Nicholas leaned against the bar, his sharp eyes flicking toward the woman a couple of seats down. She sat perched on her stool, legs crossed, a faint flush of life in her cheeks that told him she wasn’t drunk—not yet. The dim light of the vampire bar caught the sheen of her dark hair as it spilled over her shoulders, and her fingers danced over her phone, texting with a focus that suggested she was alone. No nervous glances at the door, no expectant tilt of her head. Just her, the phone, and the faint hum of the bar’s undercurrent—laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional low growl from the shadows. “Is he not showing up?” His voice slithered out, smooth as velvet but with a jagged edge, testing her. She didn’t look up, her thumbs still tapping. “She couldn’t make it.” “My mistake.” Nicholas let his lips curl into a faint smirk, turning his gaze away as if disinterested. Seduction was a game, after all—a slow hunt, more thrilling when the prey didn’t see the teeth until it was too late. “My friend was supposed to meet me here,” she said, finally setting the phone down with a soft clack against the bar. Her eyes lifted to him, taking in his long hair, black as a raven’s wing, and the clothes that clung to him like a second skin—leather and dark silk in a goth style, the uniform of the regulars who haunted this place. “She got stuck at work. We were going to have a girls’ night out. Her boyfriend’s out of town, and mine dumped me last week.” She paused, her big brown eyes appraising him. “What about you? You didn’t come alone, did you?” “I’m afraid I did.” He tilted his head, letting a flicker of mock sheepishness play across his face, though his eyes glinted with something colder. “Most of my friends don’t appreciate vampire bars.” “But you do?” She glanced around, her voice tinged with curiosity as she scanned the room—the flickering neon, the shadowed booths where figures lounged with unnatural stillness. “Do you think there are any vampires here tonight?” Nicholas let his smile widen, just enough to hint at the sharpness beneath. “There usually are a few.” He studied her, his gaze lingering on the curve of her neck, the pulse he could almost hear beneath her skin. She was pretty—dark hair framing a heart-shaped face, those wide, trusting eyes. It wasn’t a requirement, but it made the chase sweeter. “Can I get you something?” He slid into the seat beside her, his movement fluid, deliberate, the air between them shrinking as he closed the distance. “What are you having?” She tipped her head toward his glass, the crimson liquid inside catching the light like a jewel. “You don’t want this.” His tone was low, a warning wrapped in silk. She peered into it, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Is that a Bloody Mary?” He shrugged, his fingers tracing the rim of the glass. “Or Sarah, or Mark. I don’t remember.” The words dripped with dark amusement, his eyes locked on hers, daring her to catch the implication. She laughed, a bright sound that cut through the bar’s murkiness. “Oh, I get it. Because this is a vampire bar, it’s real blood, right?” She winked, playful, oblivious. He didn’t answer, just let the silence stretch, his smile sharpening. “I usually just have a beer,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “but I wanted something different tonight.” “I have a friend who loves margaritas,” he offered, his voice a low purr. “And I believe Long Island iced tea is tonight’s ‘blood-free’ special.” He leaned closer, his breath cool against the air between them. “Blood-free?” She shook her head, a faint grimace tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m ready for blood, even if it’s just tomato juice.” “They do have real blood here,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes glinting with something feral. “Don’t get it. It’s not good for humans to drink. The bartenders won’t serve it unless you’ve got fangs.” He let the word hang, watching her reaction. She made a face, her lips twisting. “Ew. No, I’m not doing that.” “So, what can I get you?” He tilted his head, his long hair falling forward, framing the pale angles of his face. “I think a margarita, thanks.” “My pleasure.” He signaled the bartender with a lazy flick of his hand, ordering her a drink and another “Bloody Mary” for himself. The glass arrived, the liquid thick and dark, and he cradled it like a lover. “You don’t want to sit here alone, anyhow. One of the vamps will try to pick you up. That can be… dangerous.” His voice dropped, a velvet threat woven into the words. She shot him a look, her brows knitting. “I’m not stupid enough