Chained by Night by Larissa Ione, now you can read online.
1
In a secret club blaring rock music and laughter, raised shot glasses brimming with whiskey clinked together like death knells.
“Dude, it’s your last night as a single male. Why aren’t you starting drunken brawls or banging that female you just sucked?”
Hunter glared at his blond companion from across the scarred tabletop. As a human-turned-vampire, Riker held on to some strange human rituals, like the thing called a “bachelor party.”
“I don’t f**k outside my species.” Unlike Riker – and most vampires, for that matter – Hunter had never swum in the same gene pool with mankind. Thank the Great Spirit for that. “And it’s not my last night,” he muttered. “The mating ceremony doesn’t take place until next month.”
Riker gave Hunter a bullshit look. “She arrives at MoonBound tomorrow.”
Hunter groaned at the reminder that his future mate was arriving courtesy of an ancient vampire custom that required a “trial run” before a clan leader could be bound to his mate forever.
Forever. Sounded like way too damned long to Hunter.
He downed his shot of Jameson and changed the subject. “Where are Baddon and Jaggar?”
Riker’s leather bomber jacket creaked as he propped his hip against the table where they’d been standing for the last two hours. “They’re making up for your picky ass.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of one of the private rooms down the hall in the back. “They took off with that purple-haired chick and her friend.”
Hunter cocked an eyebrow at the sea of purple-haired humans milling around, all victims of the newest hair-color craze.
Riker clarified. “The one with the dog collar. The metal-spiked dog collar.”
Why did groupies think vampires liked dog collars? Not to mention the fact that they sort of interfered with the whole bloodsucking process.
With a sigh, Hunter shoved away from the wall he’d been leaning against. He was done with this cesspool of sex, drugs, and blood. He’d never liked the underground vamp-worship scene, and while this was one of the classier Seattle clubs that secretly catered to vampires, it still reeked of desperation.
The humans who came here to give their blood and bodies to vampires were desperate to be turned someday. The vampires who frequented this kind of club were also desperate, either for food or to reconnect with the humanity they lost, and Hunter was neither. As a born vampire, he’d never been human, and as an experienced warrior and leader of one of the largest vampire clans in the Pacific Northwest, he hadn’t wanted for food in a long time.
He strode across the blood- and drink-stained concrete floor, barely registering the way the crowd of humans and vampires parted for him. Technically, in a club setting, he was on equal footing with all vampires, but as a clan chief and one of the oldest born vampires in existence, Hunter was given a wide berth and undeniable respect.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was six and half feet tall and wearing an arsenal of weapons under his leather duster.
He broke away from the crowd and shoved open the first door he came to. Dim light from behind Hunter flooded the private room, spilling onto a stained sofa and an ancient, sagging bed in the corner. The heady scents of blood and sex billowed out into the hall, overpowering the lingering odors of stale cigarette smoke and grease from the boarded-up old burger joint next door.
A spiked dog collar rested on top of a messy pile of clothes on the floor.
“Yo,” he called out to the pair on the mattress and the other pair on the sofa. “Finish up. I’m outta here.”
The na**d human female tangled on the mattress with Baddon moaned. Baddon, his chest plastered against hers and his fangs buried in her throat, didn’t look up, but Jag did from the sofa, long enough to acknowledge his leader with a slow nod.
Hunter closed the door and returned to Riker, whose smirk of amusement didn’t quite hide the concern in his silver eyes.
“Knock it off,” Hunter growled. “I don’t need a pity party.”
“Your future mate is from ShadowSpawn,” Riker said, handing him a fresh glass of whiskey. “A clan that has been waging war against us for centuries. They have artwork made from MoonBound scalps and bones. And I’ve met Rasha. Trust me, pity is the least of what you need.”
Hunter pressed his spine to the wall and kicked his head back hard enough to hurt. It had been two months since he had struck a deal with the enemy clan’s brutal leader to mate with his daughter in exchange for the return of Riker’s mate, Nicole.
But Hunter had told his own clan about the deal just two days ago.
Riker was still pissed that he’d been kept in the dark, but Hunter had kept quiet for the guy’s own good. Riker and Nicole would have stewed in guilt or tried to do something stupid to break the arrangement.
“I’m sorry, Hunt.” Riker looked down at his steel-toed boots, his hair falling forward to conceal his expression. “This is my fault. What you did for me and Nicole —”
“Don’t.” Hunter cut his friend off. “I said I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need your apology, either. I made a choice, and I have to live with it. But I’ll tell you what I do need,” he said, focusing on the tense stirring in his muscles. “A good fight.”
Riker lifted his head and flashed fangs. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and run into some poachers on the way home.”