Vampire Fight Club, Page 2

  “Where did you find him?”

  “Same place as the others.” Shade gave Lena’s shoulders a squeeze and stepped away from her, though he stayed close. “In the sewers beneath Fifth street.”

  Shade’s words barely registered. She’d latched onto a rhythmic tapping noise that rose up even over the din of the bustling emergency department outside the cubicle. It took a moment to realize what it was; her brother’s blood, dripping to the obsidian floor. Odd what the brain focused on when it didn’t want to think about something horrible right in front of you.

  “What is going on?” Lena whispered.

  Shade’s dark hair brushed the collar of his black paramedic uniform as he shook his head. “I don’t know, but your brother is the only one to make it through the hospital doors alive.”

  “This is the third victim this week.” Eidolon stripped off his gloves. “The human and demon realms have been in turmoil lately, but this is too specific to be related to the apocalyptic events.”

  Turmoil was a mild way to put what was happening, given that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse had recently appeared, and at least one apocalyptic Seal had broken. The hospital had been dealing with the violent fallout nonstop, and Eidolon had been forced to hire unschooled help and train them on the job just to keep up with the patient load.

  Shade casually kicked a towel beneath the exam table to stop the sickening drip of Vaughn’s blood. It was a small thing, but a thoughtful one, and Lena could have kissed the demon for it. “So what the hell are we dealing with?”

  “Fight club.” Wraith, Shade and Eidolon’s blond, half-vampire brother, sauntered up, his leather duster flapping around his boots. “You’re dealing with some sort of underground gladiator fights.”

  “And you know this, how?” Shade folded his arms over his broad chest in that universal big brother pose Vaughn used to give her while he waited for an answer he knew he wouldn’t like.

  Wraith blinked, all mock innocence. “I wasn’t always a model citizen, you know.”

  Vladlena glanced over at her brother’s lifeless body before quickly looking away. “He wouldn’t have been involved with something like that.”

  “Maybe not willingly,” Wraith said. “These places are run by the same kind of scum who run dog and cock fighting rings.”

  Her hands tingled, and she realized she’d been hanging onto the stethoscope around her neck like it was a lifeline. “What are you saying?”

  “That your brother could have been bait. Used to train fighters. Or he could have been forced into fighting.”

  The strawberry milkshake she’d had for dinner soured in her stomach. Pinpricks of pain spread through her fingers as she pried them away from the ancient stethoscope, which used to be her father’s. “Where do these things operate?”

  Wraith jammed his hands into his jean’s pockets. “The really skeevy ones are run in Sheoul, but the most profitable ones are here in the human realm.”

  “Hey, guys, look at this.” Shade held up Vaughn’s arm, and under the glow of the ultraviolet lamp on the wall, a stamp glimmered beneath blood on the back of his hand. “One of the other victims had a similar stamp.”

  “Thirst,” Wraith murmured. “Nice place.”

  Vaughn’s voice rang through her head. Th-thirst. She sucked in a harsh breath. “That’s what Vaughn said when he came in. I thought he was asking for water. What is Thirst?”

  “Vamp club.” Wraith propped his hip against the counter and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “Shifters and weres go too, and a few humans who are in the know about us.”

  Vaughn had been even more of a recluse than she was. So why he’d go to this vampire club was a mystery. A mystery she was going to solve. If she had only a few weeks left to live, she’d make the most of them, and she’d get revenge for her brother.

  A forbidden thrill shot through her at the thought, and yep, that had to be a symptom of the pending insanity, because the idea of violence had never excited her. And somehow, she couldn’t even bring herself to be upset about it . . . which was probably another symptom.

  Very gently, she tucked Vaughn’s hand under the sheet. “Looks like I’m going to pay a visit to a vampire hangout.”

  “Lena, if Thirst is a cover for a fight club, it’s too dangerous for you.” Eidolon’s tone softened to the one he used with children. “When your father asked me to give you a job, he also asked me to look after you if anything were to happen to him.”

