The Red Veil Diaries (Volumes 1-4) Read online

  Bette’s lips twitched. “Some point? You know, people are taking bets on how long it will take for you to eat her—and I don’t mean opening a vein.”

  Abigail’s lips parted, but then she pressed them together. “That’s none of their business.”

  A snort of laughter escaped the young vampire’s mouth. “You’re right. It’s no one’s business, but for cripe’s sake, Abby, you’re wound so tight you’re going to snap. You need release, and with something that doesn’t require batteries.”

  Abigail’s eyes snapped toward the young vampire. “You do realize I’m your boss, right? Not to mention an elder.”

  Bette waived a pale hand. “Yeah, yeah. I know who and what you are, Abigail. You’ve played the credentials card more times than I can count over the past century, but I’m your best friend. I want to see you happy.”

  Abigail’s eyes dropped to a file on her desk and she opened the dull manila, pretending to scan one of the pages inside. “I am happy. I have the ear of the master vampire and his trust. What more could I want?”

  Bette moved to perch on the end of one of the chairs in front of Abigail’s desk. “Plenty. I’m not talking about true love, here, Abs. I’m talking about taking a lover—preferably one who’ll fuck you so hard you’ll your toes will curl in an orgasm to make a century of celibacy worth the wait.”

  Abigail snorted. “You watch too many movies.”

  The young vampire stood, but crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I don’t watch movies.”

  Tapping her pen, Abigail eyed her.

  Bette smirked. “Okay, I do, but not to the extent you think. I get my freak on in the flesh and so should you. Hell, Abby—blindfold a youngblood and ride him raw or take a human and make at night of it, sex and dinner. Just take someone.”

  “Bette, please.” Abigail exhaled, lacing her fingers again.

  Inhaling, Bette shut up. “Okay, I get it. It’s none of my business. At least promise me you’ll think about it? Your cranky is reaching epic, Abs. For realz.”

  “Realz? What are you, a millennial? Last I checked you were ninety-something years old.” A smirk tickled the corner of Abigail’s mouth and she waved the young vampire out.

  “Go feed, Bette. I hear what you’re saying, but I’m asking you to stop or I might have to snap on you.” She angled her head at her friend. “Calypso is probably hiding in the employee’s lounge. She’s A-neg. Your favorite.”

  Bette’s nostrils flared and her eyes dilated with thirst. With a smirk she turned on her heel toward the door, but then looked back at her friend past her shoulder. “Not fair, Abby,” she added with a wink. “Not when you know I have no willpower.”

  She disappeared, leaving Abigail alone. The vampire locked her office door and walked down the hall toward the club’s private entrance, the subtle red paisley carpet beneath her feet muffling her already stealthy footsteps.

  Anticipating her approach, a youngblood bouncer held the door open and she glided by trailing her fingers across his muscled chest. There were perks to being in charge, and one of them was hand picking the eye candy. Male and female. Living and undead.

  Her eyes traveled the length of his body, pausing at the thick bulge behind his fly. Maybe Bette was right.

  “Come find me after my meeting,” she said, ignoring the mix of fear and startled surprise on the man’s face. “—and don’t disappoint.” Her teeth grazed her full bottom lip, one fang scraping the tender flesh as a tease.

  She didn’t need a reply. The youngblood would come for her in more ways than one. A smug smile tugged the corner of her mouth. Control made her panties wet. She grinned to herself. Maybe a bit a fear was good and the youngblood would work even harder to please her.

  She moved passed the velvet ropes and into the VIP lounge to await Sébastien, making a mental note to do something nice for Bette without her knowing. Too many people were kiss ass. It was nice to have one person to give it to her straight.

  As instructed, the private meeting was set toward the back. Once glance told her everything was as requested, with a crystal decanter in place flanked by two long-stemmed champagne flutes.

  The red tufted couches were freshly brushed, but Abigail didn’t dare sit. Years of acting as both emissary and assistant for the Head of the Vampire Council taught her that.

