High Stakes

•II•

Calling this place a home was probably a stretch of the imagination.

Lucien stood upon the crumbling tile in the foyer of the musty building, eyes trained on the staircase that would take him to his apartment door. The railing leaned precariously to the side, the bottom two steps nearly rotted through. He and his roommates had stopped complaining about the damage months ago, knowing full well that their pleas would only fall on the deaf ears of the landlord, whose own apartment lie immediately to Lucien's right. He was an elderly wolf shifter, and had only agreed to rent out the apartment because of a sense of kinship with Lucien, though he was greatly overcharging for the opportunity.

Lucien could easily afford it. In truth he could afford much better, if there had been any other options available. But the majority of the apartment buildings in the city were owned by the vampires now, and even if he and his friends hadn't already built up a quiet reputation as hunters, none of the three would ever be caught dead doing business with them. They happily traded their comfort for peace of mind, willing to overlook any nefarious dealings of the shady old wolf downstairs, just as he afforded them their own privacy.

The sudden thought of the vampires roiled Lucien's stomach. Although he had traveled to oblivion and back last night, he still remembered the journey quite vividly. Including the part where he had climaxed whilst imagining one of them breathing down his neck. Especially that part. It had run through his head over and over since he had awakened on the couch this morning like a movie that he couldn't turn off, and the disgust he felt with himself as a result had greatly soured his mood.

Charlotte had let him sleep in for as long as he'd needed, eventually waking only when he was toed by a boot worn by another overnight guest. "Just making sure you're still alive," the guy had said as he poked him a few more times with the tip of his boot. He'd headed for the exit once he was reassured Lucien was still breathing, chuckling as he shook his head. "I honestly can't tell whether you've had a better or worse night than me, friend," he'd mumbled before disappearing down the stairs.

Lucien hadn't been sure either. The vampire's deep red eyes were the first thing that had flashed through his mind once he was conscious, and he'd sat up in a panic as though he were expecting a dead body to be strewn on the couch in front of him. Of course, it hadn't been there. He'd quietly admonished himself for getting so high that he'd seen things that didn't exist, as he peeled his stiff body from the couch cushions and began to check that he still had all his belongings. He'd hesitated only briefly when he'd noticed his choker laying on the table in front of him - a quick memory of icy hands at his throat, and even colder breath - but had quickly brushed it off. Charlotte must have removed it after he'd passed out to make sure he didn't strangle in his sleep.

As he'd patted himself down to make sure nothing had been stolen, he felt a small round tube in his front left pocket. Charlotte had left him a vial of Venom as a parting gift. She must've sensed he would need it, although she may not have anticipated just how soon he'd been tempted to take it.

Thoughts of the night before had tormented him throughout the entire bike ride to the apartment. He knew it hadn't been real, but couldn't come to terms with exactly why his subconscious had taken him in that direction. He could've imagined literally anything - and the gods knew that he'd had enough experiences to give him plenty to fantasize about - so why of all things was it a vampire that his mind had manifested? Despite his rather extensive body count he'd never even been attracted to a vampire, let alone slept with one. The only body count he'd willingly add a vampire to was one of quite a different sort.

Even now, so close to reuniting with the friends he'd shunned for so long, it wasn't thoughts of them that raced through his head. His vision the previous night had been so incredibly detailed - he could still see that pale skin crested by the strip of even whiter hair above, those jet black eyebrows that matched the thick lashes below. He could still feel those claws of somehow an even deeper black as they ran across his lips, his cheek. It was as though his mind had created the consummate male, solid and strong, flawless all the way to that full mouth which had been mere millimeters from pressing into the slick, overheated skin of his neck...