Chapter 27

~~Antoinette~~

“Oh god oh god oh god.”

Jack, trembling and ready to sweat — though thankfully unable without the blush of life — looked out over the crowd. The two of them were in Bloodlust, one of her fonder establishments to enjoy. The pulsing music, and the dark red lightning with the occasional white light strobe made for a combination of sinister, sexual, and theatrical visual stimuli. Everyone in Bloodlust felt as if they were partaking in a movie.

Everyone except her poor little Terry, who more likely envisioned himself trapped in a comedy for his current predicament.

The two of them sat on the ground floor this time, in one of the booths near the bar. Her lover was wearing a button-up white shirt, black pants, a loose, black jacket, and some nice Chelsea boots. She spoiled him with her shopping, and so did Julias, but the boy was utterly incompetent with fashion. That was ok, she enjoyed dressing her man. She had undone the first few buttons of his shirt as well, to expose his lovely skin and a little of his muscle. As much as her Jack felt self conscious over his size, he was a lean and strong little creature.

“You uh ... really want me to do this?” he said, once he’d leaned in so he didn’t have to yell. It was a club after all, and while perhaps not as loud as many, still loud.

“Yes. As we practiced.” Winking, she pointed to the bar, and to one woman in particular. “She will make for fine prey.”

“Ok ... ok. Ok, I can do this, I can do this.” He stood up, rubbed his buzzed hair a few more times, and walked toward the bar.

Oh her little Ventrue. He did not notice how he swayed a little with his walk, how he cast nervous glances, how every motion spoke volumes of his anxiety.

But he went, and that was something.

They had talked much, her and her love, about how to approach women. The art of eye contact, the subtle smile, the push and pull of body spacing. She explained to him how to thread conversations, pull a woman’s — or man’s if one wanted — interest into a story. How to break the ice with gentle humor, or with a tactful use of criticism; a little insult with a coating of intrigue worked well to disarm a stranger. She taught him how to look for signals that the boy seemed utterly blind to: adjusting the hair over the ear, turning to face you, smiling with the eyes.

It was a dance for women, and men did not learn it easily, Jack more so than most. But it was a skill she felt he should learn, and trusted him to learn. What would happen if Jack was left without enough vitae to perform the Ventrue discipline of domination? Unless he was willing to wrestle and pin a kine, seduction was the most common second option.

And besides, she found it oddly enjoyable to watch her love squirm as he approached the stranger. Perhaps she did have a bit of a sadistic side? How drôle.

The stranger was a woman of similar height to the little Ventrue, a sharp chin, and long blond hair with streaks of blue, though lost to the red light of the club. A thin thing, barely a curve to her, but Antoinette could see in the girl’s posture, in how she sipped her drink and looked about, that she was an experienced woman. On the prowl, perhaps. She was wearing a black dress meant for a club, with a short skirt split at the thigh, and tiny straps for shoulders. Simple, elegant, but sexy and refined. She knew what she liked. The perfect prey for Jack.

Jack, fidgeting and squirming, stood beside her and met her eyes. The stranger returned them, and looked him up and down for a second. The face first, and then the shoes. She liked what she saw, as Antoinette knew she would, and she turned to face the boy more. Eye contact, with one brow raised. Just a hint, just a small thing, but the Prince could see the spark of intrigue in the woman’s face as she looked little Terry in his green, beautiful, honest eyes. She was interested in him, his cuteness, in how odd he looked in the setting of a club.

Jealous, Annie?

Daeva are jealous of everyone and everything; curse of her bloodclan, to desire. She knew better than to let it control her. And Jack needed to learn.

Jack rubbed his buzzed hair, and made a remark, something about the music from what little Antoinette could read of his lips. Of course. But it was enough to make the girl laugh, and she turned to face him fully, still in her seat. And as she laughed again following another remark, Jack laughed, and reached out to lightly touch her hand in the sharing of laughter.

And that was it. A little physical contact from someone you thought was appealing, intriguing, and it was over. As long as Jack did not say anything colossally offensive or foolish, the girl would grow more and more fond of him, until he could deliver the twist: he had a lover, and was looking for someone to join them.