  She caught a trace of lavender in the air and her eyes moved toward the carpeted steps. Sébastien swept passed the staff, ascending the stairs as though floating. As always, he was ageless and impeccable. From his fitted charcoal suit to his soft soled, handmade Italian leather shoes.

  “Chéri.” His dark eyes flashed with continental charm, and he leaned in to kiss both her cheeks. “You look as lovely as ever. I hope our little meeting doesn’t take you from more pressing matters.”

  As if she’d ever admit the imposition. Abigail greeted the man’s sly smirk with a disarming smile. “Meeting with you is never an imposition.”

  He chuckled. “How well you’ve learned, my dear.” He inhaled and a full grin spread across his lips. “And you remembered my favorite. How thoughtful.”

  Sébastien took a seat, and that was her cue to pour. Abigail picked up the decanter and gave the crimson contents a gentle swirl to gauge its clotting level.

  “It looks perfect.” Nostrils flaring, Sébastien held up his glass, licking his lips as the coppery liquid filled the cut glass.

  “Please, pour a glass for yourself as well, and we will toast the club and all you’ve done to make The Red Veil a success,” he added.

  She did as told and then placed the carafe on the table before taking a seat across from the master vampire.

  “My dear,” Sébastien began. “I fully grasp the pitfalls inherent in attaining a certain level of notoriety in a city such as Manhattan, while at the same time maintaining the secrecy of our kind. You are to be applauded, especially in keeping the privacy of our backrooms unequaled anywhere in our world.”

  Abigail inclined her head. “It’s been my pleasure.”

  He raised his glass in salute and then drained it dry, smacking his lips. “And that brings me to the purpose of our meeting.”

  She cocked her head. “Privacy?”

  “No, mon petit. Pleasure.”

  Confused, she raised one eyebrow. “I don’t understand.”

  He placed his glass on the small, round drink table and then wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Pleasure is the purpose of this club, is it not?”

  She nodded. “I suppose—”

  He shook his head at her pause. “Your hesitation is unnecessary. The pursuit of pleasure is the primary reason we opened our doors. That, and to provide our kind with a steady flow of fresh blood.

  “The club has stocked the blood vaults of many a shadow house in this city and beyond, but sadly, those reserves have been severely diminished because of the recent viral unpleasantness. If it wasn’t for certain connections, none of us would be here today.”

  She gave him a wary nod.

  “It is those connections I wish to discuss.”

  Abigail refilled his glass, waiting for him to elaborate.

  “We have backrooms to satisfy every desire our kind can fancy, is that not so?”

  Abigail quickly bobbed her head. “It is, although we try very hard to keep certain appetites under control and within the confines of human law. Especially when mortals are the chosen plaything.”

  It was his turn to nod. “Yes, yes. And again, you are to be applauded.” He sipped from the refilled champagne flute, considering. “You are aware of the debt of gratitude we owe the Were community, are you not?”

  The question was rhetorical, but she nodded anyway, ignoring her inner cringe.

  “Good. The Alpha of the Brethren is sending new envoys to help us maintain the health of our shadow houses, now that we know irregularities are possible.”

  “Irregularities?” she asked.

  The master vampire’s raised eyebrow made her wince inside. The last thing s
he wanted was for the master vampire to think her inept.

  “The new envoys are coming to sniff out those infected who slipped through the preventative measures originally put in place.”

  “Sébastien, I wasn’t aware there were enough cases to merit additional envoys.”

  “Our collaboration with the Weres was done in haste. We had to stem the pandemic threatening our community here and beyond, and as with anything done in haste—” he shrugged, not offering any more of an explanation.” His eyes found hers, nonetheless. “In any case, these envoys are not additional. They are replacements.”

  “Mitch isn’t coming back?” she asked, surprised.

  Sébastien shook his head. “He accepted his birthright as Alpha in his own territory. I knew this was a possibility, and to be honest, it is as it should be. He is from the northern climes and deserves to claim what is rightfully his.”

  She shuddered, thinking about the cold and isolation of the Canadian north. “What about Detective Martinez? He did us quite a service during the ugliest part of the epidemic. He is only half-Were, but he knows our kind and our inner workings.”

