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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MORGAN

T he blood in my glass tasted different tonight.

I swirled it around, watching the crimson liquid cling to the crystal in ways I couldn’t see before.

Everything was heightened now. The bass from the dance floor no longer just vibrated through the floor, it pulsed through my body like a second heartbeat.

I moved downstairs to the other curtained VIP section when Chanel went to her man’s office.

This section was closer to the dance floor and the main bar.

Zand had dismissed Harlen. He was sitting with me, curtains open, people watching.

I was chilling and minding my newfound vampire business when I caught Layla’s eye, darting over to our table when she thought I wasn’t watching.

My eyesight was even better as a vampire, and I could clearly see through the Prada sunglasses I wore.

“You’re doing it again.” Harlen said on the couch beside me. His voice was pitched low enough that human ears couldn’t catch it over the music. “That thousand-yard vampire stare.”

I blinked and pulled my attention back to him. “Sorry. It’s just, you know.” Words failed me as I gestured vaguely at the club beyond our private booth.

“Overwhelming?” He offered and lounged back against the plushness of the couch. “Pretty baby, it gets easier. Your brain learns to filter.”

“When?” I sighed, taking another sip of the warm blood.

Harlen shrugged. His ocean eyes scanned the dance floor. “Depends. A few weeks, a couple months.”

I rolled my eyes. All of the answers were so vague.

It felt like vampires just made up the rules as they went along.

The club was packed tonight. So many bodies grinding against each other on the dance floor, sweat, perfume and alcohol creating a cocktail of scents that I can somehow differentiate.

The lights strobed across the dancers. Each flash revealed moments frozen in perfect clarity.

There was a woman throwing her head back in laughter.

I saw a man’s hand sliding under the hem of his partner’s shirt.

I spied a bouncer escorting a drunken patron toward the exit.

And through it all, I kept noticing Layla.

She stood near the bar; her tall frame and platinum blonde hair made her easy to spot even in the crowded space.

On the surface, she was doing her job. She was greeting VIP guests.

Some WNBA player and a popular social media influencer were in the club.

Layla was directing the staff at The Castle.

But there was something off about her movements.

Her eyes kept finding their way back to our section.

Her prying eyes were lingering just a little bit too long.

Sitting this close to Harlen was the sign I liked men, and I was with this man.

Why was she checking me out? Looking at someone this hard meant one, you want to bone, or two, you want to catch these hands.

“What are you staring at?” Harlen asked, following my gaze.

“Layla,” I murmured, not taking my eyes off her Charlize Theron looking ass. “She’s been watching us.” I meant me, but I didn’t want to sound crazy.

“She’s the PR manager or some boujee title my brother dubbed. Watching people is literally her job.”

“Not like this.” I leaned forward, setting my bloody glass down. “Look at her now.”

As if on cue, one of the bartenders mentioned something to Layla, and I saw her perfect posture change subtly.

`There was a stiffening of her spine, a slight tilt of her head.

My new vampire hearing picked up fragments of their conversation through the music.

Strangely, I could kind of read lips too.

“...Ms. Taylor, oh she just left...” the bartender said.

Layla’s hand immediately goes into the pocket of her dress. She pulled out her phone. Her fingers moved rapidly across the screen, typing something before slipping the cell phone away again. The movement was casual. It’s the urgency of her text that caught my attention.

“Did you see that?” I whispered to Harlen. “The way she reacted when Chanel was mentioned?”

“What? What’s that about Chanel?”

Don’t tell me I can hear better than Harlen? “Dude told her Chanel was gone and then Layla pulls out her phone.” I didn’t even know Chanel had left the club.

“Coincidence.” Harlen said.

My cell phone buzzed on the table in front of me. I lifted it to read the text I had from Chanel. I read it and it said:

CHANEL: I’m gone. I’m going home to get some sleep. I can’t stay up all night like YOU people. Lol

I texted back: TTYL

I placed my cell phone back down on the table.

From across the room, I watched Layla reading her phone screen.

She placed her cell phone back in her pocket and for a few minutes she stood still with what I registered as a concerned look on her face.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. I was so focused; I heard it over the sound of the music.

Layla reached for her phone again. This time, I removed my sunglasses and zeroed in on her face.

My enhanced vision picked up her micro-expressions.