Perhaps an unnecessary trick in his bag, now that she was watching him. The plan had been for him to use Antoinette as a spicy treat for an interested kine, to propose a threesome for them to enjoy. And once the prey was in their booth, she would be easy to drink. But the Prince had chosen their target well, and Jack’s disarming, genuine dialogue and expressions were working beautifully.

Her eyes jumped from her love to the door past them, and her joy faded away. The evening was coming to a short end then. Such a shame.

Daniel. The man could not have looked more out of place, still in his trench coat, still wearing his dull glasses. If only he would listen to her, and dress for his outings. But no, the stubborn man refused to listen. It was charming, in an infuriating way.

He walked past everyone at the bar, past the various tall tables with people standing around, drinking, talking. Not even a glance for the kine. Her sheriff walked past the booths and into the main area, where the booths lined the walls before the dance floor. Annie laughed at the image of Daniel dancing. Could he? Was it something the machinery of his mind could perform? More chuckles.

Jack didn’t notice him, too busy with his prey; they were both quite enraptured with their conversation. The boy looked elated, shocked by the ease of his task no doubt. Perhaps she had unlocked a new, social side to him? Alas, it would fade she was sure, once they left the club. But, that was a good thing, was it not Annie? As much as you wish to teach him the skills he needs to survive, less time spent seducing kine, more time spent with you, was a good thing.

Or are you just concerned he will become another Tony?

Daniel sat down next to her, adjusted his glasses, and set his elbows upon the table, fingers netted together and placed under his nose. Ready for war by the looks of him, but that was as always with her sheriff.

“Yes Daniel?”

“Annie. Azamel has returned.”

Straight to the point then. Antoinette sighed and combed her hair back.

“Azamel has returned? Why?”

“I don’t know. She says she wants to talk to you personally, in her home.”

Her home? Another leech content to suckle on the marrow of Antoinette’s hard work, of her city, of her triumphs.

“She has gall.”

“Indeed.” Daniel leaned over the table a little ways to look through the dark red of Bloodlust to Jack. “Your love seems to be committing adultery.”

She looked back over at Jack, who was having a pleasant conversation with the stranger. Certainly not adultery, but she knew Daniel was teasing her. He said it without a smirk or smile though. He would be a genius comic, if he ever pursued the craft.

“You came here to tell me of Azamel?”

“Athalia seemed insistent. I can see her myself if you wish?”

“ ... want a moment with Athalia alone, old friend?” she said. Daniel twitched. A slight thing, a subtle shift of the eyebrow, but it was more than he normally gave, and Antoinette smiled her best devil smile with her victory. “We should go now, before Azamel comes to think that she is welcome. Egotistical woman.”

“What of Jack?”

“Yes, I should wait for my love to finish, but I must also deal with Azamel immediately.” She tapped her finger against her lips. What to do what to do. “I will be along shortly Daniel, maybe twenty minutes. Azamel can wait a little while longer.”

“As you wish.” The man nodded, got up, and walked out of the bar as simply as he had entered. He knew how to balance the cloak of night so the eyes of others glazed over him, slipped off of him, and let him pass by without notice. A talented man, her sheriff.

Antoinette looked back to Jack. He glanced her way a couple of times, no doubt waiting for her signal. Laughing, she raised a hand, and motioned for him to come join her. That was the plan after all, for Jack to propose the three of them get to know each other intimately. Once the kine was securely enthralled and in the booth, Jack could kiss her neck, and then Kiss her neck.

And it was going according to plan. The Prince was shocked. She loved her Jack, but seducing a kine on first approach? To see it happening made her laugh, and she smiled her Princely smile as Jack walked over to her with the woman following behind.

“This is your friend? Daaaaaamn.” The girl slid into the booth and stared at her. She had a tattoo on her neck, one Antoinette had not noticed from her angle earlier. And from how the woman was speaking, she was more than a little drunk. Perhaps that had been the key to Jack’s success?

“Hello,” Antoinette said, grinning her devil’s grin at the woman.

“This is Alex,” Jack said, sliding into the booth. “She listens to that god awful dubstep crap.”

Alex punched the Ventrue in the arm. “Sorry my stuff makes you want to move your body, instead of put in earplugs.”

A bit of that playful banter Jack enjoyed, when criticizing. Bite. Antoinette liked that.

