SPN Fic: In Blood, We Trust (1/4)
Jensen kills the lights on his car and lets it coast into the parking lot. He’s just in time to catch sight of Mac and a friend slip through an unmarked door in a nondescript warehouse. He’s not sure what this place is, but it’s a pretty shady part of town for two college girls to be hanging out.
Jensen’s only following them because his mom had called him earlier in the week, worried about Mackenzie and hoping he could ferret out whatever secrets were causing her grades to drop and her personality to change from ambitious and perky to listless and twitchy. Mom had whispered the word “drugs,” but when Jensen had taken Mac out to lunch on campus yesterday, he hadn’t gotten that vibe. Her melancholy seemed more ‘jilted lover’ to him, but when he pressed, she denied anything was wrong. However, there is definitely something going on with her, a mystery, and so now he’s easing his old reliable Ford Fusion into a parking spot between a Camero and an Escalade, wondering just what the hell this place is.
He pockets his keys and approaches the door the girls went through, looking for any clue to what’s inside. Faced with gray metal blankness, Jensen shrugs and opens it.
He enters into a small, dimly-lit foyer of what he thinks must be some kind of club. He can hear the drub of bass through the walls, and there’s two strange-looking guys situated behind an entry desk in front of a much fancier, oak-and-brushed nickel door. One of them’s a little dude, pale and nerdy with droopy, bloodhound-eyes. The other could not be more different. He’s probably the most massive man Jensen has ever seen, gotta be almost seven feet with a chest like a tank and arms like tree trunks. He’s one hell of a bouncer, if Jensen’s reading this right.
Jensen steps forward like he knows what he’s doing.
“Welcome to Trust. You’re new,” barks the little guy, looking Jensen up and down. “You got an invitation?”
Damn, he’s gonna get shut down before he even gets in the door. But his gaze doesn’t waiver. He’s got to see how far bullshit can take him. “Mackenzie Ackles invited me. She just walked in here a few minutes ago.”
The doorman tilts his head like he’s reading Jensen sideways, and his nostrils flare. “Oh,” he gives a small smirk. “They’re going to love you.”
Jensen can’t decide if that’s a good sign or not.
“Are you here to party or are you just watching tonight?” the guy continues.
Oh, that’s definitely not a good sign. Could this be some kind of sex club? Something else? Something worse? Jensen already felt out of his league-always has been more comfortable at home with Netflix than checking out the urban nightlife-and this feels like jumping straight into the abyss. He contemplates his answer for a split second, then opts for caution. “Watching.”
“Good choice for a first-timer.” The doorman opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a small piece of red paper, some kind of sticker apparently, because he peels it from the backing and leans in toward Jensen, smacking it onto his neck under his ear.
“Hey!” Jensen protests, reaching up.
“Leave it,” says the guy, swatting his hand away. “It’s just a marker, a signal. Let’s folks know that you’re off-limits for tonight. You change your mind once inside? Take it off then.” He backs off, turns toward the inner door, holds it open and sweeps his hand with a mocking bow to usher Jensen inside.
Jensen stares him down for a second, the little jerk, but he wants in, so he plays along. What the fuck has Mackenzie gotten herself into?
“Cover charge?”
“Not for you,” the guy replies, that little smile still playing along his lips.
Jensen rolls his shoulders, the stupid, quarter-sized sticker pulling at his skin like a burn. Then he simply nods and walks inside.
It turns out it’s a nightclub all right, but way more upscale than he’d expected. It’s not some dark, skanky cave. Quite the opposite. The lighting is soft, but there’s plenty of it, artfully haphazard amber- and pink-hued pools showing clusters of high top tables ringing a crowded dance floor. There are individuals and groups milling around the perimeter, and clumps of dancers on the floor are bobbing around to some old 80’s Madonna song, everyone grinning, laughing, flirting. There’re couples discreetly hooking up in the more shadowy corners, but none of the explicit public BDSM gear or overt activities Jensen had imagined, no one shooting up or taking hits of coke off the bar like he’d feared.
