He half smiled. "It's typical that she would send you here expecting results without fully explaining the true purpose of the club."
That sense of unease grew. In the back of my mind, Amaya's hissing increased, a dark and edgy sound filled with a sense of expectation. She wanted to fight, to rent and tear, and though she really didn't care who or what, her anger seemed to be centering on Marshall. A chill ran through me—not because of the longing in her song, but because I was beginning to understand it.
I leaned back in the chair and crossed my legs, trying to appear relaxed. The faint lines of amusement crinkling the corners of Marshall's eyes suggested I wasn't succeeding. "She probably expected you to fill me in."
"No doubt." He paused, as if considering his words carefully. "What do you know of blood whores?"
"The usual stuff—that it's a term for a human who is addicted to the pleasures of a vampire's bite."
It was apparently such a problem when I was young that it was treated the same as any other addictive substance. The government introduced strict new laws geared toward controlling the number and type of establishments catering to blood whores, ran a series of media campaigns advising consumers of the dangers, and set up recovery programs. Whores still existed, just as junkies still existed, but the problem was at nowhere near the plague proportions that it had once threatened to become. Or so the media and the government would have us believe. Personally, I wasn't so convinced—especially after walking into this place and smelling humans.
Marshall nodded and said, "What few people know about the blood whores is that they are not only addicted but addictive."
I blinked, not sure what he meant. He obviously sensed this, because he grimaced and then continued. "Whores who are constantly fed from remain in an almost continuous state of ecstasy. It gives their blood a"—he paused, obviously searching for the right words—"richer, heavier flavor. And that, in turn, can become very addictive to those who were of that nature before they were turned."
The chill in my stomach grew. "So clubs like this cater to the needs of the blood whore–addicted vampires?"
"We do. We have to. If an addicted vamp is without a food source for too long, he can become extremely dangerous. And that, I'm afraid, would be bad news for humanity."
And for vampires in general if humanity got wind of it. Vampires might have been a part of society for a long time now, but there were still pockets of humanity who viewed them with great suspicion. Knowing it was possible for vamps to become addicted—and violent if that addiction wasn't fed—would only fan the flames of that suspicion and make it spread.
"I would have thought it'd be illegal for clubs like this to use what are basically drugged-up humans as a constant food source."
He shrugged. "It is. But where there is a need, a way will always be found. The whores are here willingly. They are well fed, in well-maintained, generous-sized accommodations, and on rotation, so that they are never overdosed on sensation."
But also never allowed to experience life outside these walls, by the sound of it. I wondered where in the hell the families of the whores were. Or had they simply given up, knowing that the addiction was so strong it was something they could never cure?
"So, slaves," I muttered, not quite able to keep the distaste out of my voice.