  “Ryan has chosen to stay in California. He will be missed.”

  Nonplussed, she lifted a hand. “Then who does that leave?”

  “Sean and Lily are coming to introduce the two they’ve chosen to take over. As you know, I trust them implicitly.”

  Abigail exhaled harshly. “So the king and queen of the Weres are coming to deliver us a pair of pups who have no idea of our world and whom you expect me to pet sit.” Her hazel eyes flashed as she looked at Sébastien, ignoring his warning glare.

  “Please, Sébastien,” she pressed. “Don’t allow this. It wasn’t that long ago Weres and Vampires were polite advisories at best. Hell, our kind is still considered a taboo in their circles!”

  “Your insolence is bordering on insubordination, Abigail and I will not have it. The Alpha of the Brethren and his mate are not only allies, but friends. This show of sarcastic contempt is beneath you. You will do well to treat them with the respect due their station. If not for their intervention we would have all tasted final death.”

  She sighed. “As you wish, Sébastien. When are they and the envoys set to arrive?”

  “Tonight.”

  Abigail balked. “Tonight?” Aghast she put her untouched glass on the table, its crimson contents sloshing over the rim.

  “And how am I supposed to welcome these envoys?” She lifted an agitated hand and then let it drop, her voice raising an octave. “What preparations do you expect on such short notice? Are they to be given rooms in Les Sanctuaire? Is there a full moon element I need to be aware of? I have no idea how to provide for the fanged and furry, Sébastien. What if they start howling at the disco ball?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to add dog-walking services and regular flea baths to her rant, but Sébastien’s scowl left her biting her tongue.

  “Enough!” Sébastien’s lips were a thin line as he waited for Abigail to compose herself.

  “I am well aware of your dislike for our dual-natured allies, but you will do everything in your power to make them comfortable.

  “So far they have shown themselves worthy of an alliance. They are a far cry from the ill-mannered, wild beasts we once knew. As a show of good faith, I have invited them to partake of the pleasures here at the club.”

  His fixed glare met her eyes. “I will leave the particulars to you and trust you to stay within our constraints. As for the new envoys and their accommodations, Sean has already provided them a place for the duration of their assignment. We are simply to welcome them to our city.”

  “Will Sean and the woman be here as well?”

  “Why is it so hard for you to say her name? It’s Lily, and Rémy’s little witch is hardly a threat, Abigail.”

  She frowned at Sébastien’s casual use of the endearment. “Perhaps. But there are still those of us who feel she has too much sway over too many of our kind, moreover, Rémy’s pet name for her only adds to the perception. Hell, the woman’s not even a born supernatural.” She stifled a smirk. Anything four-legged and furry deserved a pet’s name.

  “Abigail—” Sébastien’s warning tone reminded he missed nothing.

  She wiped the amused nerve from her face. “I’m sorry. Of course, I will do what I can to welcome them properly.”

  Sébastien stood. “Trés bien. They will arrive at eleven tonight. And to answer your earlier question, no, Lily and Sean won’t be staying. They’ve invited me to accompany them as they race the moon along the beaches on Long Island.” He grinned. “It should make for an interesting night.”

  He swept past her toward the exit, leaving her to deal with the details.

  “Interesting? Try cringe-worthy,” she muttered, with a frustrated exhale.

  She caught Bette’s eye as the young vampire poked her head in from around the side of the bar.

  “Come out, come out, little mouse.”

  Bette chuckled, grabbing a clean glass from the bar and walking straight to the decanter. “Waste not, want not, and I certainly want.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t kill my assistant,” Abigail ground out, sitting back with her own glass.

  Bette shook her head. “She’s gone M.I.A. To be honest Abby, the girl’s not cut out for our way of life.”

  Abigail looked at her halfway into pouring. “What makes you say that?”

  Bette shrugged. “Gut feeling. Plus she’s been hanging around the paparazzi staked out nightly in front of the club.” She took the decanter from Abigail’s hand and finished pouring. “Maybe it’s time to show her the backrooms. If she survives, she’ll never go near the press again. If not—” she shrugged, again.

