On The Run With A Vampire

14. Lucien

CHAPTER 14

LUCIEN

As much as I hate to admit it, perhaps Blaine would be a helpful confidant right now. Because I’ve been walking this earth for over a century, and I’ve never—never, ever, ever—experienced anything quite like that.

I chance a sideways glance at Ms. Hartley and feel a small ripple of relief when I realise she’s paying me no attention. She’s absentmindedly rubbing at the spot on her neck I’d just been feasting on, a faraway look in her eyes. Just the sight of her thumb rubbing small circles against her neck is enough to send another jolt of arousal shooting through me.

I force my attention back to the road ahead and try to convince myself, for perhaps the umpteenth time, that this is just bloodlust. Nothing more. Nothing less.

But I know bloodlust—the frenzy, the all-consuming need to devour that seems to awaken some cursed primal instinct inside me every time I feed—and that most definitely wasn’t it. Even when I was first turned and the sensations were all new and heightened, it never felt like that.

Make no mistake, every fibre of my being was consumed by the thirst for more of her, but it was… different. My cock twitches at just the thought of Ms. Hartley pressed up against me, her warm, sweet blood flowing freely into my mouth. I can still feel the heat of her skin, the faint whisper of breath fanning against my face. Her scent still clings to my nostrils like a phantom caress, equal parts intoxicating and tormenting.

I want more.

I desperately need more.

I shake my head in an attempt to rid myself of these dangerous, mutinous thoughts.

There is no more when it comes to Ms. Hartley and me.

As soon as we’ve dealt with this little problem and cleared her name, that will be it for us. Ms. Hartley will slip back into her life with friends and family and purpose, and I’ll just—well, I’m not entirely sure what I’ll do just yet, but it will be far, far away from her.

I’ve brought enough trouble to Ms. Hartley’s doorstep; the least I can do is vanish from her life without a fuss.

The Hideout is an aptly named establishment. Sadly, that’s the only compliment I can give it.

Despite being only two stories high, The Hideout is impossible to miss. It stands out like a neon beacon amongst the sea of dull, brown, and grey buildings that surround it. Its walls have been painted in a hideously chaotic clash of neon pinks, electric blues, and blinding greens, and each of the six floors is covered with a different pattern of garish lights that blink and strobe in erratic rhythms. It’s as if the building itself is having a permanent seizure.

The entrance door is flanked by two gargoyle statues with eyes glowing an unsettling shade of yellow. Above the door, there’s a giant rotating sign loudly proclaiming the club’s name in glittering, fluorescent colours that change every few seconds and spark fireworks with each rotation.

Simply ghastly.

At least, that’s what it looks like to me. Judging from the unimpressed expression on Ms. Hartley’s face, the spell cast on the building to make it invisible to humans seems to be working magnificently.

She wrinkles her nose as I pull up outside the building.

“Is there a reason we’re in the seediest part of the city, parked outside a—” She cranes her neck out the window and frowns. “An old fishmonger’s that has definitely seen better days?”

I stifle a laugh. Last I heard, Cordelia—the witch who runs the establishment—is involved in a minor, and probably romantic, feud with someone from the local selkie population. Using a fishmonger’s as the fa?ade humans see must be her idea of a joke.

I climb out of the car and walk around to Ms. Hartley’s side. “Believe it or not,” I say as I pull open the door for her, “that is not a fishmonger’s.”

She steps out of the car and eyes me sceptically. “Could’ve fooled me.”

My lips twitch. “That is the point. Behind those doors is the greatest concentration of supernatural beings in the city.”

“In there? You sure you didn’t take a wrong turn somewhere?”

I’d give anything to know what she’s currently seeing to warrant the thoroughly unimpressed expression on her face. “I’m positive, Ms. Hartley,” I say lightly, my hand resting lightly against the small of her back as I guide her toward the building. I half expect her to flinch away from my touch, but she doesn’t so much as falter in her steps.

I try very hard not to read too much into it.

I fail.

