Taste of Blood (Cord & Asher book 1)

 

1  Cord

THE STEADY THRUM of the bass melds with the heartbeat of a hundred souls, all vying for a connection. Any other time I’d relish the press of willing bodies, choosing one–or several–to while away the night, but I’m not here for enjoyment. My intel pointed me to this club on this night because the one I seek is a creature of habit. Don’t these guys ever learn?

I scan the heaving bodies on the dance floor again, extending my senses for him as I down the drink in my hand and set the glass on the bar. The buzz, while minor, takes the edge off the fact that I haven’t fed tonight. It’s a bad habit I’ve been warned about more than once, but I find I hunt more effectively when I’m hungry.

“Wanna dance?”

I stare at the woman who appears in front of me, downshifting out of my head. She’s on the thin side, with a shock of bright red hair and a skirt that barely covers her ass. I suppose some might call her pretty. Too bad for her I’m not wired that way.

“No thanks.”

“You’ve got the most amazing eyes. I’ve always loved blue eyes with black hair.”

Seeing she isn’t going to take no for an answer, I brush past her without bothering to acknowledge the compliment. Not like I haven’t heard it before. I plunge into the herd on the dance floor, scanning the faces around me until I spot the one I’m looking for. He’s holed up in one of the dimly-lit booths that rim the perimeter of the club, holding court with three vacant-eyed young women who he’s no doubt plied with enough drugs and alcohol to erase any misgivings they might have for the danger he poses to them. I push my way through the crowd and stop in front of his table, waiting for his attention.

“Can I help you?” he asks in a posh British accent, his dark eyes regarding me lazily.

“Scoot over, let him in,” one of the women giggles.

Another one, who was busy sucking his face, glances up at me and grins. “Yeah, Tony, he’s cute.”

When he realizes I’m not leaving, Tony, as he’s calling himself, pushes her away from him and sits forward. “Seriously, piss off.”

I lean over, placing my hands on the table in front of him, and grin, though there’s nothing pleasant about my expression. “Sorry, Tony, but I can’t do that. In fact, this will go a lot easier if you just come with me.”

“I told you, piss off.”

“That’s not going to happen. I really don’t want to make a scene here, but don’t mistake that for me not giving a damn. I’ll even give you a chance to say good night to your lady friends, but you are coming with me. Now.”

To emphasize my meaning, I throw a little will behind my command. His eyes widen for a second, then narrow as the truth begins to dawn on him. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You can plead your case to Dante. Now let’s go.”

The woman who was sucking his face grabs his arm and pulls him closer. I’d wager she isn’t even legal in here. “Are you in trouble, Tony?”

He smiles at her and pats the hand around his arm. “It’s nothing, love. I’ll be back before you know it.” He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a few bills, tossing them on the table. “Buy yourselves another round.”

He stands up and buttons his jacket before offering me a grim smile. “Let’s go, then.”

To be honest, I didn’t think he’d come this easily. The file I have on him mentioned he was a repeat offender and had even escaped custody twice. I’m determined this isn’t going to be a third time.

When he steps around the table, I grab his arm and pull it behind his back. “What the hell?” he protests. “I said I was coming.”

“Just want to make sure you don’t change your mind.”

I push him forward, leading him around the dance floor toward the exit. There’s a bottleneck as we approach the bar that forces us to slow, and he turns back to me. “I’ve got money. I can set you up–”

“Not interested.”

“Come on, there has to be something you want.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I want to get out of here. Now walk.”

I don’t trust this fucker any farther than I can throw him, but the crowded conditions in the club make it impossible to restrain him right now. First rule of the Clan: don’t attract attention. That’s why Tony–aka, William Devine–is in his current predicament. He’s left a trail of clues behind in his debauchery, and while an occasional slip up can be tolerated, he demonstrated a complete lack of control in his interactions with humans. All it takes is for one open-minded detective to put the pieces together, and our entire existence would be exposed. Luckily, the man I work for has an army of fixers who can erase transgressions, but that doesn’t mean he forgives them. Devine is costing him money, and Dante hates losing money.

