Chapter 6

Chapter Six

FERN

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I glanced over my shoulder as I walked into The Bank, a popular nightclub, especially among shifters and witches, and true to his word, the hound was right on my tail. I shivered. The male fucking terrified me, and telling my giant hellhound stalker to get lost to his face had not been very clever on my part. Not that I had personal experience with stalkers, but it was common sense. Under any normal circumstance, pissing off anyone bigger, stronger, with more power than you would be dumb, but a hellhound? Then, bruising his giant ego had been just plain fucking stupid. I’d known this—of course, I had—but my self-preservation responses were seriously fucked up and deeply ingrained, and no matter how hard I’d tried, I couldn’t get it under control, not without my potion anyway.

I didn’t want to encourage him either though, so what were my choices here? He’d looked down at me like I was a snack that he had a serious craving for, and I refused to be that male’s next meal.

Maybe I could lose him?

He knows where you live.

He’d checked up on me at the witches council or had someone do it for him. I hadn’t expected him to do that for some stupid reason. He didn’t have my real name, so no, there wouldn’t be any record, but then, even if he had, I doubted anything about me was there. My family, my coven, would have wiped all traces of me from public record.

I glanced back. The hound was still there watching me. What the hell was I going to do? Agatheena said I was powerful—pity I couldn’t harness all that power right now because I could seriously use it.

Searching the room, I looked for somewhere to hide, and spotted the door to The Vault on the other side of the club—the real reason I’d come here tonight. My belly swooshed. The Vault was a private club below this one that catered to blood drinkers and live donors who willingly offered up a vein. I’d never been there, but after what Rune had said about feeding, I couldn’t think of anything else. I sure as hell didn’t want to hurt anyone, and I knew firsthand the damage that could be done when a blood drinker was starved and out of control.

All my life, I’d resisted the gnawing hunger for blood, positive there was something seriously wrong with me. I never wanted to be like Ghoul, who’d hurt me so many times, but there was no denying it now. My father’s breed were blood drinkers. And so was I. It was horrifying and confusing, but I also felt like a weight had been lifted, one I’d been carrying around for far too long. I craved blood because of who I was, because I needed it. I’d been anemic my whole life; I’d had bouts of extreme weakness and chronic tiredness and never known why. Now, I knew no amount of herbs or tonics or elixirs would make it better. What I needed was blood, and I assumed the only reason I’d survived this long without feeding was because of the small amount of witch and other demon DNA I had diluting it.

Tonight, I’d planned to finally give in to the unshakable need inside me. My mouth actually watered at the thought, while my stomach twisted with self-loathing. My pulse sped up, the anticipation making me shake, and I felt sick to my stomach at the same time. I wished I didn’t need this, but I did, and I’d never forgive myself if I hurt someone because I’d ignored my hunger.

I knew what that looked like, what it felt like.

When I glanced over my shoulder again, my eyes were instantly drawn to a pair of golden ones, almost freaking glowing from across the room. But even if he didn’t have those beast’s eyes, it wouldn’t exactly be hard to find him; he stood a head taller than everyone else in the club. I quickly looked away. I’d finally gotten rid of the breeder scouts hanging around my place—the last week at least—and now, I had the hound to deal with.

Screw this. I didn’t care what he thought of me, and with any luck, knowing I needed blood would put him off.

Lifting my chin, I rushed across the room, through the heavy crowd, and over to the big male guarding the entrance to The Vault.

He took me in from head to toe. “You here as a donor or to feed?”

I shook my head. “I’m here to … to feed.”

“Never seen you here before, honey. You got your membership card?”

With shaky hands, I opened my bag and pulled out two thousand dollars cash—the amount required for a visitor’s admittance and almost all my savings. “I’m here to check the place out for possible membership.”

I didn’t need to turn around to know the hound was close; I felt his eyes burning into me like laser beams. The big male guarding the door took my money, counted it, and then handed me a black card with Guest scrawled on it in gold lettering.

“No need to be nervous, honey,” he said with a smirk. “They’ll be lining up to offer you a vein.” He licked his lips. “I finish here in thirty; if you wanna wait, you can sink those pretty little fangs into me.”

Without my say-so, I was drawn to the fat, pulsing vein in his thick neck, and I swallowed audibly.

