Page 7

Kai

“Hello, beautiful beings!” I announce to the breakroom, throwing the door wide open. There’s a crash when it hits the wall, with a few boxes falling off the shelves from the impact. “Whoops.”

I wince, stepping over them to throw my duffle bag into my cubby. I should probably stop being so dramatic with my entrances.

There’s only one being in the room, Erod, a tall fae with a stubby hot pink ponytail and a perpetual scowl. He doesn’t respond, just looks up from his phone to give me a baleful look before using his magic to lift the boxes back into place.

“It’s gonna be a good night, Erod.” Okay, so I always think it’s gonna be a good night, but to be fair, I’m usually right.

I give him a big cheesy grin and start getting myself organised.

It’s only midweek, and Nikolo’s not on shift tonight, so there’s no fun get-ups to work the bar—just my black jeans and super tight black singlet.

I shuck my thick hoodie and cram it in my bag and grab my toiletries, moving to the small vanity to finish up.

It’s not that I’m vain, but I like to look good for work. Okay, maybe it is that I’m vain. But it’s also because the tips are better when my body shimmers under the bar lights, so I dutifully rub glitter moisturiser over my chest, and touch up my eye-liner all under Erod’s vaguely disapproving eye.

When I’m done, I make sure my hair is looking perfect.

It’s all natural tonight—meaning a long wavy mop that has a tendency to frizz when it gets all hot and humid behind the bar—something that shouldn’t be an issue midweek.

For a finishing touch I add a thick, silver, collar-like chain around my neck.

Grabbing my till key, I shoot finger guns at Erod as I leave—just because I know he secretly loves it—and head through the inconspicuous door into the club.

Bloody Temptations has a very different vibe on weeknights. It’s still tacky and kind of over the top, but the music is more chill and the lights less flashy. There are crowds milling about the high tables, and half the booths are occupied with beings and humans enjoying after work drinks.

I scoot my way behind the bar, up-nodding Aiden, the weekday security guy on the way. Belinda is caught up with a mixed group of beings and humans in suits ordering an absolute suite of complicated cocktails by the looks of it, so I log on to one of the tills and get to work.

“What can I get for you?” I ask absently, tucking a towel into my back pocket and checking the diary for any notes.

Amongst the stupid messages we leave for each other, I spot it. Fuck. A pre-mateship party is coming in this weekend. From the size of the booking they are going to take up the whole club.

Ugh. Pre-mateship parties are always filled with drunk menaces. There’s always a disturbing percentage of the group who get handsy with the staff, none of them ever tip and they piss off the rest of the patrons .

“Uh, I’ll just have another blood-apple martini, thanks?” My sluggish heart stutters and my eyes snap up to the being at the bar. How the fuck had I missed him sitting there?

Maybe it’s because he’s in all black tonight.

It doesn’t suit him in the slightest. The cut of his loose shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show off his delicious collar bones, is perfect, but the black is too harsh and washes him out.

Not that it matters—he still has that aura of adorable-awkwardness that is indescribably attractive. At least on him.

He looks just as uncomfortable tonight as he did last time he was here, nervously fidgeting with his martini glass.

There is enough of a flush on his cheeks to show that the blood in the glass in front of him wasn’t his first tonight.

It’s gotta be fresh and strong in the system to show that vividly on his cheeks.

My lips curve into a sly smile and I lean forward onto the bar, just as eager to get all up into his space as I was last time.

“Hot Stuff! You came back!” He freezes like a rabbit when I lean a little bit closer, getting as close as I can to his ear with the bar between us. “You came to see me, didn’t you?”

Those brilliant green eyes flare wide and he jerks—not away from me, just awkwardly on the spot, like he doesn’t actually want me out of his personal space. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

His complete lack of game is endearing, but not as endearing as his blush. It’s a sight to behold. All the blood he’s drunk tonight rushes violently to his head. It turns him a bright red colour from his hairline all the way to where his creamy skin disappears beneath his collar.

My first question is why getting under this guy's skin sparks something so strong in my guts?

My second question is how he manages such a wickedly powerful blush for a vampire? Maybe it’s a superpower. Not that us vamps have those .

“Uh-er-I-nooo.” He manages to scoff eventually, dragging out the no with an eye roll.

The exaggerated “no” highlights his accent.

I didn’t catch it last time over the music, but it’s easier to hear tonight.