As we approach the entrance, the two gargoyles’ yellow eyes brighten suddenly. A cloud of dust billows out from around their necks as they stiffly turn their heads to face us.

I pull Ms. Hartley to a stop before her foot can touch the first entrance step. “Wait.” I turn my attention back to the gargoyle statues. In the blink of an eye, they’ve shed their stony exterior to reveal rippling, leathery skin.

The gargoyle closest to us rolls its neck, getting rid of the last few pieces of debris still clinging to it. “No humans allowed,” it snarls in a voice that sounds like gravel being crushed.

Ms. Hartley stiffens slightly. She squints toward the general area of the gargoyle that just spoke. “Is there—Is there something there?”

The gargoyle glances at her with all the interest you might reserve for an ant. “No humans allowed,” it repeats.

“Surely we can make an exception,” I say hurriedly.

“Who are you talking to?” Ms. Hartley asks. She’s still peering toward the gargoyle like she’s trying to sift through the invisible fog that’s cloaking everything from her. I can feel her frustration building as she shifts her gaze between me and the gargoyle.

Before I can answer, the second gargoyle grunts in what might be considered an attempt at a sigh. “What part of ‘no humans’ can’t you understand?” It rolls its shoulders, and a pair of long, black wings sprout from its back.

A warning.

I take an instinctive step in front of Ms. Hartley. “I know the rules, but I’m hoping Cordelia might make an exception tonight.”

The first gargoyle snorts. “The Madam doesn’t make exceptions.”

“Typically, no,” I concede. “But if you could just let her know who is asking for the exception, I’d be grateful.”

It’s hard to tell, but I think the second gargoyle raises an eyebrow. “And who might that be?”

“Lucien Valcouron.”

The door to The Hideout suddenly slams open, and both gargoyles are stone before it’s even stopped swinging. Ms. Hartley jumps and clutches at my arm.

“What the fuck?” she hisses, fingers digging into me.

I give her hand a gentle pat. “No need to worry. Cordelia’s always been a fan of dramatics, but she’s not dangerous.” Usually. “Shall we go in?”

I move to take a step forward, but Ms. Hartley is rooted to the spot. I suppose I can’t blame her. To her, the last few minutes must have been utterly nonsensical, what with me talking to thin air and the door suddenly opening without any assistance.

“You’ll be safe,” I promise her. “No harm will come to you.” And I mean it too. The Hideout is neutral space for supernatural beings, but even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t allow anyone to harm a hair on Ms. Hartley’s head.

“Why are we even here?” she asks, reluctantly shuffling after me.

“I told you,” I say as we step over the threshold into The Hideout . “We’re here to get some help. To, ah—” I clear my throat. “To unburn some bridges, as it were.”

“That,” a voice booms from the far end of the corridor, “is an understatement.”

The door slams shut behind us, plunging us into darkness for a brief second. Then, the candles on either side of the wall burst into flame, and the figure at the end of the corridor becomes clear.

Cordelia stands before us, her long black hair trailing behind her on the floor like some sort of otherworldly cape. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, and her lips are pulled downward into a clearly displeased frown.

In short, she looks exactly as she did the last time we saw one another two years ago when I first arrived in the city. Perhaps even more displeased if I’m being honest.

“What?” Ms. Hartley whispers, frantically turning her head in every direction. “Is someone there? I can’t see anything, I just?—”

Cordelia makes an irritated sound, then lifts a hand and snaps her fingers.

To me, nothing happens. But Ms. Hartley stiffens, her mouth falls open in surprise, and I know that Cordelia has lifted her little spell and revealed herself.

“Where—” Ms. Hartley starts, but Cordelia cuts her off with a dismissive wave of the hand.

“I don’t have time for this. Come.” And with that, she turns on her heel and stalks through an open door.

Ms. Hartley gives me a wide-eyed look. “She’s going to help us?”

“Hopefully,” I say with a shrug. “Shall we?” I offer my arm to Ms. Hartley, and she takes it, slotting in perfectly by my side.