If the Children of Lilith decided to show, Daemon would be sporting a dead tongue for a couple of days. But, knowing him, that wouldn't be enough of a deterrent to stop him from going back for seconds.
I thought I liked pussy.
Daemon put me to shame.
"Are we going in or what?" Daemon asked as I looked up at the club.
Sanctuary was an unassuming club from the outside. I guess all the best ones were. That way, it kept the towns from protesting what was going on inside the walls.
It was a two-story black stucco building with black shutters and blackout tint on the windows. I'd been around long enough to see it be seven different bars, two strip clubs, and one convenience store before it was finally purchased and turned into a kink club for the likes of us about five years back.
By Thysa.
A woman who lived for anything that involved booze, partying, and the removal of social constraints, so everyone's true nature could shine.
There weren't many places in the world that creatures of the underworld could coexist in a friendly manner, but thanks to Thysa's ability to get witches to spell the place, we all actually got to coexist in harmony.
Somewhat, anyway.
It wasn't like the magic sapped us of our preconceived notions or bad blood with others. It wasn't all kumbaya up in our heads. That wasn't how the whammy worked. But it did make it impossible to act on our anger while inside the club, or within a certain amount of feet of the club.
It wasn't long after all that shit with Lenore went down that I walked into Sanctuary to find some of the wolves hanging around.
The urge to stalk over there and beat the shit out of them was there, but there was something like a wall in the air in front of me that made it impossible to move forward.
I'd swear Thysa knew it, too. Because when my gaze slid to the bar where she was situated, there was a ghost of a smile on her lips.
"Oh, you brought the puppy," Thysa greeted as I made my way to the bar. Daemon was off already chasing tail.
The inside of Sanctuary was intimate, but not too small, with dark gray, black, and red design elements. There was a lot of leather, and not a lot of lights. Except for on the two stages where people would do scenes with their submissives for the audience to enjoy. Anything you might need for a scene, Thysa had behind the stage. Crosses, kneelers, spankers, horses, cages, and suspension furniture could all be found there. Along with all the toys to use while on those pieces of equipment.
"More like he follows me here," I said, shrugging, as I took the whiskey Thysa passed to me.
Thysa herself was a knockout with her curly brown hair, her flawless skin, and her dark eyes.
"Oh, it's cute. He sees you as a big brother."
"He sees me as someone who knows where he can find pussy."
"Well, that's not wrong, is it?"
No.
It wasn't.
There was nothing to be surly about.
Yes, Sanctuary was my alone time, my chance to get away from the recent, but ever-present drama over at the house. But, for the most part, Daemon wasn't asking me to hold his hand through anything, to show him around, to introduce him to people. He actually left me pretty much alone as long as there were women around for him to talk to.
"He's jonesing to meet a Child of Lilith."
To that, Thysa let out a low, knowing chuckle.
"Is he sure about that? The last time I went home with one, I considered icing my tongue as I took a handful of pain relievers."
"I warned him."
"And I warned you once upon a time," she said, smile stretching wider. "But you had to learn it for yourself too. Stubborn, you demons."
"One of our many attractive traits," I said, saluting her.
"Oh, boy. That's an interesting development," she said, making me acutely aware of the chill that filled the air.
In my experience, there was only one creature that did that.
Vampires.
We'd managed not to have bad blood with the vamps for all our time on this plane. They were one of the few types of creatures Ace outright demanded we didn't fuck with. Since they, like we, are immortal. They were killable, sure, but it wasn't easy. We were matched in strength, but they had speed we didn't, making the chance of us actually taking any of them out slim to none.
Fucking with the wolves or other shifters wasn't that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. They could die somewhat easily.
Vampires, though, they could make us miserable until the end of time. And, no, none of us could die. But we could all feel pain. It just wasn't worth it.
It had been easy never to get involved with the bloodsuckers, though, since we didn't tend to run in the same circles.
We'd all decided on doing the human biker club a while back, which meant we tended to rub shoulders with other bikers.
The vampires, though, they ran with a fancier sort.
You could tell just by looking at them.
Where me and mine tended to wear casual shit—jeans, tees, boots, our leather cuts if we were going out—the vampires were always dressed in suits with expensive watches and pocket squares and shit.
They were a big party this time, too. It looked like seven vamps as well as several of their drinks.
Thralls, they called them.
Because of whatever vampire mojo existed to make those chicks become enthralled with them.
I wasn't sure of how all their shit worked, but I did know that you didn't touch a thrall, that you were supposed to see them as an extension of the bloodsuckers themselves. And, yeah, that was about all I needed to know.
It was such an engrained rule over the years that I never usually even glanced at their women.
I wasn't a glutton for punishment.
If I looked and liked what I saw, I wanted to be able to touch. It was pointless to look if you didn't get the perk of physical contact.
So I kept my eyes to myself.
That was my plan as they moved through the club.
I likely would have stuck with it, if I hadn't been caught off-guard by the ancient vamp. In general, they were the somewhat youthful and beautiful sort. Those were the ones who survived since those were the ones who could get men and women to willingly sign over their lives to them.
But this man was ancient with thin, stringy hair, beady eyes, and, let's face it, the old fucker was probably sporting wrinkling, sagging-ass balls.
That was why my gaze slid past him toward the woman he was yanking along with him, curious what type of thrall you could snag at his age.
One look at her was like a dropkick to my system.
I tried to convince myself it was the shock of her condition, not her beauty.
And, to be fair, it might have been both.
Thralls were always known for being beautiful. Bloodsuckers could have anyone they wanted. So, of course, they would pick the knockouts. But they always kept them plump and healthy, round in the ass, tits, hips, and thighs. It did no good to have an unhealthy thrall to feed from.
But this woman with her midnight hair and bright eyes, with her stunning bone structure, and full lips, was not plump. No. She looked like she was moments away from crumbling to dust. A strong wind could snap her wrists. Through her bright red dress, you could see how concave her stomach was, how her hipbones jutted out. Above the neckline, her collarbones looked sharp enough to cut glass. As if that all wasn't bad enough, she looked practically translucent.