Page 51

Hyde Park really was the worst town.

Soren sipped his too-sweet cocktail, eyeing the bar he’d found himself in skeptically. It was the closest thing he could find to a decent gay bar without driving an hour away, but the “closest thing” wasn’t nearly close enough.

The yokel in flannel currently grinding on some poor girl in yoga pants was a prime illustration of that fact.

Still, it wasn’t the worst place. Decent drinks, with a dance floor that, despite current evidence to the contrary, could get lively enough on a weekend night.

But it was nothing compared to the clubs Soren had frequented in his travels.

Soren licked his lips as memories of slick skin and tight bodies gyrating under glowing lights ran through his mind.

Paris, New York, Dubai. There were so many better places to be.

This is what happens when you settle in Nowheresville, Colorado, instead of moving on like you’re supposed to .

Soren could head to Mexico City right now if he really wanted to. Find a beautiful man with a big cock and delicious blood to spend the night with.

But the thought just didn’t hold the appeal it once had. Plus, Soren had…obligations. To Danny and Roman. At least for the next three weeks.

Right.

Like that would be enough to keep him here, if he really wanted to leave. Soren was loyal, true, but he wasn’t anyone’s lapdog.

Not anymore, you mean. Soren brushed the thought aside, taking another sip of his drink.

“Fancy seeing you here.” A voice said from behind him. It was deep and smooth, but Soren could spot the smarminess in it a mile away.

Still, Soren was here for a reason. He wasn’t looking for Prince Charming. He turned to the side, peering up at the man who had appeared over his shoulder. He was tall, nicely muscled, with blond hair kept shorter than Soren’s own.

It took Soren a moment to place him. The flirty doctor from Gabe’s work. Dr. Morgan? Murphy? The one who had looked at Soren with such obvious interest.

A look very similar to the one he was giving Soren now.

“We met this morning. Dr. Monroe, if you needed a reminder,” the larger man said teasingly.

“What a coincidence,” Soren murmured, downing the rest of his drink in one swallow.

Monroe motioned the bartender over. “What are you having?” he asked Soren.

Soren let the man buy him a drink, studying the doctor as they chatted about mindless, inane nonsense. He should have been exactly what Soren was looking for tonight. Handsome, passably charming, big enough that Soren would enjoy the power play of taking control.

He waited for the familiar pull of his inner vamp looking for prey. The thrill of the hunt.

There was nothing.

But that was no reason to go hungry. Even if this man was…wrong. Too blond, too smooth, too nice.

Soren put up with a little more of the doctor’s attempts at flirtation, then leaned in close, flashing him a grin. It was a toned-down version of the one that left so many people unsettled in his presence. The one he loved giving a certain other stuffy doctor, just to watch him squirm.

“Want to get out of here?” Soren purred, placing a hand on Monroe’s arm. The man nodded eagerly, practically drooling as they paid their bill.

Ten minutes and one minor compulsion later and Soren was gently licking Monroe’s bite mark closed in the alley behind the bar. His saliva could do that, with small enough wounds. Part of the ol’ vampire magic.

Soren had chosen Monroe’s wrist, not wanting the intimacy of a neck bite tonight. More out-of-character behavior. In the past, Soren had loved the false intimacy of a neck bite with a stranger.

But the smell was all wrong.

Soren sighed. He supposed Monroe didn’t objectively smell bad. He wore some sort of sandalwood aftershave, clearly expensive. But he didn’t smell…clean. The way Gabe always smelled. Like citrus and soap. Even after a twelve-hour shift, or one of his long runs on the town’s trails.

And why the fuck does it matter what Gabe smells like?

Soren chose not to answer himself. He and his brain weren’t on speaking terms anymore.

He finished his task quickly and perfunctorily, just long enough for the small bite to completely heal. Monroe was panting, looking dazed and flushed, his hard cock tenting his slacks. The man hadn’t quite come in his pants from the bite, but he’d been close.

Vampire feedings could do that to a person.

Their bite in itself was usually pleasurable, unless they were aiming purposefully to create pain.

It was an evolutionary trick that made it easier to compel people into remembering only pleasure afterward, rather than fear.

It also lent itself to the delightful combination of blood and sex, a combination most vampires craved.

A combination Soren should be craving.

But there he was, closing the man’s wound and leaving them both unsatisfied.

It just wasn’t like him.

Soren had gotten used to indulging all his baser instincts a long time ago. Those instincts Roman called his demon, what Soren just called his inner vamp. The voice inside them both that called out for blood and violence and a good, hard fuck.

Roman had been fearful in the past, of giving in to that side of his nature.

He’d worried indulging his demon would lead him more quickly onto the path of becoming feral, of losing his humanity.

But Soren had always felt fighting against his vampire nature did more harm than good in that regard.

And so he generally chose to give in to his own debauchery.

It had served him well. He was still sane at this point, even after more than three centuries as a vampire. Even without finding a mate like Roman had to tether him to his humanity.

But since coming to this boring-ass town, Soren’s inner vamp didn’t want to get up to any of its old habits. It didn’t want to fuck this doctor, really. It wanted only one thing. One person.

Soren huffed, annoyed with himself, then turned to Monroe.

The man blinked at him slowly. “Your eyes.”

Soren knew what Monroe saw. What anyone saw when his demon was out. If he smiled, Monroe would see his fangs as well. But he wasn’t in the mood for smiling. He looked deep into Monroe’s eyes, which were a murky green.

Soren preferred a golden brown these days.

Compulsion was Soren’s specialty. He matched his breathing to the man’s, syncing their rhythms. “My eyes look like they always do. Nothing unusual here. We made out for a bit here in this alley. You tried to take me home. I told you, another time. I’m a tease like that.”

“A tease,” Monroe repeated blankly.

Soren smirked. “Go home now. Rub one out, if you like. I don’t even mind if you think of me while you do it.”

Soren turned and left the alley quickly, frustrated with himself for his own moderation.

Moderation wasn’t his thing. Debauchery was. Random hookups. Endless parties. More blood than he could stomach.

But he hadn’t been himself since coming to Hyde Park and seeing him .

Because wasn’t that how he’d rather be spending his night? He wanted to be back at the house, with eyes on Gabe, making sure the human was okay after the panic of that morning.

Except Gabe was at his stupid work . The only reason Soren had come out at all.

Soren’s phone dinged on the way to his car. A text from an unknown number.

Where is my angel?

No, no, no.

Soren’s blood ran cold, his fingers trembling around his phone. It took everything in him not to freeze where he stood. He forced himself to get calmly into his car, refusing to let his steps falter.

Hendrick didn’t know where Soren was. He’d already be there if he did.

But the text was a message: he was looking.

This was it. It was time for Soren to leave—he’d officially stayed in one place too long. Soren should heed the warning.

But he didn’t drive out of town. Didn’t text Roman, telling him he needed to leave, to find another family babysitter.

Soren drove back to Danny’s house.

He waited for the human to return.

Soren was an idiot.