Sweat dripped from my brow as I exited the stage with my bandmates. They hooted and groaned—some removing instruments, others fanning themselves from the blistering heat of the stage lights and the crowd. Ah, the crowd was wild tonight, and I thrived on bringing their desires to life. The passion in their eyes, the way their bodies writhed and ground against each other—it was intoxicating. Oh yes, I still had it.
I grabbed the towel I'd left backstage and scrunched it through my damp curls, now clinging to my face. I was pretty sure the grease paint I'd used for my jester-like makeup had melted and smeared, giving me an even wilder, more deranged look. Perfect.
I glanced at my bandmates. Each one was trying to sort themselves out in their own way—cool down, rehydrate, recover.
Raven shook out her wild white hair, then bunched it into a messy ponytail. Her teal eyes caught mine, and she flashed a grin.
"Excellent night, don't you think, Howl?" she said, checking the rest of her outfit to make sure nothing was out of place.
I nodded and gestured toward the rest of the band. "You were all excellent. Raven—harmonies were on point. Midnight, did you add extra beats to your solo in Into the Dusk?"
Midnight looked sheepish, still twirling his drumsticks.
"Sorry, mate. Got carried away—again."
I shook my head. "No, no, I actually liked it. It added a sense of chaos that I think the song needed. Do you think you could replicate it?"
He shifted his jaw, tugging his lips downward in thought. I could see him replaying the solo in his head. I waited, letting him process. Then he gave a small nod, and his pale blue eyes lit up.
Yeah. I knew he had this. He was one of the best drummers I'd ever played with.
I smirked and gave him a thumbs-up.
Then I turned to Shade and sighed. He avoided my eyes, still plucking away at his unplugged bass with a deliberately funky riff.
"Shade..."
"Did you see that one in the front row?" he smirked, a flash of white fang against his dark skin. "Nearly climbed on stage, that one."
Raven groaned. Midnight just shook his head.
Of course I'd seen her. One of our regulars since we started playing months ago—black hair with a pink streak, decked out in the most gothic fashion Goth R Us could provide.
Fans were fine. Fans on stage? Trouble.
"And the fact that you decided to thrust directly in her face had nothing to do with that?" I shot back. "That was practically an invitation." Shade stopped playing and then looked at me, his golden eyes flashing above his round red spectacles.
"Don't you think she would be willing to help the band out, every few days" He wiggled his eyebrows at me. He was of course referring to a feed-friend. Humans were none the wiser of us feeding off of them, in fact, they would see it as a normal relationship. A little bit of flirting, schmoozing and of course sex, if need be, but to a vampire it was more of a sustenance transaction and it never lasted long. It couldn't, too much risk of exposure. Not to mention the low iron levels that would eventually raise suspicion.
"Shade, take my advice. Don't shit where you eat. No fans become feed-friends. Not on my watch."
Shade chuckled, then stuck his tongue out like a brat. That's when I realised—he was just trying to get a rise out of me.
"Fuck you, man!" I laughed, whipping my damp towel straight at his face.
He caught it mid-air, grinning like a demon, and let out that electric laugh of his—the kind that buzzed in your chest and dragged the rest of us into it.
Soon we were all laughing, spirits elated from the performance and our bond through the music. Honestly, this band had pulled me through the worst of it.
"Hey, Darien!"
A soft voice called my name.
Selene emerged from the hallway, moving toward me with that effortless grace she always seemed to carry. She'd changed out of her stage outfit and now wore a simple brown velvet dress. The lace detail around the sweetheart neckline immediately caught my eye—and I had to force myself to look away. It clung to her body like something stolen from a bedroom drawer.
Black thigh-high tights and ankle boots completed the look. Her brown curls bounced with every step as she approached, stopping just a foot away from me.
She folded her hands behind her back and smiled up at me.
I smiled back, keeping it friendly. Selene was sweet—almost too sweet for a band like ours. But damn if she didn't have stage presence.
"Hey, Selene. Awesome job out there tonight."
She curled a finger around one of her dark ringlets, eyes flicking up at me nervously.
"So… do you think this could be a regular thing?"
That actually caught me off guard. I hadn't pegged her as someone looking for a steady gig—especially not with a band like ours. Then again, tonight had been a success. No denying that.
If she was happy to be part of the crew, and the band were on board, I didn't see a reason to say no.
Then I looked at her—really looked.
