Fanged at First Sight, page 1
Fanged at First Sight
Cali Mann, Mia Harlan
Copyright © 2023 by Cali Mann & Mia Harlan
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art © Dreams2Media
Editing: Proofreading by Jade
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Epilogue
About Cali Mann
Also by Cali Mann
About Mia Harlan
Also By Mia Harlan
Chapter 1
Esme
I close the office door behind me and press my hand to my pounding heart. I made it!
I didn’t think I would, but I’m here. And I’m safe. For now.
The club isn’t open yet, and it is just me and the staff and the vamps. Nothing like sneaking past a few bloodsucking monsters to get the blood pumping.
The office is smaller than I expected, or maybe it just seems that way because a monstrously sized mahogany desk takes up most of it. There are a couple of framed notices on the wall, liquor licenses and such, but no personal touches. Vamps don’t photograph at all, but you’d think there’d be a painting or something.
I shake myself. Stop wasting time, Esme!
Hurrying around the desk, I crouch down behind it and pull over the slim laptop. I open it up and the Crescendo logo is front and center: a fragile rose alongside the name, underlined in neon red. Obvious, much? I click the mouse and the desktop opens. No password? My brow furrows. They must have assumed no one would ever be stupid enough to sneak in here. Not sure what that says about me . . .
I start clicking through the files quickly, eager to finish what I came here for and get the hell away from this place. Come on, blood donor records. They have to be here somewhere.
Who but a vamp would think of making a dance club a place where you can donate blood? I push my glasses up my nose. Regular folks think the owner is just an eccentric billionaire. “Damn bloodsucker,” I mutter after I open yet another useless file.
“Yes?” a smooth male voice asks. “You rang?”
I yelp, gaping at the vamp leaning casually over the desk. If I was going to get caught, couldn’t it have been the dangerously good-looking bartender with the ponytail? I’d almost not even mind being caught by him. Why did it have to be the terrifying club owner?
“It’s not what it looks like,” I mutter, more stupid than brave. But I’m desperate. I need this.
He pops out his fangs in warning, but his eyes dance merrily. It almost feels like he’s toying with me when he asks, “Who are you, and what are you doing in my office?”
Standing up slowly, I adopt a pleading expression and say, “I just need to see your blood donor records for a second. Please.”
“Well, since you asked so politely . . .”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
He rolls his eyes. “No, not really. Those records are private.”
He smiles, still with his fangs showing. It’s a creepy look, made more terrifying by the fact that everyone calls him “The Composer.” Sounds like a serial killer, if you ask me.
I should try to run, but I stand my ground. It’s stupid. I know. But it’s not the stupidest thing I’ve ever done . . . which says a lot about the state of my life.
Last week, I was in this same club/blood bank, donating my own blood so I could try to sneak away with a server’s tablet. I was hoping to go through it in the bathroom, email myself the records, and then return it without anyone noticing. Brilliant plan, not so brilliant execution. I got caught with the thing half up my skirt and got my ass tossed onto the street with a warning.
Today, I snuck into the club’s office, hoping to do the same, but instead, I’m trapped inside and The Composer is blocking the exit. I shudder. Despite his handsome facade, he’s probably a killer like the rest of his kind.
I push up my glasses and try to look confident.
He smirks. “You have no business being here.” He looks like an elite club owner, dressed in black slacks and an open-collared dress shirt, and his lip curls like he’s used to women throwing themselves at him. Despite his classic good looks, he’s not really my type. The bartender on the other hand . . .
I mentally shake my head. I know better. My family warned me about vamps long ago. I don’t look The Composer in the eye—that’s the quickest way to get yourself compelled—but instead focus my gaze on the shiny silver pin on his collar. It’s shaped like a musical note, probably referencing his street name, his serial killer name. I grasp my wrist and rub the scar there for luck, because I know I’m in trouble.
“Let me show you out,” he says, gesturing to the doorway. I guess the lucky scar worked . . . but I need a different kind of luck.
Forcing myself back to the task at hand, I push my glasses up my nose again. I really need to get a new pair, I just haven’t had the chance. I’ve got more important things on my mind. “I need the records.”
He scowls, finally dropping the nice guy act. “Are you going to leave or do I have to drag you out?”
I sigh reluctantly. Maybe I can try to come back when The Composer isn’t around and try again. Third time’s the charm, right?
Following him out into the main room, I notice that the house lights are on, because the club’s not open yet. There are three dancers practicing on the stage, and the bartender is polishing glasses behind the bar. He glances up and meets my eyes. I know I should look away before I get my ass compelled—you never know who might be a vamp—but my breath catches in my throat. His long brown hair is tied back in a ponytail and his dark eyes take in every inch of me. He wears a t-shirt and jeans that perfectly show off his sculpted physique. Now, he’s my type.