There is a bar, a huge one, lining one full wall of the club, a handful of bartenders working the clientele lined up for drinks. Jensen slips onto the nearest leather-padded stool and grabs a $20 from his wallet, needing to get his bearings before scouting the place out further. He scans the crowd for Mac or her girlfriend, but there’s no sign of them.
“I’m Chris. What can I get ya?” This bartender’s no taller than the host at the door, but he looks like he could seriously kick someone’s ass in a fight, long hair tied back in a ponytail, no-nonsense gleam in his eye.
“Jensen. And beer’s good,” he says, sliding his bill across the slick wooden bartop. But before he can engage Chris any further, someone’s got a hand on his arm and he finds a gorgeous redhead suddenly pressed up against him.
“Why hello, sugar,” she murmurs, licking her lips as she rakes her gaze over him. “My name’s Alaina and you’re all mine tonight.” But as he turns to face her, she catches sight of the red patch on his neck and practically leaps backwards.
“Sorry,” Jensen says, even though he’s pretty sure he didn’t do anything but sit here. She regains her composure and spins on one very high heel to stalk away without another word. Before the bartender can get back with his beer, two other people, first another girl then a guy, each try to pick him up before catching sight of his little “hands-off” sticker and turning away disappointed.
What the hell? Jensen’s no stranger to getting hit on at bars, on the rare occasion he gets dragged out by co-workers, but three in the first three minutes of arrival? That’s just weird.
Finally, the bartender pops up again. “Your first time here, huh? Well, you shouldn’t be surprised if you get a lot more of that tonight. Fresh blood and all.”
Jensen just shrugs, turning back to the crowd to look for Mac. She was wearing a black dress, but then, so are two-thirds of the women here, so that’s not helpful. There’s two dozen or so blondes, too, which makes trying to pick her out like a needle in a bouncing and grinding haystack. What does catch Jensen’s eye though, is the gorgeous guy in the middle of the floor, his head thrown back as he laughs. He’s several inches taller than anyone else around with dark, longish hair, not long like Chris’s, but long enough to brush the line of his jaw as he runs a hand through it, tossing it back off his face. That face, wow. High cheekbones and wide grin and tip-tilt eyes.
Jensen watches as he works the crowd on the dance floor, moving from cluster to cluster, twirling a girl by the arm, swinging another into a silly, overly-dramatic dip. Some guy shimmies up and snugs arms around the guy’s waist, and they move together to the beat of the music for a few moments before breaking apart. Then he moves on. A hand on someone’s shoulder, a friendly kiss on the top of a short girl’s head. Jensen doesn’t like to dance, never has, and yet he feels the strangest temptation to venture out into the throng, just for the chance to get closer.
A body blocks his view. “Hey, handsome,” the nuisance starts in, and by the time Jensen can brush him off, he’s lost track of the hot guy on the dance floor.
Then suddenly Hot Guy is next to Jensen at the bar, even bigger up close than he seemed before. He’s got on a ridiculous hot-pink t-shirt with what appears to be a unicorn vomiting a rainbow on the front, but it stretches across his chest in a way that leaves no doubt how perfectly built he is.
He glances at Jensen, then double-takes. Strangely, he’s the first person tonight to look pleased at the red marker Jensen’s wearing on his neck. Then he blushes, like he’s embarrassed to be caught staring and turns away to catch Chris’s eye. Blushing, for fuck’s sake. It’s Jensen’s silver bullet.
He tilts his head to indicate Jensen. “What he’s having.”
Chris slides the guy a beer and he takes a swig before peeking back at Jensen over the lip. “First time?”
How the hell does everyone instantly know that? “Be gentle,” Jensen wisecracks.
“Oh, wow. That was awful wasn’t it? I mean, as an opening line. Not that I’m feeding you a line or anything like that, just trying to make conversation. Not-not something else.” He quickly takes another long swig, like he’s trying to shut himself up.