Like Bastian, she was veilbound – turned sometime in the '90s, if I remembered right. Explained the sepia-toned outfits, the soft vintage makeup. She had style, and talent—but not the kind most veilborne circles welcomed with open arms.
I didn't blame her for wanting to fit in.
I glanced at the rest of the band. I was the only veilborne among them. A fact I hated more than most things about myself.
I rubbed my chin in mock contemplation, then grinned.
"I've got to run everything by the band, of course. But I don't think they'll have a problem with it. That scarf dance was exquisite." I leaned in and winked.
"Leave it with me, and I'll talk to them. But for now, come to the afterparty. Relax a little."
Her chocolate-brown eyes widened with excitement, and I found myself enjoying the fact that—for once—I could give someone a bit of hope.
"Thank you so much!"
Selene bounced off toward Raven, and the two of them hugged like old friends. I'd noticed she was bonding with the band easily. Yeah, I could see this working.
Just then, Bastian appeared in the doorway—and if a look could sour the whole night, it was his. Arms folded, eyes an intense stormy blue, lips curled into a bitter scowl.
Had he overheard the conversation between Selene and me?
"Hey, Bast. C'mon—she was good, man," I said, nodding toward Selene.
He sniffed and looked away.
"Yeah, and now I'll have to deal with the stench of hormones and sex for weeks. And this is going to be a regular thing?" He shot me a glare. "You're going to get me shut down, Daz. It was nearly a mass orgy out there."
I snorted. Okay, sure—the crowd had been intoxicated by my siren song. There was some bumping and grinding, and I'm pretty sure a few erogenous zones made very deliberate contact. But a mass orgy? Bit dramatic. I'd only pushed my power to second base at most. Any further, and yeah, he might've had a point.
"Bast, when are you going to learn to trust me?" I asked, giving him my best big-eyed innocence. "Why would I jeopardise the one sanctuary that gave our music a home?"
He raised his eyebrows as he rolled his eyes and walked towards me.
"So long as there are bodies out there paying for drinks, I'm happy. So keep doing what you're doing."
Then, with sudden panic, he added, "Just, please keep it under rated X, yeah? This place might've been hardcore back in the day, but humans are obsessed with regulations now. Health and safety, liability forms—I swear, I drain myself using compulsion... every damn time."
I smirked and clapped his shoulder. "I'll do my best, man. But seriously, what's really bothering you? This isn't your usual level of grumpy bastard."
At that, Bastian glowered at me. His eyes darkened to near-black.
"Valda is summoning you," he muttered. "She's ready with your feed for the night."
My face dropped.
Of course she was. Only Valda would use Bastian as a bloody messenger. It was normal, sure—but the weight in his tone said otherwise. Something else was getting under poor old Bast's skin.
I gave a short nod and turned to the band. "Time to move, people!"
They dropped their instruments without hesitation, following Bastian and me out of the room. Laughter and banter bounced down the hallway behind us, but Bastian walked in silence, his boots heavy against the floor.
I sidled up beside him. "What's eating you?"
He didn't answer right away. Just stared straight ahead, then sighed hard, as if it might ease his frustration.
Afterparties like this weren't unusual. A few lucky crowd members were always chosen—brought backstage, fed a little booze and attention, then quietly drained in a corner. No trauma, no memories, just a bit of grogginess and a story they'd probably embellish into legend.
"It's who she picked," he finally said. "Three idiot lassies managed to sneak in through the back tonight."
I blinked, then grinned. "Wait—seriously? That's how Valda made her choice tonight? A bunch of uninvited tagalongs?"
The image clicked instantly.
The redhead.
The one who'd looked right at me while in my opening costume.
Like she'd seen a ghost.
I remembered her in the crowd afterwards—I'd spotted her more than once. Even in all black, she stood out. That fiery red hair was practically a beacon.
Figures. Valda knew I was a sucker for redheads. Of course she'd pick that one for me. And of course that irritated me.
"Wait, I think I saw them earlier—blonde, brunette, and redhead, right?" I said. "How the hell did they get past the wards?"
Bastian growled under his breath. "No idea. Some arsehole must've left the door ajar after a delivery."
I doubted that was the case. Bastian had hired the best Warden in the city—someone whose wards were strong enough to stop both humans and vampires from slipping in through the back or side entrances. Warding was an old and specialised craft, the kind that allowed some of us to live in hidden communities across the world without fear of being found out. Anyone who tried to touch the door would be hit with a deep sense of dread and instinctively turn away.