“Have you been enjoying the conversation with my love?” she said.

“Love eh? Didn’t uh ... didn’t think kid here was serious when he pointed you out. I mean ... damn.”

Antoinette slid in a little closer to the prey. Jack did the same once he realized, and the Prince could see the anxiety fade, replaced with hunger.

“Quite serious.” Close enough for her leg to be touching Alex’s, Antoinette got in closer still, so the stranger was pressed against her. She hooked her arm around the back of the booth as well, to completely trap their prey.

Jack got in closer as well, and smiled a devious little smile of his own. Such a rascal, when he felt comfortable.

“I uh ... Jack wasn’t kidding eh? About you two looking for a third for the bedroom.”

“Truth,” she lied.

Alex laughed, a warm and fun sound. There were small sways in her movement, in her fingers, and her eyes had trouble focusing. Pleasantly drunk no doubt, and riding the waves of courage such levels of alcohol brought.

The prey adjusted her hair over her ear and smiled up at Antoinette, but it was Jack she offered a true smile. More interested in the small man, perhaps, now that his story about his date turned out to be true.

“Jack says your name is Antoinette?” Alex said.

Antoinette tapped a finger on her lip, before settling the hand on the table in front of Alex.

“It is.” Not a fake name, but a part of her had considered them, a fun way to add some spice to their little hunt. At the same time, it was interesting to share her real name with prey; it had been a long time since she had hunted normal prey at all.

Experiencing the thrill of youth through her little Terry. Shallow of her perhaps, but Jack enjoyed it, and she enjoyed it.

“Jack and Antoinette eh? Pleasure to meet you. I uh ... so you two ... you’re looking for ... a little more fun?” Alex looked nervous, now that Jack and Antoinette were both leaning in toward her. A rabbit between two foxes? No, much as she was starting to glance between the two of them with faster eyes, and her breathing was getting faster as well, her skin was starting to flush, and her small breasts poked against her dress.

Antoinette looked to Jack. Let the boy lead. It was his hunt, after all.

“Yeah,” Jack nodded. His eyes were looking the girl up and down, but not with the lust of a drunk or high clubgoer, no. Antoinette knew that look from long ago, the ravenous hunger that worked through the body the closer you grew to your prey. Like a salivating wolf. “And we both thought you looked beautiful.”

Ah, the direct compliment. Bold, and too much when strangers. Just right, when the ice was broken and intrigue had rooted.

“Beautiful?” Alex said. “You’re just saying that.”

“And delicious,” Jack added, leaning in closer, his lips almost upon the girl’s ear.

Alex glanced up to Antoinette, and Antoinette grinned at the prey. The woman was clueless as to what was happening to her, no doubt surprised at the sudden luck to be invited into the bedroom of two handsome strangers. And she did not move away from Jack; if anything, she was craning her neck more for him to find it.

Antoinette leaned in closer. She wanted to see this.

Jack, following Antoinette’s teachings, put a little kiss on the girl’s neck. She went stiff for a moment, a split second of indecision, before the combination of alcohol, arousal, and the power of present circumstances melted her into the booth seat. She looked up at Antoinette, blush growing, nipples hardening, and her hands drifted around until one found Jack’s leg.

A touch of jealousy once more for Antoinette. But, Jack was not Tony. He would not sleep with his prey, would not indulge his sexual desires without her, his love. She could trust him, wholly, completely. Such was love. All Antoinette had to do, was stop thinking about the bastard her love had killed, and instead, focus on the pleasure before her.

When Jack finally opened his mouth, and set his fangs upon Alex’s neck, Antoinette moaned quietly, lost to the noise of the club music, and the noise of Alex’s own moan. The prey gasped once the moan was done, only to moan again as Jack suckled upon the woman’s neck.

“Oh ... god...” The prey met Antoinette’s gaze, and the Prince smiled as she returned it. The delight of watching kine succumb to the Kiss, of their bodies going limp, of the relaxing bliss that washed away every tense muscle, every sore joint, every worrying thought. There was such joy on her face, with her mouth open and her breath turning to pants.

