Belonging (3 page)

“Y-Yes sir. Right this way, my lord.”

Damian followed him through the back, across the small kitchen to a steel reinforced door that looked like it would lead to a meat locker. Clearly it wasn’t, as to the right was a sophisticated security panel. No one’s meat was that precious. Well…except
his
.

Damian knew the code, but let Frankie fumble around a bit, trying twice to get the code right before the door finally clicked open.

“That will be all.”

“Thank you, sir,” Frankie said as he turned and scurried away like a rat who’d been kicked.

Damian descended toward the underground portion of Dragonfly. At the bottom was another steel door, a duplicate of the one at the top. This one had a different set of codes, which he didn’t believe Frankie knew. They all took these precautions to provide the utmost protection from unsuspecting humans accidentally stumbling across their underground clubs. Or from humans who were very much aware, but weren’t welcome.

Damian changed his codes daily, sometimes more than once.

He couldn’t hear a thing before the door clicked open, proving how soundproof Dev had made the place. It was an important feature to maintain secrecy. Walking into the club, the first thing he noticed was the music was a bit harder down here. In his, he vacillated between harder rock music and erotic, sensual music. Both suited his crowds’ tastes. No matter the part of the country, most vampires had similar tastes in music. Country didn’t tend to top the list. At least no self-respecting vampire would admit that it did.

Disturbed’s “Inside the Fire” thrummed through him. This scene was similar to the one upstairs, with bodies writhing like snakes on the heavily packed dance floor. Of course, upstairs everyone was clothed, some questionably so, but down here…down here clothing was definitely optional. Everywhere he looked people were coupling, in threesomes or more. All were in various states of undress. All were in various stages of fornication. If he thought the pheromones upstairs were thick, down here they were downright intoxicating.

The décor was a bit edgier than upstairs, Goth being the evident theme. The large open space boasted black walls and ceilings. The dance floor a smooth black marble. The long bar top was dark granite with fluorescent blue flecks peeking through, adding just a touch of color. Chairs and couches were all covered in inky black leather. Medieval sconces hung on the walls, dim red uplighting glowed from each one.
Nice touch
. It was all very sensual, very erotic.

The suggestive scene, coupled with the pheromones bombarding him, made his dick painfully hard. He needed to get laid. And since it had been over a week since he’d last fed, he was starved.

He spotted whom he assumed was Ronson, the underground club manager, rushing toward him. “My lord, glad you could make it. I’m Ronson, Dragonfly’s manager.” They shook hands.

“Nice to meet you, Ronson. I’d like to see the entire club.”

“My pleasure, my lord.”

Ronson gave him the grand tour, vamps moving quickly out of his way and females following his every move, even in the throes of sex. The power rolling off him scared most vamps and attracted most females. Well…
all
females, really.

What Damian couldn’t see from his previous vantage point was there were several alcoves around the edge of the space. The alcoves contained large, circular plush beds, each with a ledge on one side, which he assumed was for drinks. Or leverage. All were occupied and had curtains that could be pulled for privacy, but only one was. It appeared most human females working here weren’t self-conscious either. Note to self.

They made their way to a hallway in the back, leading to the private rooms Dev mentioned. He’d just finished gutting, renovating and opening the newest club he’d purchased and a portion catered to tastes leaning toward the darker side. He was anxious to see how Dev’s place compared.

In addition to the office, there were a dozen small rooms in total, six lining each side of the short hallway. Each had a window and shades, but the shade could be left open so a couple could be watched if they chose. There was only one room open to tour, but Ronson said all rooms were similar in style and contained implements for pleasure, or pain…whatever your poison.

This appeared to be almost double the size of his operations. While Damian definitely wasn’t hurting for cash, if he’d put half as much effort into actually managing his clubs as he did frequenting them, he had no doubt he could trump even Dev’s success. He resolved to pay as much attention to his businesses as he did his investments. After tonight, of course.

“I’d like an introduction.”

