Page 3

Finn

It takes me a little too long to find something to wear, so I’m barely ready when Bedeer and his friends pull up at my place.

In the end, I’ve settled for a plain white tee that’s a little too big and a pair of skinny jeans that are a little on the too small side.

But as I squeeze myself into the car, Willan assures me they make my ass look great, so at least I have that going for me.

Because it’s apparent I missed the memo on the dress code. The awareness of my faux pas only gets worse when we make our way into the club. Black and see-through, black and vintage lace, black and leather. So long as it’s black.

I feel like a glowing neon light.

Bloody Temptations is like nowhere I’ve ever been before.

Back home in Twin Heads I was only ever brave enough to go to our local gay club, Slash, once.

But that club had a very, very different aesthetic to the black and red, goth-pop thing this place has going on.

They’ve plastered the logo—plump red lips in a sneer, revealing vampire fangs and a drip of blood—everywhere they can.

It’s nothing like the chill, cosy vibes of the place I usually chose to drink at, the Black Stump Tavern .

At least Bedeer’s friends are nice. They’ve all been super welcoming and not at all weird about hanging out with a vamp for the night.

They haven’t even implied once that I was going to bite them.

It’s surprising how many beings think that shit is okay.

It certainly was the first few dozen times it happened to me.

“Right, here’s the shots,” Jax announces, shouldering his way up to the table to deposit the tray of drinks.

Jax is neither a mage, witch, or fae. The handsome giant is an orc. Accountant by day, greyish-green sex god by night, apparently. Built like a brick house, the orc is almost busting out of the tiny black booty shorts struggling to contain him.

I eye the tray of drinks warily. Honestly, it feels weird getting drunk at midnight now—it’s like the middle of the day for me.

Everyone else has been pregaming, though, so they are far ahead of me.

Even Bedeer managed to get in some drinks between work and picking me up.

I’ve been warned I’ll have to catch up. Which explains the two shot glasses filled with blood.

“Got extra for you too, my dude.” Jax grins down at me, nudging me with a friendly elbow, confirming my suspicions.

Socialising isn’t exactly my forte—I tend to end up making a massive dork of myself—so I gratefully throw back one shot, and chase it with the other.

“Yeah, boy! That’s what we’re talking about!

” Lusce drums on the table. He’s taller than I thought he’d be from the photos Bedeer showed me.

His long silver hair skims down his back in a perfect, smooth wave.

He’s just as pretty in real life as the pictures.

His liquid silver eyes match his hair, and his complexion looks like he’s never even heard of teenage acne.

It has to be a glamour trick. No one is that blessed, surely ?

Jax throws a heavy arm over my shoulder and shakes me with a chaotic laugh.

I’m not a hundred percent sure if he’s aware that he’s effectively shoving my face into his armpit, with all its glorious black hair, or what that sort of thing does to me, so I wriggle out of his grasp while everyone around the table laughs.

I can already feel the red hot flush on my cheeks, courtesy of the two shots.

“Fuck’s sake guys, calm your shit. You’re acting like a pack of wild animals.” Jesminda smacks the table to get their attention and points her finger threateningly at them.

It’s a believable threat too; the witch’s finger sparks red with magic.

Despite the fierce way she’s jabbing at her friends, she’s rather nice.

She spent the whole car ride here asking me questions about back home in Twin Heads, telling me all about her job working at her family's market garden and making sure I wasn’t left out of any of the little jokes the group has.

“We’re just playing.” Willan rolls his eyes and waves his hand, smiling at me pinned between Jesminda and Jax.

The moment passes before the uncomfortable feeling of being the centre of attention gets to be too much. I let the conversation flow around me and I’m all too happy to fade into the background and being-watch.

Besides, it’s too loud to hear what they’re saying in here anyway. I think they are talking about Jax’s recent break up. Though the big guy doesn’t seem too cut up about it.

Another drink is pressed into my hand. I feel kind of bad but the guys shut me down. Not that it matters, since my protests are cut off when the club explodes with sound .

“What in the actual f—” I lean into the table to ask what’s going on but I’m almost thrown off my stool when everyone at the table joins in the screaming.

“I thought we might’ve missed it! Willan’s gonna be pissed!”

Before I can ask what Willan, who’s just left us to go to the bathroom, is going to be pissed about, Jax’s arm is back around my shoulder. This time he’s pulling me off my perch. He spins me to face the bar, my feet scrambling to keep me upright, and points a meaty finger towards the front bar.

“Watch!” he yells in my ear, the sound reverberating and tickling my neck.

Well, Godsdamn, who could look away?

My ill-timed sip of blood has me swallowing the too large mouthful awkwardly. But even as my eyes fill with tears and I put my glass on the table for safety, I don’t take my eyes off the bar.

Two offensively hot vampires are engaged in the most disgustingly ridiculous, erotic air guitar-slash-lip sync battle.

It should not, in any universe, be hot, but it is.

It’s so fucking hot. Maybe it’s their perfectly sculpted thick chests, or the teeny, tiny shorts that skim their perfect V lines and cup their round asses.

Or their thick, toned thighs, and the way their muscles clench and flex under the flashing lights.

Fuck me dead, even their white crew socks are upsettingly sexy.

I’m very uncomfortably aware of all the alcoholised-blood rushing towards my dick, leaving a fiery flush in its wake. I almost feel embarrassed looking at them, like I, with my painfully average body and utterly forgettable face, am not worthy of being in their presence.

“Hot, right?” Jesminda leans forward, her hair no longer slicked back in its sleek black bob, the heat and sizzling magic in the club affecting even her glamour spell. I nod dumbly, not able to get my tongue to cooperate .

“They have fan accounts and everything,” She adds, with a conspiratorial wink.

