Blacker than Black (2 page)

Silence, magical energy. May it last, please, for just a little longer?

No such luck. The potential john, with his unblinking yellow eyes, shatters the spell. I can see him now, sharp gaze above a smile on his dark lips, but the expression isn’t warm or friendly. It’s not that kind of smile; all the same, it embodies something I understand.

“So strong,” he murmurs. His voice is barely audible, the comment clearly not intended for my ears.

“And it will cost you,” I purr back. Looks might not matter all that much, but a twist of coy charm never harmed a sale. I curl my lips in a lopsided smile, bending over a fraction so my gaze is almost level with his. And I get a better look at him, in the dim interior of his car. Not hard on the eyes, that’s for sure. Clean-cut and nondescript, he looks like one of those people who could melt into a crowd. Only the vivid color of his eyes would set him apart.

He blinks as if surprised, then narrows his eyes. The piercing sensation increases, a wave of pain flooding my body that triggers a rush of adrenaline. Jhez would just call me a thrill junkie. Turning the tables on the predator. I live for that brief moment when they hesitate and question who’s hunting who.

The john’s wide mouth curves, but this time he’s definitely leering. His craving is strong. It radiates from him, thrumming along my skin feather-light, a strange contrast to his careless probing. I can slake his thirst. It’s definitely going to cost him, though. More than he realizes.

“Get in.” Pure confidence flavors his tone; this man knows what he wants and intends to acquire it. Giving him a slight nod, I glance over my shoulder at Kenna. She’s retreated from her spot along the curb, her form a silhouette against the glow at her back. In the harsh blue lighting, she looks faintly purple.

“See you tomorrow,” I call, but Kenna doesn’t respond. She rubs at the cuff of her sleeve again, engrossed by some imagined stain.

Walking around the front of the vehicle, I take care not to brush against it. Don’t want to mar that glimpse of magic from the surface, the refracting glow of the buildings in its glass-bright curves.

The door slides back long enough for me to settle into the soft plush interior, and then the vehicle moves off down the street with a subtle revving purr.

The car smells of incense, the heavy cloying smoke saturating every inch. My john lounges in the driver’s seat, long legs and broad shoulders on a lean body, dark hair sharply contrasting a pale complexion. He’s dressed in a charcoal suit, and the material looks kissed with moon dust in the boulevard’s illumination. He’s a better prospect than I’ve seen trolling for quite some time, and this transaction looks to promise a bit of pleasure, even if it’s only of the eye candy variety.

One thing bothers me about this, though. Yeah, this vamp’s the best I’ve seen in a while. Most of the time, it’s the flunkies who troll the streets. The stronger vampires, like the one beside me guiding his little fiberglass coupe through the sporadic traffic, are rarely seen. They don’t need to resort to Nightwalkers to get what they need. They have little harems of humans stashed away, eagerly waiting to offer their chi free of charge.

Ugh. Just the thought makes me gag. It’s as bad as having a pimp. Your body isn’t your own anymore, traded in for a bit of comfort and security. I don’t blame the ones who do it. Jhez and I, though, we found a different way. It works for us.

Although, this particular john is stronger than any I’ve wrestled with lately. I’m starting to get slightly nervous about whether I’ll be able to pull off my usual trick. Most of the time, it’s like taking candy from a baby.

Jhez is standing sentry on her stretch of pavement as we drive by, but my twin’s expression startles me. Brow furrowed, lips twisted into a grimace, she gives her head a curt shake. I meet her dark gaze, and she reaches out with her aura, tendrils of energy drifting along the fringes of mine like fingers trailing over the surface of water.

The hue of fear radiating from her is nothing short of strange, but it’s contagious. I turn away from the window, trying to shake it off. It’s not like I haven’t done this a thousand times before. I won’t let the creeping misgivings undermine my confidence. I can’t afford to show any emotional weakness around a john. Any john, not just this one, but I need to be hyper-vigilant this time. This vamp’s a good bit more sensitive, aware, than my usual fare.

