Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

And for vampires in general if humanity got wind of it. Vampires might have been a part of society for a long time now, but there were still pockets of humanity who viewed them with great suspicion. Knowing it was possible for vamps to become addicted—and violent if that addiction wasn’t fed—would only fan the flames of that suspicion and make it spread.

“I would have thought it’d be illegal for clubs like this to use what are basically drugged-up humans as a constant food source.”

He shrugged. “It is. But where there is a need, a way will always be found. The whores are here willingly. They are well fed, in well-maintained, generous-sized accommodations, and on rotation, so that they are never overdosed on sensation.”

But also never allowed to experience life outside these walls, by the sound of it. I wondered where in the hell the families of the whores were. Or had they simply given up, knowing that the addiction was so strong it was something they could never cure?

“So, slaves,” I muttered, not quite able to keep the distaste out of my voice.

He shrugged again. “They are not slaves, because slaves, by definition, are owned, and have no right to freedom or property.”

But they were slaves to their addiction—an addiction that the vampires were readily fueling in order to cater to their own addicted. It was an almost incestuous relationship, one addiction feeding the other, a wheel in constant motion that no one could escape.

You are not here to judge, Azriel reminded me softly. And the sooner you question him about the dead, the sooner we can be gone from this place.

Good point. “Could one of the blood whores be a connection point between the men who died?”

“No. We thought of that possibility—that perhaps someone close to a whore might be taking a bit of retaliatory action—but the five men had different tastes when it came to their preferred source.”

I frowned. “And there was no obvious connection between the men themselves?”

He shook his head. “None that we could uncover.”

Which meant I was totally out of ideas. Some investigator I was. I hesitated, then asked, “Where do the feeds happen? Out in the main bar?”

“No. Watching another vampire feed can be an erotic experience, especially for one of the addicted. We keep the feedings in one-on-one soundproofed rooms. There is less chance of a frenzy being created that way.”

And that, I thought with a chill, was his first real lie. There was too much desperation—and the scent of blood was too strong—in this place for the feedings to be entirely separated.

“Where are these rooms?” I asked.

“Downstairs.”

“And the whores’ living quarters?”

“Also downstairs, but on a separate level.”

Living underground, never to see the light of day or breathe fresh air. It was a hell of a high price to pay for ecstasy.

“Can we see the feeding rooms? And talk to a couple of the whores?”

“Sure. But they have already been interviewed.”

“And Hunter sent me here to do it all again.”

He smiled. “And if one values life, one does not go against Hunter’s orders.”

“Precisely.”

He rose and headed for the door. I followed, Azriel at my back. As we headed left across the club floor, I noted that the scent of vampire and need seemed thicker than before. I edged a little closer to Marshall and said, “What time does this place start getting busy?”

“Usually not until the sun sets. Most of our clients are lower-rung vampires and, as such, cannot handle much sunlight.”

“Then why are there more vampires in here now than before?”

He glanced over his shoulder. His expression was curious. Wary. “And how can you tell that?”

“Werewolves tend to have sensitive noses.”