Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Especially when she felt like she had no direction at all. Which was kind of a problem for someone with a crown in their future.
Back at the asshole’s table, she kicked out a stand and put the tray down. After serving the antipasto, she took the mesclun with the contraband vinaigrette and went to—
“What’s on that plate.”
Denne assumed a pleasant confusion. “Huh?”
The man picked up a fork and stabbed in her direction. “The dressing. I said no dressing for her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She made a show of picking up the ramekin. “I’ll just take it away—”
You know, the great thing about vinaigrette, unlike, say, Thousand Island, blue cheese, or ranch, was the shit had the viscosity of water. So as she tipped the container, the dressing splashed out. Right into the woman’s lap.
Oops.
CHAPTER TWO
Bathe Nightclub
Market Street, bet. Sixteenth & Seventeenth
Can I be honest with you, Al?”
Over the din of the bass, Allhan looked across the sunken seating area at a fellow vampire he had next to nothing in common with. Shuli, a.k.a. Arcshuli, son of Arcshuliae the Younger, was not wearing jeans and a hoodie, but a set of black silk pajamas with gold swirls and red accents as a pattern. And the male didn’t have a shaggy haircut that was a month or two into growing out, but a style that cast his silken brown hair off to the side like a Nike swoosh. And laundry detergent wasn’t his cologne. He was wearing some luxury brand’s scent, and whatever it was smelled like money.
Oh, and even though it was winter and there was snow falling, his shoes were velvet slippers bearing a monogram executed in gold thread.
Allhan’s ten little piggies, on the other hand, were shoved in a damp, cold pair of Converse high-tops.
“Um… yes?” he replied, in the deep voice he was still trying to get used to.
“You’re big as a fucking house.” Shuli put both manicured hands out. “I mean, not in the slappy, flappy fat boy kind of way. No, you’re just… huge. I mean, I know that’s how the transition works. Been through it myself years ago. But… this shit with you is impressive.”
Allhan glanced down at himself for two reasons. One, he was flushing with embarrassment. And two, he kind of agreed. Ever since he’d been through the change, about a week ago, he’d stared out of a different face, walked with a taller body, picked up things with so much strength that he felt like he could qualify as a backhoe.
Even his hair was different. Thicker. Smoother.
“And also now look at you, you’re hot,” the aristocrat continued, loud enough for the others to hear over the club music. “Of course, I don’t personally go that route, but if I did, you’d be worth the double take.”
When he just stared at the guy all dumbfounded, a brow arched at him and then the aristocrat stood up and hobbled over. With a mental wince, Allhan zipped up his hoodie a little higher and tried to remember how to have a polite conversation with someone.
Any conversation.
Shuli sat down, crossing his legs at the knees and bouncing his velvet slipper to the beat. As he tilted his head, the enormous diamond studs in his earlobes flashed bright enough to create floaters in Allhan’s vision.
“I’m sorry,” the guy said. “I didn’t mean to make it weird. I’m drunk, very stoned, and that tends to get me talking.”
“It’s okay. I kn-know it’s strange. I don’t recognize myself.”
And as he glanced around at the VIP section, he really didn’t recognize all the stares coming his way. Men and women were checking him out, and given that he’d been a scrawny weakling before, he kept wondering if he had an entire head of broccoli in between his front teeth. Or maybe a horn growing out of his head.
Bloody nose he didn’t notice? How about undiagnosed cystic acne.
“Well, Al, if you decide to upgrade from the jeans-and-hoodie bull-shit, let me know. Happy to help.” Shuli brushed Allhan’s knee gently, like the guy knew that everything still ached. “Anyway, I gotta go. But the boys’ll take care of you—”
There was an instant uproar from the group, all kinds of versions of Shuli making a protest for their leader to continue to hang. Even the human women who’d been briefly welcomed into the circle of black light hopped on board with the hoopla, although for them, they were just going with the flow in the hopes of being seen as second-date prospects.
Which was not going to happen.
Shuli got back to his feet and patted the air like a rock star trying to get a crowd to settle. “Hey, you fuckers don’t have jobs like Al and I do. We’re working stiffs.”
“We are gainfully engaged, too,” someone retorted.
“Wanking off to your investment portfolios is paraphilia, not employment.”