As soon as we’re out the door, I pull a pair of charmed zip-tie cuffs out of my pocket and slip them around his wrists. I’m not taking any chances with this one. I push him down the street past the line of people waiting to get into the club.

“This is totally unnecessary,” he grumbles.

I clamp down on my response and lead him toward the black Chevelle coupe parked at the curb, opening the door and shoving him inside.

“Nice ride,” he says as I slam the door and walk around to get in.

I shove the key in the ignition and start the car, taking a moment as I always do to appreciate the low-pitched rumble of the engine as it purrs to life.

“I can see you in this,” Devine says as I pull away from the curb. “You’ve got that whole black leather bad ass look going. How’s that working out for you? Get much pussy?”

“Shut up.”

He shrugs. “Okay, then. How about dick?”

I ignore him and swing around the block, heading deeper into the city. Ordinarily Dante would have me bring offenders to the warehouse by the docks, but he’s entertaining tonight, some big shots from one of the European Guilds, and he wants to make an example of Devine. Show them how we deal with offenders in New York. I don’t much care where I take the loser as long as I get paid.

“I can get you three more just like the girls at the club. Or you can have them. I’m generous.”

I glance at him. “Are you generous when you drain their blood and leave them in the alley?”

He shrugs. “Okay, maybe I went too far once.”

“Once? Try three times since the last time you were brought in. Guys like you never learn.”

“Okay, okay. I can change. Just give me another chance.”

I go back to ignoring him.

“It’s not easy,” he continues. “I had a rough childhood. And well, I have…appetites, you know?”

I cut through the park and continue ignoring him, wondering how someone like him was even accepted into the Clan. There’s a rigorous vetting process we’re all supposed to go through to make sure there are no aberrant personality types wielding the kind of power we’re gifted with after our transition. I’ll admit in my younger days I was a bit of a loose cannon, pushing the rules and giving my sponsor no end of headaches, but then I met Dante and he straightened me out.

Sure, I could probably go out on my own now, live the kind of upscale life a lot of my brethren do, but I like the structure. Plus I’m not talented enough on my own to make the kind of money I need to live up to my current standards. I’m not rolling in it, but I make a good living. Have a nice apartment, a sweet ride, and cash to indulge in a few luxuries. It’s enough for me. There are those–well, one in particular–who say I’m wasting my gifts, but I pushed that voice out of my life a long time ago.

When I approach the East Side building where Dante lives, I can see there are no parking spaces along the curb. They have a valet, but no pimply-faced kid is going to touch my baby. I head up the block to the intersection and make a U-turn, finding a slot across the street.

Devine glances up at the building when I yank him out of the car. “So I’m not dying tonight?”

“What gives you that idea? You can die in a penthouse just as easily as a dockyard.”

I shove him in front of me as we cross the street and approach the building. “Behave yourself,” I mutter to him. I know the doorman from all the times I’ve been here, and he waves me inside without so much as a second glance.

“Last chance to take me up on my offer,” Devine says. I’d laugh if I wasn’t already sick of him.

I punch in the code for the penthouse in the elevator and watch the floors whip by. The door opens into the foyer of a luxurious apartment. Two somber-faced guards are stationed on either side of the door. “Where is he?” I ask them, and the taller one, Roland, nods toward the room to the right, where soft jazz and deep voices filter through the door.

Most people who live in penthouses in this city do so for the view, and while I’m sure there’s a great one beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, heavy draperies hang in front of them, blocking off any hint of the outside world. In all the times I’ve been up here, be that day or night, I’ve never seen those curtains open. Instead, three crystal chandeliers light the room, their sparkling ambiance dulled by the heavy fabric and wine-red damask wallpaper.

Someone once told me Dante was originally from a fifteenth century Tuscan family, and judging by his décor, he has separation anxiety about leaving that world behind. The place is a shrine to his homeland. Gilt-framed oil paintings that I’m sure were painted by artists Dante had personally known litter the walls, and every carved, polished surface is covered with sculptures, vases, and books. The furniture, while large and comfortable, is upholstered in the kind of rich velvet and chenille you’d see in some baroque Italian villa.