Jensen feels the urge to wrap him in a soft blanket and feed him cookies, but in maybe a sexy way. Like naked. With cookies. It’s confusing. “Okay thanks for clearing that up. I was worried for a second there.”
“Hey,” Hot Guy says innocently, holding out an open palm. “Anyone can tell you, there’s nowhere in the club you’re safer than with me. I’m definitely the most harmless guy here.”
“Harmless? Is that right?” Jensen says, raising an eyebrow. Man, he really wishes he wasn’t here on a mission for Mackenzie, because there’s nothing he wants more than to flirt a little more, see if this could go somewhere. He doesn’t run into guys like this every day. Or every year. Being a loner has its downsides.
“Promise,” the guy replies, oddly serious for a second. But then he grins, and, oh god, there are dimples. And this little beauty mark beside his nose, and even his teeth are charming. “You having fun?”
“Not really here to have fun.” He drinks in the sight of the guy’s lips wrapped around the bottle as he takes another long sip. Then he pulls himself together, drags his attention away from the eyeful next to him and looks back out at the crowd. “Just keeping track of my little sister.”
“Well, you could come out and dance? She might be somewhere on the floor.”
They’re playing old-school Jackson 5 now, and this goofball offers a dumb little moonwalk with an off-balance spin for flourish, all gawky arms and legs and not an ounce of shame. And when Jensen allows a laugh to sneak out, he looks like Jensen just handed him a winning lottery ticket.
Maybe on a different night, maybe with a little more liquid courage, he’d have the audacity to grab the guy’s shirt and pull him in for a kiss. His fingers itch with the desire to touch, his lips ache for a taste of that mouth. He’s not sure why, but this complete stranger is pushing every one of his buttons. But it’s the wrong place at the wrong time. “I’ll have to pass. Not much of a dancer, either.”
“Fair enough.” Mr. Right smiles once more, sweetly, and tips his beer toward Jensen in a toast. He downs the rest and sets the empty on the bar. And despite being annoyed by all those earlier propositions, Jensen’s disappointed that this guy doesn’t press further. As he heads back into the milling crowd, Jensen’s eyes follow him, because damn that’s a nice view, too.
“Oh, man,” Chris comes behind him, chuckling. “There’s no point in setting your sights on Jared. He’s not a drinker.”
Jensen turns on his stool, elbows on the bar. “What are you talking about? You just served him a beer, right?”
“No, I mean blood. Never met a vamp who didn’t, but there you go. He’s an odd one.”
Jensen leans in, confused. He must have misheard. Chris can’t have said… what Jensen thought he said. He tilts his head. “I’m sorry, come again?”
Chris’s eyes narrow, and his gaze flickers down at the sticker on Jensen’s neck and back up to his bewildered expression. “Fucking Christ, how did you even get in here?” he growls. He reaches across the bar to grab Jensen’s wrist. “Don’t you know what this place is? It’s a gathering place for humans and the Kindred. A safe-zone.” He sees Jensen’s blank stare and grips tighter. “Man, this is a bar where humans come to meet vampires. To let them drink blood and get off on it. To feed them. Willingly.” He jerks his chin toward the closest wall. “Look over there.”
Jensen peers again through the sea of bodies and soft light into the shadows around the dance floor. He hadn’t wanted to stare outright before, like a pervert, at the couples pressed together, some writhing provocatively. But now he looks, sees. Some couples are just messing around, others appear to be outright fucking, right there against the wall. But with every pair, one has his or her head thrown back, the other is suckling at their neck. There’s a man in a woman’s embrace, her face pressed against his throat. She pulls back to lick at him and, there in the dimness, Jensen can see the dark, glistening stain around her mouth. It’s insane. It can’t be. But now that he sees it, it’s manifest.
Jensen turns back, his head spinning. He yanks his hand out of Chris’s grip. “And you? I guess you’re a-a vampire too?” The word is almost too ridiculous to pronounce.
“Nah,” Chris says calmly. “Me, and the rest of the staff. We’re Were.”
“You’re what?”