Perhaps he had a bad day and decided slumming it would make him feel bigger. Not that it matters. He’ll pay. Even if I fluff the price, I doubt he’ll bother with haggling.

I take measure of the man’s broad-shouldered body again, every detail that whispers of privilege, power. It’s possible I’ve tackled more than I can handle.

I inhale, slow and deep, and finally push the worry away. There’s no way I’ll know for sure until it’s too late to matter. It’s the same chance I take any other time. The possibility always exists that a vampire’s craving will be greater than my ability to slake it. Like I have any other choice in the matter; submitting to a pimp’s whims is
not
an option. It’s a dead end.

This is their world. People like Kenna, Jhez, and me—we’re nothing more than a few unremarkable pieces of an inexhaustible resource. There will always be Nightwalkers milling the edges of my blue-lit boulevard, desperate enough to sell themselves. I’ve seen more of them come and go in my time than I want to think about.

I need to focus, find my Zen. If I don’t, it won’t matter how strong I am. I won’t live to see sunrise.

Hiding behind that beauty beside me is a heartless beast. In my experience, a single-minded, selfish creature whose efforts to ease its appetite know no bounds. I don’t pretend to understand vampires, and I don’t pretend to like them.

“A rare gem,” the man beside me murmurs.

Panic swells at his tone, but I let the reaction wash up through me and dissipate without acknowledging it. Can’t afford that sort of emotive response, especially not with a john who seems to be fishing for a weakness, a crack, no matter how small. He doesn’t intend it to be a compliment, I’m sure. Did he actually sense something . . . different?

He falls silent then, and I get the odd impression my lack of engagement frustrates him. By the time I surface from my internal meditation, he’s climbing out of the vehicle. It’s not a matter of trust that permits me the safety of being unresponsive in a stranger’s company. Far from it; every john I’ve dealt with has understood what meeting their demands entails. A certain amount of preparation goes into feeding a john and being able to walk away afterward. That same preparation makes their experience more satisfying and reduces resistance.

Most of them prefer it that way. I steer clear of the ones that don’t.

Most of the time, anyways. It’s usually a simple feat to spot the ones that like their meals screaming and fighting—they don’t tend to offer to pay for it, for one.

My door is open, my john waiting for me to climb out. Chill, untainted air steals the warmth from my skin as I follow in his wake. He pauses long enough to glance over his shoulder at me, but his yellow gaze doesn’t hold that same piercing edge. He merely observes, eyes drifting up and down my form with appreciation. And then he licks his lips.

Despite his obvious anticipation, he seems content to bide his time. I glance up at the monolith of a building, following its austere lines up into the night sky. A glittering glass eye glowing in the darkness, the illumination a strange hue that brings to mind oxygen-rich blood. No soothing blue tones for the wealthy and well-to-do. There’s no trace of expediency as we pass the security barriers at the entrance and go into the lift.

“Greetings, Monsieur.” The disembodied voice is flat and metallic. A building more intelligent than any I’ve frequented thus far. I mean, it’s speaking to him? Really? I didn’t realize vamps were such
Space Odyssey
fanatics. “You have a visitor this evening?”

“Indeed.” Humor laces his voice.

“Very well.” The lift moves smoothly. “Enjoy your evening, Monsieur.”

Who is he to warrant such lavish opulence? And why is someone like him—with a residence that greets him by title, with resources to burn—bothering to troll the Blue District for some easy chi when he likely has it readily available?

Whatever his reason, this one gig will net me and Jhez enough to pay the rent and utilities for the next month. At the very least it will give us some breathing room, and a little extra to squirrel away for that vacation out to the countryside we want to take.

Upstairs, the hall is immaculate. It radiates the same red glow from the ceiling, floor, and walls. A single doorway mars its seamless lines. The vampire palms his security panel, stepping aside as the door slides open soundlessly. He meets my gaze, and his craving sluices over me again. Like it did back on the boulevard, but stronger this time. The wave of hunger is so immense, so powerful, so endless . . . No doubt about it, he had it masked when he approached me on the street.

I step through the door and wonder if I’ll ever see Jhez again.