No words needed, no explanations required. Humans melting into the Kiss were as concerned with explanations as anyone mid orgasm. Such things became irrelevant against the simple pleasures of the body, of finding your energy gone and your mind lulling you into gentle sleep with the waves of contentment. Some, such as Alex, started to touch themselves, unable to resist the pleasure. One of her hands pressed to her chest, weak touch and wavering hand groping her breast and nipple through the thin fabric as Jack drank her.

But her aroused and delightful play lasted mere moments. Her hand fell, and her eyes drifted closed. Only then did Antoinette tap Jack on the shoulder, and smiled.

“Did you enjoy that, my love?”

The boy lifted his fangs from the woman’s punctured neck, offered it a couple licks to heal the wound, and wiped his mouth with a finger. There was exhilaration in his eyes, pupils dilated, fangs out and long. The smell of blood on his tongue.

“Wow ... she um ... wow.”

Alex had fallen into the typical post-Kiss coma, breathing deep, head heavy against the booth seat.

“You succeeded.”

“I ... I did, didn’t I? Didn’t use dominate on her or anything.”

“Impressive. And you looked like you enjoyed yourself. Perhaps there is a social side to you yet my love?”

Jack chuckled and rubbed his head. “I like socializing! Sometimes. With you, and Julias, and ... yeah.”

“The unlife can be long, little Ventrue. Learn to find friends where you can.” Or you’ll turn into Jacob. “But, you did succeed. With but a few jokes, some pleasant conversation, a smile, and eye contact, many women would be more than willing to talk with you.”

“Sure it didn’t have anything to do with me telling her I had a girlfriend, and we were looking for a third member for the bedroom?”

“Did she not seem intrigued before then?”

“I ... I mean, I guess she got interested when I started talking about music.”

Silly boy. She reached out, and stroked her love’s ear, Alex between them and almost snoring.

“Learn to be confident when speaking, and women will find you appealing. Speak to women as people, instead of legs and breasts, and they will find you intriguing. The combination is the key, little Ventrue, to seduction.” She tapped her lip with her finger, and hmmm’d. “That said, everyone is different. Some women do prefer to be approached with a more sexual tone. Some women prefer to be seduced over several days or weeks, rather than moments. To read the signs before your approach is another key to the game.”

“The game. Not exactly a strong suit of mine.”

“You will learn, my love. You will learn.” And he would. Jack was, as Minerva would say, cute as a button. “I do hope you will not abandon me for such frivolous exploits.”

For a moment, a split second of shock, Jack’s eyes widened. But as he realized she was teasing, his eyes settled and his smile grew.

“Never.”

Smirking, she looked back to the sleeping woman.

“It is no wonder so many Kindred become addicted to sex in their younger years, non? But a Kiss and she is defeated in bliss. If you had wanted, you could have stopped the Kiss early, left her exhausted but awake, and very aroused. A whisper, and she would have climbed into your lap, slid your shaft into her wet insides, and relaxed upon you as her ripe body forced her to cum with but the smallest thrust. She would drench you, soaking you in her juices as you rocked her hips back and forth. Some of the other people nearby would come closer to watch, drawn by the quiet whimpers and mewls of the woman trapped in pleasure. Only once you had filled her with your own fluids would you bite her again, and in the darkness of the club, be free to drink her a second time, until she was a trembling mess. She would slip into a deep sleep, but not before her clenching insides had her cum dripping down your testicles. Then, you would ease her off of you, set her next to you, and with your cum-soaked shaft resting against your abs, you would smile at the nearby onlookers. One of them, a more daring woman, one enjoying a delightful mix of drugs and alcohol perhaps, would slip off her underwear, pull up her dress to the hip, slide into the booth next to you, and sit on your cock. And you could enjoy it again, indulging in pure gluttony as you drank a second woman for the night, until your belly was full, your beast satisfied, ears buried in the sounds of her pleasure, and your body singing with the joy of the Kiss and orgasm combined.”

Jack’s jaw had dropped open at some point in her little story, and his cock pressed hard to his pants. If she had had the time, she would have played the role for him, slid off her underwear, climbed his lap, and milked him dry. But, even with little time to spare, his blatant arousal was her own doing, and she should help him.

Grinning her Daeva grin, she slid out of the booth, walked around, and slid in beside him.