“No, Were.” Chris smirks. Jensen wants to punch him. He wants to shout, to force him to take it back, to admit it’s a lie. But he’s too preoccupied with freaking the fuck out, glancing back at those silhouettes in the shadows, wondering if Mac is one of them, for Christ’s sake.
Chris takes pity and pours him a shot of something strong.
Jensen knocks the booze back as fast as he can. He glances toward the other two bartenders, a guy with a beard and a red-headed girl working farther down the bar. Both seem to be perfectly normal people. “Were,” he croaks back at Chris. “You mean werewolves?”
“Yep. Three days out of the month. Full moon. Fangs and fur. The whole nine yards,” he replies, matter-of-fact. “Traditionally, Werefolk and the Kindred don’t get along so well.” He huffs an unamused laugh. “But Jared got it in his little Pollyanna head that putting us on the payroll was a good idea. Trying to promote goodwill and foster relations between species, or at least that’s what he said.”
“Jared?” Jensen says, trying to keep up and failing miserably.
“Yeah, you know.” He gestures in the direction of the dance floor. “Your little crush-at-first sight? He’s the owner of this joint, it was his idea to have everyone play nice together. Anyway, we help with stuff he needs done during the daylight hours, when vamps can’t get around so well; he looks out for us on the couple days every month that we’re out of our minds, keeps us on lock-down. And the humans, well, you guys just come and hang out for fun.”
Jensen shakes his head, hoping to knock something loose. “Jesus. I’m still trying to process the whole ‘vampires exist’ thing. Because at the moment I’m 99% sure you’re just fucking with me, and that these are just a bunch of kinky-ass people with a blood fetish and some fake teeth.”
“Stick around, son. You’ll figure it out. Just keep that nice little stop sign on your neck while you’re doing it, okay? That’s pretty much all that’s keeping someone from showing you up-close-and-personal how real those teeth are.”
“Fuck,” Jensen breathes, placing a palm over the sticker to make sure it’s still there.
“Yeah,” Chris smirks again, but then his face goes stone still as he looks out over Jensen’s shoulder. “Oh shit.” Quicker than a cat, he launches himself over the bar and takes off for the far side of the club. On impulse, Jensen shoves off his stool and rushes after him. People are forming in a knot at a far corner of the dance floor, and they head for it. From the other direction, he glimpses Jared plowing through the crowd, too.
There’s a shout. Someone out of the mass of bodies grabs him, clutches at him, crying his name. Thank god, it’s Mac.
“Jensen, god, Jensen! What are you-She wouldn’t let go. Katherine passed out, but she still wouldn’t stop.” Jensen automatically reels her in closer as she tugs him toward the front of the crowd. Now that he found her, he’s not letting her out of sight. “Oh god, she was going to kill Katherine.”
Chris and some of the other staff start clearing a space, holding back people who seem to be either gawking or looking to egg on a fight. The music cuts off mid-song, and the milling and murmuring settles down into a pregnant hush, punctuated only by Mac’s continued hiccupping sobs. In the center of an open ring that has formed two figures are facing off: a woman Jensen doesn’t recognize, and Jared.
Jared’s standing over a figure sprawled unconscious on the floor at his feet, and Jensen sees that it’s Mac’s friend. He’s standing over her protectively, one hand extended toward the dark-haired woman across from them.
She glares at Jared, trembling, frozen in place. Jared glares back.
The self-effacing cutie that Jensen exchanged quips with over by the bar is gone. In his place is a fierce predator. With his shoulders thrown back, he looks eight feet tall, and the look on his face makes Jensen want to turn and run. And it’s then he sees Jared’s eyes. They’re no longer hazel and twinkling. Now they’re this solid yellow color, vivid and other-worldly. It’s like they’re lit from within, fathomless and hot like molten gold, like the sun at mid-day.
Jensen glances across the circle. The woman’s eyes are bright gold, too. And all of the doubts Jensen’s been clinging to that Chris’s story was a hoax, they shred and fall away.
