Page 47 of Grim’s Delight (The New Protectorate Syndicate #1)

TWENTY-FIVE

The last threads of her patience snapped when she walked into the little clinic on the first floor of the mansion.

She hadn’t even known it was there until Milo told her where Alvin would be setting up.

The fact that they had a use for a private medical space in their home didn’t surprise her, but walking in to find her husband sitting on one of the exam tables made its existence almost intolerable.

Dahlia practically vibrated as she stalked across the room, her heels tapping on the sterile white tile. A cluster of men stood off to one side, Milo among them, and appeared to be debriefing. A few more sat on chairs or perched on beds, their faces streaked with dust and blood.

Felix was by far the worse off.

Alvin bent over his naked torso, painstakingly gluing together the torn skin on his shoulder and side. Blood streaked across his chest and splattered his stiff jaw as he held his right arm up at an angle to allow the doctor to work.

A buzzing noise took up residence in her ears. It blocked out the sounds of conversation and the whir of an air purifier. Even her own breathing was muffled.

In an instant, she understood a little bit of how he must’ve felt when he found out she’d been impaled. Seeing him injured, knowing that he could’ve died, was so wrong it felt incompatible with reality.

She had no way of knowing what was new vampire instinct and what was the natural result of loving him. Whatever it was, Dahlia had never been so angry and so happy to see someone in her life.

The men leaned back as she passed them, their gazes hastily averting as if they feared getting caught in the cross-fire of her temper.

Felix watched her storm in with a look of trepidation. “I’m fine,” he assured her, glancing quickly at Alvin. “Tell her I’m fine.”

Alvin dutifully repeated, “He’s fine.”

Dahlia jammed a finger into Felix’s undamaged shoulder. “Are you fucking kidding me with this?”

“What? I didn’t do anything!”

“Felix, you could’ve died!”

Wincing as Alvin applied a rubbery bandage to his side, he replied, “Alastair wasn’t trying to kill us. He was getting us back for torching his yacht last week.”

Dahlia propped her hands on her hips. The tit-for-tat fighting between the Bowans and the Amauris had been going on for nearly two weeks. She wasn’t even sure how much of it was about getting her back anymore and how much was pure, masculine bullshit.

In a more normal world, she would’ve brushed it off and put her attention somewhere more important. But this wasn’t normal. Sooner rather than later, someone was going to get killed — and then it wouldn’t just be burned yachts and exploded warehouses. It’d be war.

It’d taken a minute, but Dahlia had come to like seeing Felix whole and undamaged. The rest of his family could stay that way, too.

In the two weeks since she’d begun to really settle into syndicate life, she’d accompanied Felix during meetings, negotiations, and deals all within the walls of the mansion.

She’d gotten a crash course in navigating Amauri business interests alongside a taste of the internal workings of the family.

She’d always tried her best to not learn too much during her time at The Lush, but she had. And all that knowledge gave her a surprisingly solid foundation as she found her footing beside him.

The elders couldn’t intimidate her. They had nothing on a drunk vampire mercenary “just looking for a sip” at the end of her shift.

The soldiers looked at how she handled Felix and quickly fell in line. They were used to Dora, Marietta explained, and overall seemed relieved to have a strong woman at the helm again.

And when it came to Felix himself… Well, he wasn’t bluffing when he said he wanted a partner.

He included her in everything, even if she felt like it was above her pay grade or outright unnecessary.

A new desk had been purchased so they could sit beside each other to work.

He looped her into text threads and suspiciously squeaky clean accounts.

Nearly every decision he made, he ran it by her first. Not because he needed the help, but because he wanted it.

Just about the only thing they couldn’t seem to collaborate on was the damn foolish pissing contest he was determined to win against Alastair.

“This has to stop,” she announced, trying to sound calm when all she wanted to do was throttle and kiss him. “Soon enough one of ours or one of his is going to actually get hurt, and then this will stop being a game. I won’t have anyone dying for me, Felix. This is my family, too.”

