CHAPTER FIVE

The girlfriend, some cheap perfume and desperation clinging to her, actually tried to bolt. A flicker of movement, a frantic scramble towards the velvet-draped exit. Pathetic. I barely had to exert myself. A quick grab of her arm, my fingers sinking into the cheap fabric of her dress, and she was yanked back, stumbling and whimpering.

She tried to scream, a high-pitched, desperate sound, but it was swallowed whole by the thumping bass and drunken laughter of Crimson. The strategically placed heavy, red velvet curtains, draped everywhere like opulent shrouds, weren't just for show; they muffled everything, trapping the sound, the fear…everything.

My fangs ached. I was parched. Ravenous. The scent of his cruelty, the boyfriend's, lingered in the air, thick and cloying, a siren song to a hunger I could barely contain. He was the worst of them, no question.

Beating his children, starving them, leaving them home alone, too young to care for themselves, while he and their mother went out partying. It churned my ancient stomach. No. That wouldn't do. I knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within my soul, that them being orphans would be infinitely better than the living hell they currently endured.

Lucian, ever the voice of reason, the anchor to my darkness, saw the spiraling hunger in my eyes. He laid a hand on my arm, a light touch that somehow grounded me despite the storm raging within. "Kaelen," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the music, "no feeding in the club. Remember?"

Right. Rules. There were always rules, even for creatures like us. With a frustrated exhale, I forced myself to unclench my fists, to reign in the predatory instincts clawing at the surface.

Lucian smoothly rose to his feet. I followed suit, pulling the trembling couple with us. The boyfriend, still trying to maintain a semblance of bravado, stumbled gracelessly. We navigated the throngs of bodies, the jostling dancers, the predatory gazes, towards a discreetly paneled door tucked away in a dimly lit corner.

Once inside, I could barely hold on to my composure. With a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, I dragged the couple down a narrow flight of stairs, the musty scent of old stone filling my nostrils. The air grew colder, heavier, as we descended. At the bottom, an iron door, intricately carved with ancient symbols, stood sentinel. I shoved them through.

Lucian, the last to enter, closed the door behind us with a resounding clang that echoed through the space. We were now in the Black Velvet Room. Black marble flooring gleamed under the dim light, reflecting the shadows dancing on the velvety walls. In the center of the room, a drain, a gaping maw in the floor, waited patiently.

The couple looked around, their faces pale in the flickering light. The scent of their terror, sharp and acrid, was almost intoxicating. I was drunk on it. They smelled of fear, but the man reeked of something much worse.

Lucian stepped forward, his presence radiating an unnerving calm. The boyfriend, desperate to regain control, puffed out his chest. "What do you know about my family?" he demanded, his voice trembling despite his best efforts.

I began to circle them slowly, my every step deliberate, predatory. Lucian raised a hand, silencing me. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

"We know about the little lies you tell yourself," Lucian said, his voice a low, mesmerizing hum. "We know about the belt, tucked away in the closet. We know about the empty stomachs and the locked doors."

The boyfriend's bravado crumbled. He looked at the woman, seeking some form of reassurance, but she was paralyzed with fear, her eyes wide and unseeing.

"We know about the silence," Lucian continued, his voice relentless. "The silence that screams louder than any cry. We know about the broken promises and the shattered dreams."

My fangs ached, and I could feel my control slipping. He was toying with them, drawing out their torment, savoring their fear. I wanted to tear into him, to silence his lies, to punish his cruelty.

"And we know, most importantly," Lucian said, his gaze hardening, "that you don't deserve the air you breathe." Lucian turned to me with a nod.

The girlfriend, her eyes now reflecting the horror of her impending doom, finally understood. She lurched towards the iron door, a pathetic, desperate sprint for freedom that never stood a chance. Lucian and I didn't even twitch. The Black Velvet Room was a cage built for despair, and she was well and truly trapped within its confines.

Her boyfriend, fueled by a toxic cocktail of fear and misplaced machismo, saw his opportunity in her distraction. He roared and lunged towards Lucian, a clumsy, pathetic attempt at heroism. It was like a child attacking a granite statue. Lucian barely registered the attack.

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the boyfriend hurtling across the room, the sickening thud of his body hitting the black marble a testament to the force. The man crumpled to the floor, a broken heap of whimpers and blood. The metallic tang of iron filled the air, a primal scent that ignited a firestorm within me.