I'd even hired the same Warden to ward my own place, so local punks wouldn't break into what they thought was just a derelict church.
A door left ajar shouldn't have weakened the wards—not unless something more was at play.
Still, something else bothered me…
"How did Valda know they were there?"
"She drained a girl to the point of unconsciousness. She claimed someone else had already fed on the girl before she got to her and followed me to complain about it – as if it was somehow my fault."
"Fuck." Was all I said. I knew that would have been a major headache for Bastian to deal with. No human is supposed to go unconscious, that is dangerous on all accounts. Bastian would have had to give her some of his blood to wake to her up and then compel her to think she had too much to drink or heat exhaustion. Something simple to not draw attention to the club. I also didn't believe Valda for a second on her lame ass story. She could have easily gotten carried away.
We finally reached the afterparty.
It was always the same room—the stockroom. Crates of miscellaneous libations were stacked around the space, some haphazardly, some arranged on purpose as makeshift seating or tall alcoves perfect for hiding nefarious deeds. Music thumped at a decent volume—loud, but not enough to kill conversation.
The room held maybe fifteen to twenty people. A few vampires. Mostly humans. Brought in to help satiate our needs.
From the scent alone, I could tell they were already pickled and ready for the taking. All that remained was the art of seduction—the coaxing, the charm—to secure the life-giving substance we craved.
I scanned the room for our three little troublemakers. Found them. Right next to my sister.
Valda was watching over them, whether they realised it or not. Of course she was.
So, naturally, I decided to be an annoying little brother and greet the rest of the room first. I soaked up the adoration, the kisses on the cheek, the flirtations, the ass-kissing. Let it all wash over me while pretending not to notice her.
And then, behind me, her voice cut through the noise—silky and gritted with annoyance.
"Brother, dear."
I turned slowly, sipping my beer with all the casual grace of someone who'd just noticed her. I could see her trying to hide the annoyance on her face. I do love that I can get under her skin.
"Valda, there you are. Did you just get here?" I smirked arrogantly.
I glanced behind her and spotted the three troublemakers who had Bastian all up in a fuss. Unremarkable at first glance, but something about them had caught her attention — and Valda didn't waste her interest lightly.
When I looked back, her violet eyes — so close to my own — flashed with a flicker of annoyance. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but I caught it. She wanted to save face, as always, in front of her audience.
"Pretending you didn't notice me?" she sneered. "Darien, that's beneath even you."
Her gaze swept over me with cold amusement.
"I do love this egocentric persona you've adopted though. Very rock 'n' roll."
Then she leaned in, standing on her toes to whisper against my ear:
"You may have these people fooled, but I still remember the shy little boy too afraid to leave his room. Don't embarrass me in front of my new friends…"
She pulled away with a knowing smile, but her eyes flashed — that same deadly, venomous purple. Too fast for a human to notice. But I got the message loud and clear.
She was in no mood for brotherly teasing.
That usually happened when she did favours for me. I should've been grateful.
My smile, though now slightly forced, brightened as I turned to the three girls staring at us.
"Ah, sis… you always know how to hit below the belt."
I let out a chuckle, the arrogance back in my tone. "But aren't we being rude? Who are your friends?"
I caught Valda's eyes drifting toward the three girls waiting nearby, and with lazy elegance, she turned to face them.
"You probably know Valerie Woods, the famous model?" she said, gesturing to the blonde. I could tell she was testing me.
Truth be told, I couldn't care less about the fashion world — but even I had to admit, Valerie was striking. She had the kind of tall, statuesque beauty that made people stop mid-step. Her posture was effortless, graceful, like every movement had been rehearsed and refined. Platinum blonde hair framed her high cheekbones and heart-shaped face in a glamorous 1940s Hollywood style — a silver screen siren reimagined.
Her eyes, a cool blue-violet, were disarming yet unreadable — until something shifted. It was like watching a switch flick. Suddenly, warmth and sultriness radiated from her as she purred,
"Pleasure to meet you, darling. Amazing performance tonight."
I gave a polite incline of my head in acknowledgment. I didn't trust that kind of beauty when it turned on like a spotlight.
Valda moved to the redhead in the centre. "This one is Elena," she said, sounding almost bored.
But this girl was anything but boring.
