the black night sky.
The lights of Sydney blurred to a kaleidoscope of glowing lines far below him, its scents assaulting him as he passed through them. Tormenting him. Carnal odors or flesh and sweat and beating hearts.
With a snarl, he increased his speed until, in an abrupt jolt, he stood in the alley.
The stench of stale beer, vomit, old blood, and even older semen attacked his senses. The alley, it seemed, was the perfect place to finish an act of wanton sin started within the nightclub, whether that act be murder or sex.
Raking his fingers through his tussled hair, he walked out of the filthy alley onto the infamous Darlinghurst Road, Kings Cross’s main drag and Australia’s premier home of sex, drugs, hookers, pimps, and five-star restaurants.
Strip-club hawkers, curious tourists, harried locals, barely dressed women, and overly dressed businessmen moved past him, most of the women and quite a few of the men giving him interested glances. Even while human he’d been considered good looking, but since his transformation…suffice to say, he had no problems finding companionship whenever he wanted it.
Since meeting Amy Mathieson however, he hadn’t wanted to go looking for it.
The petite photographer satisfied all his desires. That fact didn’t stop his preternatural magnetism for the living however, and tonight was no exception. More than one human sized him up as he pushed past them. One tall, willowy blonde in skintight black latex pants and a blood-red bustier disengaged herself from the arms of a man dressed in a U.S. naval officer’s uniform and sashayed her way up to him, her smoldering blue eyes promising all sorts of fun.
She stopped directly in his path and, without hesitation, placed her palm completely on his groin. “I’m yours if you want me.”
“Hey!” the sailor yelped behind her.
Ven gently closed his fingers around her slender wrist and lifted her hand from his dick. “Not tonight, love. I’m in a hurry.”
The woman pursed her lips. “Pity. Would’ve been a freebie, too.”
Chuckling to himself, Ven turned away from the woman and walked the few steps to the Pleasure Palace’s entryway.
A short, stout hawker with wild, bloodshot eyes shouted from the sidewalk, regaling anyone who would listen with a censored-for-human-ears list of the delights they would find within. He flicked Ven a quick look, inclining his head in a slight nod of recognition. The Pleasure Palace was one of a few undercover nightclubs catering to Sydney’s inhuman population; a high-end strip joint serving a plethora of beings a range of delicacies while gorgeous dancers who may or may not be human entertained those in the dark, shadowy booths.
Ven didn’t frequent the joint that often. He didn’t need to anymore, but the hawker still recognized him for what he was.
A tight fist of disquiet squeezed his unbeating heart. For some reason, he was always recognized by Sydney’s underground otherworld, despite the fact he rarely interacted with it.
He pulled in a steadying breath. Now was not the time to let it get under his—
A subtle, delicate scent filled his being, almost hidden by the overpowering odor of beer, sex, and sin hovering in the air. A scent of mysterious spices, menacing secrets, and never-ending time.
Her scent.
Death was here. In the Pleasure Palace.
He shot past the hawker into the dim, smoky nightclub, not giving a rat’s arse about who saw him move or how many gasps his inhuman speed caused.
Coming to a fluid halt just inside the entry foyer, he scanned the smoke-filled club with eyes already adapted to the dark light. Humans and non-humans alike moved about the cramped floor space, all enjoying themselves in various stages of conversation, copulation, and consummation. Vampires fed from willingly offered necks, demons of all rank and ethos mingled with various species of weres. The distinct musky odor of lycanthrope filtered into his breath, threaded through an almost gagging stench of brimstone and ancient blood. He curled his nose. Somewhere in the shrouded mix of patrons, a molekh obviously enjoyed itself. Ribbons of sickly-sweet pheromones wafted through the heavy air like delicate bands of iridescent light.
In the centre of the club’s arena, a semi-naked couple—the female petite, gorgeous, and human, the male tall, stunning, and fae—danced on the extended stage, their lithe bodies gleaming in the single golden spotlight tracking them. They writhed and pressed against each other, removing the skimpy items of clothing they wore, piece by piece in time to the slow, somehow dirty music.
He watched them for a second, their carnal act sending a stab of tight