‘C’mon.’ The whining tone grated like nails on a blackboard. ‘You goootta give me it. It’s my turn nowww.’

I tucked the knife against my spine and shrugged into my jacket. Leaving the old clothes behind me, I opened the door of the cubicle. Brassy was kneeling on the floor, arse in the air, arms reaching under a cubicle door.

I hissed, lips drawn back.

She peered at me over her shoulder, mouth falling open as she saw me. ‘Fuckin’ell,’ she gabbled and scrambled back on her haunches, ‘there’s a bloody sucker out ’ere.’

I crouched next to her. She didn’t move; the drug suffocating any fear. I stroked my finger along the blue vein under her jaw, felt her pulse jump, then pushed back a straggle of her hair. The skin covering her neck was smooth, unmarked, virgin. My gut spasmed again. I stood, inhuman quick, and snatched my hand away.

She had nothing I needed.

And everything I thirsted for.

Brassy fell forward, fingers crawling over my boots. ‘Wan’ some blood, sucker?’ She flung her arm up, waving her wrist in the air, shrieking, ‘Bloodsucker!’

I ran, her cries of bloodsuckerchasing me through the night.

Crowded terraced houses blurred into unkempt semis with junk-filled gardens and peeling paintwork. Light spilled around half-closed curtains to pool on the pitted, uneven pavements. Graffiti-scarred tower blocks thrust into the night sky like giant tombstones and here and there houses squatted like waiting nightmares, their windows shuttered with blank steel plates. Sucker Town in all its midnight glory.

I stopped running, not even winded from my sprint.

A large pub, the Leech & Lettuce, complete with plastic Tudor beams, dominated one corner of the crossroads. The sign above the entrance creaked, even though the air was hot and still. Baring an impressive set of sharp cartoon fangs, the Leech on the sign was poised, ready to sink them deep into the plump juicy lettuce leaf it slithered across. A large blue heart thumped in the leech’s slimy breast.

I’d reached my destination.

Gold script above the pub’s door proclaimed Archibald Smith is Licensed to Sell Beers, Wines and Spirits to be Consumed On or Off the Premises and Licensed for Vampiric Activities.

It wasn’t one of my usual hangouts: they didn’t need to be licensed. But then, not all the vamps in Sucker Town are as law-abiding as the Leech’s locals.

As if my thoughts had conjured them, a hoard of Beater goblins trotted past, trainers flashing red, blue and green, their foil-wrapped bats hoisted on their shoulders: one of the squads from Sucker Town’s private security force, paid for by the vampires. It’s not as strange as it seems, since goblins are all about the job. I watched them warily as the leader, his red hair in tight Shirley Temple curls, threw a glance my way. But I was on my own and close enough to a blood-pub that he didn’t stop to challenge me.

I pushed through the Leech’s door into a fug of alcohol, blood and deep-seated staleness. The clamour of voices and heartbeats almost drowned out the Eurythmics singing ‘The First Cut’ on the jukebox and I almost staggered from the overload on my hypersensitive vampire senses. I stopped breathing and concentrated—like any other vampire, I need oxygen, but like everything else a vamp needs, my body filters the oxygen direct from my blood, not from sucking it in through my lungs. Half-a-dozen non-breaths later and my senses were tuned back to comfortable levels. After three years of using the spell, muting was coming easier. It had taken me six months to get it right; I might have mastered it sooner, but black-market magic doesn’t come with instructions.

I looked around. The Tudor theme continued with more fake beams criss-crossing the low ceiling and hunting scenes chasing each other round the walls. The booths in the rear bar—partitioned by high wooden panels—were busy, but the tables in the open area were mostly empty. A line of hot and cold bodies propped up the counter, the humans burning bright to my eyes as their venom-thickened blood pumped round their bodies. The vampires were almost shadows by comparison. Scanning the cool faces, I saw one I recognised: Mr June, another of the Blue Heart’s Calendar vamps. He stood with two other vampires. Oddly, they were the only group not chatting up the menu options.

I picked out the perfect spot, near enough to listen, far enough away not to be noticed ... only my perfect spot was already taken by a hot black-leather-clad body hulked over his drink. About the only thing that doesn’t change with the spell is my height. I’m still five-five. I tapped the leather-clad shoulders and they straightened up and turned towards me, giving me a view of a chest that would’ve looked at home on the cover of a romance novel—the ever-popular throat-ripping kind, going by the fang marks that trailed from his left nipple down to disappear beneath his leather waistband. Lucky me. I’d found a realgoth.

His handsome, chiselled face was framed with tawny waves of hair, also model-perfect. He smiled down at me, human teeth gleaming and eagerness lighting up his hazel eyes. ‘The name’s Darius and the answer’s yes.’

Mentally I rolled my own eyes: not just eager, but cocky with it. ‘You haven’t heard the question yet.’

His hand skimmed down the trail of bites. ‘Doesn’t matter, it’s still yes.’

I ran the tip of my tongue over my fangs. Maybe I should just get this part of the night out of the way—not that willing humans were hard to find in Sucker Town, but strike while he’s hotflashed in my mind. Given that a couple of his bites were obviously recent, Darius was nothing if not on fire.

As I stroked my fingers over the little red wounds his smooth skin trembled under my touch. My hand brushed his stomach ... there.I found what I wanted: the bite was swollen with venom and radiating heat like a furnace. Pressing my palm flat against it, I felt him sigh.

‘Anything,’ he murmured, his eyes fixed not on my face but lower down my body.

Of course he’d noticed my enhanced assets. The mounds of my breasts swelled above the Lycra, the blood-starved veins under the pale flesh like a blue lace bodice. Darius—or anyone else—could tell I needed to feed just by looking.

He shifted closer, pushing against my hand.

I slid my hand lower. He had his own enlarged assets. Sex was obviously available as a side dish. But then, it usually was. It also made the medicine go down somuch better. I placed my lips over the bite near his heart and the faint taste of liquorice sparked across my tongue.

I caught a glimpse of Mr June and his pals out of the corner of my eye and shook my head: business first. There was always another Darius, or Roberto, or whatever name they’d chosen.

‘Move.’ I shoved him away.

He gave me a mock pout. ‘Tease.’

I jabbed my index finger into his sternum.

‘Okay, okay. I get it.’ He gave me a hopeful look. ‘Later?’

‘Maybe.’ I flashed fangs at him.

He grinned. ‘Cool.’

Leaning my elbows on the counter, I gestured at the bartender, a sky-born goblin judging by her lack of black wraparound shades. She flipped her glass cloth over her hefty shoulder and hurried across. ‘What can I get you, luv?’

‘Stoli,’ I said, ‘Cristall if you have it.’

She adjusted the floppy bow on her acid-yellow blouse. The colour matched her bulging eyes. ‘Got the new Blueberi flavour in, if you’re interested?’

I shook my head. A lot of vamps liked their spirits sweet, even added sugar to the alcohol. I preferred the pure stuff.

Extending her arm, she snapped her fingers. ‘Coming up in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’ Then she tilted her head, her stacked coils of plaited white hair threatening to tip over, like a top-heavy wedding cake. ‘Don’t recognise you for a regular, luv, so I’ll just let you in on the rules round here.’