A growl rolled over me from behind. My stalker. The fear and nerves, already rioting inside me, shot through the roof. Still, I refused to look back. The guy in front of me darted a glance over my shoulder though, and instantly, he dropped his gaze when he saw who’d made the sound.

My heart sank. Everyone was afraid of the hellhound, which meant there was literally no one who could help me. I was on my own—nothing new, I guessed, but I had no idea what to do. How to make it stop. If the male decided to do more than just follow me around, there wasn’t anything I could do and no one I could turn to. The unsettling thought had my pulse racing wildly, followed quickly by a familiar helplessness. I shoved it down fast. I wasn’t that same terrified little girl—in pain all the time, achingly lonely, and utterly broken—and I would not let him fuck up the life I’d risked everything for.

“Ignore him,” I said to the male in front of me, and I was pleased when the tremor vibrating through me only made my voice shake a little bit. “I’d like to go in now.”

He nodded, his eyes still averted as he opened the door.

Unless the hound had two grand in his back pocket, the asshole was shit out of luck and would be forced to wait out here.

The door closed behind me, and I quickly took the stairs down to the lower level and over to the huge, round steel door at the bottom. This whole building had been a bank in a previous life, and this was the original door to its vault—or so I’d been told. I glanced back up the stairs. No hound. I felt a small amount of relief until I turned back to the door and remembered what I was about to do. Grabbing the steel bars, I turned them and pulled it open.

I was instantly hit with sounds—voices, music, a low and throbbing beat that pulsed through me. The scent of blood and sex hit me at the same time, and my legs started to shake as a buzz of excitement filled me, and my hunger grew.

I didn’t want to stare, but there was a lot going on. A female on a couch, writhing in ecstasy, while a male drank greedily from between her thighs. There were donors straddling blood drinkers, grinding while they were fed from—more than one couple straight-up fucking. I swallowed thickly. I wanted to feed, yes, and, horrifyingly, the idea of it kind of turned me on, but I didn’t want to fuck some random asshole. Right now, I was more nervous than anything else.

The throb between my thighs intensified, and I squeezed them together to stop it. I didn’t want it. This was about the feeding, that’s all.

Or maybe you’re just a twisted whore, like they said you were.

I shoved the voice out of my head.

No, I could do this. I needed to do this.

But what if I hated the taste? What if I hated everything about it? It could happen, right? I wasn’t a full soul collector. I had no idea what to expect.

I turned away from a bloody threesome and realized a lot of eyes were on me. Not the vampires or other blood drinkers. The donors. They saw it; somehow, they saw what I was when it had taken me most of my life to learn the truth, and I still hadn’t figured it out for myself.

A younger male, who looked to be around my age, broke away from a small group and walked toward me. He kept his gaze down—trying to be respectful, I assumed—but I didn’t miss the way he trembled slightly. As he drew closer, my senses narrowed in on the rapid thump of his pulse without even realizing I was doing it—that I could do it.

He dipped his head. “Mistress, I’m at your service. It would be my honor to feed you tonight, if it pleases you?”

My mouth went dry, and my fangs tingled in a way they never had before. It had to be the scent of all the blood in this place; it was seriously getting to me.

I cleared my hot, scratchy throat, swallowing several times so I could speak. “I’m here to feed, not fuck. I don’t want to be touched, and I don’t plan on touching you.”

He nodded, then looked up at me from under his lashes. He was disappointed. “May I touch myself, mistress?”

I glanced around the room again, and, yeah, there was a lot of that going on as well. My stomach felt weird. This felt … wrong. I hated myself for needing this, wanting it, but I was so incredibly hungry, in a way I hadn’t been my entire life. Now that I knew the truth, now that I’d surrendered to the idea, there was no suppressing the hunger, not anymore.

“I, uh … I guess that’s okay.”

I didn’t know the rules or what was expected. I didn’t want to feed out in the open, and I was terrified I’d kill this guy, that I’d go into a feeding frenzy and drink until there was nothing left.

“I’m very hungry,” I confessed, my face heating. I hated this feeling, being in over my head, being perceived as weak in front of this male, in front of everyone else. “Is there someone here who can stop me if I get, um … carried away?” The only reason I chose this place was because I assumed it was safer, controlled.