Like always, it appeared he was about to put her off, but Dahlia wasn’t having it this time. “You aren’t keeping me locked in the house any longer. I am going to go outside. I am going to show Mr. Bowan that he should stop fighting this. And you are not going to stop me.”

She knew it’d be a good night. Felix begged to differ.

“This is a terrible fucking idea.”

“No, it’s not,” she breezily replied, pressing her foot down on the gas pedal of her shiny new sports car. It zipped down the strange, narrow streets of United Washington at something slightly less than a breakneck speed.

They were headed for Old Blood, the premier vampire establishment in United Washington.

Mere steps from Congress, where the representatives of all the territories and their factions met to vote on laws, it was apparently one of the few buildings to survive the century of war that saw the city burned to the ground.

Milo, who turned out to be something of a history buff, had explained to her that it was where the first members of the syndicate had agreed to rebuild the city themselves.

Dahlia and Felix weren’t going to make history. They were going to make a statement.

When they pulled up to Old Blood, Felix didn’t let the valet open her door for her. Standing in his black on black suit, he swept the door of her silver sports car open and held out his hand. Dahlia’s red nails gleamed against the pale skin of his palm as she placed one heel on the street.

Her heels and tights were a matching crimson, creating one streamlined swath of bloody red beneath her short blazer dress. The neckline plunged nearly to her bellybutton, exposing bare skin — and a tapestry of healing bites and hickies.

She figured Felix would’ve been a lot more smug about the sight of them if she hadn’t forced him into this position. But some things had to be done.

Tossing her keys to the valet, he pressed close to her. A warm hand settled on the small of her back. “Half an hour,” he whispered, escorting her around the front of the car and onto the curb.

Two Amauri soldiers slipped into place behind them as they approached the antique glass doors of the social club.

Bringing some security had been the only way to get Felix to agree to the outing.

While Old Blood was supposed to be neutral ground, the likelihood of violence was low but not impossible.

They had to take their own car, though, because her new baby could only fit the two of them.

Felix’s mouth pressed into a hard line as he opened the door for her.

Dahlia swept inside, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dim lighting of the social club.

In some ways, it was just like The Lush: a long bar dominated one side of the room, semi-private booths dotted the other half, and one corner was dedicated to music.

Except it couldn’t have been more different.

The bar wasn’t acrylic and lit by LEDs to show off the rows and rows of expensive synth below and behind it. There was no chrome and no cheap red vinyl. Everything, from the walls to the bar to the booths, was made of richly polished wood accented with brass.

Instead of a DJ booth, there was a small stage with a grand piano, where a heavy-lidded man played a sultry tune.

Golden light spilled from globe lamps and twinkled in the antique mirror behind the bar.

Oil paintings in heavy gold frames covered the walls.

When she glanced up, she found the ceiling painted with a scene featuring the goddess Grim by her riverbank, surrounded by adoring vampires.

By her feet, sinful souls reached up from the muddy bank, their mouths open and tears streaming.

Perched on stools and lounging around tables with white tablecloths were vampires of every stripe. The only things they seemed to have in common were the reek of wealth and the bottles of luxury alcoholic synth in their hands.

Dahlia had never really considered The Lush to be low class. If anything, she’d always thought it was pretty trendy. The design was sophisticated, the service good, and the music passable.

But compared to Old Blood, the nicest thing she could call it was tacky.

The hair on her arms stood up as attention swung their way. She didn’t need to recognize any of the faces in the room to know that every single one of them hid a powerful predator.

Only the elite of the syndicate were welcome in Old Blood, and only the most dangerous vampires could earn the title.

Am I one of them now?

It was a bizarre realization to have as Felix guided her to a table in the center of the room. Their security found a table slightly off to the side as she slipped into her seat.

A tuxedo-clad waiter materialized by their table almost instantly.

Not a crease out of place, sterile gloves fitted perfectly, and expression one of carefully calibrated professional warmth, he took their orders like serving them a couple bottles of hundred dollar synth was the highlight of his night.

When he stepped away, Dahlia leaned over to Felix and muttered, “This is so weird.”

