10. Chapter 10

10

Chapter 10

Darick

I step into the hidden elevator, the keypad's soft glow illuminating my face as I enter the code. The descent is smooth, almost imperceptible, but I feel the weight of the earth above me growing with each passing second. As the glass doors of the main entrance slide open, the pulsing rhythm of the Nocturne Lounge envelops me.

The air is laced with the scent of expensive perfumes, aged liquor, and something darker — the unmistakable undercurrent of power. My eyes adjust quickly to the dim lighting, taking in the sleek, modern furnishings that combine beautifully with the ancient stone walls. It's a perfect blend of old and new, much like us vampires.

I make my way through the crowd, nodding to familiar faces. The patrons here are a mix of the supernatural elite and those humans privileged enough to be in the know. They part before me, some out of respect, others out of fear. I can smell their curiosity, their desire to be noticed by someone of my status.

"Are you sure about this?" Marcus shoots a look at me as we head deeper into the dim interior of the club.

"No, I'm not sure," I mutter. "But, as you keep pointing out, I'm running out of options. The sooner I have a solution, the sooner I can focus on what's important."

"I'd say that survival is pretty important, Darick." Marcus glances around us. "A booth for the evening?"

I shake my head. "I don't plan to be here that long."

The bar catches my eye, its shelves gleaming with rare spirits that would make any connoisseur weep. But it's not alcohol I'm here for tonight. My gaze sweeps the room, searching for a particular type of company. I need to feed, and it has to be witch blood. The thought makes me grind my teeth. It should be Rowan's blood, but she's made her stance clear.

"I don't think this is going to be a drive-thru meal, my friend," Marcus says drily. "It's not like the place is swarming with witches."

He's right. Unlike the blood groupies, who come here in numbers, witches and vampires are like oil and water.

Despite this, it's a thinly veiled secret that there are some who flout the unspoken rules, consorting even though centuries of animosity come between us. And it is in places like this, the Nocturne Lounge – where secrecy and discretion reign supreme – that they can be found. The thrill-seekers, the power-mongers, the rare blood-magic practitioners. There's no telling who I'll encounter tonight, but it doesn't matter. I don't have the luxury of being picky. There may be none here at all.

"I'm gonna get a drink," says Marcus, running an eye over the crowd. He doesn't need to explain further. I know he'll be busy for at least an hour. First, it will be the hunt, then the seduction, and finally, the thrill of taking down his willing prey. I really don't relish the idea of being around for that.

I jerk my head in acknowledgment as he disappears into the crowd, and then I lean with my back against the bar, taking in the room. The Nocturne Lounge is a sea of faces, some known to me, most not. Vampires dominate, their pale skin almost luminous in the low light. Humans mill about, their pulses quickening as they brush past. But I'm not interested in either tonight.

"Patience," I mutter to myself. I want to get out of here, but I know that's unlikely.

As the night wears on, I notice subtle shifts in the crowd. A pattern emerges, so faint that even most vampires would miss it. In the far corner, a dark-haired woman in a deep purple dress catches my eye. She's beautiful, but that's not what draws my attention. It's the way she moves, the slight shimmer of energy around her, that only those attuned to magic would notice.

A vampire approaches her, his movements casual but purposeful. They exchange a few words, their body language screaming discretion. As they part, I catch a glimpse of something passing between them – a vial, perhaps?

My interest piqued, I continue my surveillance. Near the VIP section, a group of vampires huddle close. Among them stands a petite blonde, her presence seemingly unremarkable. But as I focus, I sense the unmistakable aura of a witch.

These interactions are fleeting, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye. But they're there – vampires and witches, engaging in clandestine exchanges under the cover of the club's chaos.

"You see it?" Marcus murmurs, suddenly reappearing at my side. His hair is tousled and there's a smear of lipstick on his cheek.

I nod, my eyes never leaving the room. "It seems our kinds can play nice when it suits them."

I keep watching closely, catching more of these subtle encounters. A handshake that lingers too long, a whispered conversation in a secluded booth, meaningful glances exchanged across the dance floor. The Nocturne Lounge, it appears, is more than just a vampire haunt. It's a neutral ground where age-old enemies conduct their secret affairs.

