Huntress Ch. 03

He'd had that box for a little over ten years. He'd crammed a little over fifty thousand euros within the it. At the time he had called it rainy-day money, but since said rainy day had yet to come, Rhys assumed it was safe to be someone else's umbrella for their rainy day.

Slowly he allowed his compulsion to slip out of her mind. The strobe lights came back, blinding as ever. The music was so loud, with Rhys's excellent hearing, it sounded as if it beat against the different hemispheres of his brain. Across from him, Mischa was looking around as if she had fallen asleep in class. She looked up at him, smile no longer there.

Only confusion.

"Your sister is looking for you, Mischa." Rhys yelled. A moment of panic washed over her, as she looked out into the crowd, scared her sister was going to leave. In an instant, Mischa was out of the booth running to find the older girl.

Rhys watched her disappear into the crowd before settling back into his seat. Hunger beat against him, the feeling subtle, but still annoying. He glanced down at his empty glass of oh-negative. He needed more before he returned home. He couldn't go to his day rest hungry.

With a heavy arm, Rhys swiped his glass up as he exited his booth. Just before the exit of the club was the bar, lined from top to bottom with bottles of liquor from around the world. At the very end, three women sat in elevated seats that resembled director's chairs. Their wrists were strapped to the sides of the chair and red tubes flowed from the veins there. In each of the women's laps were signs that labeled what blood type they were. The bartender, a vampire with spiky black hair and startling black eyes followed Rhys over to the women, and leaned slightly over the bar, waiting to hear his pick. In all honesty, Rhys didn't want any: a-negative was always a bitter taste, b-positive was too sweet, and b-negative was a little too spicy.

Rhys pointed to the redheaded woman whose skin was paler than what was natural for a human; b-negative. She was near the end of her Giving. He could tell in the way she swooned when Bartender opened her tap. All of the woman on the stools seemed miserable, and Rhys had to wonder if they had thought it would be exciting to be a Giver.

A new experience, maybe? He doubted if anybody told the three ladies that at least one person dies a week from being a Giver. But then again, he doubted if any of them would care. He had to sigh and look away, not allowing the pity to settle in. When he glanced back up, the bartender held out the crimson liquid that was filled to the brim.

Rhys took the glass. Just as he about to throw his head back to take a shot, a slender blonde woman, pushed him to the side, making him spill a bit of the red liquid on his silk shirt.

"Are you Edgar Black?" She yelled to the spiky haired vampire. Rhys leaned over her, cutting off her view of Bartender. She was on the shorter side in comparison to him, but Rhys knew from a human standpoint she would be considered tall. "Excuse me," he said, not yelling over the music. He kept his tone steady but the warning clear.

The blonde turned to look at him, sharply. Her hazel eyes peered at him with contempt.

"Shut it, vamp."

Rhys was taken aback, but kept his expression neutral. He should have known from those eyes that she would have a fiery temper, but he hadn't expected that. Nor had he deserved it. She turned back to look at Bartender, and from a profile, Rhys could see that in the way of humans, she was very pretty. Her nose small in comparison to her large eyes. Her hair was, yes, blonde, but the color was a shocking splash of platinum locks. All natural, he could tell. She didn't have anything artificial on her. Her hair was short, barely brushing her shoulders, and coiled tightly in temporary dreadlocks. By the way she stood, Rhys could see that she was in pain.

From where?

He looked at her up and down, and ah, there it was. The source was coming from the stilettos she wore. The heel of her shoe was so thin, even his sharp eyes had almost missed it, but it worked with the black dress that clung to her chest, stomach and waist, but flared passed that in a sort of bubble that barely covered her thighs.

'And what thighs,' Rhys looked back to the face of the woman as she asked again.

"Are you Edgar Black?"

Bartender nodded slowly, cautiously. "What of it?" he yelled back, a thick Boston accent decorating his words.

Out of nowhere, Blondie pulled a gun from underneath her dress, and fired a shot into Edgar's shoulder. The sound echoed throughout the room causing instant panic. Rhys even took a few steps back, out of disbelief.

With little effort, the blonde hoisted herself onto the bar, and looked down on Edgar as he slumped low on the floor clutching his shoulder. She pointed her gun at Edgar's head, and Rhys couldn't help but feel he was watching some sort of horror movie. People screaming as they ran around in a panic to leave the club. Even the vampires that had occupied the room were searching for an exit. Rhys merely took a few more steps back, looking up at the girl, whose face was disturbingly blank.

The blonde, who didn't seem to notice the panic she had stirred, smiled down at Edgar, wryly. "Mr. Black, I have a few questions for you."