There are six men in the room besides the host–Gio, Dante’s second, and five men I don’t recognize. Their smart-cut suits indicate they’re the Europeans Dante told me about. Dante himself lounges in his favorite chair, a snifter of what I assume is brandy draped in his elegant hand. He’s a tall man, with dark piercing eyes and a casual air about him that defies his utter ruthlessness. He can transition from the generous lord of the manor to a roughneck mobster in the blink of an eye. Tonight he’s showing his cultured side, and I wonder if the Europeans in the room are even aware of what a murderous bastard he can be. Luckily I have never given him cause to unleash that monster on me, but I’ve seen what he does to people who defy him or the rules.

Tonight, however, his face lights up when he sees me. “Cord. Good of you to come.”

Like he wasn’t expecting me. “Dante.” I push my prisoner in front of me. “As requested.”

Dante sets the glass aside and pushes his imposing frame up from the chair, striding across the room to stand before us. I know Devine has been brought in to him before, but judging by his reaction now, he has never seen this side of the man. Maybe that’s why he appears more relaxed than he should. He obviously doesn’t catch the sadistic gleam in Dante’s eyes, nor understand how mercurial Dante’s moods can be.

Dante glances behind Devine to me. “Have you fed tonight?”

I hate that he knows me well enough to recognize that I have a tendency to ignore my own needs when I’m on a hunt. “No,” I reply sheepishly.

“Go find Bernard. He’ll take care of you and see that you’re paid.”

With that I recognize I’m dismissed. I give one final glance at Devine, figuring this is the last time his name will cross my hit list, and make my way across the hall to the expansive kitchen where Bernard holds court. It might seem like overkill to have such a well-equipped kitchen in the home of someone who doesn’t need to eat, but Dante does entertain human guests in his home, holding lavish dinner parties to shmooze the wealthy movers and shakers of society to do his bidding.

Bernard is buried in a pile of paperwork that I recognize as the household accounts when I walk in. Having been transitioned when he was past middle-age after serving Dante for years as a human, the majordomo looks older than most of our kind. He always has a kind word for me when I visit.

“Let me guess,” he says when he sees me. “Didn’t feed again?”

“How can you tell?”

“You get this gaunt look about you.” He rises and crosses to the industrial-sized refrigerator and pulls out a bag of blood, handing it to me along with a thick envelope that I know contains my fee. I stuff the cash in my pocket and bite the plug off the bag, guzzling the contents. It’s not the same as live, but it will do in a pinch.

“You shouldn’t starve yourself,” the old man scolds. “It’s dangerous for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” I grin.

“Yours is a deadly job. There are a lot of…temptations.”

I think about Devine and shrug. “Don’t worry. I know my boundaries.”

“I’m sure you do. But if you ever got injured…well…”

“I know. I’m careful. And I’ll try to do better.”

“You always say that, Cord. You don’t take care of yourself.”

I want to argue with him, but I know he’s right. I often let things go until I have no choice but to deal with them, even with something as important as feeding.

“I better run. It’s getting late and I’m sure Dante doesn’t want you wasting your time on me.”

The old man snorts. “I’ll waste my time however I see fit.”

If it was anyone else saying that, I would laugh, but I know Bernard is the true power behind Dante’s kingdom. The fact is, he knows where all the bodies are buried.

I say my goodbyes and make my way out of the penthouse. As I cross the street and reach for the door of my car, a shiver runs down my spine as a familiar voice calls out my name.

“Cord?”

I turn and meet the emerald-eyed gaze I swore I’d never want to see again.

TASTE OF BLOOD is available for ebook, paperback, and Kindle Unlimited HERE

Trigger Warnings. This book is a dark dual POV romance suitable for readers 18+. Please mind the following triggers: M/M relationships, loads of filthy spice, occasional casual sex, talk dirty to me, erotic bondage, edging, kidnapping, blood play, unhinged violence, decapitation, torture.