Jared starts to speak and it’s almost as if he’d been waiting for the crowd to quiet, so that everyone could witness. “There’s a two year ban from Trust for attempting to drain a human, Athena,” he tells the woman. “You know that.” He glances around at the crowd at large, raising his voice. “No one who hurts or hunts humans is welcome here. This is not a slaughterhouse, and it’s not a diner. Humans and Kindred are equals. Blood here is exchanged freely or not at all, so don’t come if you aren’t willing to play by the rules.” Then he turns back toward his adversary and growls, “Now get out of my club.”
He drops his out-stretched hand and the woman cries out, jerking like she’s been released from an invisible grip. The giant bouncer Jensen encountered at the club’s entrance lumbers forward and puts a meaty hand around her arm, practically lifting her off her feet to escort her out.
As if their movements released a spell, the onlookers begin to stir and chatter. Mac pushes out of Jensen’s protective embrace to crouch down next to her friend, who’s showing signs of returning consciousness. Jared crouches down as well, and together they help her to sit up. Jensen can see the girl’s neck is still seeping blood from two unmistakable puncture wounds. He watches in fascinated horror as Jared licks his thumb and rubs it over the skin of her neck. In a matter of seconds, the cuts start to heal and disappear.
Jared looks up at Jensen. His eyes have returned to normal, and his expression’s apologetic, anxious. It seems like he expects Jensen to castigate him, to bust his chops, as if Jensen can utter a single word after all -that.
After a moment, Jared simply says quietly, “You better take her home.” Then he rises to his feet and slips away into the crowd.
***
Jensen wants to go to the hospital, but Katherine, with Mac’s support, insists on going back to her apartment. He reluctantly agrees and by the time they drive to her apartment complex, Katherine’s recovered enough to hop out of the car and rush inside. Jensen and Mac follow her. Mac heads to the bedroom to make sure Katherine’s truly going to be okay, while Jensen searches the kitchen for something liquid and strong.
He grabs three glasses and a bottle of vodka and plops down on the couch. He wants to try to make sense of tonight, bring his worldview back into proper alignment, but it’s like there’s a thick film settled over his brain. Maybe shock? Maybe denial? Whatever it is, he’s still sitting there calmly when Mac comes back out to the living room.
“She’s asleep,” she says, grabbing the bottle and pouring herself a generous portion.
“So are you going to tell me what the hell that was?”
She stares down into her glass for a minute, then says, “I met Adrianne at the main campus library. It’s open twenty-four hours and she works there in the Archives. At night.” She huffs a wry laugh. “Anyway, she’s tall and beautiful and after a few weeks, after we got to know each other, she told me she was a vampire. ‘Kindred’ they call themselves.”
Jensen nods, but doesn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t believe her, of course, so she invited me to this club she knew. I convinced Katherine to go with me. That was about two months ago.”
“And you let them drink from you?” he tries his best to keep it neutral, not judgmental, despite his skin crawling at the thought.
“Jensen, you have no idea how good it feels. It’s like… like the best drug, the best sex, I can’t even describe it. It takes you so high, makes you feel like you’re worshipped, cherished.”
“Like Katherine was tonight?” Jensen replies sardonically.
“No,” Mac admits. “That was messed up.” She takes another gulp of booze.
“And you do this every night?”
“Not every night. The doorman won’t let us in that often. Says humans have to take breaks to make sure we don’t get overly-drained.” She rubs her eyes tiredly. “But we go a lot. Probably more than we should.”
“Probably? Probably?” Jensen replies, his voice rising. “Your friend almost died. You could have been killed! Mac… Jesus, it sounds crazy, but we’re talking about vampires here.”
“I know, I know. Don’t you think I freaked when I found out, too?”
“You have to promise me you’re never going back there. That you won’t set foot within a thousand yards of that place ever again.”
“Jensen-“
“No, I’m fucking serious. Mom sent me to find you tonight because she was worried about you. Because you haven’t been acting like yourself. Can’t you see this isn’t healthy? That it’s malicious?”