“I know that grin,” he said. “You ... you uh...”

She put a finger to his lips, and slid it down his chest to his pants. The poor boy’s crotch looked tight enough to be painful, and she could not have that. With grace and precision, she undid his button, eased the zipper down, and slipped her hand into the fabrics.

Jack blinked, several times, and his eyes wandered the Bloodlust club with a touch of panic. People could see what she was doing, even if the booth table blocked a direct line of sight with her hand from distant onlookers. But people near the sides of the booth could.

Poor Jack was helpless to stop her, trapped between lust and panic, eyes darting around over the club, the people dancing, the couples in other booths. And some eyes were indeed cast their way, as she slipped the boy’s cock out through the flap of his underwear, and started to stroke him.

“People ... they’re uh ... looking at us.”

“Let them look. This will take but a moment.”

She didn’t necessarily wish to indulge in exhibitionism like many Kindred did, but a little taste every once in a while was fine, and it was a first for Jack.

She blew him a little kiss, and lowered her head down to his shaft. His went rigid, no doubt surprised, and she smirked as she put her lips to his cock while enabling her blush. His body full of fresh blood, his blush had already begun, and she was free to begin milking her love. A little moistness to help expose the ripe, swollen head of his shaft, and then her lips found it all. Her tongue caressed along the base edge of the bulbous tip, and lapped up the precum already forming. Her story had aroused her love greatly.

He was squirming. Poor boy. She smiled around his shaft, and worked faster, stroking the base of him harder while suckling, pulling, kissing the tip. More precum spread along her tongue, and she worked it along the engorged flesh filling her mouth. It must have been quite the sight for anyone who decided to watch, the taller woman giving a blowjob behind the booth table to the small man. And his facial expressions must have been delicious.

He started to pant, his cock started to flex in her mouth, and a moment later, his cum started to flood her. She drank it down, and slid her lips back and forth along the edge of his glans between each spurt, driving him close to painful stimulation but never reaching it. Perfect for encouraging his groans, his twitching, and milking every last drop of cum from his length.

She sat up, adjusted her hair, wiped her lips with a finger, and kissed her love on the cheek.

“Far be it from me to tempt you with tales of sex with the kine, and then leave you aroused, surrounded by kine.” She pat her finger on his cheek. “While other Kindred will indulge sex with kine in ridiculous excess, I hope I can keep you satisfied.”

“I ... oh god, you do! But, I mean, even if you didn’t ... I wouldn’t do something like that. Never without you.”

“You would not, I know.” And it was true. He would not, her little Ventrue, honest to a fault. She loved him for it. “Now, fix your jeans, and let us be off.”

Alas, she had trouble to squelch. So, she leaned in, kissed the boy’s lips, and motioned them toward the exist. A smile and a nod later, the two stood up, and began to walk out of Bloodlust.

“She going to be ok?” he said while gesturing to the unconscious woman in the booth.

“She will awake in several hours, and with the amount of people nearby, she will be fine. Come.” A hand on her lover’s back, the two stepped out into the street. “I am sorry Jack, but I must go.”

“Go?”

“Indeed. Daniel has requested my aid, and my duties cannot be squandered.” Much of her time that had once been spent plotting, scheming, was now spent with Jack. While her joy in her unlife had increased dramatically, so too had its risks with her neglecting her role. Lucas’s kamikaze attack on her tower had been a perfect example.

Kindred did not kamikaze. That was simply not a thing they did. Kindred fought, manipulated, controlled, built, and conspired to gain every advantage they could in insuring their second life, their food sources, their power. Not in five hundred years of her embrace had she ever seen such an absurdity from a vampire! She was a fool for thinking it an impossibility though. And now that she had her precious Jack to protect as well, she would have to make changes. A vault in her tower that could protect herself was no longer sufficient. She had to be proactive once more.

And that meant dealing with Azamel, now. One of many things she would have to do sooner rather than later.

“I have been eating up a lot of your time, haven’t I?” he said.

“Oui, but that is my burden to bear, little Ventrue, not yours. I would love to talk more, but I must go. Shall I see you in a few days?”

“Unless the Invictus tie me up and pin me with a job, a few days it is.”