I don’t even realize I’ve stopped walking until The Composer turns to me and raises an eyebrow. My cheeks heat, and I rub the scar on my left wrist. Please don’t eat me.
Taking a breath, I decide to give it one last chance. “Please, I need this. I need to find her.”
The Composer crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he says, though to my relief, he does not mean that literally. “Who’s her?”
“I’m looking for my birth family,” I say. “I hope to find their blood donor records here.” I’d tried all the hospitals—asked every administrator and even snuck in to search myself—and I’d found nothing. Club Crescendo’s blood bank is said to have the most complete records available, drawn from franchises in every major city in the world. Some say that the vamps who run the place don’t drink directly from humans anymore. Which—I swallow—I hope is true, because I’m all too human.
“We’re not an adoption agency.”
“Of course not. You’re vamps,” I mutter. My gaze strays back to the bartender. He meets my eyes and smiles, making no effort at all to hide his fangs. Damn. Of course he’s a vamp, Esme. What do you expect at a vamp club?
“I am curious how you know about us,” The Composer says, his voice dropping like he’s going to compel me.
I might be a human but I know some things. Never look a vamp in the eye. I keep my gaze beyond him on the too-hot-for-my-own-good bartender. “Please,” I beg, a part of me hoping the other man will intervene. “I just need to know who my birth parents are.”
“I don’t know you, and your attempt at thieving doesn’t exactly endear you to me.” He winks, then sighs. He actually seems annoyed that his charm and good looks don't work on me.
I feel pitiful but I plead one more time. “I just need to find a match for this blood sample.” I reach into my jeans’ pocket and hold up a piece of paper.
“We’re a blood bank, not your local history museum,” he says. “Besides, as I’ve said, our records are private. Time for you to go.”
I glance at the bartender for help, but he just looks amused. I am out of options.
“Otto,” The Composer calls, and a burly-looking bouncer comes up to us. The man is huge and built like a tank.
The big man grunts.
“Please get rid of her,” he says and turns back toward the bar.
My heart nearly stops. Get rid? As in . . .
I lick my lips, my gaze darting between them. I can feel my heart pounding against my chest, and I am sure it must be even louder to the predators around me.
Otto grabs my arm roughly—though I think he’s trying to be gentle, since he could easily crush me. He grumbles.
“No, please . . .” I try to pull away, but his grip is too strong. This is it—the moment that I die. I fight him with all the strength I’ve got—which isn’t much. He just sighs in annoyance, like I’m a pesky bug he’s about to crush.
Otto drags me to the front door. He opens it and shoves me out.
I stand on the sidewalk outside the club, blinking. As I wait for my heart to stop pounding, I look up at the sign above the door. It’s the same logo as on the laptop: the word
I’m alive. I close my eyes then open them again. I’m alive.
“Okay, Esme, think,” I mutter to myself. I need to think of a way to get those records. Okay, yes, I should be more focused on the alive part, but I knew the risk when I decided to do this, and I’m not backing down now.
Club Crescendo is the only lead I have. I need to find a way in.
I turn and head down the sidewalk. My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans, and I stop to pull it out.
My sister’s name flashes across the screen. I go to open her text when I’m suddenly picked up and rushed into a nearby alley so fast everything around me blurs. I open my mouth to scream and a hand covers it before I can. The alley is dark, with a lone street light penetrating the black, but I can see the red eyes surrounding me. Vamps.
This is how The Composer plans to get rid of me. My heart races.
For the second time tonight, I know I’m going to die. This is it.
I’m only human. I wish I had powers of some kind to defend myself, but I don’t. I really am an idiot. I thought that out here, away from the club, I’d be safe. I was wrong. I struggle, but the vamps hold me tightly. When the hand covering my mouth abruptly disappears, I scream, but it doesn’t do any good.
The streetlight lets me see my impending death in their open mouths and sharp fangs. Thanks for that, universe. My back is pressed against the cold cement wall, and I search for any weapon in my reach, but there is nothing. Of course there’s nothing. We’re in the middle of an alley.
“Please, don’t,” I beg. For all my bravado today, going to Crescendo on my own, I don’t want to die.
When fangs pierce my skin, I scream, even though I know no one can hear me.
They slurp up my blood, and with the four of them, I’m in a losing battle. I can feel the coldness in my limbs already. My heart slows its pace dramatically. I really am going to die. I think of my family, their smiling faces in my mind’s eye.
The attacker to my left is ripped away from me and cries out. The others ignore him, too focused on their feeding. But then the one who was next to him is taken.
I peer into the night. Who is trying to help me? Darkness edges on my vision.
“You’re too late,” I whisper.
The other two attackers are pulled away and I watch as a tall form fights with them. A wooden stake is in his hand. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, or maybe it's a dying gift from the universe, because I get a glimpse of a familiar ponytail. The good-looking bartender is fighting for me. That’s nice. I slump down against the wall and my eyes start to close.
