“Your hand,” she beckoned.
I extended it palm up and she took it, turning it over and bringing it to her lips. “I’ll just take a sip for now. I wanted you to see real improvement this evening, but I couldn’t go too far. Miracles take time, after all.”
I looked down, trepidation filling me as she drew my knuckles to her lips. As she breathed in, a pleasant tingling started at my chest and diffused outwards. She had explained that there were several ways to drink lifeforce, and we had discussed where she could drink from. I wasn’t ready for some of the ways she described, but I understood the importance and the why.
She drank, wisps of red energy disappearing between her lacquered lips, a wistful sigh falling from her mouth. When she finished, I felt a little lightheaded, and she tugged me down gently onto the bed next to her.
“Take a few deep breaths. It takes some time to get used to the exchange,” she said, rubbing my back. “The transfer seemed to go well. Let’s continue as discussed, once a week for the next month. If her system truly accepts the foreign lifeforce, then––”
“I’ll marry you.”
“Bond. You’ll bond with me,” she corrected gently.
“I’ll do whatever the hell you want if she gets well.” I locked eyes with her, hoping she could see my determination.
She reached up, placing a warm hand on my cheek. “There you go again, saying such scrumptious things, pet. We really do need to work on that. Say that to the wrong monster, and I’ll have to go to war for you.”
I shuddered.
“Hmmm, but I would. It’s been a long time since I’ve had something so captivating to fight for.” Her hand fell away when she stood, sure steps taking her to the window. With her hands braced on the frame, she boosted herself onto the windowsill. She turned, looking over her shoulder, and gave me a devilish smile before she threw herself into the night.
1
Palmer
Five Weeks Later
Most brides would be giddy with excitement on their wedding day. Then again, I mused, most brides expected the groom to attend the big event. From my vantage point draped atop one of the four leather thrones on the raised dais in the VIP section of Club Nyx, I had an undisturbed view of the entire floor. As I watched haints of all kinds mingle with human guests, I wondered, not for the first time, if I was out of my mind to do this.
The thing most people don’t understand about monsters is our overwhelming need to fit in; it is an ache we have to fill, whether it is to feed, to comfort, to fuck, or to possess. We have to seem human, so we take on disguises. Even I play a part: the eccentric, bored club owner looking for her next thrill. Club Nyx serves as a front for the Nyxian Council, providing us with a steady income and a safe place to conduct business during the day. Here, beings who need our unique brand of help come to petition us, much like Gatlin, my would-be groom, did. But at night, the lights go down and the music comes up. The darkness softens our glamours, conceals our fangs, and makes us seem more human. In the night, we blend in and try to take what we need.
Maybe if this works, I won’t have to play anymore. What an appealing thought.
The song changed, though the tempo of the thumping bass never did. I emptied my Moscow mule, my little copper cup barely reaching the tabletop beside me before somebody whisked it away and replaced it with another. My choice of drink was tame this evening. I wasn’t trying to get drunk before my bonding ceremony.
At least I looked the part, my dress extravagant. A long black lace number covered me from neck to wrist to ankle with a slit cut on either side up to my thighs. I wore patent leather stilettos with spikes along the vamp that matched the spiked cuffs at my wrist and neck. Heavy rings with skulls, ravens, and other portents of death wrapped around my fingers like silver snakes. Paired with my dark makeup, I looked like every human’s idea of a monster bride.
“He’s here, Councilwoman Duvall,” Drake, a council enforcer, whispered, his voice a silky tenor in my mind.
“Escort him up and stay close. He may be the type to deliver bad news in person,” I thought back, knowing that if my possible partner refused our contract, he would be fair game to anyone else in the club.
And he’s far too delicious; he’d be gobbled up in no time.
I smirked at the thought. I tracked Drake, watching him escort my groom-to-be across the dance floor to the VIP staircase. Gatlin Rose was dressed as if ready for a funeral, in black from head to toe with a matching black briefcase. His blond hair swept away from his face in neat style, and I itched to run my fingers through the artful curls and mess them up. His face was classically handsome, Scandinavian with icy blue eyes to match, and I felt a little flutter in my chest.
He’s an artist to boot, and I have such a weakness for artists.
“Councilwoman.” Drake bowed and departed, leaving a skittish Gatlin before me.
“Mr. Rose, welcome back to Club Nyx.” I trailed my eyes down his body appreciatively.
He was muscular, more so than I, and that was saying something. My people, the Boo Hags, were once known for our distinct musculature. Finding a man more toned than me wasn’t typical.
“It looks different at night.” He shifted nervously.
“Things often do,” I said as I rose, looking up just a bit, our heights within a few inches of one another. “Do you have something for me, Mr. Rose?”
“Gatlin,” he prompted, reaching into his briefcase, “Since we are to be… bonded, you should call me Gatlin.”