“Don’t pretend like you understand it, Jensen, because you don’t,” she says firmly, then holds up a hand when he draws breath to argue further. “But I agree that I need to stop, at least for awhile. Katherine and I both need to take a break, so we can think about this more clearly.”
“Okay,” he says. “But you’ll call me before you decide you want to return. That’s not a request.”
“Fine,” she agrees. “Now go home.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to sleep it off here on the couch, then go to class tomorrow. Like a good little girl.” She leans over to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be okay, promise. Thanks for being worried about me, bro.”
“’Worried’ doesn’t even cover it,” he tells her. Then he stands up and heads for home, more rattled by what happened than ever. He trusts her to keep her word, but that doesn’t stop him from tossing and turning in his own bed all night.
***
He finds himself back at that warehouse door the next night, wrenching it open a little too hard out of pique.
Despite his orders to Mac to stay away, the urge to confirm what he saw was too strong to resist. He needs to understand, he needs evidence it wasn’t all just some kind of hallucination or fever dream. All day he’s been unsettled and shaky-and a little bit scared, if he’s quite honest-and it’s combined to piss him right off.
He thought about calling the cops, getting them to shut the place down, but what would he tell them? That he wanted to file a complaint about bloodsucking undead? Well, if he can’t stop what they’re doing, at least he can confront them. Plus, he needs to prove to himself that he can take this in stride, the legitimate presence of supernatural things in the world. Then he can get on with his life.
There’s a line at the inner door this time, other patrons waiting to get in. A few are turned away, another group heads inside, and then it’s Jensen’s turn. The same little guy sits guarding the gate, looking as mild as milk when Jensen steps up. The same big guy looms behind him.
“So you’re back,” the doorman comments.
“Why didn’t you give me some kind of warning last night?” Jensen snaps. He probably should be more diplomatic if he wants admission, but he can’t find a fucking ounce of diplomacy in him.
“Not in my job description,” he drawls. “Besides, a guy’s gotta have a little innocent fun where he can find it.”
“You’re an ass. There’s nothing innocent about this place.”
“And yet here you are, waiting to get in.” He holds up a sticker just like the one Jensen had worn last night. “You still need one of these?”
“Yes, dammit,” Jensen says, snatching it out of the host’s hand and applying it himself. He stomps past, pretty certain now that his antagonism isn’t going to get him tossed. He feels like he’s getting some kind of free pass, and that irks him even more.
“Have a good time,” he hears the guy call from behind.
“I won’t,” Jensen says under his breath.
Inside the party is going full steam, the dance floor full and the music pumping some bouncy hip hop standard Jensen recalls from the handful of college keg parties he attended. A trio of girls walk by him, giggling, and a cheer goes up from another group at the bar watching football overhead on a muted TV. He stops, midstride, to take it all in. People are having fun; he can’t spot a single person that is overtly being harassed or coerced. It’s such a disconnect from the den of sin and depravity that Jensen had built up in his mind over the past 24 hours that his anger’s knocked back on its heels.
Chris waves at him from where he’s hustling to serve drinks and calls out, “You’re back!”
Jensen wanders over and takes the same seat as the night before. He’d pictured himself ripping into anyone and everyone associated with this place. But all he says finally is, “I guess I am.”
“I wasn’t sure you would be,” Chris says amiably. “That was a hell of a first impression we gave.”
“Sure was.” How can he be so calm about this? How can he just stroll in and start chatting with someone who claims he’s a werewolf? How can he be checking out of the corner of his eye, trying to catch a glimpse of a guy who’s tall, dark, handsome and not human? Driving here tonight, he wasn’t sure what to expect, but he didn’t anticipate that it would feel this… normal.
“How’s your sister? Her friend?”
“Okay, I guess,” says Jensen. “Don’t think they’ll be back anytime soon.”
“Can’t say I blame them,” Chris replies. “I’m sorry they had to get mixed up with one of them.”
“Them, who?”
