glances back for Rosa, but she’s already melted into darkness.
In hot clubsmoke, Vincent DiLuca lounges on his barstool, cradling a bloody bourbon cocktail and watching with vampiresharp eyes as Diamond slams LaFaro against the wall.
He inhales, flesh and perfume and hot fairy glamour, and his fangs ache as he grins. He’s enjoying the show. Always fun to watch Valentis backstabbing each other. The Valenti gang are DiLuca’s enemies. With any luck, LaFaro and Diamond will kill each other and save Vincent and his boys the trouble.
Vincent laughs, the dark bass beat throbbing pleasure into his fevered blood. “C’mon, ladies, just fuck and get it over with.”
Beside him, Joey DiLuca snickers and sips his scotch, blond hair falling over his cheekbone. Joey is Vincent’s boss, a snake-shifter with venomsharp instincts and an icewalled temper. “Can’t fault the entertainment tonight. My money’s on the lizard. Glassfairy’ll trip over his own swollen fucking ego before long.”
“Heh. You’re on. I pick the fairy. Snotty prick’s got balls, if ya know what I mean.”
Joey shrugs, silent. Vincent gets a lot of silence from Joey these days. Vincent has been a vampire for only a few weeks, since he contracted the virus in a little accident involving one very drunk Vincent and a vampire threesome. Since then, his transition to vampire has been … untidy. Bloody. Conspicuous. And if there’s one thing Joey doesn’t like, it’s unnecessary mess.
At last, Diamond shoves LaFaro backwards and stalks off, and the fury frothing from the fairy’s skin ignites Vincent’s veins with desire and loathing. Just looking at all that musclebound fairyflesh makes him feel dirty.
And hungry. But these days, he’s always hungry.
He gulps the last of his bourbon and blood, sweat dripping from his elaborately messy hair. Alcohol burns his throat and warms his belly. But it’s not enough, never enough anymore, and his fingers itch and curl, longing to scrape, pierce, kill.
Sure, he’s stronger now. Faster. His senses more alive. But being a vampire is one long torturefest of screaming famine.
Hah. That’s fucking poetry. They should put that in the safe sex brochure, underneath Rethink your fifteenth swallow and Bathing in that shit is a really bad idea.
A golden-winged earthfae girl floats past on a cloud of sugary girlsmell, and Vincent’s mouth waters hard. Her flimsy dress wafts around long sunburnished legs, her wings’ trailing edges delicate and crushable. Her breasts are small and succulent, tantalizing beneath translucent fabric that shows the bronzed shadows of nipples. She smiles at him, her lips so soft … .
He tries to unstick his gaze, but he can’t. He can’t stop smelling her blood, so earthy and rich, the pulse throbbing in her neck, her wrists, her licksyrup thighs, an evil drumbeat in his veins. His fangs ache, the blood pressure rising like a tide until his skin burns and his muscles swell and his cock jumps hard with unslakeable thirst … .
“Sit the fuck down, Vincent.” Joey’s hellgreen serpent eyes flash warning.
Vincent shudders, hard. He didn’t even realize he was standing, and he jerks back down, trying to erase that throbbing pulse in his ears. Sweat runs inside his crisp white shirt, soaks his torn jeans, drenches him in feverbright lust, and he grits his teeth on bloodfresh hunger. “Gimme a break. You said I could.”
“I said you could eat. I didn’t say you could gorge yourself. You’ve already had one tonight. Order a pizza.” Joey lounges elegant and relaxed on his stool, one foot hooked in the rung, a faint sheen of luminous green sweat on his pale skin. Intense, unblinking. Snakes don’t blink.
“Who the fuck are you, my mother?” Vincent lights a cigarette with shaking hands and tries to concentrate, reason, think of anything except bloody meat ripping between his teeth.
“Put on this earth to kick your girly ass. Get used to it.” Joey grins, the sharp,
In hot clubsmoke, Vincent DiLuca lounges on his barstool, cradling a bloody bourbon cocktail and watching with vampiresharp eyes as Diamond slams LaFaro against the wall.
He inhales, flesh and perfume and hot fairy glamour, and his fangs ache as he grins. He’s enjoying the show. Always fun to watch Valentis backstabbing each other. The Valenti gang are DiLuca’s enemies. With any luck, LaFaro and Diamond will kill each other and save Vincent and his boys the trouble.
Vincent laughs, the dark bass beat throbbing pleasure into his fevered blood. “C’mon, ladies, just fuck and get it over with.”
Beside him, Joey DiLuca snickers and sips his scotch, blond hair falling over his cheekbone. Joey is Vincent’s boss, a snake-shifter with venomsharp instincts and an icewalled temper. “Can’t fault the entertainment tonight. My money’s on the lizard. Glassfairy’ll trip over his own swollen fucking ego before long.”
“Heh. You’re on. I pick the fairy. Snotty prick’s got balls, if ya know what I mean.”
Joey shrugs, silent. Vincent gets a lot of silence from Joey these days. Vincent has been a vampire for only a few weeks, since he contracted the virus in a little accident involving one very drunk Vincent and a vampire threesome. Since then, his transition to vampire has been … untidy. Bloody. Conspicuous. And if there’s one thing Joey doesn’t like, it’s unnecessary mess.
At last, Diamond shoves LaFaro backwards and stalks off, and the fury frothing from the fairy’s skin ignites Vincent’s veins with desire and loathing. Just looking at all that musclebound fairyflesh makes him feel dirty.
And hungry. But these days, he’s always hungry.
He gulps the last of his bourbon and blood, sweat dripping from his elaborately messy hair. Alcohol burns his throat and warms his belly. But it’s not enough, never enough anymore, and his fingers itch and curl, longing to scrape, pierce, kill.
Sure, he’s stronger now. Faster. His senses more alive. But being a vampire is one long torturefest of screaming famine.
Hah. That’s fucking poetry. They should put that in the safe sex brochure, underneath Rethink your fifteenth swallow and Bathing in that shit is a really bad idea.
A golden-winged earthfae girl floats past on a cloud of sugary girlsmell, and Vincent’s mouth waters hard. Her flimsy dress wafts around long sunburnished legs, her wings’ trailing edges delicate and crushable. Her breasts are small and succulent, tantalizing beneath translucent fabric that shows the bronzed shadows of nipples. She smiles at him, her lips so soft … .
He tries to unstick his gaze, but he can’t. He can’t stop smelling her blood, so earthy and rich, the pulse throbbing in her neck, her wrists, her licksyrup thighs, an evil drumbeat in his veins. His fangs ache, the blood pressure rising like a tide until his skin burns and his muscles swell and his cock jumps hard with unslakeable thirst … .
“Sit the fuck down, Vincent.” Joey’s hellgreen serpent eyes flash warning.
Vincent shudders, hard. He didn’t even realize he was standing, and he jerks back down, trying to erase that throbbing pulse in his ears. Sweat runs inside his crisp white shirt, soaks his torn jeans, drenches him in feverbright lust, and he grits his teeth on bloodfresh hunger. “Gimme a break. You said I could.”
“I said you could eat. I didn’t say you could gorge yourself. You’ve already had one tonight. Order a pizza.” Joey lounges elegant and relaxed on his stool, one foot hooked in the rung, a faint sheen of luminous green sweat on his pale skin. Intense, unblinking. Snakes don’t blink.
“Who the fuck are you, my mother?” Vincent lights a cigarette with shaking hands and tries to concentrate, reason, think of anything except bloody meat ripping between his teeth.
“Put on this earth to kick your girly ass. Get used to it.” Joey grins, the sharp,
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