Vampire Debt - Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #2) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,75
fresh irritation, I flipped the phone and slid it back into my pocket. He’d already advised against me removing my possessions from the tower. This would push his buttons well and truly. I glanced at the number on my key and, heels clicking, strode down the concrete hall lined with storage lockers until I located mine.
I stared through the wide grates to the contents within. Reaching through the bars, I rolled the edge of my barely used duvet between my fingers. These things belonged to another Basi in what felt like another life. Trying to return things I’d brought so I could try to make rent. Clint taking my stuff. If I hadn’t failed so miserably, I wouldn’t have discovered Vissimo. I might still be living in that shithole. Or maybe Clint would’ve gone a step further. Kyros still wouldn’t have tried to seduce money out of me.
Perhaps I would have ended up here either way.
The stairwell exit door opened.
I faced the male Indebted, fishing for his name. “Marcus, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Miss Le Spyre.”
Peering past him, I saw he’d brought ten others along. “I don’t want to force this stuff on you guys, but I literally used the contents of this locker for four days and I don’t want it to go to waste. Do you think anyone on Lower Level 4 will use it?”
He looked at me incredulously.
“Yes!” a woman at the back called. “My towel is barely holding together.”
Anger swirled through me. They didn’t even have fucking towels. “Is it Kristen?”
“Kirsten, Miss Le Spyre.”
Oops. “I apologise. Kirsten, when you’re next on a shift at my estate, can you come and speak to me? I’m certain my staff can find enough towels for everyone here.”
She bowed low. “Thank you, miss. I will.”
I tossed the key to Marcus. “Please make sure it’s evenly distributed. I don’t want anyone missing out.”
He glanced at the key, then back at me. Edging closer to the grate, he inhaled deeply.
Amusement coloured my voice. “Does it pass the sniff test, Marcus?”
The vampire jerked away. “Of course, miss. I—”
I gripped his arm. “I’m just kidding. Is there a problem?”
Glancing back, he wet his lips. “It’s just that, I’m not sure the master will like us taking everything. The blanket smells like you. I-If you were mine, I wouldn’t want another male sleeping with it.”
His face flushed red. Adorbs. I wanted to smoosh his handsome cheeks together.
“Thank you for telling me, Marcus. How about I take the blanket then? Is everything else okay to leave with you guys?”
The vampire ducked his head and inhaled again, moving along the locker. “Yes, miss. But we can take the blanket for you. Kirsten will pass it over to your estate guards.”
I smiled. “I appreciate that. Walking in heels is dangerous enough without limited vision.”
“Have you been at a party, Miss Le Spyre?” a petite brunette in the middle asked wistfully.
She sounded young. Older Vissimo had a steadiness to their tone. And the really old ones often sounded bored.
Holding out my dress, I swished to make the satin rustle. “Just another ball.”
“I think any ball would be lovely to go to,” she said, drinking in my earrings and dress and the point of my gold shoes.
There she went making me feel bad for taking things for granted. “It’s nice to dress up,” I said. “If the company was better, I’d have a great time. They’re all rich fuckers with sticks up their butts.”
Marcus threw Kirsten a grin.
I left them to distribute the contents of the locker. Whipping out my phone again, I dialled Angelica. Time for the cherry on top.
“Miss Le Spyre.”
“Angie. I need to get into my old room to grab my stuff.”
A pause. Murmuring voices. Kyros’s anger.
“Certainly. I’ll send someone down with the key.”
“Air kisses, babe.” I made a few kissing noises and hung up.
I leaned against the back of the elevator as it shot up to Level 61. A quick look in the shiny walls told me my hair was still in a flawless side-chignon courtesy of Rosie. Glowing skin was displayed from my neck to the large swell of my boobs—thank you, bodice. Loop sleeves hung loosely about my upper arms and the forest-green gown flared dramatically from my cinched waist, the material falling in folds to the floor. The piece wasn’t the most original I’d worn, but Grandmother always said I wore classics well.
I agreed with her.
The doors opened and I took one step before clutching the base of my throat.