  She stared at the handsome doctor, surprised by his admission, but it didn’t change anything. “You can’t stop me,” she blurted out, and wasn’t that mature? She might as well stomp her foot, too. Breathing deeply, she found her big girl voice. “I need to do something that matters in the time I have left.”

  The doctor closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they were resigned. “Give me an hour to do some research.”

  “I’ll do recon,” Wraith said, his blue eyes bright with mischief. She didn’t even want to know what he had planned. With Wraith, it could be anything.

  Shade popped a stick of gum in his mouth. “I need to clean the rig, but let me know if you need anything.”

  The brothers left her alone with Vaughn, and she sat with him, remembering all that they’d been through, from games of hide-and-seek as cubs, to mourning their father’s death. An hour later, Lore, the fourth Seminus brother, arrived to take Vaughn to the morgue.

  “I’m sorry, Lena.” Lore placed his hand—gloved to prevent any accidents with the lethal power he wielded—over hers. “I’ll treat him well.”

  As he wheeled Vaughn away, Eidolon arrived with a cup of coffee. He handed it to her, and she took it, hoping the hot liquid would ease the chill that had settled in.

  “You can access Thirst either through a secret entrance behind a human Goth club called Velvet Chain,” he said, “or from a hidden door in the sewer beneath it. Since it’s mainly a vampire club, non-vamps are expected to donate blood.”

  “Not if they work there.” Wraith swept in the way he always did, like a tornado. “The club employs six medics. And they’re hiring.”

  Eidolon frowned. “How do you know?”

  “Because they’re now short two medics. I convinced one to quit.”

  “And the other?” Eidolon asked.

  “I convinced him to die.” Wraith flashed fangs. “It was that douche you fired last year for swapping out patients’ pain meds for vitamins.”

  “Excellent.” Eidolon nodded in approval. “But I still don’t like the idea of Lena going into that den of violence.”

  “It’s not your decision,” she said quietly.

  “You’re right,” E said. “And I wish I could send someone with you, but we can’t afford to lose any more hands.”

  “It’s okay. I have to do this.”

  Wraith clapped her on the shoulder. “We’ll check in on you.”

  Before she had a chance to thank him, Eidolon rounded on her, danger rolling off him in a scorching wave she felt on her skin.

  “If anything happens to you,” he said, in a voice as deadly as she’d ever heard from him, “I promise we’ll bring that club down so hard nothing will be left standing.”

  “Especially not the fucks who run it,” Wraith added, his eyes glittering with anticipation.

  Funny thing. People talked big, said stuff like that all the time but never followed through. Without a doubt, these guys meant every word.

  Chapter 3

  Vladlena was a nervous wreck as she entered Thirst for the second time that day. Earlier in the afternoon, she’d spoken with the assistant manager about the medic job. He’d been impressed with her credentials, and after the interview, he’d sent her on her way with high hopes for a callback. Four hours later, she’d gotten the call.

  Marsden had spoken with Eidolon, and now all she had to do was impress the big boss, some vampire named Nathan.

  She halted just inside the main entrance and eyed the crowd, which seeme
d heavy for only six o’clock in the evening. But then, the patrons who came here lived all over the globe, so really, time in an underworld club was meaningless.

  The scent of lust, blood, and booze was thick in the air, and as she navigated her way toward the medic station, she caught whiffs of aggression, as well. No doubt a place like this saw its share of fights. But it wasn’t the regular bar fights she was interested in. There was a sick, twisted sport going on here, and she’d make sure those responsible for her brother’s death paid.

  One of the bouncers pointed her to Marsden’s office, which was far down a long hallway at the rear of the club.

  “Thanks for coming, Vladlena.” He dipped his head in greeting as she entered, and she wondered if the gelled spikes in his ash-brown hair were as sharp as they looked. With his funky hair, piercings, black-painted nails, and jeweled fangs, he was one odd-looking guy. “Like I said on the phone, everything looks great. Getting Nathan’s okay is mainly a formality at this point, but he’ll probably have some questions for you.” He pointed to a door across the hall. “Good luck.”