My teeth ached, a burning, insistent ache that demanded release. I needed to tear, to rend, to feel the warm, vital nectar gushing down my throat. But it wasn't just a physical craving. Lucian understood. He knew that when I was like this, teetering on the edge of the abyss, I needed to savor the moment, to draw out the experience, to truly quench the thirst that resonated deeper than mere hunger.

The girlfriend, wide-eyed and trembling, let out a weak, pathetic scream. It was almost insulting. "Come on," I growled, my voice a low, guttural rumble that echoed in the silence, "now you can do better than that!"

I stalked towards her, my movements deliberate, predatory. I grabbed her arm, yanking it up to my nose. She reeked of cheap perfume and terror, a nauseating combination that only amplified my hunger. Frantically, she tried to pull away, her muscles straining against my iron grip. It was a futile struggle. She was my prey, and there was no escape.

Then, in one swift, fluid motion, I moved her wrist to my mouth. Like a lover's caress twisted into a violent act, I sank my teeth into her flesh. Her scream, this time, was a bloodcurdling shriek that ripped through the air, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony. Satisfaction bloomed within me, a dark, intoxicating flower fed by her pain.

Lucian, who had been observing me with an unnerving calm, walked over, his gaze piercing. "Much better," he murmured, his voice smooth and almost approving. He grabbed the girlfriend by her hair, pulling her head back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. Without hesitation, he sank his teeth into her protruding vein, a gruesome mirror image of my own act.

The boyfriend, still lying on the floor, was in shock, his eyes glazed over, his body trembling. He wasn't quite registering what was happening, lost in a haze of pain and disbelief.

The metallic tang intensified, coating my tongue, clinging to the roof of my mouth. I released the girl's wrist, the coppery scent lingering in the air, a faint echo of the storm raging within me. Her fear had been a mere aperitif, a tantalizing tease. It was the boyfriend, pathetic and broken, who held the real promise of satiation.

He was still scrambling backwards, a pathetic bug pinned beneath my gaze. "Run," I rasped, a smirk twisting my blood-smeared lips. The sound bounced off the black marble walls, a cruel invitation.

He collided with the wall, his eyes wide and darting, searching for any escape in the inescapable. "Come on now," I purred, my voice a low growl, "Surely you can do much better, run!"

His gaze flickered between me and his girlfriend, a slack, lifeless puppet in Lucian's grasp. Lucian, ever the showman, gifted him a chilling smile, his teeth still embedded in her jugular, a crimson river painting her neck. The sight seemed to break something within the boy, finally severing the last threads of hope. He scrambled to his feet, his movements jerky and desperate.

He went for the door, of course. They always do. Fueled by the primal instinct to survive, he clawed at the cold iron, his screams echoing in the oppressive silence. Useless. Pointless. He was trapped, well and truly trapped.

I allowed myself a slow, deliberate stalk, savoring his panic. The distance between us shrunk with each step, the scent of his terror intensifying, a potent drug that fueled my hunger.

He turned, his back pressed against the unforgiving iron, watching me encroach upon him. Pure, unadulterated fear radiated off him in waves, a symphony of dread that made me high.

The distance closed entirely. He swung, a desperate, pathetic punch connecting with my face. I barely registered it. He was a child trying to topple a mountain.

I stood, towering over him, looking down at the frail, trembling man. In one swift, deliberate motion, I used my fingers, sharpened by something far older than any blade, to slice across his throat. The fountain of blood erupted, painting the black marble in a grotesque masterpiece.

His hand flew to the gash, but the crimson tide overwhelmed his efforts. A silent scream echoed in his eyes as his legs gave way. He fell, a discarded doll, all control lost in a single, irreversible moment.

And then I dropped, plunging down to his level, abandoning any pretense of control. I attacked the open wound, teeth tearing at flesh, blood spraying across my face, my chest, my very soul. How warm it was, how vibrant, how utterly, exquisitely satisfying. I drank deeply, greedily, draining what I could before it was all gone.

I hated to be wasteful, but I needed this, this sweet, savage release. The man was barely alive now, a husk on the verge of oblivion.

Finally, satiated, I released him. The metallic tang lingered, heavy and intoxicating. The firestorm within me had subsided, replaced by a deep, guttural contentment. For now.

