Read Online Witch Wolf by Winter Pennington - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Winter Pennington
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gay Goth boys, or vampires, I'm not so sure."
Rupert laughed. "Always be prepared. Put the shirt on, Kass." I looked down at the shirt. He turned away. The gesture was polite and respectful. The black fishnet shirt I held was not.
"How did you have a shirt that would fit me?" I asked.
He gave me one of his stubborn looks and said, "Let it go, Kassandra. It doesn't matter."
I left it alone. When Rupert did not give an outright answer, it meant you weren't going to get one. Of course, I wondered who the shirt had originally belonged to, but questioning Rupert about his personal life wouldn't get me anywhere. I could smell the laundry detergent on the shirt. It was clean, so who was I to bitch? I took in a deep breath and shrugged out of my jacket.
It took a few minutes to remove the wrist sheaths, the shoulder holster, and the small-of-the-back holster, but I managed. Lifting the thermal over my head, I let it fall to the floorboard. The fishnet slid over my small curves like a second skin. I could feel it clinging to my most intimate places and thanked the Goddess I was wearing a black bra.
I left my jacket on the seat. The night air was cool, but not too cool. It would have been cold to me three years ago. I was always cold in what other people thought was comfortable weather.
Now, the cold felt less harsh, as if my body had finally figured out that thing called body heat.
It irked me that I couldn't carry my guns or wrist sheaths. The only weapon I had was the boot knife. As if on cue, Rupert stepped out of the van at the same time I did. The van beeped as he locked the doors. I reached up to the high ponytail in my hair. I was about to take my hair down when I decided it was best to leave it up. We were going into a vampire club and leaving my neck exposed would probably help us blend in more. It was a dangerous game and we were left best undetected.
We stood in line for about twenty minutes. The security guard at the door was tall and well-built, wearing a black tee-shirt that had the word "Security" written in red bleeding letters. His brown hair was cut short. I met his hazel eyes, handing him my ID. He handed it back with a nod and repeated the gesture with Rupert's ID. He pulled back the rope and let us through.
Chapter Ten
I was right. The club had once been a hotel. We stood in the lobby, bathed in a warm glow of light. Beautifully carved black wooden lamps gave the room a cozy feeling. We passed a door with an Employees Only sign on it and continued until we stopped at a long counter that looked like black glass, sleek and reflective. A woman stood behind it. Her brown locks were pulled away from her face in a slick and professional style, pinned at the back of her head. Her face was thin and pale and she didn't wear any makeup. A crimson satin vest cinched over a black blouse with a high collar made her look far more proper than she probably was out of those clothes.
"How much?" Rupert asked.
She smiled, and it was one of those good but fake professional smiles. A smile that said, "I'm only being courteous because they're paying me to." She told Rupert the price and tilted her head. The tilt of her head drew the high collar away from her neck, exposing a white bandage over her carotid artery.
Rupert took the wallet out of his back pocket, counted a few bills, and handed them to her.
Unlike most clubs that seemed fond of stamps and plastic bracelets, the woman held up two adjustable woven cloth bracelets with "The Two Points" on them. One bracelet was black. One bracelet was red.
"Black or red?" she asked.
Rupert offered an unusually charming smile. "What's the difference?" he asked, curious.
I too, wondered.
"Red means you're a donor. Black means you're off-limits."
She held up her arm and pulled the sleeve down, revealing the red bracelet at her wrist.
"Black," I said. Rupert echoed me.
The woman behind the counter laughed and handed us our don't-you-try-to-fucking-bite-me bracelets.
He
Rupert laughed. "Always be prepared. Put the shirt on, Kass." I looked down at the shirt. He turned away. The gesture was polite and respectful. The black fishnet shirt I held was not.
"How did you have a shirt that would fit me?" I asked.
He gave me one of his stubborn looks and said, "Let it go, Kassandra. It doesn't matter."
I left it alone. When Rupert did not give an outright answer, it meant you weren't going to get one. Of course, I wondered who the shirt had originally belonged to, but questioning Rupert about his personal life wouldn't get me anywhere. I could smell the laundry detergent on the shirt. It was clean, so who was I to bitch? I took in a deep breath and shrugged out of my jacket.
It took a few minutes to remove the wrist sheaths, the shoulder holster, and the small-of-the-back holster, but I managed. Lifting the thermal over my head, I let it fall to the floorboard. The fishnet slid over my small curves like a second skin. I could feel it clinging to my most intimate places and thanked the Goddess I was wearing a black bra.
I left my jacket on the seat. The night air was cool, but not too cool. It would have been cold to me three years ago. I was always cold in what other people thought was comfortable weather.
Now, the cold felt less harsh, as if my body had finally figured out that thing called body heat.
It irked me that I couldn't carry my guns or wrist sheaths. The only weapon I had was the boot knife. As if on cue, Rupert stepped out of the van at the same time I did. The van beeped as he locked the doors. I reached up to the high ponytail in my hair. I was about to take my hair down when I decided it was best to leave it up. We were going into a vampire club and leaving my neck exposed would probably help us blend in more. It was a dangerous game and we were left best undetected.
We stood in line for about twenty minutes. The security guard at the door was tall and well-built, wearing a black tee-shirt that had the word "Security" written in red bleeding letters. His brown hair was cut short. I met his hazel eyes, handing him my ID. He handed it back with a nod and repeated the gesture with Rupert's ID. He pulled back the rope and let us through.
Chapter Ten
I was right. The club had once been a hotel. We stood in the lobby, bathed in a warm glow of light. Beautifully carved black wooden lamps gave the room a cozy feeling. We passed a door with an Employees Only sign on it and continued until we stopped at a long counter that looked like black glass, sleek and reflective. A woman stood behind it. Her brown locks were pulled away from her face in a slick and professional style, pinned at the back of her head. Her face was thin and pale and she didn't wear any makeup. A crimson satin vest cinched over a black blouse with a high collar made her look far more proper than she probably was out of those clothes.
"How much?" Rupert asked.
She smiled, and it was one of those good but fake professional smiles. A smile that said, "I'm only being courteous because they're paying me to." She told Rupert the price and tilted her head. The tilt of her head drew the high collar away from her neck, exposing a white bandage over her carotid artery.
Rupert took the wallet out of his back pocket, counted a few bills, and handed them to her.
Unlike most clubs that seemed fond of stamps and plastic bracelets, the woman held up two adjustable woven cloth bracelets with "The Two Points" on them. One bracelet was black. One bracelet was red.
"Black or red?" she asked.
Rupert offered an unusually charming smile. "What's the difference?" he asked, curious.
I too, wondered.
"Red means you're a donor. Black means you're off-limits."
She held up her arm and pulled the sleeve down, revealing the red bracelet at her wrist.
"Black," I said. Rupert echoed me.
The woman behind the counter laughed and handed us our don't-you-try-to-fucking-bite-me bracelets.
He
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