How did I not already know this? Even though I can a thousand-percent see why, it’s definitely information I don’t need to know. There is no way I won’t be looking the pair up to jerk off like a total loser.

The shorter one with the long, blonde curls jerks the brunette up by his hair. The brunette is taller by a couple of inches, but they make the difference work as they make out on the bar top—the image searing itself into my vision until the end of time.

I can’t tear my eyes off them, especially the taller one. He lets the blonde control the kiss with a fist in his hair, his back muscles flexing mesmerizingly as he rolls his hips in perfect sync with the music. It’s obvious he’s loving every second of the attention he’s getting.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so horny or jealous in my entire life.

The song ends and the vampires jump down from the bar. With the show over, and a new track starting, the club settles back into business as usual.

“Fuck! I missed it, didn't I?” Willan cries out, making his way back to us with epically terrible timing. He looks all kinds of confused and conflicted, his angular, hooded eyes narrowing at the now empty bar.

In frustration he undoes the top three buttons on his high-necked black frock-coat, tugging the collar away from his throat.

From the pictures Bedeer has insisted on showing me at work, the fancy long coats seem to be his version of the capes and layers I’m used to seeing mages in.

With the shining silver buttons and the black embroidery, it is just as dramatic.

Bedeer smacks him on the shoulder.

“There’s always next time!” He shouts at his friend who isn’t terribly comforted. “But for now, at least we can dance. Let’s go! ”

Jesminda tries to pull me along too, but there is no way in this life, or my last one, I am going to embarrass myself attempting to dance. The group pushes just until it’s about to get awkward, before they give up—which is how I know they are cool. I really don’t mind sitting and watching.

Honestly, I’ve kind of already fulfilled my “getting out of my comfort zone” quota for the day by being here. Getting all weird and sweaty out there on the dance floor might be pushing things a little too far. Even if they do look like they are having the time of their life out there.

I begin to feel a little self conscious holding my empty glass, watching them like a creeper, but not quite enough to get over myself and join them.

I wouldn’t even have to worry about being the biggest dork out there.

Lusce and Jax seem to be doing their absolute best to embarrass Willan, who is craning his neck every which way trying to get a look over the crowd.

Probably trying to catch sight of the hot vampires at the main bar. Can’t say I blame him.

“You gonna get out there, hot stuff?” The voice in my ear sends a shiver down my spine, making the muscles spasm painfully.

I’m so spooked by the sudden intrusion I almost drop my glass, but the stranger's hand snaps out to catch it with startling speed. Their throaty chuckle follows the save. “You’d look good out there, shaking your stuff.”

I finally crack, snorting out an embarrassing laugh that makes my stomach tighten with a flare of panic.

“Laying it on a little thick there aren’t you?” My eye roll is heavy-handed. But not nearly as much as their corny come-ons.

It doesn’t stop the blush from heating my cheeks and the tips of my ears. There is another throaty chuckle, not as close anymore .

Turning on my stool, I almost fall off when I catch one of them—the hot vampire bartenders—smiling at me.

He’s taller than I realised, his golden brown skin shining with sweat and what looks like glitter.

I try not to stare at the hard planes of his chest and stomach, even though his dusky pink nipples are basically staring me in the face.

It’s even more spectacular this close. His chest, I mean. I can see every line of muscle under his skin and even… is that a scar on his stomach? The mess of raised lines on the right side of his abdomen are barely visible, but considering he’s a vampire he shouldn’t have them at all. Strange.

With one elbow on our high top table, he doesn’t look at all bothered about being half-naked. In fact, I think he enjoys it—especially when my traitorous eyes dip down to quickly check out just how tight those red shorts are.

Tight. The answer is tight. There are zero secrets there. They hide nothing. In fact, they kind of scream the answer. Fuck.

His smile is even wider when I snap my eyes back up to his, his left fang digging into his lower lip just slightly.

I think his eyes are brown, nearly black, it’s hard to tell in the club lighting.

But they have the telltale red ring around the iris and they are definitely laughing.

At me or with me I’m not exactly sure yet.

My stomach does a few back flips under the intensity of his attention, the sounds of the club fading more and more the longer we hold eye contact. He shifts on his feet, leaning heavily against the table. Apparently, he has nothing better to do than stand there and stare at me all night.

“Don’t think I’m laying it on thick enough, actually.” He says eventually, raking his eyes over me again .

They leave a trail of scorching heat all over my skin that isn’t entirely to do with my blush and suddenly I don't know what to do with the butterflies currently exploding in my stomach.

“Do you guys work on tips or something?” It finally dawns on me why he is loitering around, and I feel even more embarrassed that I thought there was even a remote chance he was interested in talking to me.

I mean, look at him, and I really do let myself look. He’s perfection, and I’m… me. There isn’t particularly anything wrong with me. I’m not repulsive or anything, but it’s like comparing a halogen light to the sun. Looking at him, I feel so glaringly average.

Actually, that’s the perfect description for me. Average. Average height, average looks, average body.

The only way I really manage to break my personal mould is with my uncharacteristically shitty job and apartment. Which isn’t something to gloat over.

Thank the Gods the lighting in here is all flashy and shit—hopefully he can’t see the embarrassed burn on my cheeks.

All the blood—and alcohol—I’ve drunk tonight rushes to my head as I try to dig into my back pocket to find my wallet.

The quicker I pay the tip, the quicker this whole ridiculous scene will be over and this uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach can go away.

The stool I’m perched on wobbles precariously as I dig into the too tight jeans and it’s tipping before I realise the issue. My arms fly out frantically, but I only catch the air, unable to catch myself.

This is gonna hurt, my brain offers unhelpfully, as the world goes sideways. But I don’t know if my body or ego is going to hurt worse as I hurtle in what feels like slow motion towards the ground.