Page 233 of Flirting with Darkness

“You're vampire…and human?” Involuntarily my lip curled. I hadn’t considered that he could actually be a Made. As a hybrid he didn’t have the pale blue eyes of one, but it was impossible to tell without tasting his blood. I narrowed my gaze on his face, trying to figure out his deal.

Made vampires had started a bloody and violent war with us, using the human race as weapons. Mades were the undead, humans who were turned into immortals by an Original Vampire. They were once our familiars, humans who had been gifted immortality and served the most ancient families. But that immortality had eventually corrupted even the most loyal of them. The desire to hoard more money, more power, more everything was a hard bitch to tame. The Made Lords had become greedier until it was a corruption that fouled their blood. That corruption had infected a whole new generation of vampires who were utterly determined to wipe out the Original vampire race. Their ultimate goal was to seize the Blood Throne from the Vampire King and give themselves power over all vampires.

Somehow, the bastards had managed to develop a virus, one that could infect newly Made vampires. Those fledglings became raging monsters with a bloodlust so deep it consumed them. Once it took hold, there was no controlling it. They killed indiscriminately. That virus had started a war that would alienate all vampires from the human race, and potentially destroy any alliances we had with the shifters, fae and demons of this world.

The target of my attention and desire clenched his jaw, his fear turning to something else. Disgust? Disappointment? Anger? It was hard to tell. He shoved the drink back at me, sending it sloshing over the sides, and pushed off his stool.

“Keep your damned drink,” he growled and walked off into the crowd.

Snarling, I resisted my instinct to go after him. My fangs grew as I fought the need to shove him up against the wall, slam my body against his, sink my fangs into his neck, and suck until he was screaming my name. It wasn’t until my nails scratched deep grooves in the bar that I realised how far gone I was. Shit! I needed to feed, maybe even fuck. It had been a long time since I’d indulged in either. Yup, I was running on empty. I needed blood, that’s all this was.

Liar!

No. I shook my head. Not a lie. My self-imposed dry spell had gone on too long.

Scanning the room to make sure the Count was where he should be and that he was safe, I grunted. Two of my men stood behind him. I quickly surveyed the club, ensuring all of the other guards were in place and carefully paying attention to the room. Since the blood war had started, this club had been a powder keg waiting to erupt. It was the Count’s territory, one he controlled and defended with an iron fist. His rules were absolute. And I was his iron fist—unless he had a particular reason to dole out the punishments himself.

My gaze snagged on the poor bastards who danced and fucked while chained to several floor to ceiling silver poles. They were enemies who’d betrayed the Count in some way, and he’d let them live. His mercy wasn’t always a good thing. Now they were his prisoners, compelled to dance and not stop unless he willed it. They were naked and exposed and could be bought for entertainment. By human standards, it was barbaric retribution, but the supernatural world, and the monsters like me who inhabited it, didn’t follow human rules. We had our own justice and punishments.

I looked away, pretending to myself that I wasn’t really searching for a beautiful stranger with a head of brown curls. My heart missed a beat when I found him near the fight ring. His eyes met mine, and any anger that he’d had before seemed to have melted away because he blushed under the weight of my stare. Jesus, he was killing me. Need slammed into me. He looked so fucking innocent, so ripe and ready for the taking…

“Fuck it,” I muttered and strode through the crowd with purpose, not once breaking that bright blue stare. A small smile curled those kissable lips, and I sped up, that ache in my chest almost stealing my breath. I had to get to him before someone else stole him from me. I’d kill them if they tried!

The fact that I was being irrational, and knew it, didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop. That feral urge to possess and protect wasn't something I could control any more than I could stop my feet from heading his way.

Within seconds I towered over him. He looked so fragile compared to me, yet there was something in his eyes, a darkness that told me had seen too much pain already in his short life. I lifted my hand and brushed a finger down his cheek. I marvelled at its softness and warmth. He flinched a little.

“Cold,” he whispered, his pupils almost swallowing the deep blue of his eyes.

I tilted my head. An original’s skin was often cold if they hadn’t fed in a while. They only warmed from the ingestion of blood. Mades were always cold no matter what, which confirmed what his scent already told me; he was a half-breed.

I trailed that same finger over his lips and slowly down his neck to the top button of his shirt. His breathing hitched, and I swear I heard a moan beneath the sultry beat of the music.

Feeling myself harden further, I leaned closer. “And you’re so warm. Don't worry my touch will warm when I’ve fed. But cold can feel really, really good too…”

He swallowed hard, peeking up through his eye lashes at me. “I can’t wait.”

Warning bells reverberated in my head at his change in attitude, especially as the scent of fear lingered, but I silenced them.

“Come with me,” I commanded.

His tremor and the hitch in his heartbeat excited me. Fuck, I’d never needed anyone like I needed to touch him, to take him, to taste his warm blood as it slipped across my tongue and down my throat. I was so focused on having him, on acting on the insistent pull behind my ribs that I did what I’d never done before; I took his hand in mine. Revelling in its warmth, I hid my surprise at the feel of calluses on his palm and fingers. My eyes followed his gaze to where he glanced at my Lord. My heart sank, and my chest tightened. I hoped that I was wrong, but despite his reaction to me, there was no lust in his scent.

Taking a breath, and praying to any deities who were listening, I led him through the crowd. Shadows flickered through the air around us, energy licking along my skin. The Count’s power was darkness itself. It moved seamlessly through the air, touching, searching and assessing. It was barely noticeable to me after all these years, but the young man’s sharp inhale told me he’d felt nothing like it before.

The Count watched us approach, no expression whatsoever on his face, but I knew him well. His eyes flickered. Yeah, this was way out of character for me, but I had to know…

“Davlov?” he greeted me, a slight frown pulling his black eyebrows low.

“I’m taking an hour,” I said, my voice deeper and far more demanding than it should be when talking to my friend and Lord.

The Count’s dark gaze moved to the young man who hovered at my side, lingering on the hand clutched tightly in mine.

A low rumble spilt from my lips. A warning. I wasn’t letting this man go. Not even for Balthazar. I blinked, common sense yelling that this was insane. The Count could easily rip my head off or the man’s if he wished. But no matter the danger, I couldn’t and wouldn’t let go of my prize.

The Count maintained his relaxed posture, leaning back in his throne with his legs crossed, the picture of suave sophistication and poise. Yet underneath that poise, every being in here knew how deadly he was. Especially me. His gaze focused on my lover-to-be. The man shuffled uneasily, his discomfort sending my protective instincts flaring to life. I wanted to snarl, to show my fangs and warn the Count away from him. Instead, I clamped my lips together, panting heavily through my nostrils.

The Count’s intense gaze landed on me. A bead of sweat ran down my temple at his scrutiny. I’d never behaved like this, and though I didn’t want to believe what was happening, there was no stopping it. The Count’s eyes narrowed, but he calmly nodded, like it was no big deal to see your cold-hearted, hard as fuck, second-in-command meet his mate after hundreds of years.

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