I took a better look at her. Her red hair was wavy, a little wild now — no doubt more styled earlier in the night, but Club Dusk had a way of unravelling people. Her dark eye make up brought out the green in her eyes. I also noticed that she had freckles trying to make their way out of her make up. Part of me wanted them to. She stood slightly back from the others, her right arm crossed over her body, clutching her left as though holding herself together. A quiet tension lingered around her.
She kept sneaking glances at me with soft green eyes, but each time our gazes met, her cheeks flushed — warm and stubborn and oddly... endearing.
When Valda said her name, Elena offered the faintest wave with her left hand.
"Hi," she murmured.
It was barely audible over the music.
She wasn't shy in the attention-seeking way — no coy smiles or fluttered lashes. This was different. She looked like she'd rather vanish into the wallpaper. But under all that awkwardness, there was something flickering — awareness, maybe. A spark.
I saw it in the dilation of her pupils when she glanced my way.
Oh. she'll be an easy feed, I thought, smiling back at her.
"A pleasure, Elena."
I let honey pour into her name — soft, deliberate. But she didn't meet my gaze. She simply dipped her head and studied some imaginary speck of lint on her dress.
That dress was exquisite on her — a black lace corset that hugged her curves, and a skirt cut just right to show off long, pale legs. Her heels sparkled subtly in the low light, and old-school me couldn't help but admire her ankles.
Some rather indecent thoughts tried to climb their way up from the gutter — namely, those ankles around my neck — but thankfully, Valda broke the illicit thought.
"And this is, uh…"
I looked up, amused, as Valda clearly stumbled on the final introduction. The girl's face lit with surprise as she realised Valda hadn't learned her name.
Unbothered, she stepped forward with a bright smile and extended her hand.
"It's so awesome to meet you — I'm Mariah!"
Her smile was infectious, and despite myself, I returned it with a slow, amused smirk as I shook her hand. Behind her, Valda rolled her eyes. Mariah was the type to own the floor — short, curvy, and dressed like she'd stepped straight out of an R&B music video. She donned a cropped leather jacket, bright blue corset top, and ripped jeans that clung like second skin. Her mocha skin glowed under the lights, and her 100-watt smile matched it beat for beat. Thick brown curls, braided close on one side, spilled wild and free on the other. Her honey-coloured eyes sparkled behind her glasses — amused, maybe, or just naturally full of fire.
I was already guessing that Mariah was the more sociable of the trio. She looked like the kind of person who made strangers into best friends before the night was over. Hence the rather pleased look I got from her when I'd shaken her hand — like she was collecting moments. I figured I'd make polite conversation before inviting Elena into one of the darker corners of the afterparty.
"So," I said with an easy smile to the three of them, "I hear you gave my friend Bastian a bit of grief sneaking in like that. Unheard of, really — in the long and sacred history of this place."
Mariah gave an exaggerated shrug, feigning guilt. Valerie merely sipped her sparkling wine and shook her head in a way that suggested elegant disapproval. Elena remained quiet, her gaze flitting anywhere but me.
Then Mariah perked up, all energy, and slung an arm around Elena's shoulders before gently nudging her forward.
"Sorry about that," she said cheerily, "but it's Elena's birthday, and by the time we got to the queue it was too long, and it was freezing and the back door was open…"
She trailed into a full-speed babble, but I kept my eyes on Elena. Her cheeks were steadily reddening, blooming with embarrassment. The rush of blood was enticing.
Valerie clicked her tongue and scolded,
"Must you brag about being a miscreant? Honestly, Iah. Elena's embarrassed enough."
Mariah let go of her with a mock-offended scoff, and the two of them began to bicker — the kind of well-worn back-and-forth that suggested old friendship.
Valda, I noticed, had disappeared. She'd done her part — delivered the girls, piqued my interest — and had clearly decided the rest was beneath her.
Elena, meanwhile, looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her friends were distracted, leaving her stranded with me. She stared up at me as if searching for the right words, lips parting like she might speak — but instead, she muttered, "Excuse me," and quickly made her way across the room toward the large buckets of ice-cold drinks.
The bickering paused just long enough for both Mariah and Valerie to notice her exit. They glanced at one another and shared a smile — knowing, a little smug.
Ah.
So, it was a crush.
I felt the early twinges of bloodlust stir in my chest — sharp and eager.
My gods, I thought. This is going to be so easy.