Blood Type (Blood Type #1)(30)

    “So, what?” she asked. “You’re not going to drink from me because I’m in your space?”

“I can do what I want with you, Little One.”

The way his eyes landed on her body wrapped in a tiny swathe of clothing made her feel completely dirty.

“I am not a whore,” she got out with conviction.

“Of course you’re not,” he said.

She glared back at him, finding only the monster in his gaze. “Fine. Drink from me. Don’t drink from me. Die of starvation for all I care. I’m going out tonight and if I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late.”

She sent him a scathing look and then walked to the elevator. She pressed the button and tapped her foot impatiently.

After she had stepped inside and the doors were closing, he finally said, “Be safe tonight, Little One.”





Chapter 13


Reyna arrived downstairs late and beyond irritated. Beckham worked her up like no one else she had ever met. His very presence set her on edge. Most of the time she wanted to slap him and then she got lost staring into his handsome face. And she didn’t even like him. But the tension was so thick she never knew which way the pendulum was going to swing.

“Wow,” Everett said when she walked outside. His jaw dropped open. She smiled at his reaction and assessed him. He was dressed casually in a pair of dark jeans and a blue striped button-up rolled to his elbows. Maybe she was overdressed.

“Good wow?” she asked.

“Great wow. You look amazing.”

“Thanks!” She beamed.

“You look way too good to be going out with me and my friends.”

“Oh…should I go change?” she asked uncertainly.

“Absolutely not. If Mr. Anderson let you out in that tonight, then I’m not letting you walk back inside.”

Reyna laughed. “Beckham. Call him Beckham. Mr. Anderson sounds like a parent or something.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” Everett offered her his arm. “My car is parked in the back. Habit.”

She placed her arm on his sleeve and followed him to where an old Mustang was parked.

“This car is amazing,” she breathed.

    “Thanks. Original body. I fixed it up with my dad. He was a mechanic before the economy tanked. Hard to afford fuel for her, but to and from work isn’t that bad.”

Everett opened the side door for her, and she sank into the seat. Since leaving the Warehouse District, this was the first time that she wasn’t in a car with a hired driver. She felt more normal here. Less like she had to be a doll for the show. She wasn’t anyone’s pet. She was just Reyna tonight.

The club Everett took her to was only about five or six blocks away. On any normal day at home, she would have walked to and from without a problem. But it wasn’t safe in the city, and she didn’t have her sneakers anymore, just these impossible heels.

They valeted the car and then walked through the front doors into a pulsing nightclub already half filled with bodies. Everett grabbed her hand and then pulled her through the crowd to a secluded booth. A group of people was already seated with drinks and a pitcher of beer in front of them. As soon as Reyna and Everett approached, a blond girl threw herself at him.

“Everett! You’re here!”

He hugged her back and then released her. He tugged Reyna closer, bringing her into view. “This is my friend Reyna. She’s new at my building.”

Reyna glanced at him curiously as he ushered her into the booth next to one guy. Everett slid in next to her. The blond girl took the seat across from Everett.

“Valet?” the blond girl asked disbelievingly.

    Everett shook his head. “Receptionist.”

“Killer. I was a waiter there for one week before I wanted to open my wrists on the tile floor just to see all the nasty bloodsuckers have a field day.”

“Oh,” Reyna said awkwardly. Why had Everett lied about her? He knew that she didn’t work as a receptionist. But clearly this girl didn’t like vampires, so maybe it was better to play along.

“I’m Mara,” the girl said, offering Reyna her hand. “And this is Lauren, Tucker, and Coop.”

She pointed around the table to a tall black girl with short brown hair, a mixed guy with thick curly black hair, and another guy with longish brown hair who looked like a skinny rocker with tattoos.

“So, Reyna,” Lauren said, leaning over the table. “Where the hell did you get that outfit? Did you rob a bank?”

Reyna stared down at it and realized how ridiculous it must look to them. She was wrapped in silk, wearing designer labels, and shoes that cost a fortune.

“Oh…these. Well, don’t tell anyone. They’re knockoffs,” she muttered. Suddenly she realized that she wasn’t really any freer with these people than with Beckham. At least with Becks she didn’t have to lie about who she was.

“Best knockoffs I’ve ever seen,” Mara said. She clearly didn’t buy it.

“Want a drink?” Everett asked.

“Dying for one,” Reyna said. She hopped out of the booth and followed him to the bar. “What the hell was that?”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Visage isn’t well liked around here.”