Page 6 of Our Vicious Descent
“Are you here for a debate, or do you want my venom?” Layla cut her off. She reached for the glass by the wine bottle, already feeling the points of her fangs digging into her gums. Blood welled in her mouth, but more importantly, her own venom surfaced like mist after an unforgiving rainstorm.
The woman shifted beside her and nodded. “Many believe you are a blight on mankind. I would think you would be more worried about the Saints’ future plans for reapers. But then again, other reapers seem ready for revenge. You, however…I’ve never seen a reaper as…sad as you.”
As much as Layla wanted to ask what this woman meant about the Saints’ plans, she had to remind herself that she was no longer involved with that family and she never wanted to be again. All Saint business was bad business. She was here to forget and move on. Layla squeezed the knife in her hand, hissing through her teeth. “If you are trying to provoke me into biting you, it will not work. All I will do is kick you out. Understand?”
The woman shook her head, laughing. “Understood.”
***
Maria pressed a wad of bills into Layla’s hand just outside the curtain. The patron was long gone by now, though Layla had been waiting by her room for ages to get her payment. Judging by the quieter sounds from above, it had to be nearing three or four o’clock in the morning. People had tired themselves out from dancing and drinking in the club and were finally going home, but the wicked below continued their often-fruitless hunts for satisfaction. Layla was no exception.
She glared at the bills, then up at Maria. “That’s it?”
“According to the patron, you did not bite her. You receive less for that.” Maria tried to shrug her off, but Layla stepped closer.
“My venom will work the same—”
“People pay for the experience in addition to the venom. If you so badly need the money, then you should consider loosening your morals. Many reapers here have returning patrons. It would be better for you to not scare yours off, or worse. We already have fewer numbers this quarter because of other blood houses leeching our customers and a strange sickness going around.”
“We don’t get sick—”
“Tainted blood. Be careful who you let in, and if you do start feeling sick, tell me immediately. And before you say anything, I know that’s not why you refuse to bite. Your ‘no biting’ rule feels more like a shtick than anything else,” Maria hissed.
Layla scoffed. “Is that what you think I do? I scare the patrons off?”
Maria’s easy smile faded. “I think you do worse. Some have reported finding your past patrons dead. I understand being hungry, but perhaps think of the business before hunting its customers down.” She began to walk off as Layla bristled, but they both tensed at the scent of fresh human blood filling the air. A bright red pool of it seeped beneath one of the curtains lining the hallway they stood in. Layla did not have to look into the room to know how much blood had been spilled. If the sounds of flesh tearing and the slowing struggle of a human were any indication, there was more blood outside their body than there was inside it. Maria turned back to Layla, a sly smile turning her lips up. “If you wish to make more tonight, I have a cleaning job that just became available for you.”
While Layla had no problem pretending for the night and damning her morals, that amount of blood was currently too much to face. Her fangs had yet to retract from the smell alone, and already, the adrenaline pooling in her veins made her body heat and her heart pound.
“Not tonight,” Layla said through gritted teeth. She pushed past the reaper and nearly stumbled into the fresh air outside, gulping it down until her fangs slid back into place.
The unwanted presence of men nearby helped distract her from the approaching blood fury. Even just their grating voices had her spine straightening and her focus turning from pure hunger to anger.
Three men—gangsters, as determined by the guns in theirholsters and their matching tattoos—crowded around one man almost huddled against the building. Shadows hid their faces, but Layla caught the glint of a Saint badge and the handle of his own gun on him. Any other time, she might have run. A Saint and a reaper had no business together—especially not outside an illegal blood house. But watching this man get cornered by people the Saints had considered to be beneath them for years made her hesitate. The man looked like he had just walked out of the ocean. Water soaked his clothes and plastered his hair to his head. Even in the low light, Layla noticed the disturbing gauntness to his pale cheeks and brilliant red vessels in his bloodshot eyes. He looked as close to death as a starved reaper, and Layla might have assumed he was one if it weren’t for the human warmth of his blood beneath his cool skin.
“I just need help. I need…to see…” Each word emerged with a gurgle, as if water choked him from the inside out.
The gangsters looked unimpressed. One turned his nose up at the man, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Maybe go to a hospital. We’ve had enough rats recently to know any human suffering an ailment only means to do us and our workers harm.” He plucked the Saint badge from the man’s jacket and tossed it onto the ground. The silver honor hit the pavement with the dull sound of metal scraping against cement. “This means nothing here. You cannot walk into reaper and gangster business and demand our services. We all saw how quickly you people fell at the Alhambra. Your empire is crumbling just as fast now.”
Layla tensed at the threat in his voice. It might have been two months of the Saint empire’s decline, but their power remained abundant in the streets. She still remembered how swiftly they had locked her away for a vague suspicion—things would only be worse at the blood house if Saints had another reason to survey it. She stepped closer to the group of men and shook her head. “Leave him alone. Or else you’ll have the rest of them after us soon.”
“How long are you going to defend the Saints?” one of the gangsters demanded. He straightened, his jaw going tight as he brandished the gun at his belt. “As far as I’m concerned, one less Saint is a blessing for us all.”
No part of Layla wanted a fight, and she hardly had the energy to defend her decision anyway. She was almost grateful when a new voice snuck between them and drew their attention away from each other.
“I need a refund,” snapped a young Black woman, no older than Layla. She stood with her arms crossed, one foot tapping while her eyes darted around everyone in the alleyway. She was outfitted in a nice dress, various pearl strands draped around her throat and dangling from her ears. Her shining aura did not belong in a dingy place like this, yet she stood like she owned even the air. It took Layla a moment to notice the rapid and intense beat of her pulse. Despite standing several feet away, she sensed the overwhelming heat of the woman’s blood thrumming beneath her delicate brown skin.
“For what?” a gangster asked.
The woman let out a sharp breath. Her golden-brown eyesseemed to glow. With anger or pain, Layla could not tell. “It didn’t work. I paid for good venom, and it did nothing for me.”
The mention of venom made Layla think of the patron she had just served and how each moment passing meant she moved farther away with a lethal dose of venom. Layla glanced out of the alleyway, impatience building as the conversation carried on around her.
“Buy more,” the gangster said.
But the woman’s chest heaved with a frustrated sigh. She groaned and walked forward, her shoulders tense and trembling. Her scent overcame Layla suddenly. Bitter and putrid, it washed over the alleyway, burning Layla’s nose. It took every ounce of strength in her not to gag. Her fangs emerged, and she backed away, hissing.
The woman snapped her gaze to Layla. “You. I’ll take yours.”