Everything is black. Obsidian, onyx. Unrelieved. My favorite color, and its unexpected appearance relaxes me. The absence of all light, the presence of all color. The philosophical insinuations of this vamp’s lair soothe my agitation. Lull me. I close my eyes and take a slow breath. Stirring air, the faint rustle of cloth, lets me track my john as he follows in my wake.

The door closes, the latch engaging with a faint click. Tension ripples up my spine: the clawing, adrenaline-driven desire for self-preservation. My eyes slide open. And although my visual senses are useless, other ones—smell, touch—increase to accommodate. There’s incense burning somewhere, a blend of herbs reminding me of musk, of earth. The same scent that assaulted me in his glossy bubble of a car. The lesser concentration gives my surroundings a light, spacious feel, even though I can’t see anything.

The vampire steps past, a shadow of greater density and presence than all the others, his touch on my elbow disembodied as he guides me forward. A rush of adrenaline heightens my senses further. Even my best efforts don’t negate all emotion. A residue of fight or flight remains, along with faint traces of confusion, wariness, distrust. No doubt he’s strong enough to sense it all pulsing from me in heady waves—like getting a whiff of gourmet coffee before taking a sip.

His hunger slams against my aura, all finesse gone, and the force of it knocks the air from my body. So powerful my knees give out, but I manage to turn the sudden collapse into sitting down on his couch. Random stroke of luck that I didn’t hit his coffee table or a floor lamp. My skin crawls beneath the caress of his gaze. I catch a faint glint of his yellow eyes refracting what little illumination there is as he sits just out of arm’s reach.

My resistance is short-lived and feeble. He pierces through it with ease, penetrating my residual defenses, dominating my will. Pleasure swells and I ride the waves, desperately retaining that sliver of awareness, of coherent thought, as he scours me, strips me of every shred of energy, sanity, dignity.

He thought I was strong. Beneath the onslaught of his hunger, I’m not. I underestimated him. It’s a mistake that could cost me everything. His breath is moist against my neck, and I exhale raggedly. Grateful for the tactile sensation, anchoring, grounding.

“Don’t worry.” His voice is rough, hoarse, keyed low. A thread of tension in his tone. “I won’t take it all.”

My mind spins, startled, as his lips drift down over my collarbone. The sensation solidifies my shredded sanity.

He didn’t have to do that—but he did.

I feel his lips curve into a smile against my shoulder before his teeth clamp onto me. His breath and tongue sear along my flesh like fire. My body is limp with exhaustion, uncooperative. I fight oblivion for just a moment longer; it’s all I need to take my price. My hands frame his face, dark wavy hair like silk against my skin. He doesn’t notice my fingers tightening in his hair. Or if he does, the lethargy of energy thrall makes him unable to care.

The lack of resistance makes it easy to slide a foggy dark tentacle of my own inside his defenses. So easy, in fact, that I slip deeper than I intended. The heat of his core scalds my aura as I nip a small sliver of the vampire’s chi. Slick as lava glass and just as sharp along the jagged edges, a dark shade of blue-black somewhere between midnight, indigo, and the strange hue of maroon that blood sometimes has. Clotted blood.

I fondle the little treasure, the real price my john is paying.

And this little piece of vampire, it’s stronger than everything he’s taken from me. More concentrated. The irony is that he’ll never miss it.

It softens finally as I pull away, back into myself. Softens and melts, slipping into my aura, diluting into my energy.

For a few moments, I feel nothing.

And then it hits me like chugging a shot of whiskey. The world blurs and the vamp’s energy thrums against my skin, the trace inside me resonating with his close proximity, my own energy in him doing the same. I can feel myself in him.

Can feel him in me.

My head falls back against the arm of the couch, my eyes wide. I know the ceiling is up there somewhere. Even if it weren’t dark, I couldn’t focus enough to see shit. The vampire’s weight rests atop me, his forehead cool and clammy against my neck. Shallow puffs of breath tickle my skin, make it itch and tingle, nerve endings flaring to life as energy calls to energy, a banked ember in a gentle gust of air.

I need to get the fuck out of here, right now.