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 seemed 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.”
“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
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