The warmth pulsed through me, a crude imitation of life itself. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation, letting it seep into the hollow spaces within. My senses sharpened, the lingering coppery tang on my tongue mixing with the ghostly echoes of their fear, their panic, their final, desperate breaths.

For a fleeting moment, I was complete. A perverse sense of peace settled over me, a fragile truce between the man I once was and the monster I had become.

A thud broke the silence. Lucian, ever the brute, had discarded the girl like a broken toy. I didn't open my eyes, didn't want the sight of their lifeless forms to break the fragile spell.

The last vestiges of their life force still clung to me, a faint resonance I desperately clung to. I had heard their heartbeats stutter and cease, the definitive end. The sound was a morbid lullaby, a confirmation of my dark feast.

"Feel better, little brother?" Lucian slurred, his voice thick with something akin to revelry. Even he, with his years of experience, was affected. Perhaps by the sheer wantonness of it all, or maybe by the echo of the drugs that still coursed through their veins. It was always a gamble, feeding on those touched by modern excesses.

I finally opened my eyes, the black marble walls of our prison shimmering in my blurred vision. I turned to face him, the crimson smeared across my face a macabre mask.

"For now, brother," I replied, the words raspy, echoing in the cavernous space. The contentment was already beginning to fade, the darkness creeping back in, the insatiable hunger gnawing at my insides.

Then, like a phantom limb, she appeared – Eleanor. Her face, vivid and clear, flashed behind my eyelids. The memory of her scent, lilies and sunshine, a stark contrast to the metallic reek that clung to me now, sent a jolt through my system. I clenched my fists, the image searing itself into my mind.

She was a stranger, someone I had saved only hours before, yet she held the key, not to satiating my hunger for blood, but for something far more profound. Only she, it seemed, could truly quench the parchness that now gripped my soul. A parchness that blood would never satisfy.

"For now," I repeated, the word a guttural rasp that echoed the darkness clawing its way back into my soul. Lucian, oblivious as always, smacked me on the back, nearly sending me stumbling. "That's the spirit! Now, let's get cleaned up. Wouldn't want to frighten the clientele, eh?" He gestured towards the far side of the chamber, where a section of the wall, seamlessly integrated into the black wall, shimmered almost imperceptibly.

With a thought, I activated the mechanism, the "panel" sliding silently open to reveal a small antechamber. Inside, rows of lockers lined the walls, filled with fresh clothes. Showers, gleaming and sterile, stood ready. This was Lucian's touch, the pragmatic side of him ensuring our indulgences didn't interfere with the smooth operation of our... business.

Shedding the blood-soaked clothes, I tossed them aside without a backward glance. The heavy, metallic tang of blood lingered on my skin. I stood under the frigid shower, scrubbing not for absolution, but to wash away the remnants of the hunt.

The stinging water was a welcome distraction from the encroaching numbness. I pulled on dark jeans and a black t-shirt, the fit familiar and comfortable. Lucian had already vanished, likely resuming his practiced façade of affable host.

Stepping back into the main chamber, the cacophony of the nightclub hit me full force. The music, the pulsing lights, the barely-contained energy of the crowd – it was a stark contrast to the silent darkness from which we'd emerged. I navigated the throng, the faces blurring into a sea of anonymity. I felt a touch on my arm. Seraphine.

She was a creature of the night, as ancient and dangerous as we were. Her loyalty was absolute, bought and paid for long ago. She held out a folded piece of paper. No words exchanged, none needed. I took the paper, unfolded it. A single address. Eleanor.

The brief flicker of contentment I had stolen earlier ignited a new fire within me, a different kind of hunger. The blood had appeased the beast, but the memory of her face, her scent, stoked a desire for something far more intriguing. This was no longer about survival, about feeding to stay alive. This was about... something else.

A slow smile spread across my face, a predator's grin. Lucian, lost in a conversation with a gaggle of wide-eyed mortals, wouldn't understand. He thrived on the kill, the raw power of taking a life. But this... this was different. This was a hunt. And Eleanor was the prize.

I crushed the paper in my fist, the address imprinted on my mind. The nightclub faded into background noise. The game was afoot. It was time to find Eleanor. Time to explore this new, unfamiliar hunger. Time for a brand new kind of thrill.

But not tonight. Not yet.