“The ones trying to sabotage Jared. The vamps who don’t want to see humans get treated with respect or concern. Who think that Jared’s a fool and a danger to traditional Kindred ways. Now, since my kind are at the bottom of the totem pole either way, I normally wouldn’t care, but Jared’s throwing us a bone too.” He grins with a tilt of his head to acknowledge the joke. “So as far as I’m concerned, his enemies are my enemies.” He pulls a beer out of the cooler and slides it to Jensen. “And his friends my friends.”
Oh great, Jensen thinks. So not only are there vampires there are vampire factions.
Chris must’ve felt like he made his point, because he wanders away to tend to other patrons, and Jensen sits nursing his beer, searching for his righteous indignation.
People still won’t leave him alone. Three more vampires-at least he figures that’s what they are, because why would a human bother with him here?-approach him with offers of a good time before they discover he’s off-limits. It makes him appreciate the sticker system, even as it makes him wonder exactly what it would be like to take it off. He glances furtively over at those disconcerting couples not-quite-hidden in the club’s dark corners. What did Mac call it? Worship?
Just then, Jared comes bouncing up. Same cheeks flushed from dancing, same hair flowing like some hero from a romance novel. Jensen’s pulse kicks up a notch, but it sure doesn’t feel like anger or fear.
“You’re back!”
“Monsters of the night,” Jensen deadpans, “you’re all masters of keen observation.”
Jared’s jaw practically drops at Jensen’s words, probably not what he was expecting, but then he bursts out laughing. “I heard from Chris all this came as a surprise to you. The whole, you know, ‘monsters’ thing. I’m really glad it didn’t keep you away.” He keeps smiling in a way that sends butterflies tumbling in Jensen’s stomach… and makes him reflect on all those legends about the whammy vampires put on humans in order to lure them to their doom.
“I only came back because I couldn’t get my head around what I saw last night.” Jensen recalls Chris telling him that Jared doesn’t drink blood, but Jensen wants to make clear he’s not here for that, whatever Mac and her friend and the others are into. Just the thought of it-the shallow vein in his neck, the way blood would pump from a wound, thick and red-makes him queasy.
“I can imagine it was a pretty big shock,” Jared replies sympathetically.
“I mean, what is this place anyway? Why are you all here? Why do you do this?”
“You mean the club? It’s kind of an experiment, honestly. I wanted to see if I could help stop some of the violence. The thing most humans don’t understand about Kindred is that we don’t need to drink blood for itself, we just need the lifeforce that’s carried in the blood. And intense human emotion makes that lifeforce stronger. So you know, fear, surprise, pain.” He glances away with a look of chagrin. “That’s why many Kindred will attack unwilling humans: they think it makes feeding better.”
Jensen shudders. “Okay, maybe I didn’t want to know this.”
“But listen,” Jared goes on, and now his eyes are wide with enthusiasm. “What if we turned that around? What about joy, or arousal? I figure, if humans can actually enjoy feeding as much as Kindred, why not work with that? That’s what Trust is all about: dancing, flirting, having a good time. A really good time.” Jared waggles his eyebrows.
Jensen shakes his head incredulously. “So basically you’re the big blue guy from Monsters Inc. who wants to gather up laughter instead of screams?
“Um, what?” It’s Jared turn to look perplexed.
“It’s from a cartoon,” Jensen replies. “C’mon, you’re telling me you’re immortal and you haven’t found time to watch all the Disney movies yet?”
“Well-not that you’ll accept it’s an excuse for my woeful ignorance of animated film-but Kindred aren’t actually immortal. We just don’t age the same way we used to when we were human. Now it’s more like… like a battery. We get recharged so many times-” he slowly raises his hand and then swoops it down like it’s riding the hill of a rollercoaster”-until finally we just wear out. You never really know how long you’ve got. I think that’s why so many of us can be, well, cruel. Or maybe a better word is selfish.” He glances around. “But maybe this place can help change how that impacts humans.”