to leave with someone I don’t know.” “Be careful leaving alone, too.” He leaned in, his elbow resting on the bar, his body angled toward her like a predator sizing up its mark. “Some will follow you home. You’re safest if you drive or call a cab.” “My friend’s picking me up when she gets off,” she said, a touch of defiance in her tone. “I’ll probably call a friend, too. Hope he shows up this time,” Nicholas muttered, his lips twitching into a faint, calculated pout. He didn’t care if Alex came or not—he lived close enough to stalk the streets on foot, and vampires weren’t his concern. But a hint of vulnerability always softened them up, making them lower their guard. She frowned. “Some friend, if he leaves you stranded.” “An emergency held him up. It was unavoidable,” he said, his voice smooth as oil. “One of our roommates overdosed on her medication, and he had to take her to the hospital.” “Is she okay?” He nodded, his expression softening just enough to seem sympathetic. “Yeah. I met them there and helped out. It wasn’t her first time. Her medication’s tricky—easy to overdo it.” “She’s got it rough,” she said, her voice softening too. “Good thing she’s got you two looking out for her.” “Us and the others. It’s a boarding house.” Close enough to the truth. “They can’t pick you up?” she asked, sipping her margarita, the salt rim glistening on her lips. He shook his head, letting his hair fall into his eyes. “One doesn’t drive at night. The others don’t drive at all. Neither does our dog.” A faint smirk played at his mouth, dark humor flickering beneath. “Maybe we should give you a ride home,” she offered, her tone light but her eyes curious. “You don’t want to get followed by a vamp.” Nicholas’s grin sharpened, his teeth catching the light for a fleeting second. “I don’t even know your name.” “Tracey.” She smiled, tentative now. “Yours?” “Nick.” He let the word roll off his tongue, low and deliberate. “And I can make it home fine.” “I can do you a favor,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “You’re protecting me from the vamps, after all.” His grin turned feral, a glint of something wild in his pale eyes. “Who said I was protecting you? Maybe I’m keeping you all to myself.” He let the words sink in, his gaze dropping to her throat, tracing the faint throb of her pulse. Tracey’s expression faltered, her fingers tightening around her glass. “My friend’s still coming.” “The more the merrier.” His voice was now a low growl, laced with hunger. “We just met,” she said, her tone firming up, pushing back. “I’m offering you a ride. That’s all. You don’t seriously think I’m going to sleep with you, do you?” Nicholas let his fangs slip into view, just enough to gleam in the bar’s dim glow. “I won’t object if you’re offering, but I was thinking more about dinner.” He savored the shock that widened her eyes, the way her breath hitched, her scent sharpening with a spike of fear. But then something caught his attention—a flicker of movement in the corner, a scent too fresh, too alive. Another hunt, perhaps. “Another time, maybe.” He turned away, his tone dismissive, though he tossed one last warning over his shoulder. “But remember what I said about being followed.” Nicholas’s sharp eyes locked onto the movement near the bar’s exit—a familiar silhouette, too graceful, too deliberate. His nostrils flared, picking up the faint copper tang of fresh blood beneath the stale beer and sweat of the crowd. Charlotte. His lips peeled back in a snarl as he crossed the room, the leather of his cloak creaking with each predatory stride. “Charlotte, what are you doing here?” His voice cut through the din, low and edged with menace. She turned, her pale face framed by a cascade of platinum curls, her smile a thin, venomous thing that never touched her cold blue eyes. “Nicholas. I’m surprised to see you here.” Her tone was syrupy, mocking, her fangs glinting faintly as she spoke. “Which is why you’re here when you aren’t supposed to be.” His gaze flicked to the young man hovering at her side. Nicholas stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the light between them. “Get lost,” he snapped at the man. “You don’t want to be alone with her. She’ll drain you dry and leave your husk in an alley.” The man’s eyes darted to Charlotte, her beauty suddenly sharp-edged and wrong. He stammered something incoherent and bolted, his footsteps swallowed by the bar’s pulsing noise. “You aren’t supposed to be around humans,” Nicholas said, turning back to her, his voice a growl that vibrated in his chest. Charlotte tilted her head, her smile widening. “I’m hungry, Nicky.” The