Why have I paid so little attention to this before?

Because you never needed it.

Turning to Marcus, I turn a meaningful eye to the woman I'd previously spotted in the far corner. She's thrown the occasional glance my way, probably aware that I've been watching her.

"I think it's time," I tell him, pushing away from the bar and heading away.

I approach the witch in purple, my steps measured and purposeful. As I near, her scent washes over me – a heady mix of lavender and something darker. She turns to face me, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and a hint of challenge.

"You've been watching me," she says.

"How could I not?" I say, allowing a touch of my ancient charm to color my words.

She raises a dark eyebrow, her plum-tinted lips curving into a knowing smile. "And here I thought I was being discreet."

"Discretion is my specialty," I reply, leaning in almost close enough for my lips to brush her hair. "Perhaps we could share some…secrets?"

Her laugh is low and melodious. "Dangerous words in a place like this, vampire."

We dance around each other with words, a delicate game of cat and mouse. She's clever, this witch, her responses carefully measured. But I can sense her interest, the thrill she gets from this forbidden interaction.

"I come here often," she admits after a while, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "There's something intoxicating about the danger, don't you think?"

I nod, my eyes never leaving hers; they're wide, the blue of them bordering on indigo. "And what brings a witch like you to a vampire's lair so frequently?"

She smirks, reaching into her purse to reveal a small vial filled with dark liquid. "Business, of course. Some of your kind have quite the taste for witch blood."

"And what about those who prefer a more…direct approach?" I ask, my gaze dropping to her neck for just a moment.

She tenses slightly, but I can see the excitement in her eyes. "That's not usually on the menu."

I drop my voice to a volume that's barely audible above the thump of the bass, but my words brush her skin. I notice a little prickle of gooseflesh shimmer over her shoulder where the purple fabric frames her throat. "Perhaps we could make an exception, just this once?"

Nodding slowly, she rises, and I lead her to a secluded booth, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back. The privacy curtain whispers shut behind us, muffling the club's pulsing rhythm. She settles onto the plush velvet couch, her eyes never leaving mine.

"I'm Lydia," she breathes, tilting her head to expose the smooth curve of her neck.

I don't offer my name in return. Instead, I dip my head in, inhaling her scent. It's intoxicating, but there's something off about it. Something artificial.

My fangs extend, and I feel the familiar rush of anticipation. But as I sink them into her flesh, I'm immediately struck by how different it feels from Rowan. Lydia's blood is rich, yes, but it lacks the spark, the raw power that coursed through Rowan's veins.

I drink deeply, trying to chase that elusive high I experienced with Rowan. But it's not there. Lydia's blood is like a watered-down version of what I truly crave. It satisfies the hunger but leaves me feeling hollow.

As I pull away, licking the last drops from my lips, I can't help but compare the experiences. With Rowan, every sip was electric, charged with an energy that seemed to flow between us. This…this is just feeding. Mechanical. Unsatisfying.

Lydia leans back, her eyes glazed with pleasure. "That was…intense," she exhales.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The hunger is sated, but the craving remains. I realize now, with startling clarity, that no other witch's blood will ever compare to Rowan's.

I'm so fucked.

Lydia raises a hand and traces her fingertip over the telltale fang marks I've left in her throat. "This may be a problem, however. I can't be seen by my kind with the mark of a vampire on my skin. Would you…?" She tilts her head slightly.

Understanding dawns. "Of course," I murmur. Lowering my head once more, I brush my lips over the puncture wounds. A flick of my tongue has the tiny holes sealing shut. The witch gives a pronounced shudder, her eyes fluttering shut, one hand trailing up over my shoulder. It annoys me in a way I can't define.

I raise my head, my tongue still tingling from the taste of Lydia's blood, when something snares my attention. Through the cracked curtains, something across the room draws my eye. I sweep the curtain open further with one arm to get a better look. My entire body goes rigid, every sense suddenly strung taut as a bowstring. I know what I'm about to see before I've even laid eyes on her.

Rowan.

She's here, standing near the center of the dance floor, her flame-red hair a beacon in the strobing light. And she's not alone. Her sister, Kara, is by her side, both of them wide-eyed as they take in the scene before them.