He slung an arm around her shoulders and drew her into his side. Gaze moving around the bar, Felix affected a casual but proprietary air as he leaned back in his seat. “In what way?”

“Like a month ago I was working in a vampire bar,” she answered. “Now I’m a customer at the most exclusive one on the continent. Just feels…”

Dahlia trailed off, unable to explain the nuance of it to him. Felix had grown up in this life. He’d never worked a service job or been looked down upon in the same way she had. It wasn’t just about having suddenly swapped places with the waiter. It was about the fact that she had power.

It hadn’t really hit her until that moment, when they walked through doors that never would’ve been opened to her in her old life.

She was so used to being prey that suddenly being seen as one of the predators was jarring.

Felix rubbed her shoulder with his thumb. It was a deceptively lazy touch that stood in stark contrast to the tension she could feel radiating off him in waves. “If you’re uncomfortable, we could go home,” he offered far too eagerly.

Dahlia rolled her eyes. “You promised me a half hour.”

“Did I? Doesn’t sound like me.” He ran his tongue along the length of one fang, his gaze still roving the room like he thought someone was going to jump out of the paneling and snatch her.

“We could go home right now, tell everyone to fuck off, and you could let me eat you out on my desk again. That sounds like a way better night.”

Trying to look relaxed, like she belonged, Dahlia replied, “Let’s not pretend like you aren’t going to do that anyway. If there’s a man who likes to eat pussy more than you, Felix, I haven’t met him — and wouldn’t survive him if I did.”

A bark of laughter erupted out of him. Quickly covering his mouth with a fist, he chuckled as the waiter returned with their synth.

He cracked the seals on the fancy black glass bottles, activating the heat and ensuring it was fresh, before he set their bottles down in front of them. The waiter vanished as quickly as he arrived, leaving them to their drinks.

Eyeing her bottle with interest, she whispered, “I only ever sold a couple of these bottles to VIPs at The Lush. I always wondered what made them special enough to be worth the price.”

Felix looped his fingers around the neck of his bottle but didn’t drink. Giving her an indulgent look, he said, “Try a sip and tell me if it’s worth it.”

Careful with her lipstick, Dahlia brought the bottle to her mouth for a taste — and promptly choked.

Turning her face toward his shoulder to hide her coughing fit, her eyes watered as she forced the mouthful of rancid alcoholic piss water down her throat. Felix’s laughter was more like a maniacal giggle as he rubbed her back. “What? Don’t like it?”

“What is that?” she hissed, staring in horror into the opening.

It didn’t taste like any of the synth she’d had before. Admittedly, she’d only ever tried two brands before drinking from Felix replaced any bottled nutrients, but none of them had tasted like hot bottled ass.

“That’s top-shelf alcoholic synth,” he answered, lifting his own bottle to peer thoughtfully at the label. “Used to be my favorite. Now it probably tastes like sewer water.”

Grimacing, she set her bottle well away from her. “What changed?”

Felix tilted his head to press a lingering kiss to the freshest bite on her throat. “You.”

Pressing her thighs together, Dahlia tried to rein in the surge of lust that shot through her whenever he put his lips anywhere on her body. Over the last few weeks she hadn’t just begun to adapt to her new life. She’d also been trained to crave his lips on skin and the sweet pain of his bite.

Feeding him and being fed by him were the two greatest pleasures she’d ever known. It was impossible for her to imagine a life without them now.

“Feeding on me makes synth taste awful?” she asked, voice a little huskier than before.

Felix hummed. “For those of us lucky enough to feed from the vein, synth will never compare. We’re primed to prefer the taste of our own venom mixing with our anchor’s blood. It makes them taste so much sweeter.”

That made sense. Still, Dahlia couldn’t help but mutter, “If you knew it’d be undrinkable, why did you order two hundred dollars worth of synth?”

“We’re in a bar,” he answered, shrugging. “It’d be rude not to order something.”

“You didn’t have to encourage me to drink it, though, did you?”

Whatever levity Felix managed to scrounge up evaporated as his attention snagged on a man striding toward their table. “Let’s call it my toll for letting you talk me into this.”