old nickname dripped with mockery, a taunt from centuries past. “Go to the blood bank.” His words were clipped, final, the tone of an agent who’d long since tired of her games. She groaned, a theatrical roll of her eyes. “Don’t you get sick of that crap? Cold, bagged sludge—it’s like drinking dishwater.” “Yes,” he admitted, his eyes narrowing, “which is why I don’t kill them. I get permission.” His hand hovered near her arm, fingers twitching with the urge to clamp down. “You know the rules.” Her laugh was sharp, brittle. “Don’t you miss the hunt? The thrill of it? Don’t you remember the fun we had?” She stepped closer, her scent—jasmine and old blood—curling around him like a memory he couldn’t shake. “You weren’t so tame back then.” “I remember what they did to the wolves,” he shot back, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “How they hunted them to extinction. I don’t want that for our people. Come on.” His hand shot out, seizing her arm in a grip like iron, his nails digging into her cold flesh. “Where?” Charlotte’s voice sharpened, her body tensing as she tried to twist free. “I’m turning you in.” He yanked her toward the back of the bar, his boots thudding against the hard floor. She tugged harder, her strength coiling beneath her delicate frame. “What? Why?” “I just told you.” His patience frayed, his fangs flashing as he spoke. “The humans will round every last one of us up and slaughter us if you keep breaking the accords. I’m not letting that happen.” He dragged her through a narrow hall, past flickering neon signs and the muffled thump of music, toward the manager’s office. “But—” she started, her voice rising. “I don’t care,” he snarled, cutting her off. “And I don’t care if they stake you.” The words were a promise, not a threat, his eyes glinting with the cold resolve of a predator turned enforcer. He shoved the office door open with his shoulder, the hinges groaning. The manager—a wiry man with a perpetual sheen of sweat on his brow—looked up from a cluttered desk, his cigarette pausing mid-air. “Nicholas, is there a problem?” “Charlotte’s not supposed to be here,” Nicholas said, shoving her forward so she stumbled into the room. “She’s under restriction—no contact with humans except at blood banks, and only with an escort. She’s hunting again.” The manager’s eyes flicked to Charlotte, recognition darkening his features. “I remember her. She nearly got us shut down last time—some kid went missing, and the cops crawled all over this place. The owner talked to the bouncers, but someone’s slacking. I’ll deal with them and let the boss know.” “How about we skip the chit-chat and call the police?” Nicholas suggested, his voice smooth but laced with steel. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Or should I call Alex?” The manager’s eyes widened, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, and Charlotte flinched, her bravado crumbling at the name. Alex had made a name for himself during the war, and his work with the S.P.A., while not as clear, still made humans and supernaturals worry. “No, no need to bother him,” the manager said quickly, stubbing out his cigarette. “I’ll handle it. Police are fine.” Nicholas didn’t move, his gaze pinning Charlotte as the manager fumbled for the phone. She glared back, her lips pressed into a tight line, but she didn’t try to run. She knew better—he’d chased her across continents before, and he never lost. The police arrived in minutes, their boots heavy on the floor, their silver-lined cuffs glinting as they hauled Charlotte out. She didn’t fight, but her eyes burned into Nicholas’s as she passed, a promise of retribution he’d seen a dozen times before. He watched her go, the bar’s noise swallowing her muttered curses, then turned back to the main room. Tracey was gone. The clock above the bar read past two—a time when the humans left were too drunk to be worth the effort, their blood thick with alcohol that soured the taste. He grimaced, running his tongue over his fangs. He’d had a little blood in his drinks earlier, the bartender slipping him a discreet pour of the real stuff, and he had blood packs waiting at home. He wouldn’t starve. Still, the night felt unfinished, the predator in him restless. He stepped into the cool night air, the neon sign buzzing overhead as the door swung shut behind him. The streets stretched out, dark and quiet save for the occasional stumble of a late-night straggler. He could walk home—it wasn’t far. No need for a ride, no need for Alex. Just the night, the hunger, and the weight of a job that kept him teetering between monster and man.