Soulbound

3. Ashe

Even for a Saturday night the amount of bodies packed inside the Hidden Door was almost stifling, and as midnight approached the crowd showed no signs of thinning. What exactly is the maximum capacity of this nightclub, anyway?

“Christ, Marco,” I shout over the cacophony of blaring bass and shrill laughter. “How can you stand this kind of chaos night after night?”

The burly man shrugs as he slides over a glass of my usual poison. “The noise I can handle just fine. Help, on the other hand”—he waves a palm in my direction—“I can always use an extra bartender.”

I raise a brow at him, disinterested. “I only drink drinks, Marco. I don't make them.” As if to prove my point, I throw back the beverage and down it in one gulp—instant regret, if the burning sensation at the back of my throat was any indication, but I dare not let my discomfort show. A battle of wills with an arkoudan was not for the faint of heart, nor for the weak of stomach.

Besides, the demon fire burning in my veins would incinerate any traces of alcohol in my blood within minutes. Hangovers? Never heard of them.

Grinning, I tap the glass facedown on the counter and eye Marco expectantly. The bear rolls his eyes and moves to the other end of the bar, leaving me in the company of Catalina.

“Careful,” she murmurs, her dark eyes following the bartender as he reaches overhead for another glass. “Or he might just cut you off for the fun of it.”

“Don't give him any ideas.” I pivot the stool in her direction and arch a brow, my eyes dipping as I take in her appearance.

Her long hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, thick strands cascading over her bare shoulders with every turn of her head. Her ebon skin glistened in the dim lighting as she crossed one leg over the other. Slender fingers, long nails dipped in a bright red polish, absently traced the rim of her martini glass as her eyes scanned the writhing crowd. The only makeup she had bothered to apply was to touch up her ruby red lipstick; then again, a succubus has little reason to worry about their flawless complexion.

She licks her lips and for a split second I spy the glint of elongated canines peeking out. Not long enough to garner any suspicion, but noticeable enough to indicate that she was still hungry.

“Cat,” I hiss, drawing her gaze. As discreetly as I can I tap a finger to my mouth, hoping she would get the hint. “Haven't you already had your fill?”

Her eyes flick down to my mouth and, teasingly, she runs the tip of her tongue over her pointed fangs. “You seem to have recovered quickly enough,” she grins, nudging my leg with her toe. “But I could always go for seconds. Or thirds.”

Her desire pulsates in the air between us, nearly suffocating me, and I avert my gaze. A vampire's appetite knows no bounds, and Catalina was always hungry.

Before I can respond, Marco reappears with a fresh glass of whiskey in hand. “Why do you let this vampire feed on you?” he asks as he slides the beverage across the bar, and I have to bite back a laugh at the daggers that Catalina's eyes are shooting in his direction.

“How dare you call me that!” she snaps, her jaw tightening and a malevolent look flaring in her eyes. “I am no savage. I am regina vitaem, a connoisseur of breath, and you would do well to remember that.”