I expected him to look frightened, to maybe change his mind and skedaddle back to his buds. Instead, his heart rate quickened, and the front of his pants literally tented before my eyes.

“Is this your first time here?” he asked.

“It is.”

He nodded, breathing heavily now. “Someone is always watching. If you have trouble stopping, they can intervene.”

“Right. Okay, that’s good.”

He motioned to a vacant couch.

I looked around. Did I really want to feed for the first time in front of everyone? What if I fucked up or did something wrong?

He led me to the couch and sat down, looking up at me expectantly.

Shit . I felt like an idiot.

I sat and shifted so I faced him. I had to be honest with this guy. He needed to know what he was signing up for. “Look, this is the first time I’ve done this. You’re my first.” I cringed. “I’m feeling a little out of my depth here, so you wanna tell me your name?”

His eyes flared. “Oliver.”

“Hey, Oliver. I’m Fern, and I’ve recently learned I need to drink blood.” I didn’t know why I was telling him this, only that it made me feel better to have some kind of connection with this guy—flimsy as it was. “I don’t think I need to feed as often as some, but I have this … craving, and I can’t resist it any longer. I think it’s only fair you know up front that I don’t know what will happen when I have my first taste of blood. I really don’t want to hurt you. The idea of doing that …” I rubbed my clammy, trembling hands on my thighs. “I really don’t want to do that, but I can’t guarantee you won’t get hurt either. If you want to get up and go now, I’ll totally understand.”

Oliver shivered. “I’m your first?” His hand went to his erection, and he squeezed, then shuddered again.

Gross . But then I was literally about to suck the blood from his vein, so if he wanted to jerk off, I guessed it was only fair.

“Yes.”

“Where do you want to bite me?” he said, voice trembling but definitely not from fear.

“Is there somewhere you’d prefer?” I asked, so nervous now that I felt queasy.

“My throat. I really like being bitten on the neck. I showered before I came, using unscented soap so there’s nothing to interfere with my scent or taste.” He squeezed his dick again, then kept massaging.

This was so fucking weird. Yes, nauseatingly, I’d been kind of turned on when I walked in here, but I wasn’t anymore. Far from it.

“Sounds good,” I said, but had no fucking clue.

He licked his lips and tilted his head, exposing his throat for me. I slid closer on the couch, my hand curling around the back of his neck, and leaned in. I blew out a nervous breath, ruffling his hair—

Oliver jerked and shuddered, a low groan leaving him.

I stilled, looking down. There was now an obvious wet patch on the front of the guy’s pants. I looked back up, and his face was bright red.

“Did you just …”

“It’s okay,” he said breathlessly. “Bite me. Oh, fuck, please bite me. I want to be your first. Let me be your first, mistress.”

I wasn’t a fan of this whole mistress thing, not at all. “Fern. Call me Fer—”

A thump invaded my brain, pulsing through my skull. Not Oliver. His heartbeat was racing like a wild hare being chased by a fox. This was steady, strong, the beat heavy. Whoever it belonged to was big. They had thick veins, thick enough to pump blood around a large frame. I turned to search the room, but I knew exactly who I was looking for, didn’t I? And I didn’t need to look far.

A pair of golden eyes locked with mine from across the room.

The hound—he’d gotten in. His lips were peeled back, his canines bared, extended. He didn’t move, keeping his distance like he’d promised, but he didn’t have to come closer. His hard stare sliced to Oliver, who was looking at him as well now, eyes wide, and the hound shook his head. Feed her and die —it was all there in that look, in that subtle shake of his head.

Oliver stumbled to his feet, and a moment later, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd. I turned back to the hound. This wasn’t good. This was the absolute fucking opposite of good. Somehow, I’d caught the attention of one of Lucifer’s pet beasts, and he’d decided I was the toy he wanted to snatch up in his jaw and toss around for his own entertainment.

Our gazes still locked, I stood slowly. His chest was rising and falling heavily, and his eyes were glowing. I took a step back, and he took one forward. Not closing the space between us, staying the same distance away. Everything in me screamed that I needed to run, like I had earlier, but I knew that was the worst thing I could do. For some reason, my getting close to Oliver had awakened the beast in him, and I didn’t want to find out what would happen this time when he caught me—because he would catch me.

