Lara Adrian's Midnight Breed 8-Book Bundle (129 page)

VEIL OF MIDNIGHT

CHAPTER
One

O
n stage in the cavernous jazz club below Montreal’s street level, a crimson-lipped singer drawled into the microphone about the cruelty of love. Although her sultry voice was pleasant enough, the lyrics about blood and pain and pleasure clearly heartfelt, Nikolai wasn’t listening. He wondered if she knew—if any of the dozens of humans packed into the intimate club knew—that they were sharing breathing space with vampires.

The two young females sucking down pink martinis in the dark corner banquette sure as hell didn’t know it.

They were sandwiched between four such individuals, a group of slick, leather-clad males who were chatting them up—without much success—and trying to act like their
bloodthirsty eyes hadn’t been permanently fixed on the women’s jugulars for the past fifteen minutes straight. Even though it was clear that the vampires were negotiating hard to get the humans out of the club with them, they weren’t making much progress with their prospective blood Hosts.

Nikolai scoffed under his breath.

Amateurs.

He paid for the beer he’d left untouched on the bar and headed at an easy stroll toward the corner table. As he approached, he watched the two human females scoot out of the booth on unsteady legs. Giggling, they stumbled for the restrooms together, disappearing down a dim, crowded hallway off the main room.

Nikolai sat down at the table in a negligent sprawl.

“Evening, ladies.”

The four vampires stared at him in silence, instantly recognizing their own kind. Niko lifted one of the tall, lipstick-stained martini glasses to his nose and sniffed at the dregs of the fruity concoction. He winced, pushing the offending drink aside.

“Humans,” he drawled in a low voice. “How can they stomach that shit?”

A wary silence fell over the table as Nikolai’s glance traveled among the obviously young, obviously civilian Breed males. The largest of the four cleared his throat as he looked at Niko, his instincts no doubt picking up on the fact that Niko wasn’t local, and he was a far cry from civilized.

The youth adopted something he probably thought was a hardass look and jerked his soul-patched chin toward the restroom corridor. “We saw them first,” he murmured. “The women. We saw them first.” He cleared his throat
again, like he was waiting for his trio of wingmen to back him up. None did. “We got here first, man. When the females come back to the table, they’re gonna be leaving with us.”

Nikolai chuckled at the young male’s shaky attempt to stake his territory. “You really think there’d be any contest if I was here to poach your game? Relax. I’m not interested in that. I’m looking for information.”

He’d been through a similar song-and-dance twice already tonight at other clubs, seeking out the places where members of the Breed tended to gather and hunt for blood, looking for someone who could point him toward a vampire elder named Sergei Yakut.