What Doesn't Kill You...

Obsidian

The largest registered vampire coven in the city was the Obsidian Coven. They owned a string of businesses in town, most notably a nightclub called Stoker. Evidently, someone had a sense of humor. It was one of many themed nightclubs in the entertainment district. While some paranormal beings resented the way humans represented them in fiction and movies, others capitalized on their man-made mythos.

By the time Damon and Violet arrived, the club was in full swing. There was a line of eager club goers wrapped around the block. They drew a few protests from the crowd as they skipped the line and headed straight for the  bouncer. Violet threw them a wicked grin, flashing her fangs. The protesters quieted down. Humans enjoyed flirting with danger in a fantasy environment. Not so much in "real" life.

Stoker's bouncer was a tall, blonde, Amazon-esque woman dressed in Victorian male evening wear. Her long golden tresses gleamed softly under the bright neon lights. Her blood red lips curved into a welcoming smile. "Vi! You're back!"

Violet grinned, all traces of her previous irritation gone. "Not for long Liz. Where's Alistair?"

Liz's smile dimmed. "You're here on a case." For the first time, Liz's blue eyes landed on Damon. "I see you're with him."

Damon rolled his eyes. He got that reaction from most of the undead community. Unlike the rest, he didn't have to feed on blood or brains to sustain his immortality. He didn't have to avoid sunlight or machete-wielding religious zealots. He could live as a normal human being. If not for the unpleasant resurrection, he would be a normal human being.

Violet slung an arm around his shoulders and nodded towards the club door. "Does Alistair have a problem with that?" She was still smiling, but there was an edge to her voice. An warning edge. Liz recognized the threat behind Violet's smile and that she was no match for the vampire standing in front of her.

"No. Alistair is in his office." Liz unhooked the black velvet rope and let them pass. "He'll be expecting you."

"Good." Violet gave a toss of her hair and strode past.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't wave me around like a red flag." Damon yelled over the pulsing music.

Violet gave a bark of laughter. She pressed her mouth close to his ear. "It's not like they could kill you."

Damon frowned. "I'd rather not ruin two shirts in one evening."

Violet led the way through the crowd of weaving bodies. How anyone could dance to the cacophonous rhythm of the music was beyond him. It seemed that Alistair had out done himself designing Stoker. Nightclub staff were all dressed in Victorian garb. Drinks were presented on silver trays and heavy velvet drapes screened off private feeding rooms. Willing donations only.

They reached a black lacquered door with an ornate silver doorknob. Violet grimaced. She despised visiting Alistair. He had a habit of wounding vampires who weren't part of his coven before they met with him. Purely a power move...an irritating one at that. Before she could talk herself out of it, Violet grabbed the doorknob. She bit the inside of her lip as short silver spikes pierced her palm. She felt her blood being drained into the knob's mechanism. No doubt this was how Alistair would know to expect them.

Releasing the knob, the door opened with a quiet whoosh. Only Violet could see through the pitch black darkness. They exchanged a glance. Damon shrugged. "Part of the job."

Violet nodded and reluctantly stepped into darkness.