Her mouth was tightened. Her eyes were laser focused.

She looked panicked and not like her normal, flawless, perfect self.

“Babe, I think she’s reporting something.” I said, with no real evidence to back up my claims. “She keeps texting someone.”

Harlen straightened slightly. His posture lost some of its casualness. “Who?”

“Layla, pay attention.” I snapped.

“What are you talking about?” Harlen asked. He didn’t seem irritated with me. He just seemed confused.

“I think she’s reporting something to somebody. She has been watching me and Chanel too hard all night long.”

“What are you saying?”

“Someone knew about Cheboygan.”

Finally, Harlen was listening and processing what I was saying. “That’s a serious accusation, Morgan.”

“I know what I’m seeing. There’s something wrong with her. I can feel it.”

“Feel it? Your instincts are still new.” He cautioned, but he was watching Layla now with more interest. “It could be you’re picking up on something else entirely.”

I shook my head no. Frustration was building in my chest. “No, I’m sure of it. Look, there she goes again.”

Layla had moved away from the bar and to a quieter corner.

Her back was to the wall as she checked her phone more openly now.

Her thumb scrolled quickly, then paused.

The faintest smile touched her lips before vanishing.

She glanced up and scanned the room. For a brief moment, our eyes locked.

Something passed between us before she smoothly looked away.

She tucked her phone into her pocket and resumed her professional demeanor.

“We need to tell Zand.” I said, not sure what I would tell him.

“Tell him what?” Harlen chuckled.

My voice dropped. “What the fuck I just saw.”

Harlen sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. “Morgan, listen. You’re new to this. Everything feels suspicious when your senses are dialed up to the clouds. Layla’s been with Zand for years.”

“So what?” I leaned closer to him, my eyes never leaving Layla. “Teresa was with Zand for years too and look how that turned out.”

The comparison hit home. I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, but I saw the subtle shift of Harlen’s expression. It was too late. The damage was done. I did notice the slight narrowing of his eyes as he considered my words.

“Harlen, she knows a lot of things.” I pressed. “About Zand, about my homegirl. About all of us. And she’s feeding that information to someone.” I placed my hand on Harlen’s knee. “Coco could be in danger.”

The mention of Chanel’s safety finally broke through his skepticism. He sat straight up. “If you want to bother Zand with your Spidey senses, then we will.”

“Yes, I do.” I urged.

“Alright.” He conceded. “We’ll talk to Zand.”

Relief washed through me. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Harlen warned, rising from his seat. “If you’re wrong about this, Zand will not be happy with me.”

“You’ll get over it.” I smarted. “And if I’m right?” I countered, standing up and willing him to do the same.

Harlen stood, and he glanced over at Layla. She was engaged in conversation with a group of wealthy patrons. “If you’re right,” he said quietly, “then we’ll see.”

Harlen took my hand and led me from the VIP section. I followed him through the club, weaving between bodies that seemed to move in slow motion. My senses continue to bombard me with information. There were the individual heartbeats of the humans we passed, and the complex layers of scents.

As we approached the private elevator, I glanced back one last time.

Layla was standing by the bar, her posture perfect, her expression professionally neutral.

But her eyes. They followed our movement with an intensity that confirmed my suspicions.

When she saw me watching her, she spun around, but not before I caught something in her gaze.

Fear. Genuine fear.

And in that moment, I knew without a doubt that I was right. I wasn’t sure if I should call it women’s intuition or vampire intuition, but I peeped game. And that bitch was cooked.

After we got off the elevator, we walked down the hall of red walls. Who the hell picked red paint? Harlen knocked on Zand’s office door with a distinctive tap. Zand opened the door, and I wondered how he knew we were coming. He ushered us inside and we both sat in front of his desk.

Zand’s office felt like a different world compared to the pulsing club below. The thick walls muffled the bass from the dance floor. The modern décor mixed with antique furniture exuded the future fused with history. Zand looked over his desk at us.

“Hello Morgan.” He spoke slowly.

“Hey Zand.” I spoke before Harlen can speak. I had a newfound vampire confidence propelling me. “There’s a traitor in The Castle.” I announced, with the words tumbling out before I could edit them.

“A traitor?”

“Uh-huh, and I think it’s Layla.”