Keeping my movements slow and measured, I backed up several more steps. He took several toward me.

Fuck. Breathe, Fern. Turn slowly and leave. Walk. Don’t run.

Taking another steadying breath, I turned, and keeping my steps unhurried, I made my way to the exit. Another burly male opened the door for me, and I walked out, then up the stairs. I tried not to, but when I reached the top and heard the now-familiar sound of his heavy boots, I turned back. He was at the bottom of the stairs, unmoving again, stopping because I had.

If anything, he was breathing even more heavily now.

“You don’t need to walk me home, hound,” I said, trying to assert some authority in my voice.

He growled. No words, just a guttural rumbling sound echoing up the walled stairwell.

“Good talk.”

I pushed the door open and walked into the upstairs club, then rushed into the crowd. I moved quickly now, shoving my way through the people on the dance floor and out the other side.

When I hit the pavement, I sucked in the cool night air and headed briskly down the street. I glanced back as he walked out.

Don’t run. Do not run.

This street was busy and had a lot of bars and clubs, but when I rounded the corner, it was instantly quieter. The soft thud of my boots, followed by the heavy thump of the hound’s, were the only sounds around me. The tension inside me was climbing higher and higher until I was ready to jump out of my skin. I couldn’t take it. I had to do something. Stopping suddenly, I spun around. The hound stopped as well, watching me, waiting.

Getting to know your tormentor, abuser, torturer—sharing details, pretending you cared—could save your life. I knew that firsthand, and it was all I had right then.

“What’s your name? If you’re going to follow me everywhere, I should at least know your name.” My nerves were fucking choking me. My fingers tapped against the side of my thigh. One, two, three, four. Four, three, two, one. Over and over again.

His nostrils flared, that massive chest expanding. “Relic,” he said on a rough exhale.

“Well, Relic, you’ve done your job; you’ve kept me safe. I appreciate it. Thank you. So, how about we let bygones be bygones, okay? You can leave now. I’m good from h—”

“Drink my blood. You need blood. You’re hungry. I’ll feed you,” he said so deep and growly that my belly quivered.

I wrapped my arms around myself. I wasn’t drinking from that fucker. I was trying to discourage this guy, this psycho, and he wanted me to take his vein? Not fucking likely.

“Thank you,” I said cautiously. “But I’m not hungry anymore,” I lied.

“Yes, you are.”

No, I wasn’t fooling him, but it was never going to happen.

“I just want to go home and sleep.” I aimed my thumb over my shoulder. “So, I’m gonna head home, and maybe I’ll see you around sometime, yeah?” Or not. Hopefully, never again.

He said nothing.

Cool. This wasn’t fucking terrifying at all.

If he felt bad for scaring me earlier and this was his way of making up for it, he was even more clueless than I’d thought.

I started walking, and the sound of his boots on the pavement echoed after me. I walked faster, and so did he.

Do not fucking run.

This late at night, I never used the alleyway, and the only reason I had earlier, and was about to use it again, was because I had a giant, unwanted stalker/bodyguard behind me. I rushed through it—anything to get away from this guy.

My shop was just ahead. Rummaging around in my bag, I pulled out my keys. My hand shook, and it took several tries before I managed to shove it in the door. My place was warded strongly—I’d paid a witch to do it for me, and she came back regularly to keep it that way. Still, I wasn’t sure if it was strong enough to keep this guy out or what kind of powers he had.

Breathing deeply, I turned to him. He stood several yards away, his gaze still locked on me.

“This is where we go our separate ways, okay, Relic?”

He shifted in his big boots, from one foot to the other, then dipped his chin.

“Thanks for the protection tonight, but I’ve got it from here. I promise not to fuck with demons I’m not supposed to, and you’ve made up for scaring me. We’re even now, yes?”

He gave me another nod.

“Goodbye, Relic,” I said to make sure he understood we were severing all ties— for good .

His nostrils flared, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides. “Night, Tinker Bell.”

I paused. I guessed it was an improvement on Gremmy, but still. Asshole .

I shoved the door open, rushed in, and locked it tight after me.