Blood Rite (A Vampire Story)

1. Reina

Sauntering down the shady corridor of the rundown apartment building, Reina could barely keep her eyes open. Her evening had been slow. Despite the free cocktail vouchers and the 'fuck me' eyes she'd dished out with every drink she placed down on those little black napkins, still slow. 

True, she'd worked the place less than a month, and true, she could have probably made a little more effort with her makeup, but she'd always managed perfectly well with rose-bud lips dabbed with a good lipstick; nothing says 'I'll blow you for a decent tip' like that perfect shade of desperation red. It didn't have to be the truth. It just had to get them interested. As for her eyes? Well, they did a fair bit of the work, but when it came down to it, they wouldn't remember what colour they were anyway. She'd figured they wouldn't begrudge her yesterdays mascara.

Blue, for the record.

Not the romantic sky blue of all those elegant, well dressed stepford wives who'd slaved away over the perfect meatloaf all day that they didn't even like just to make their husbands happy (who they also didn't even like). Frilly aprons and not a speck of mess anywhere just so the bastards could blow them off and come to the club. They'd boast a fat gut bursting through the buttons of their lovingly ironed shirt they'd pulled out from the sweaty waist band of their pants, and a fat wallet. Whilst they undressed Reina with their eyes, slathering like dogs waiting for someone to toss them a nice, juicy bone, she'd coax a couple of singles from them. All she had to do was bend down a little further as she gave them their drink or stand a little too close. Sure enough, repulsive, fat fingers would graze across her skin as they tucked themselves a little further than necessary into her garter or her panties or her cleavage. 

She'd give them a little eye contact, a little lick of her lips as she thanked them softly and made her way back to the bar. 

No, no. Romantic blue didn't suit a girl like Reina at all.

Reinas eyes were the cold, feral, crystalline blue of a naturally born, pure-blooded 'good piece o' ass.' Glassy, unfeeling... indifferent. Perhaps slightly scornful, but only when she was hungry. So, always.

They fared her well. No one mistook Reina for anything she wasn't, and all of them paid. And all of them kept coming back.

After all, they didn't come to her for the romantic gaze of their expectant, needy, way-to-good for them trophy wives. They came to her for a good cock-tease, a hearty grope of something that they didn't need to talk to and if they were really lucky, five minutes alone with her panties and one of those little black napkins. 

She liked those types. They never took long, always tipped well and always left straight after. Guilty, deprived little freaks who's wives had wised up enough not to put out for them until they got something shiny first. She often wondered whether those women knew just how similar their line of work was. Professional trophy wife, professional seducer. Was there a difference at all? Oh yes. Trophy wives dressed better and were tipped less.

But no such luck as a desperate suit tonight. She figured something as simple as the weather could account for it. Lots of anxious phone calls from shrill-voiced perfectly preened heads of hair asking "where are you?" wasn't good for business. News reporters all day had lamented over the category three hurricane that was due to land in the next few hours. Storms always meant home in time for dinner, no exceptions.

Groaning as she dug out her key from her purse, Reinas silver hair fell recklessly over her shoulder like a veil of spider silk as she went to open the door. As her key touched the lock, the doors hinges whined. It was already open.

Fucking... fantastic.

Exhaustion had been replaced with caution as she cursed beneath her breath and kicked the bottom of the door lightly with her stiletto knee-high and let it swing open against the frame. Stepping past the threshold, she kept her back to her exit and surveyed her small living room. There was nothing amiss. Everything was as she had left it, dirty laundry strewn across the back of the couch and all. Raising a fine brow, she clicked her tongue in her cheek and slowly let the door shut. Standing quietly for a moment longer, she let the keys in her hands fall onto a table to her left. "Am in no mood to be robbed, raped, murdered or tortured so whatever the fuck it is you want, I sincerely hope you got it and fucked the fuck off already."