  The “good luck” didn’t sound promising, and she wondered what she was going to be dealing with. Inhaling deeply to steel herself, she tapped on the door. A gruffly spoken, “Enter” was the response, and she pushed open the door, unease curling inside her chest.

  At first, she didn’t see him. She was too busy admiring the giant oak desk scattered with some sort of tickets marked with GLADIUS, the exotic—and expensive—Persian rug, the artwork on the walls. Then she stepped fully inside and looked toward the wet bar to the right.

  He was standing with his hip propped against the bar, long fingers caressing a glass of amber liquid, his crystalline azure eyes drilling into her. Shiny, black-blue hair fell in a straight curtain below his broad shoulders, and damn it, she hated when males had better hair than she did. Sharp angles defined his face, from high cheekbones to a strong jaw, and when one corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile that revealed a gleaming fang, her pulse did an excited flutter.

  Her roommate, Blaspheme, would say that from his expensive loafers to his well-fitting black slacks and gray silk shirt, this male exuded pure, hardcore sex.

  Not that Lena would know anything about that.

  “Um . . . hi, Mr. Sabine. I’m Vladlena—”

  “Take off your clothes.” His husky voice, tinged with a faint French accent, was so mesmerizing that his words didn’t register for a few seconds.

  Finally, she blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Marsden sent you, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then strip.”

  He moved toward her, and with every step, her heart hammered faster. He’d been carved from a stone slab of danger, power, and grace, and if he possessed even an ounce of softness, she’d eat the file she was holding. The room shrank as he closed in on her, erotic energy pulsing off him and making her skin tingle. Those wide shoulders rolled, reminding her of a lion on the prowl, and although at five-nine, she wasn’t short, he was at least seven inches taller. He could crush her with his pinky finger, and here she was, in the place her brother had lost his life, alone in an office with the male who might be responsible.

  “I didn’t know that getting naked was part of the job requirement.” She was proud of the way her voice didn’t waver. Much.

  His expression hardened even more, something she hadn’t thought was possible. “Jesus. Where did Marsden find you?”

  This was not going well at all, and she clutched the file in her hands tighter to keep them from shaking. “I applied for the job this morning.”

  “He’s taking applications?”

  “You’d rather your medical personnel pop in off the streets with no training?”

  A deep frown pulled at his brow, and then he laughed, and good gods, he was impressive when he did that. “You’re here for one of the medic positions.”

  So the guy was handsome, but not too bright. “Of course.” Taking a swig of his drink, he dropped his eyes to her feet. Slowly, he dragged his gaze back up her body in a blatant, sensual appraisal before settling on her mouth.

  “Well, then,” he drawled. “How badly do you want the job?”

  Nate waited for a reaction from the female—beyond the shocked-out expression that included a dropped jaw, wide eyes, and utter speechlessness, anyway. He’d figured out immediately that she wasn’t a screw sent by Marsden . . . well, almost immediately, though he hadn’t determined why Mars had sent her. In the first few seconds, he’d just been happy his lieutenant had sent an attractive but plain female who was actually wearing clothes, and not one of the fangfuckers from the club decked out in an outfit more appropriate for the bedroom than a bar.

  This female was different from anyone he’d ever seen at Thirst, from her scuffed black flats and well-fitting but conservative charcoal slacks to her long-sleeved sweater. Her minimal makeup emphasized high cheekbones and full lips, and he had the oddest urge to ask her to take her blond hair out of the tame, hip-length French braid so he could see if it was as silky as it looked.

  Maybe the doe-eyed librarian act was her game. Maybe she drew in the males who wanted to tap a wallflower. Nate had never been that kind. He liked hardasses who knew what they were getting into when they bedded a vampire, but as he’d sized up Vladlena, he began to see the appeal.

