had in mind.

“Done,” I breathe into Pietro’s lips. “Let us grab our coats and go.”

We manage to leave her apartment with minimal fucking around. As we head outside, it jars me that the sky remains black, the quiet snow falling just like last night. I’m not sure I could entirely get used to a haven where it seems to be night all of the time.

I’m lost in thought as we walk up the block toward the location she gave us.

“That’s a great fucking name,” I mutter when Grind comes into view. Like everything in this haven, the sign is black and white, and the entrance is darkly elegant. Wooden flowers creep and crawl up the front of the café, over the door and back down the other side. They’re roses, threaded through with thorns and tiny platters with black wooden coffee cups. It’s an incredible installation, and Valentina was right… it gives me ideas for Higher Grounds.

Pietro grabs the door for me, and I sail through with a playful pinch to his side. He hisses but follows me in. Except I stop in the doorway, shocked at the scene within.

This isn’t just a coffee shop, it’s a vampiric coffee shop. It’s sex and blood and coffee all mixed together.

The first thing I notice is the giant minotaur strapped to the wall with both hands behind his back. He’s blindfolded and naked, his cock erect and bobbing in the air. Two vampire females take turns licking and sucking on him as he lows quietly into the room. Watching them pleasure him tightens my sack. A third woman steps to his muscular stomach and sinks her fangs in, slicing his skin. She drips his blood into her drink, then laps at it to close the wound.

But it’s not just him. Farther back down a dark hallway on the left side of the ordering area, other monsters are strapped to the walls, surrounded by vampires enjoying their bodies and their blood.

“Oh my gods,” Pietro mutters, reaching down, I presume, to adjust an erection that matches mine.

I give him a sultry look. “And our woman sent us here to tease us.”

“Spanking later,” he says, walking toward the countertop where there’s shockingly not a line.

I follow, taking in the right-hand side of the coffee shop, which holds a dozen small tables with monsters working oncomputers, reading, writing in notebooks as they enjoy their drinks. But the drinks aren’t like ours. Nearly every drink has sticks dangling from it with bits of meat and vegetables, shrimp and all sorts of add-ons. One lovely female drinks a frothy troll-whip-topped coffee with a stick speared through a jalapeño pepper.

“Definitely getting ideas,” I say to myself as I join Pietro.

It takes us five full minutes of examining the menu to pick our drinks. I opt for the Crimson Scar Espresso, and Pietro picks a Blood Clot Latte.

“This is fabulous,” he says as we find a seat. Ten minutes later, we’re still admiring the darkly decadent shop when a barista calls our names.

As I take my drink from the barista, she hands me a needle attached to a short tube. She gestures toward the wall. “Any monster with a blue card above their head has consented to being drunk from by a male. Simply slip the needle into an available vein until your cup is filled.” She smiles at me. “Just don’t forget to close up the wound. Makes a terrible mess when we don’t.”

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