Page 3 of Damian’s Conquest

Damian left the office and let the door fall shut behind him, while he already walked downstairs and crossed the dance floor. At the coat check, he waved at the two female staff members, Beth and Melanie. Beth was dressed as a sexy nurse though she didn’t have the boobs to fill out her costume fully, Melanie as a 1920s flapper.

“Ready for tonight?” he asked them.

“We’ve got it under control,” Melanie said.

“Don’t worry, Damian,” Beth purred. He knew the vampire female had a crush on him, but she just wasn’t his type. Too skinny.

“Thanks, both of you for working tonight,” he said. “I appreciate it. Keep an eye out for any trouble, will you?”

They both nodded. They knew what he meant. And as vampires they were equipped with the right tools. He wanted no trouble at the club tonight. Damian walked to the entrance door, and opened it a few inches, just wide enough to see the long line that had already formed along the building. Orlando, a vampire who worked as a bouncer, stood there, legs spread wide, arms crossed over his muscled chest, his size and gaze intimidating. He rarely smiled, and Damian had never seen him being taken in by any woman’s charm. As if he was impervious to it, though he knew that Orlando was straight. He wasn’t just a bouncer. Orlando was a trained bodyguard and employed by Scanguards.

“Orlando,” Damian said quietly, knowing that the vampire could hear him without any trouble.

“Yes, Damian?” he answered and turned his head slightly.

“Just a reminder: only hot chicks tonight. And they’d better be wearing something sexy. For the guys the usual standards apply.”

“Understood.” Then he took a step closer to the door. “And our kind?”

Damian knew what Orlando meant by that: vampires. “Let them in, unless they’re known troublemakers. Any Scanguards staff will probably use the back entrance anyway. But if they don’t, just usher them in.”

“Got it.”

Damian nodded before he closed the door again and made his way to the bar. The bartenders were busy stocking the shelves with booze. All bartenders the Mezzanine employed were vampires. Considering the hours the club operated, it was the perfect job for any vampire. While the club belonged in equal parts to Damian’s father, Amaury, and Patrick’s father, Samson, and not to Scanguards itself, the club operated in many ways with the same principles in mind: to provide vampires with employment opportunities and a good income to keep them on the straight and narrow. And to discourage the vampires working at the Mezzanine from snacking on the patrons, there was a separate breakroom accessible via the storeroom in the basement, where bottled human blood was available free of charge.

“Where’s Mick?” Damian asked, when he saw only three bartenders working behind the bar: Sam, Andrew, and Tanja.

Tanja, dressed in a dominatrix suit that fit her like a second skin, turned. “Didn’t show. I called him, but he’s not picking up his cell.”

“Yeah, to leave us hanging on a night like this,” Sam interjected, “pisses me off.” He growled, which didn’t quite fit with his pirate outfit. Argh would have been more like it.

“I’ll call him.” Damian pulled his cell from his pants pocket and scrolled through his contacts, then tapped on Mick Solvang’s number. He liked the guy, and so far, he’d always been responsible. He let it ring. After the fourth ring, it went to voicemail.

“It’s Mick. You know what to do.”

“Where the fuck are you?” Damian barked into the phone, knowing he didn’t need to give his name. “We’re opening in half an hour, and you’re not here. You’d better have a good explanation.”

He disconnected the call.

“Voicemail?” Tanja asked.

“Yeah,” Damian replied. “Are you gonna be able to handle the bar just between the three of you?”

“No chance,” Andrew piped up as he lifted a crate of clean glasses onto the counter. He wore a Village-People-style police uniform, though his pants barely covered his ass. But Damian didn’t care. The Mezzanine catered to all tastes, and Andrew was popular among the gays in San Francisco. “We need at least one more, and even that’s pushing it.”

“Let me see what I can do,” Damian said and started scrolling through his phone when he picked up a movement from the corner of his eye. He turned his head, and grinned. “You’re just what I need right now.”

Buffy, John Grant’s adopted daughter, approached the bar. She’d entered the club via the back entrance that allowed Scanguards staff and associates to get into the club by using a biometric entrance system, bypassing the front entrance. Buffy was black, human, and only twenty-one years old. At age ten she’d been kidnapped by a child sex trafficking ring, and Savannah, her mother, had hired Scanguards to get her back. John had moved heaven and earth to rescue Buffy, and Savannah had blood-bonded with John shortly after that. Buffy regarded John as her father, and had known about vampires since the night of her rescue.

“Hey, Damian, what’s up?” Buffy said and hopped onto the bar, letting her feet dangle in the air.

Damian gestured to her clothing, a short black leather skirt, boots that reached to her knees, a skimpy red tank top, and a belt. Was that a stake tucked into it? Around her neck hung a necklace with a large cross.

“Who are you supposed to be?”

“Can’t you see?” Sam asked from behind the bar. “She’s the slayer, you know, Buffy the Vampire Slayer? It’s a classic.”

Buffy did a high five with Sam, before turning back to Damian. “See, he gets it.”