  “Maybe the best thing would be to change her. Nothing coerces team spirit like thirst,” Abigail suggested, but dismissed the thought.

  Bette tipped the crimson liquid to her waiting lips. “Did I overhear Sébastien say the wolves are at our door?”

  Abigail clicked the inside of her cheek. “That you did.”

  The dark haired vampire licked her lips. “Well, you certainly used the right adjective, then.”

  “Yup. Cringe-worthy,” Abigail replied, circling the rim of her glass with her finger.

  Bette smirked, laughing. “No, babe. Interesting.”

  “Babe?” Abigail made a face. “I hate that slang word almost as much as I hate when you call be Abs.” She eyed her underling. “For a vampire created nearly a century ago, you’ve certainly embraced this modern culture.”

  Bette shrugged. “I embrace what makes me happy. Back in the day, the very definition of a flapper was a fashionable young woman intent on enjoying herself and flouting conventional standards of behavior. So why change when I’ve got even more reason to push the envelope?”

  “You and Sébastien both seem to enjoy challenging convention.”

  Bette eyed her with another smirk. “You’re doing it again.”

  “What?”

  “Your face.”

  Instinctually, Abigail touched her cheek and then her look in the chrome bar.

  “Look harder, Abs. You look as though you sucked the juice out of lemon instead of blood from a juicy vein.”

  Abigail crossed her arms in front of her chest, her vise grip on the stem of her flute threatening to snap the cut crystal. “I do not.”

  Bette laughed again. “Grip that glass any harder, babe, and you’ll need my tweezers to pick the shards out of your fingers.”

  Abigail put the glass on the table. “So, I’m a little tense.” She shrugged. “It’s no secret how I feel about Weres.”

  Bette poured herself another glass of crimson gold. “You think?”

  Making a face, Abigail smoothed her hair. “I don’t get the allure, and you certainly won’t find me drooling over them the way you do.”

  Bette looked at her. “You know, I’m starting to think beneath all that haute style and red carpet glamor is the same button
ed-up puritan Sébastien turned 250 years ago.”

  “That’s not only untrue, it’s unfair.” Her eyes shifted to the tall, muscular youngblood pacing by the door for her. “Smell that?” she asked her friend. “That’s the scent of lust and anticipation waiting for me at my request.”

  Bette lifted a hand and smiled. “Wow, Abs. I guess you were listening. Good. I get it. Vampires. Great. We love to fuck each other and feed from each other, but there are more flavors than just vanilla.”

  “I like vanilla. It goes with anything on top and I like to be on top.”

  She smirked. “So I’ve heard, Ms. Rough Rider.”

  “Bette!”

  “Come on, Abigail. Give in. Let your wild side take you places you’ve never been. Immortal life gets very boring otherwise, and don’t tell me you don’t agree. Take advantage of what fate placed in your lap. Open your knees and let whatever happens, lap up the juice. You like control? This is your club, in your city. You call the shots.”

  Abigail didn’t comment.

  “I’m not saying you should take up howling at the moon, but don’t hate on the Weres simply because they walk a different supernatural path. After all, we all like to play in the dark.” She smirked. “So go chase a little tail tonight. Literally.”

  “Ugh. I’m not into bestiality, thank you very much.”

  Bette lifted a frustrated hand. “Vampires are sex incarnate. We’re all about seduction.” She paused, licking a droplet of blood from her thumb. “Think about it. The lure, the hypnotic caress, the tingle in your fangs and between your legs at the scent of fear and arousal. The visceral pleasure from fangs sinking beneath fragrant skin to penetrate a pulsing vein.”

  She shivered with a laugh. “I’m getting myself hot and bothered. I’d better feed for real or a club-jockey is going to be missing a pint or more, tonight.” Bette waggled her eyebrows. “But I always make it worth their while.”

  “What you just described doesn’t count.” Abigail sniffed. “That’s for feeding purposes only. It has nothing to do with the smelly, furred and fanged. Frankly, I want my meals the same way I like my sex, without hair in my mouth.”