I wonder where he’s from? Finn fidgets with the paper coaster in front of him while trying not to squirm on his stool.

I pump my eyebrows at him, needling him a little more, smirking while I step back and gather what I need for his cocktail.

“That,” I say, pouring in the blood and booze and ice without even thinking about it. It’s all muscle memory at this point. “Is total bullshit. You definitely came here to see me.”

I slam on the lid of the cocktail shaker and drown out his protests with the ice on metal. His eyes—still with the extra intense red iris ring of a baby vamp—watch my biceps as they clench and flex.

When his tongue darts out and his fang bites into his lower lip I decide to put on a bit of a show, spinning the shaker in the air and tossing it behind my back in a series of tricks it took Nikolo and I ages to perfect.

I’ve always enjoyed being watched and Finn seems to really enjoy watching, but my show ponying ways are interrupted when a group joins us at the bar.

Sometimes being this dazzling has its drawbacks. Like when the group, a bunch of semi-regulars in slick suits—who never tip as well as they pretend to—start crowding around Finn, boxing him out of his own live performance.

It kills the moment between us and I’m forced to leave him to go and do my job, leaving him to nurse his drink at the bar. His eyes never leave me, though. He thinks he’s being sneaky, but he’s anything but. His eyes dart away and his ears turn pink whenever I catch him.

I really fucking like it .

Too many cocktails—all with too many ingredients—later, I succeed in working my way back to him. This time with the very handy excuse of having to unload the glasses.

“So, if it isn’t me, what brought you back here tonight?”

Finn toys with the stem of his glass to avoid eye contact while he considers my question.

“I guess it’s nice to be somewhere where being a vamp isn’t weird.” His eyes snap to me, extra wide and panicked. “I don’t mean—I mean—not that being a vamp is weird or like—”

I decide to take pity on the poor guy, reaching out to capture his hand in mine before he knocks himself unconscious—a real risk with the way he’s flailing it about.

Finn’s panicked gaze flicks down to where we’re joined, his body frozen mid motion. Was he a rabbit before he turned? He sure is sketchy like a rabbit shifter I used to know.

He doesn’t pull out of my grip, so I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I get it.”

And seriously, I do. I also really don’t want to let go of his hand.

Especially when his throat bobs with an exaggerated swallow, and his pupils widen.

All the tiny little things that make my teeth ache to pierce that delicate skin.

But the touch has gone from “casual reassurance” to “dude, you’re at work” so I prise my fingers off him.

Like the moment was a glamour cast over us, it breaks with the contact. Finn clears his throat and wriggles uncomfortably on his stool. Me? I’m just grateful I’ve got the bar between us to hide the semi making my jeans uncomfortable.

“Your friends seemed cool when you were here last,” I offer to keep the conversation rolling. There are only so many glasses to stack away and all too soon I’m going to have to leave him here and go do my actual job again .

Finn swallows the mouthful of his drink, delicately reaching up to wipe away a hint of blood at the corner of his lips.

“Uh, yeah. They are cool. I really only know one of them-we work together. They were his friends, but they were cool. Really accepting. Not everyone is, you know?”

I certainly do. We’ve made a lot of strides to stamp out the inter-being bigotry over the years, but vampires seem to be the last bastion of hatred.

Even before I turned, I never understood what society's issues with vamps are. Obviously, I didn’t have any problems, since I worked at a vamp bar and all. It’s all just never made sense to me.

I mean, it could be the whole “us consuming their blood” thing. Before bottled blood, that was obviously a bit of an issue. But nowadays it’s not exactly a problem is it? And never mind the fact that for some of us, the alternative to turning was death.

I don’t say any of that, though—my hunger to find out more about Finn is too strong. “What do you do for work?”

Finn grimaces. “I,” he says dramatically, draining the last of his drink, “answer phones for Osneau Roadside Assist.”

“Not the career of your dreams I take it?”

Finn snorts derisively. “No. But it’s what I’m able to do. So I do what I must.”

The alcohol has loosened his tongue, and there is a definite story there. I’m itching to find out more, but I’ve officially run out of glasses.

“If you had a choice, what would you be doing?” I buy myself some time by wiping down the bar area, even though it’s already clean and I can feel my shift manager’s eyes boring into me.

Finn’s head tips to the side while he ponders my question.