Antoinette and her sheriff walked down into the subway tunnels of her city. It had been some time since she had walked these tunnels herself. Not since during the purge had she run their lengths, hunting and killing the bishops, searching high and low for Lucas so she could rip his insides out through his mouth. But the labyrinth of tunnels had grown into its own city for its size; and the city had cockroaches.

Not the Nosferatu, they were not the insects that plagued the undercity. Poor unfortunate souls. When they saw her and her sheriff, they disappeared into shadows and other tunnels, some giving a gasp of shock at the unexpected visit. There were perhaps thirty, maybe forty Nosferatu who chose to live their second lives in the tunnels of her city, the ones with extreme deformities, and she gladly let them. Other Nosferatu, ones with smaller deformities, or ones strong enough to hide themselves in plain sight, walked the streets of Dolareido, but down in the tunnels, the rest of their brethren lived.

But, as Maria showed, you could work past your deformities, and become something more, with time.

Her mind wandered, and she could not help it. How rare it was to be on an outing with her sheriff anymore; quite rare, since her fingers had grown long and rooted into the corporations of her city. Xnomina did not know which corporations she controlled, which banks, which facilities, which companies, and they did not know which kine she had enthralled into her service. Many services did her bidding, some willingly, some not, some unknowingly. During the purge, she had brought hundreds of kine to her side, police officers in particular, armed and ready to fight the Lancea et Sanctum at her whim.

And they did fight. And it had been bloody. Many kine had died, as many as Kindred, and in the end, such souls were mere sheep lost in the crossfire.

Would Jack think her cruel, if she indulged him such secrets? Would he look at her the same way if she explained that there were dozens of kine in the city enthralled in her spell, serving her, risking their lives? Well, few lives risked since the purge. But that did not mean her kine were so lucky as to escape notice from spying Invictus or Carthian eyes on occasion. Some had lost limbs or kneecaps in such dealings. All for her.

She did not normally feel guilt. An antiquated emotion for an elder. And yet with Jack, with his terribly honest soul, she did feel it when her thoughts drifted toward her role as Prince. How—

“Annie?”

“Ah. Apologies, my friend. You were saying?”

Daniel raised a brow, barely, before he pointed his small flashlight down toward the older tunnels.

“Athalia said Azamel would be hanging out at the stage beneath Morning Street.” A flick of the wrist lit the tunnel. “This way.”

She turned and followed beside him. The stage was one of the earlier, deeper areas Viktor had built, a place where he could speak over a crowd when he wanted, before the Kindred had found ways to stay above ground in Dolareido.

A smile forced its way onto her lips. There was a time when she, Viktor, Tony, her lovely Daniel, and Jacob had sat around in a tunnel they had dug underneath the village, and talked of their vision. A city where Kindred could live in peace, and where the very city itself allowed for vampires to feed and rest without fear of the sun or dangerous hunts. Where kine would gather en masse and crane their necks for them. A new era for a new world in America, where Kindred could live long lives filled with vice and delights and where violence was unnecessary.

Such fools they’d been. Successful, but with each success, their paranoia of each other grew. Battles were fought, skirmishes at first, but sometimes full on war between two covenants. Lucas’s arrival had not helped.

Sighing, she shook her head, combed back her hair, and dusted off the sleeves of her suit. She had changed her clothes; she could not visit Azamel wearing a dress meant for a night out on the town, after all.

The stage was actually a large room of concrete with little in the way of ... anything, except for connecting tunnels, and a few light sources that were ancient. But the Invictus and Antoinette did like to keep the tunnels maintained to some degree, so such lights were replaced when they broke. A fact Azamel and other cockroaches liked to exploit.

And sure enough, there she sat on the raised platform. It stood a foot off the concrete floor, a slab of yet more concrete, a literal stage for the room. And while before there had been nothing, Azamel had decided to decorate much of the room like a cottage in the 1800’s. The woman had confidence, Antoinette had to admit that. And nerve.

She was a small woman, very old, with wrinkled white skin hanging off her face and arms. Skinny and frail. It was hard to see her eyes, partially closed with age, and her long silver hair was thin.

So much older than the last time they had spoke.

“Time,” Azamel said, voice quiet and filled with rasp and groan, “is not as kind to us as it is to the vampire.”