3. Ashe

Even for a Saturday night the amount of bodies packed inside the Hidden Door was almost stifling, and as midnight approached the crowd showed no signs of thinning. What exactly is the maximum capacity of this nightclub, anyway?

“Christ, Marco,” I shout over the cacophony of blaring bass and shrill laughter. “How can you stand this kind of chaos night after night?”

The burly man shrugs as he slides over a glass of my usual poison. “The noise I can handle just fine. Help, on the other hand”—he waves a palm in my direction—“I can always use an extra bartender.”

I raise a brow at him, disinterested. “I only drink drinks, Marco. I don't make them.” As if to prove my point, I throw back the beverage and down it in one gulp—instant regret, if the burning sensation at the back of my throat was any indication, but I dare not let my discomfort show. A battle of wills with an arkoudan was not for the faint of heart, nor for the weak of stomach.

Besides, the demon fire burning in my veins would incinerate any traces of alcohol in my blood within minutes. Hangovers? Never heard of them.

Grinning, I tap the glass facedown on the counter and eye Marco expectantly. The bear rolls his eyes and moves to the other end of the bar, leaving me in the company of Catalina.

“Careful,” she murmurs, her dark eyes following the bartender as he reaches overhead for another glass. “Or he might just cut you off for the fun of it.”

“Don't give him any ideas.” I pivot the stool in her direction and arch a brow, my eyes dipping as I take in her appearance.

Her long hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, thick strands cascading over her bare shoulders with every turn of her head. Her ebon skin glistened in the dim lighting as she crossed one leg over the other. Slender fingers, long nails dipped in a bright red polish, absently traced the rim of her martini glass as her eyes scanned the writhing crowd. The only makeup she had bothered to apply was to touch up her ruby red lipstick; then again, a succubus has little reason to worry about their flawless complexion.

She licks her lips and for a split second I spy the glint of elongated canines peeking out. Not long enough to garner any suspicion, but noticeable enough to indicate that she was still hungry.

“Cat,” I hiss, drawing her gaze. As discreetly as I can I tap a finger to my mouth, hoping she would get the hint. “Haven't you already had your fill?”

Her eyes flick down to my mouth and, teasingly, she runs the tip of her tongue over her pointed fangs. “You seem to have recovered quickly enough,” she grins, nudging my leg with her toe. “But I could always go for seconds. Or thirds.”

Her desire pulsates in the air between us, nearly suffocating me, and I avert my gaze. A vampire's appetite knows no bounds, and Catalina was always hungry.

Before I can respond, Marco reappears with a fresh glass of whiskey in hand. “Why do you let this vampire feed on you?” he asks as he slides the beverage across the bar, and I have to bite back a laugh at the daggers that Catalina's eyes are shooting in his direction.

“How dare you call me that!” she snaps, her jaw tightening and a malevolent look flaring in her eyes. “I am no savage. I am regina vitaem, a connoisseur of breath, and you would do well to remember that.”

Vampire. Vitaem. Although they have been called many names throughout history, and the methods of satiating their hunger differs greatly between the two clans, all depictions feed on a person's life force. Reveling in the myth surrounding the succubi—a myth that I was certain she had started—Catalina has always preferred the sensual act of stealing breath over the barbaric practice of drinking blood, a legend now made famous by the sanguinis clan that no doubt birthed the modern-day image of a vampire. It was an image that she greatly detested being compared to, seeing herself as having more class than most vampires were afforded.

The primal urges of the ferae, on the other hand, made self-control a bit more difficult.

Although lycans were more prone to giving in to their baser instincts, even the other tribes found restraint difficult at times and often allowed their emotions to overpower their senses. Sometimes I find myself sympathetic to their struggle as they fought to keep their inner beast in check. Only sometimes, though. Unlike the vampires, a shifter can sustain themselves on regular food indefinitely. But like any wild predator, once they get a taste for human flesh there was no going back and they had to be put down. Right, Stan?

“I'd rather her feed on me than drain some poor schmuck in the streets,” I mutter. One of the perks of immortality, I suppose. Ashe, the undying all-you-can-eat buffet for things that go bump in the night. The thought makes me grimace. “Now knock it off, you two. I'm trying to get drunk.”

Marco simply shrugs, but an impish glint twinkles in his green eyes. “Well what am I supposed to call her, then? Bloodsucker?”

Idiot.

The irises of Catalina's eyes begin to swirl, the chocolate brown hue melting away as flecks of maroon emerge from the shadowy depths. “Marco,” she purrs before the bear can tear his gaze away.

His shoulders slouch slightly as he leans over the counter, his narrowed brow now lifted and his eyes glossed over as if in a daze. His face looks softer this way, younger even, but as his lips curl up into a foolish grin I could not help but smile. Oh, he was done for.

There are few creatures, if any at all, that can resist the charm of a vampire. At least they make you feel better about having your precious life energy sucked away, although that was hardly a consolation by my standards.