The murderous vamps’ yells are abruptly cut off and a few seconds later I’m encircled in oddly warm arms.
“Why do you feel warm?” I mumble. “Vamps are brrrrr . . .” I sound like I’m drunk.
“What’s your name?” he asks as he looks over my wounds.
“Esme.”
“Esme.” His eyes, a glowing reminder of the monster that he is, lock on mine even as everything starts to blur. “I’m Syd.”
“Nice to . . .” I try, but I can’t seem to make my tongue work anymore.
“Esme,” he says my name again, his gentle tone calling me back. “I’m going to have to turn you.”
His words reach me and I gasp, “No.”
“You’ve lost too much blood,” he says. “You’re not going to make it.”
“I don’t care,” I say, trying to pull away from his grasp. “You can’t. My family . . .”
Chapter 2
Syd
I scoop up Esme into my arms. She’s almost weightless, she’s lost so much blood. She doesn’t have much time.
I dash back up the street and into the club. I ignore the staff and head straight for Kit’s office. The only occupants are Kit, lounging behind his mahogany desk, and Otto stuffed into a too small chair across from him.
My friend and boss is on his feet and clearing everything off the top of his desk before I even speak. We’ve been blood brothers so long, it's like we can read each other’s minds.
“Who did this?” Kit demands.
Otto grunts.
“They’re dead. They don’t matter right now,” I say. I am desperate to do something, anything, to save her. “We have to help her!”
Kit looks her over, just like I did, assessing her wounds and blood loss. He listens to her heartbeat, but I know already that it's painfully slow. “This is the woman from earlier. The one I caught in my office.”
I nod impatiently.
“You have to turn her. I am loath to add more vamps to the world,” he says, “but dead bodies are bad for business.”
“No,” I say. “She doesn’t want to be turned.”
He shrugs. We’ve both seen enough death in our lifetimes. It’s hard to be surprised by it anymore. “Then I can help you dispose of the body.”
“No,” I say. The mere thought of watching the remaining life seep out of Esme makes me want to throw up. “We did this. They attacked her because she was at the club. We have to fix it.” We made a pledge when we started the club that we would no longer be the cause of human deaths. We’d dealt too much violence, and when Gene died, we’d promised each other—no more.
Deep down, I know that’s only part of the reason. The rest has something to do with Esme. Some part of me knows she’s special, but I don’t want to examine that feeling. Not when she’s about to die in my arms.
Kit meets my gaze. “I can fetch the doctor, but we would be too late. There isn’t any other choice.”
I look at Esme. She’d lost her glasses somewhere between the alley and here, probably shattered in the attack. Her black curls are pillowed beneath her head and her eyes are closed, their deep green color that had so struck me earlier is hidden. I squeeze my fingers into fists. Why had they attacked her? She hadn’t done anything but be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Her chest barely rises and falls at her breath. She is slipping away. I can’t let her die. I place her on the desk and bite into my wrist. When the blood begins to flow, I press it to her open lips.
Now that the decision is made, Kit paces back and forth across the office. The indentation between his brows is deep as his mind ponders. Usually I enjoy watching The Composer at work—he might act the playboy, but The Composer is brilliant—only, this time my gaze returns to Esme.
“Who did this?” he asks. “We need to act right away. This can’t happen in our territory.”
I trace her features in my mind’s eye while my blood seeps past her lips. I’d thought her beautiful when I’d seen her earlier, but I’d forced myself to ignore her too interested stare. Humans are fragile things, and vamps are dangerous. Hell, I had trouble keeping my vamp friends alive, there was no way I was taking on responsibility for a human.
“Syd,” Kit says.
I lift my arm from her lips. She’s taken enough. Now all I can do is wait. I lick my wrist to seal the wound then look at my friend. “They were rogues. I killed all four in the alley behind the club. I didn’t have time to search their clothes.”
“Okay. You stay here with . . .” He flicks his gaze to the woman on the desk. “Do you know her name?”
“Esme,” I say.
He nods. “Otto and I will go after these rogues. We need to make sure the club is secure.”
I watch him leave through the open office door. He flirts with the dancers as he goes by in the usual Kit way, and they are attractive, but I suddenly can’t think about any woman but the one lying limp across his desk.
“Esme, I can’t wait for you to wake up.” I scoot my chair up next to her and stroke her hair. “You really are incredibly beautiful.”
She is silent and still as the grave.
“I noticed you the moment you set foot in the club. I couldn’t look away. The way you kept rubbing your wrist, right here, above the pulse point.” I run my fingers over the faint scar, wondering how she got it. “I’ve been around for centuries, and it’s been many years since I’ve cared about the comings and goings of mortals. I’ve never found anyone as intriguing as you. Why were you at the club today?” I ask. “Something about your birth parents?”