This is absolutely the most bizarre conversation Jensen’s ever been involved in. He should be sprinting out the door as fast as his legs can carry him. He should be planning a way to burn the place down. But instead, he’s actually enjoying himself. Interesting people are strolling by, another fun old-school song is playing, at some point the red-headed bartender brought both of them new beers. He can’t remember the last time he actually enjoyed going out to a club. But then again, he’s sure as hell never been to a club like this.
And he’s never met someone like Jared, either. “So how old are you? When were you, what’s the right phrase? Turned?”
Jared gives him a crooked smile. “We don’t really ask about that.” He takes a sip of beer. “Not tactful.”
“Oh sorry.”
“No, that’s cool. I don’t mind talking about it with you.”
Jensen feels a little ping of warmth at that. Apparently he likes being a special exception.
“I was an American soldier in Vietnam. Left for dead with a couple bullets in my chest during an ambush. The Kindred love intense emotion, right? Well, battlefields are a veritable buffet.” He sips his beer. “I’ve had a lot of time to think it over, but I still have no idea why she chose to take me through the transition rather than just sucking me dry like any other feed, but…”
He lets the story trail off and Jensen gets that blankie feeling again, but this time without the cookies. Just a pure desire to wipe the painful remembrance from Jared’s face. “Sorry I brought it up. You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s alright. Was a long time ago.”
“Okay. But, I have to say,” Jensen says to lighten the mood, “You’re looking pretty good for 65.”
Jared ducks his head and comes up smiling again. “Ah, thanks. You’re pretty fine yourself, you know.”
Jensen snorts. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking about how appetizing I am with a vampire.”
“Hey!” Jared says, mock-offended. “I already told you that you’re safe with me.”
And the weird thing is, he feels like it’s true. “Hey, the bartender mentioned something about that, too,” Jensen says. “What did he mean, that you don’t drink blood? How does that even work with the lifeforce thingy-ma-gig?”
“It goes back to the time right after I was made Kindred. I, um, I went a little insane, I think. I couldn’t bring myself to feed, I hated it. I would starve myself into a frenzy, and then I couldn’t control myself. I’d hurt humans, I’ll admit I even killed one.” He looks away, dragging a hand through his hair, then hurries on. “But fortunately after wandering for awhile, years actually, I came upon a group of other Kindred. In India, if that’s not a cliché, I don’t know what is. Anyway, they had developed a technique, trained themselves to absorb humans’ lifeforce by touch alone, rather than through ingesting their blood. I stayed to learn how. Took a long time, but I figured it out. However, most Kindred wouldn’t bother with it, even if they knew about it. It’s a way more strenuous method of survival, and less efficient. Less, um, pleasurable too.”
Jared sees him catch the quick glance down at Jensen’s neck, and his cheeks bloom a sweet pink. Damn, he runs what’s basically a sex-for-blood establishment but still feels self-conscious about checking out a potential client.
“So what you’re telling me,” Jensen says, ignoring the look, “is that you’re a psychic vampire instead? Like a vegetarian, but no eating humans?”
Jared grins. “I guess you could put it that way.”
“Are you feeding off me right now?” Jensen leans away slightly. He may be suddenly uncertain about a lot of things regarding Trust, but not that.
“No!” Jared assures him swiftly. “No, I consider the sticker on your neck applies to me, just like everyone else. If I don’t follow the club rules, who will?” He shrugs. “Besides, I have to be touching someone for the transfer to work.”
Jensen recalls Jared moving across the dance floor, the way he’d randomly grip a shoulder or give a hug around the waist. Guess he’s not just handsy after all, Jensen thinks.
“Speaking of which, I should probably head back out there.” Jared nods ruefully toward the crowd. “But are you-do you plan to stick around? Or have I scared you off with, um, all this?”
“I’m not scared. Questioning my sanity perhaps, but not scared.”
“Okay. Okay, good. Tell Danneel the next beer’s on me!” Jared calls, walking away backward so that he’s staring at Jensen the whole way, giving a little goodbye wave as he’s swallowed up by the dancers at the edge of the floor.
Jensen turns to rest his elbows on the bar and lets his head fall into his hands. Definitely questioning his sanity.
***
| Part 2 |