“Be nice, Cat,” I say, but my tone lacks the warning that my words would normally carry. I'm interested to see where this goes, but I'm also interested in not causing a scene. My eyes roam over the bodies pressing in around us, but no one seems to be paying their supernatural squabble any mind. And if anyone was aware of what was going on, they knew better than to interfere.

The temptress smirks, her hypnotic gaze lingering on the arkoudan for a moment longer before she leans back and waves a dismissive hand. “Give yourself a slap for me, you naughty cub.”

As if with a mind of its own, Marco's hand reaches out and connects with his cheek. The resounding smack! draws a few curious glances in our direction, but otherwise the oblivious crowd carried on without a second thought.

Released from his stupor, the bartender shakes his head. “Cheap tricks,” he growls, narrowing his eyes as Catalina chuckles into the back of her hand.

“Full moon's got you feeling brave tonight,” I remark, offering Marco a wink as I take a sip of my beverage. Shifters and their lunar cycles. The bigger the moon, the more impetuous they get—at least for the ferae. The unfortunate lycans, however, were not so lucky in their resolve. Their emotions tend to run hotter in the week leading up to a full moon and the fine line between man and beast becomes dangerously blurred until the beast inevitably wins. If they were smart, they would have secluded themselves far from civilization on nights such as this until their cycle ended. If they were not, well . . . That was no longer my concern. “Now run along, sugar plum. Tend to your thirsty flock.”

He scowls at my use of the nickname, as if saying it to him is a perversion of its endearment. “I think I liked you better when you were working.”

“That makes two of us,” Catalina chirps once we were alone.

Shit.

“Is that why you're in town?” I ask, swirling the whiskey around in my glass. Of course it would be. My decision to retire six months ago was not exactly met with great fanfare from the arrogant socialites who govern our kind. Reapers did not quit, they just died in the line of duty and another was chosen to take up the mantle.

I had hoped that my years of service would have counted for something, though.

“Come on, Cat. I'm retired.”

“I don't think you'd appreciate the Tribunal's severance package.”

Veiled threats. Typical.

I feel the corners of my mouth droop into a frown and sigh, hot air gusting from my nose as my nostrils flare. “I've paid my dues.”

“That's not for you to decide.” She takes a sip of her martini, her eyes—now back to their luscious brown shade—never leaving mine. “You made a pact. You bear the mark. You can't just quit when it's convenient for you. You knew what you were signing up for when you agreed to become a Reaper.”

No, I simply traded certain death for an eternity of enslavement.

“It's not like I had much of a choice,” I mutter, raising the glass to my lips. This is not the first time Catalina and I have argued over this matter. I'll be surprised if it was the last.

I have been the barrier between the supernatural and the mortal realm for far too long, operating in the shadows and keeping our kind from further scrutiny. A blood-crazed shifter gets a little reckless with their feeding habits? Send in a Reaper. A depraved vampire keeps charming the locals and leaving behind a trail of mysterious disappearances? Send in a Reaper. A wayward witch starts practicing forbidden arts outside the safety of their coven? Call the Reapers. Keeping the balance is a delicate dance. I have seen, and caused, so much death. I was beyond exhausted. Was it too much to ask for a break?

“You confuse the choice of freedom with the freedom to choose, love. Keep in mind that you're still part demon. You don't have the luxury of either.” She rakes her nails softly against my cheek in what I'm sure she believes is a loving caress. I fight off a flinch as my skin crawls, her desire once more assaulting my senses. Curse these demon abilities. “Don't forget what I've done for you,” she purrs, pinching my chin between her thumb and forefinger. I see her eyes dip down to the silver ring hanging loosely around my neck and her lips curl into a devilish grin. “Or what I still do for you.”

My eyes narrow. “I haven't forgotten.” How could I? She reminds me every time she comes to visit her favorite pet.

She nods and leans back, her fingers once more tracing the rim of her glass. “We have a good arrangement, Ashe. You know how delicate these alliances can be, the sort of fine line we all walk out here. I took a big risk when I convinced the Tribunal to pardon you, knowing what you are.” Her eyes regard me with a curious fascination as she continues, her tone softer. “A half-blooded demon. You're a rare breed, love, a forbidden fruit. Not quite one of us and yet still not human. It's almost admirable how you try to keep a foot in both worlds.” She scoffs. “But you don't belong to either, do you, cambion?”

Cambion. Half-breed. Not whole.

I bristle at the moniker. “Why are you here, Catalina? I know you didn't come all this way because you missed me.” With her politics to keep her busy she rarely visits this far south anymore.

Catalina purses her lips. “But darling, no one satiates my hunger quite like you.”

I did not reciprocate her lascivious smile. Our conversation has soured my mood and I was no longer feeling flirtatious.

At my lack of a response she huffs. “You used to be fun. Keep spending your time pretending to be human and you might make the mistake of thinking you're actually one of them.”

