Page 5 of Threads of Crimson

“I don’t know what you mean,” I responded, cursing myself for the change in routine.

Damien quirked an eyebrow. “We respect your privacy and desire to be alone. Please don’t insult my intelligence. Even if I was an ignorant man before my turning, I’ve got a couple of centuries under my belt now.”

“I suppose you do,” I conceded. “Is there a problem?”

“I don’t know. Is there?”

He stared at me intently, and I realized where his apprehension was coming from. He assumed I’d been frequenting this establishment more regularly out of a distaste for something I saw happening here. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but since I didn’t feed more than once a month, and I had indeed been coming every other week, I understood his concern.

Forcing my shoulders to relax, I pasted what I hoped came off as a smile instead of a grimace on my face. “I find myself growing…bored.”

Damien’s lips twitched minutely as his own body relaxed. “Are you lonely, Mr. Moretti?”

Frowning, I straightened up and gazed back out into the center of the room. “And we were having such a pleasant conversation.”

Damien cleared his throat, and I wondered if he realized how much of a tell that was. Between the clasping of his hands and leaning forward and the clearing of his throat—both such mundane behaviors—it was easy to guess how much time he spent around humans.

Of course, I already knew the answer to that. It was a lot. More than most vampires could even handle with the scent of all the blood surrounding them. But he’d opened the Velvet Vein a long, long time ago, and the backroom was his base of operations.

He stood, gripping the back of his chair. “So you’re not staking out my club for any reason I should be aware of?”

“No.” I flicked a hand in his direction, knowing he’d get the hint. This conversation was over.

Benji

“How’s Eric doing?” Rafe asked, pulling my attention from where Lysandro had settled at his usual table.

Lysandro Moretti. The whole reason I still hung out at Velvet Vein, even though I’d made more than enough money to get a nicer apartment with decent roommates, buy a wardrobe I was proud of, a 65-inch flat screen TV, start school online, and save up a nice little cushion.

“He’s good. Now that he’s got a vampy Sugar Daddy, I don’t hear from him as often, but he said he’s living the dream.”

“Good.” Rafe grinned. “I’m happy for him. He’s a nice guy.”

Unfortunately, I wasn’t too sure about the nice part, but he’d done me a solid by hooking me up. He’d been right; becoming a blood donor had truly changed my life. If only I could work up the nerve to approach a certain ancient vampire.

“I wonder what’s going on,” I said as Damien and Ronan appeared at the vamp-of-my-dreams table.

Damien usually emerged from his office at least once during the night. In the last few years, he’d checked in with me several times—as he did with all the humans who frequented the club—but he very rarely came out and socialized. I’d seen other sharp-dressed men and women disappear back down what I considered his hall several times, but I’d never been invited back.

Rafe shrugged. “Who knows. I’ll be back.”

He made his way down the bar to serve another customer, but I stayed glued to the action in the corner. When Ronan stomped away, coming toward me, there was murderous intent written all over his face. Something hadn’t gone well over there.

“Hey, Ronan. What’s going on? You alright?”

It took a minute for him to school his features back into the smirk I’d grown accustomed to. I knew Damien owned Velvet Vein, but Ronan ran it. He was always out here, greeting the patrons, checking in with the donors, and stepping in if there was a problem. He’d even volunteered to be my first client, which I’d appreciated. Even after sitting and watching several people be used as a blood bag, I’d been apprehensive of sharp fangs piercing my skin.

Eric and Sadie had been right, though. It wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t as pleasurable for me as others seemed to find it, but I’d never gotten sexual with any of the customers, and they said it was rare to orgasm from the wrist. The neck or femoral artery seemed to be the sweet spot for that, and I was saving that prime real estate for one specific set of teeth.

“Benji. It’s always good to see you. How was your week?”

“No complaints,” I said, wondering if there was a way to ask what happened with Lysandro.

He sat on the stool next to me. “You weren’t here Wednesday.”

“Yeah, I had an assignment due, so I stayed home.” I gestured around. “With all the new donors around here who need the money, I figured coming once a week from now on is enough.”

No way was I giving up Saturday nights. I’d been disappointed when I realized Lysandro only came once a month, but Rafe had explained to me that the older the vampire, the less they needed to feed. Although, neither one of us knew anyone who only utilized a donor once a month.