My shock quickly turns to anger.

What the fuck?

What the hell is she thinking, coming to a place like this? Doesn't she realize how dangerous it is for a witch to walk into a vampire den?

The irony of my thoughts doesn't escape me, since I'm feeding on a witch myself right now. I watch as Rowan's gaze sweeps the room, her eyes glittering with fear and determination. She's trying to look confident, but I can see the slight hesitation in her movements, the way she keeps glancing at Kara for reassurance. They're both dressed to blend in, but to my eyes, they might as well be wearing neon signs proclaiming "WITCH."

Kara moves in close to Rowan, whispering something in her ear. Rowan nods, her jaw set in that stubborn line I've come to know all too well. They start to make their way deeper into the lounge, oblivious to the danger they're in.

I feel a surge of protectiveness combined with frustration.

Damn it, Rowan. Why can't you just stay put and let me handle things?

But even as I think it, I know the answer. She's not the type to sit back and wait. She's here for answers, probably about her sister. The woman is nothing if not single-minded.

My mind races, trying to figure out how to get them out of here without causing a scene. But before I can move, I see several vampires taking notice of the newcomers. Their eyes gleam with interest, and I know I have to act fast. I'm about to step away from Lydia when that flame-colored head turns in my direction, and the world shrinks to a pair of emerald eyes.

She's spotted me.

Fuck.

Rowan's gaze locks onto mine, her expression morphing from curiosity to shock in an instant. Her lips part slightly, and I can almost hear the sharp intake of breath even from across the room. The color drains from her face. I'm not used to seeing her without her large tortoiseshell glasses, and I'm struck by the delicate beauty of her features.

Her shock quickly gives way to anger, eyes narrowing as they flick between me and Lydia. Her jaw clenches, and I can see the tension ripple through her body. Her hands ball into fists, and for a moment, I think she might march over here and unleash her fury.

But then something else flashes across her face; an emotion I can't quite place. Is it…jealousy? The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me. Her eyes linger on Lydia, taking in her proximity to me, the slight dishevelment of her appearance. Rowan's nostrils flare slightly, and I wonder if she can sense what just happened between us.

I'm not certain, though. Maybe I'm seeing what I want to see. Maybe it's just my own conflicted feelings clouding my judgment.

Rowan takes an abrupt step back as if physically recoiling from the sight of us. Her sister notices the sudden movement and looks up, following Rowan's line of sight. When she spots me, her eyes widen in recognition. Her hand immediately goes to Rowan's arm, gripping it tightly.

I feel a surge of conflicting emotions wash over me. Part of me wants to rush over to her, to explain that this isn't what it looks like.

Don't be an ass, Drake!

It's exactly what it looks like. Besides, why should I feel this way? She was the one who told me to get lost, who refused to hear me out. I have no obligation to her.

Yet, seeing the hurt in her eyes stirs something in me I can't quite understand. It's frustrating, this pull she has on me. I shouldn't care what she thinks, but I do.

I start to move toward her, but Lydia's hand on my arm stops me. "Is everything alright?" she asks, her voice laced with curiosity.

I nod curtly, my eyes never leaving Rowan. "Just some unexpected guests," I mutter.

Rowan's face hardens, the stubborn set of her jaw tightening further. She turns abruptly, grabbing Kara's arm and pulling her toward the exit. They move quickly, weaving through the crowd with an urgency that catches the attention of several more nearby vampires.

Dammit! Stop fucking drawing attention to yourselves.

As I watch them disappear into the throng, a wave of annoyance washes over me. Not just at her being here but at her seeing me with the witch. Because I have no doubt that the damage is done. Whatever fragile trust we had built has likely been shattered by what she's seen tonight.

But more than that, I'm worried. Rowan has exposed herself and her sister to incredible danger by coming here. Does she not realize how vulnerable they are in a place like this? The thought of what could happen to them sets my teeth on edge.

I need to go after them, to make sure they get out safely. But as I move to follow, I'm acutely aware of the eyes on me, of the delicate balance I need to maintain in this world. I can't be seen chasing after a witch, not here, not now.

But then again, how can I not?