“Cat—”

She lets out a hiss and waves a hand through the air as if swatting away my words. “I'm here on business, if you must know. There've been too many incidents lately and I've had to come down to put out some fires. The Fourth Ward is beginning to attract unwanted attention, specifically in this precinct.” She turns her head and stares pointedly at me, all amorous advances from before dissipating under her icy glare. If I was not already accustomed to the fluctuations in her mood I would have found it a little unsettling. “I don't think I need to explain to you exactly why that's a bad thing, for either of us. We handle our own, so as a Reaper I suggest you start handling it. Your little vacation is over. It's time to get back to work.” She pinches her lips together in thought and I could have sworn I saw the hint of a smile trying to break through. “Chandler expects you back in the office first thing tomorrow.”

Chandler Reid. I did not even bother hiding my disgust. Of all the handlers I could have been paired with, they had to choose Chandler fucking Reid.

“Oh, don't pout, love.” She clucks her tongue. “It's not a good look for you.” Catalina finishes the remainder of her martini and stands up, running her hands over the length of her red dress and smoothing out any undesirable wrinkles. God forbid a succubus ever looks disheveled. “Now quit sulking and come dance with me. I'd like to have some fun while I'm down here, and all this talk of work is dampening my mood.” She flicks her gaze to the other side of the bar, where Marco is pouring a beer from the tap, and grins. “He's not bad, you know. For a bear.”

“Great,” I groan as I down the rest of my whiskey and push away from the counter. “Maybe you can feed on him, instead.”

I really did not want to share my bed with Catalina again tonight, not after our discussion. And I really did not want to suffer through Marco saying 'I told you so' when he learns that my plans for retirement have dissolved into little more than a pipe dream. A fera's ego on a full moon could be just as insufferable as a vampire's appetite.

Catalina scoffs, as if the very thought was absurd. “Don't be ridiculous! Feeding on his energy would be like drinking poison.” She suddenly tilts her head to the side and quirks a brow. “Well hello, there,” she purrs. “Isn't that the little human from the coffee shop this morning? The one who couldn't take her eyes off of you?”

I crane my neck to see a familiar head of long caramel hair seated at the edge of the bar. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat as she takes the beer from Marco with a small smile. Next to her, a blue-eyed blonde throws back her head as she laughs at something the dark-haired man beside her is saying.

“That vampire better restrain himself later,” I growl as I watch him suavely slip an arm around the blonde's waist and whisper in her ear. I could sense his hunger from here.

As much as I detested it, because of their restrictive diet feeding on mortals was allowed—discretely, of course, and restraint was highly cautioned lest the offending creature find themselves on the wrong end of a Reaper's blade. Such a delicate dance.

Catalina hums absently as her eyes roam over the two girls. “Well you can't expect to come to a club dressed like that and not catch the eye of every predator in this city,” she muses as she scrutinizes the blonde's cocktail dress.

I roll my eyes. “Cat, you're dressed like that.” In fact, I was quite confident that the low-cut dress she donned was even shorter by comparison.

“Yes, but I just so happen to be one of those predators.” She combs her fingers down the length of her ponytail and I can tell that her interest in our conversation is fading. “Still, if he doesn't then I'm sure you'll take care of it. You are a Reaper, after all.”

I would rather it not come to that. “Can't you just compel him?”

If the vampire were a tree, with each soul-sucking member represented by a little leaf on their clan's branch, then Catalina was one of the roots from which they spawned. If that man was one of her descendants then she could compel him to do just about anything. Hive mentality, or some shit like that.

“He may be vitaem, but the family that created him is responsible for his actions. How he feeds is no concern of mine.” She shrugs. “Besides, I'm not in the business of enforcing our laws. That's your job.”

I was about to retort when a pair of wide green eyes meets my gaze, stealing the words from my throat as if Catalina had just sucked the breath from my lungs.

The girl runs an olive hand nervously through her hair, her contoured cheeks flushing bright red just as they did in the café earlier, and I find myself smiling. She was always so pleasant, if a little on the quiet side, and nothing at all like the assholes I was used to dealing with. And the way she stumbled over her words while trying to make conversation earlier today was a little amusing, in an endearing sort of way.

In the six months since I started visiting that coffee shop, indulging in the mundane normalities of what I imagine a day in a human's life to be like, I had decided two things about her: she flusters easily, and—

“She's cute,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Catalina hums again. “I don't care who you sleep with when I'm gone,” she whispers, leaning over to press her lips close to my ear. “But when I'm in town you're mine.” She kisses my cheek and I watch as the girl at the other end of the bar tears her eyes away. “Remember that, love.”

I give the barista one last look before allowing myself to be pulled toward the dance floor. Like every time before, if her green eyes had held any sort of desire in their depths, I could not sense it.

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A/N: Boy, Catalina sure is catty! This can only spell trouble for our two protags. What are your thoughts? Let me know in the comments! And don't forget to vote if you're enjoying it! :)