“Of course, my lord.” While Ronson was very respectful of Damian, it was clear he still feared him. As he should. Although Damian was very powerful and had a very short temper, he wasn’t prone to violence for violence sake. He was more of a lover than a fighter. Not to mean that he didn’t enjoy a good, bloody battle occasionally, because he absolutely fucking did.

Ronson took him to the last room directly at the end of the hallway. There were about a dozen women of all shapes, sizes and nationalities. Damian believed in diversity and inclusion, and he offered the same type of menu in his clubs. Who wanted to bang skin and bones every night? Who wanted only French vanilla on the menu? Most of his customers didn’t.

He noticed a particularly beautiful African-American woman in the corner, with very luscious curves. She looked a little nervous, but he could sense a darkness lurking in her as well.

Ronson followed his line of sight, adding, “She’s new. Tonight’s her first night.” While he loved to break in newbies, they weren’t always into his style, but he approached her anyway.

“Care for a drink, gorgeous?” He liked to woo a woman just a bit before falling into bed with them. Call him old-fashioned or maybe just not a complete bastard.

“We may be a little mismatched.” Over a foot shorter than him, she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, doll. Our parts will still fit together nicely, regardless. What’s your name?” It was painfully clear she wanted him. He could smell her excitement from across the room. Her blood smelled clean, which was good. He didn’t do druggies. All of his girls were regularly tested for drugs and if they were positive, they were kicked out on their asses. He wouldn’t stand for that.

“Ah…it’s Angel. Okay, sure.”

For the next half hour they chatted while she sipped on a cosmo, loosening up considerably. He leaned down, whispering in her ear, “What do you like, baby?”

“Whatever pleases you, my lord,” she whispered breathlessly.

“That leaves the door pretty wide open, Angel. And the things I want to do to your body are most certainly not heavenly.”

She sucked in a breath but didn’t respond.

“Come. What I want should be done in private.” He’d asked Ronson to reserve one of the rooms for him while he was in Milwaukee. He hoped Angel would help exorcise the darkness from him tonight because he didn’t have the desire to start all over with another female at this point.

Turned out he had nothing to worry about, as Angel certainly didn’t live up to her name, but her friend Star who’d joined them later, sure did. She sucked cock like a champ. Hours later, sated in the pleasures of the flesh, he returned to Dev’s estate to grab a couple hours of shuteye. Tomorrow night Rom would arrive and they would begin their search for Kate’s two sisters. And, with any luck, secure them safe and sound before Dev and Kate returned from their honeymoon in four weeks.

It was a tall order, but Damian was definitely up for the challenge.

C
hapter
3

Mike

“Fucking pick up the fucking phone!” he screamed futilely into his cell at the incessant ringing on the other end.

He’d alternated between calling Dev and Ren the entire day. He’d even tried Kate twice. Not one person answered their goddamned phones. If he did that to them, they’d have his ass fileted and fried for dinner before he could blink. These last three months, he’d been constantly at their beck and call, but fuck no…when he needed them they were nowhere to be found. Bloodsucking bastards.

He’d been in absolute emotional agony. Jamie was alive. She was living in the shelter that Kate had graciously opened, helping the women recover from their trauma before returning home. They were all allowed to stay indefinitely. All had returned to their homes, except Sarah, Jamie and four others. The guilt he lived with every day was almost unbearable. He drank far too much, but it was the only thing that numbed the pain.

He’d taken a leave of absence from the MPD to work exclusively for Devon, trying to find the psychopath that had taken his Jamie away from him. No matter that she was still alive and she wasn’t
his Jamie
any longer. The fires of hell now fueled his vengeance. He wouldn’t rest until this motherfucker was completely destroyed.

And Giselle. He was twisted in knots over her. They’d spent weeks together investigating before everything went to hell and all their lives turned upside down. It was both pure heaven and tortuous hell. He had an unnatural attraction to Giselle and it disgusted him but made his heart race at the same time. She was a damned vampire, for God’s sake. Vampires had kidnapped and done heinous, unspeakable things to Jamie and others. He wasn’t sure how he could ever overlook the fact that Giselle was a bloodsucker.

