Except it couldn’t have been more different.
The bar wasn’t acrylic and lit by LEDs to show off the rows and rows of expensive synth below and behind it. There was no chrome and no cheap red vinyl. Everything, from the walls to the bar to the booths, was made of richly polished wood accented with brass.
Instead of a DJ booth, there was a small stage with a grand piano, where a heavy-lidded man played a sultry tune. Golden light spilled from globe lamps and twinkled in the antique mirror behind the bar. Oil paintings in heavy gold frames covered the walls. When she glanced up, she found the ceiling painted with a scene featuring the goddess Grim by her riverbank, surrounded by adoring vampires. By her feet, sinful souls reached up from the muddy bank, their mouths open and tears streaming.
Perched on stools and lounging around tables with white tablecloths were vampires of every stripe. The only things they seemed to have in common were the reek of wealth and the bottles of luxury alcoholic synth in their hands.
Dahlia had never really considered The Lush to be low class. If anything, she’d always thought it was pretty trendy. The design was sophisticated, the service good, and the music passable.
But compared to Old Blood, the nicest thing she could call it wastacky.
The hair on her arms stood up as attention swung their way. She didn’t need to recognize any of the faces in the room to know that every single one of them hid a powerful predator.
Only the elite of the syndicate were welcome in Old Blood, and only the most dangerous vampires could earn the title.
Am I one of them now?
It was a bizarre realization to have as Felix guided her to a table in the center of the room. Their security found a table slightly off to the side as she slipped into her seat.
A tuxedo-clad waiter materialized by their table almost instantly. Not a crease out of place, sterile gloves fitted perfectly, and expression one of carefully calibrated professional warmth, he took their orders like serving them a couple bottles of hundred dollar synth was the highlight of his night.
When he stepped away, Dahlia leaned over to Felix and muttered, “This issoweird.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders and drew her into his side. Gaze moving around the bar, Felix affected a casual but proprietary air as he leaned back in his seat. “In what way?”
“Like a month ago I was working in a vampire bar,” she answered. “Now I’m a customer at the most exclusive one on the continent. Just feels…”
Dahlia trailed off, unable to explain the nuance of it to him. Felix had grown up in this life. He’d never worked a service job or been looked down upon in the same way she had. It wasn’t just about having suddenly swapped places with the waiter. It was about the fact that she hadpower.
It hadn’t really hit her until that moment, when they walked through doors that never would’ve been opened to her in her old life.
She was so used to being prey that suddenly being seen as one of the predators was jarring.
Felix rubbed her shoulder with his thumb. It was a deceptively lazy touch that stood in stark contrast to the tension she could feel radiating off him in waves. “If you’re uncomfortable, we could go home,” he offered far too eagerly.
Dahlia rolled her eyes. “You promised me a half hour.”
“Did I? Doesn’t sound like me.” He ran his tongue along the length of one fang, his gaze still roving the room like he thought someone was going to jump out of the paneling and snatch her. “We could go home right now, tell everyone to fuck off, and you could let me eat you out on my desk again. That sounds like a way better night.”
Trying to look relaxed, like she belonged, Dahlia replied, “Let’s not pretend like you aren’t going to do that anyway. If there’s a man who likes to eat pussy more than you, Felix, I haven’t met him — and wouldn’t survive him if I did.”
A bark of laughter erupted out of him. Quickly covering his mouth with a fist, he chuckled as the waiter returned with their synth.
He cracked the seals on the fancy black glass bottles, activating the heat and ensuring it was fresh, before he set their bottles down in front of them. The waiter vanished as quickly as he arrived, leaving them to their drinks.
Eyeing her bottle with interest, she whispered, “I only ever sold a couple of these bottles to VIPs at The Lush. I always wondered what made them special enough to be worth the price.”
Felix looped his fingers around the neck of his bottle but didn’t drink. Giving her an indulgent look, he said, “Try a sip and tell me if it’s worth it.”
Careful with her lipstick, Dahlia brought the bottle to her mouth for a taste — and promptly choked.
Turning her face toward his shoulder to hide her coughing fit, her eyes watered as she forced the mouthful of rancid alcoholic piss water down her throat. Felix’s laughter was more like a maniacal giggle as he rubbed her back. “What? Don’t like it?”
“Whatisthat?” she hissed, staring in horror into the opening.
It didn’t taste like any of the synth she’d had before. Admittedly, she’d only ever tried two brands before drinking from Felix replaced any bottled nutrients, but none of them had tasted like hot bottledass.
“That’s top-shelf alcoholic synth,” he answered, lifting his own bottle to peer thoughtfully at the label. “Used to be my favorite. Now it probably tastes like sewer water.”