  But then he’d seen the nervousness in her eyes, heard the note of fear in her voice. Some deep, dark part of him had awakened, and the thrill of the hunt seized him. It was a small rush, barely a ripple in the pool of numbness he’d been drowning in, but Jesus, it was as if a thread of life had been thrown to him, and he was going to cling to it for as long as he could.

  “Well?” His body buzzed as he studied her, the way it did when he inadvertently drank blood from a coked-up human, but this was better. Purer, without the fuzzy edges. “You just going to stare at me, or are you going to offer up some incentive for me to hire you?”

  Her slender throat worked on a few swallows, and he followed the column of smooth ivory skin lower, to the V neckline of her forest-green angora sweater. Just as he dove south to the smooth swells of her breasts, she thrust a file at him.

  “Here’s your incentive.” She waited until he took the file, and then she stepped back, as if wanting to get away. It made him want to cage her between his body and the wall just to show her that if he didn’t want her to escape, she wouldn’t. “Eidolon, the head doctor at Underworld General, prepared that for you. It lists my accomplishments and special skills.”

  He nearly chuckled at her attempt to divert him, but he was having too much fun watching her squirm. “All of your special skills?”

  Again, her soft brown eyes flared. “Eidolon wouldn’t know all of my special skills, since he has enough integrity to not require that his employees sleep with him.”

  “Is that so.” He set his glass on the desk and flipped through the file, not focusing on particulars. “So tell me, why are you leaving this great place where the upstanding boss doesn’t want his nurses on their backs?”

  “My reason for leaving is my business. But as you can see, I come with the highest recommendation.”

  Fair enough. But something about this female was off, and Nate had learned a long time ago to trust his instincts. She was too fidgety, too . . . something.

  Curvy. Curvy is something.

  Putting the lid on his less-than-helpful inner voice, he ran his thumb over the loopy whirls of her writing. “The file says you’re a shifter. What species?”

  “Tiger.”

  Not bloody likely. He inhaled deeply, seeking her scent. Through the tantalizing aroma of vanilla was a wild undertone of feline . . . and canine. Mostly canine, in fact. He’d have pegged her for a wolf, so why was she saying she was a tiger? It wasn’t any of his business, but again, something was off. He’d encountered every species of shifter alive, and he’d never come across one with this particular blend of scents.

  His sixth
sense was telling him to send her packing. The club had enough troubles, and it operated on a delicate balance. He didn’t need this female messing up anything or causing problems. And yet, she intrigued him with the very qualities that were making him twitchy.

  “Okay, Tiger Lady, why are you applying to work here?”

  “I need a job, and I work well independently, but I don’t want to work in a human hospital or clinic.”

  “Why not? It would be a hell of a lot safer, and you don’t strike me as someone who likes to take risks.”

  There wasn’t a tiger shifter on the planet who didn’t like to cozy up with danger, but she didn’t deny his accusation. “Humans provide fewer challenges, medically speaking.”

  Her chin lifted, and though she was shorter than he was, she somehow looked down her nose at him, all superior-like. Interesting. Usually females batted their eyelashes and gave him smoky take-me eyes. The superior thing sent another rush through him, piquing his interest even more. Hell, he was actually getting hard.

  He picked up his glass again and studied her over the rim. “So you like challenges,” he murmured.

  “I love a good fight.” An odd darkness infused her voice, setting off his internal alarms.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just what I said. Challenges are what make life interesting, don’t you think?”

  He wondered what she’d do if he challenged her right up against the wall. His cell buzzed with a text message, and what do you know . . . opportunity was knocking. Buzzing. Whatever.

  He looked over at Vladlena, who was shifting her weight nervously. “Can you start work now?”

  “Right this minute?”

  “If I like how you perform, you get the job.”

  She glared at him for a heartbeat, as if trying to decide how he meant, “perform,” and then she shrugged. “Why not.”

  He took her to the medic station, where Marsden met them with a big, bleeding male with a gaping laceration that had opened up his arm from shoulder to elbow. Blood streamed from his mashed nose and lips, and a piece of his ear had been torn off.