But the more time he spent with Giselle and with the other vamps, the more doubt seeped its way into his head. Could he have possibly been wrong all this time about vampires? Were not
all
vampires evil and self-absorbed? Not one of them even looked at him with harmful intent during the time he’d spent at Dev’s estate. Well…except when Ren threatened to cut out his shriveled up heart if he hurt Giselle. Without a doubt, the guy meant it.

Goddamn it! He needed an update on Jamie. And Giselle. No one would fucking talk to him! The last update from Kate over a week ago was that Jamie was finally going to some counseling sessions, but she still spent most of her time in self-imposed isolation. And Giselle still hadn’t spoken a word about what happened that night she was taken by Xavier, although Kate said she was starting to get back to her bitchy self. And she was so sorry, but both still refused to see him.

That sickly sweet Sam Smith song they played ad nauseam on the radio, “Stay With Me”, popped into his head. One line about being emotional and gaining self-control repeated on a loop. Yeah, he needed to gain some self-control all right. He was a fucking basket case.

This is what he’d been reduced to. Thinking of a goddamned Sam Smith song. And the fact that he even knew the words, let alone the artist, made him a complete pussy. He was definitely growing a vagina. He obviously could never let this get out. Jesus, pretty soon he’d be looking up Backstreet Boys songs, trying to find lyrics that fit his fragile emotional state. He was a disgrace to real men everywhere. That was it…he needed to do something manly.
Very
manly.

He had a small weight room in the basement of his house. He didn’t get to spend as much time there as he wanted, but there was no better way to prove your manhood than benching a couple hundred pounds. Well…the other way involved his cock, but he couldn’t think about that now.

Over an hour later as sweat poured down his body, the chorus of that pussy song still rattled around in his brain.

The bitch of it was…he wasn’t sure to which woman it now applied.

C
hapter
4

Xavier

Devon and his mate had disappeared. Again. And all Xavier could do was sit on his fucking hands and wait. Wait for information. Wait for answers. Wait for clues. And he was fucking tired of waiting.

He felt murderous. If he could’ve afforded additional losses, he would’ve gone on a rampage by now. But he couldn’t. He’d already suffered catastrophic casualties at the hands of the lords several months ago and he simply couldn’t afford to slaughter at will because his temper burned out of control.

And it raged.

Constantly.

By now, Devon Fallinsworth should be suffering endlessly at his hand, his mate dead and world domination within his grasp. Instead, he’d taken a gigantic step backward. Immense thirst for revenge had driven him for the last five hundred years, but after March’s events…it had quadrupled.

Since he couldn’t locate Devon, or his daughter, he’d recently decided to change tactics. Go a different route to see if perhaps he could lure out Devon and the other lords. If he couldn’t have Devon, he’d take one of the others in his stead. For the moment.

Xavier couldn’t remember how many females he’d sired over the years. Quite frankly, he’d tried to forget. Who could have predicted that would become his most important problem now…or his most important strategy?

Did he have other daughters alive? If so, how many? Had Marcus managed to keep all of them alive, or only a few? He had no fucking clue since the Lords had also taken Marcus, his traitorous scientist.

He’d fucked so many females he had absolutely no idea which one bore the dreamwalker, Katherine. He obviously had no clue her mother was one or she would have been used for other purposes. Not that any one of the dreamwalkers in his possession had been useful so far, mind you. If he didn’t have firsthand knowledge, he’d think the whole rare ability was utter bullshit. The dreamwalker gene was passed down only from female to female, so the chances any other daughters alive were also gifted was slim to none.

Still, leave no stone unturned. Unfortunately trying to find them was like finding a lost treasure at sea. Nearly futile. He thought back to a conversation he’d had last month with his now lead researcher.

“My lord, I believe I have found some useful information regarding at least one of your offspring.”

“Go on.”

“It appears that perhaps a female infant was dropped off to a potential adoptive family twenty-six years ago in the Eau Claire, Wisconsin, area. December fifteenth.”