He wondered if she knew what he needed to do and was deliberately turning a blind eye. On her way past with another donor, Whitney gave him another one of her million-watt smiles.
Chapter 13
While Will investigated the donor area, Conrad, pulling his cap down as far as possible to avoid recognition, entered the main Taphouse, cosying up to the bar.
“Credentials,” demanded the young man behind the counter. Rolling his eyes, Conrad lifted his wrist, giving the best bored expression he could muster. “A pleasure, Mr Mendel.” He dipped his head, clearly recognising the name. “We have a few items in this evening that one such as yourself may enjoy, if you’re looking for a boost.” The young man passed him a menu, which went blank for a second, before the display altered, updating with the latest donor and removing the one whose services were no longer available.
His device buzzed, revealing a message from Will. He read it quickly, bristling. Did Will really think he needed his help? Of course he knew places like this had their own selective menu; his father was in law-enforcement, after all. His annoyance must have been apparent as the barkeeper stepped back half a pace, tugging his collar. An odd reaction, given how many troublesome customers he must deal with on a daily basis.
Turning his focus back to the server, he returned the menu, noticing the vibrancy of his eyes as the golden flecks burnt with the fury he felt, a sign his other-self was restless. He blinked, trying to dispel his tumultuous emotions, but his thoughts were lingering on Ashley, on how William had betrayed her. “I was informed you may have something more… upmarket.”
“Can I draw your attention to Liam7?” The opaque menu changed before his gaze, revealing the premium list. “He is a regular, our clients have been very satisfied.”
Conrad let out a slow breath. “I’ll confess his stats are good, but when I partake, I find males have something of an unrefined, bitter taste. They don’t agree with my palate at all.” He tapped his finger on the bar for a moment as if in thought. “My mother’s considered amongst the Elite. I have certain expectations and a taste I became partial to in my old haunts. I came here because I heard that you were one of a few places in this backwater city that had something of a Black Card Menu.”
He played the entitled brat role well. He had known so many of them, and had even moved in their circles for a time during his mother’s prestigious events. His mother was a woman of means, and his father had been the recipient of a number of medals and honours in his own line of work, so their success raised his status. He leaned lazily forward on the bar, winking mischievously at the young man who was becoming more flustered.
“I see. Unfortunately, I’m afraid our establishment doesn’t offer such services.”
“Really? I seem to remember being here recently.” He produced a midnight black card from his pocket, twisting it idly within his grasp, hoping he had selected the right shade. There were only certain shades of black which could hold temporary menus. His father had retrieved a few before now, but being blank except for the tavern name, any evidence that had once been upon them had been lost, and no trace of chemicals suggested that whatever had been upon its surface eroded quickly and without a trace. The server eyed the blank card with confusion, the genuineness of the reaction a clear indication that if something like this was occurring in these walls, only certain people were privileged to the details.
“Very well.” Conrad gave a sigh. “Are there at least some Elite areas vacant?” He placed his fingers to his temple. “I can’t be expected to sit amongst the rabble.”
“I’m sorry, sir, Elite areas must be reserved in advance. We have an opening next Friday, if you’re interested.”
Pulling up his calendar on his device, he shook his head. “No good.” He allowed his frustration to edge his voice as he mentally vowed to hunt down anyone who so much as hurt a hair on Ashley’s head. Without another word, he turned to leave, his device subtly snapping a few more photographs, ensuring to get one of the mechanism separating the Elite area from the commoners.
Vincent’s eyes travelled the contours of the female before him. By human standards she was attractive. Her rust-coloured hair framed her face in a tangled mess that betrayed the desperation of her struggles. The eyes that glared at him with a mixture of fear and hatred sent a tickle of amusement through him. He could see the power of her Elder blood in her glare. If she was older, trained, she would have been a formidable trophy, but she was something better, she was vulnerable. Never before had it been possible to restrain any member of the Elder bloodlines. Not only were they too well protected given their sovereign status, but they were too well trained, too powerful. He had managed to get a number of them to agree to lettings in exchange for services. Their power was formidable and whatever force restrained this female’s gift didn’t dilute her blood, it just made her easy to control since no power would answer her struggles.
Leaning close, he inhaled, noting the lingering odours of lavender, honey, and—he lifted her hands, bringing her fingers to his nostrils—antibacterial hand wash. Her skin glistened with perspiration, but she seemed to have no scent. Bringing his finger to her clavicle, he traced his finger slowly along the bone before wiping the escaping tear from her eye and bringing it to his lips. He wanted to confirm what he believed he had tasted before, and the moment his taste-buds registered the ambrosia of her pheromones, he was certain.
Placing an arm around her shoulders to lift her from the bed slightly,
