Temptation Calls. Caridad Piñeiro

Meghan wanted to stay awake during the day like a human. Like Samantha, staying indoors to avoid the strong noon light and slipping outside for a chance at normalcy when the sun was weak.

      Meghan had run out on Diego’s servant a few days earlier, and she’d been missing since. This club was the one place Meghan was likely to return to, either to feed or go after her sire once more.

      Samantha carefully scoped out the crowd, but there were a number of coeds who matched Meghan’s description—long blond hair, slender, petite and young.

      A waitress came by, dressed in a getup that Marilyn Manson would envy—a tight black merry widow and black lace stockings. “May I get you something?”

      “A round of blood. Nothing but human,” Diego said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

      The waitress rushed to comply, returning to the bar that was kept stocked by payments to health inspectors who turned a blind eye to the unusual libations the club offered.

      Samantha glanced back at her two friends as they waited for the server to return.

      Diego was as stunning as always, in a charcoal-gray silk Helmut Lang suit and black silk shirt that exposed the pale white skin of his chest. His nutmeg-brown hair was down to his shoulders and straight. His eyes were a marvelous blue—clear and bright like an ice-fed mountain stream. He turned heads, but not just because of his looks. There was something almost regal in his carriage. Probably because before he’d been turned, Diego had been a Spanish lord. A betrayal during the Spanish Inquisition had resulted in his imprisonment and torture. It was deep in the belly of a Spanish prison that he’d been “converted”—although not in the way the priests would have imagined.

      As beautiful as Diego was, Esperanza was as plain, but with a good, if sometimes selfish, heart. The one thing Esperanza hated was sharing Diego’s attention with the women he’d saved over the years.

      Women like the missing Meghan. Women like Samantha.

      Strays and lost souls who often frequented places such as the one they were now visiting.

      But unlike other clubs with an obvious theme, the Blood Bank had none. Only walls, ceilings and a bar painted black. The booths, chairs and tables—where they weren’t scarred and exposing whatever material was beneath—were, of course, black.

      It matched the hair and clothes of most of the people in the place. Or at least, most of the wannabes. Meghan’s blond looks would have stood out, except that occasionally, like tonight, the bar got its share of first-timers who were there to check out the wild stories they’d heard. Unfortunately, most of those club virgins had a tendency to look like Meghan.

      “So, do you think she’ll show up tonight?”

      “Who knows?” Esperanza replied with an impatient shrug.

      The waitress delivered their drinks and hot on her heels was none other than Blake, Meghan’s sire, looking as surly and punk as ever. As the waitress departed, Blake planted his fists on their table. “Wannabes.”

      Wannabe humans he should have said, since all of them knew what the young vampire thought of them. Samantha didn’t know anything about Blake’s background, but if he’d suffered even a small bit of the violence that she and her friends had endured during their human lives, he would better understand why they chose not to harm others now that they were virtually immortal.

      “That outfit looks like something out of the seventies,” Esperanza taunted, motioning with her head to Blake’s chain-studded black jeans and jacket.

      “Well, I think I look right fine.” His words had a hint of a cockney twang to them, an affectation he’d adopted when someone told him he looked a bit like Billy Idol. Samantha almost laughed out loud as he followed his words with an obviously practiced sneer.

      Instead, she said, “Meghan is missing again, Blake. Have you seen her?”

      “Been there, done that.” He studied her face. “Are you okay, because you look a bit wan.” Then he quickly added, with a wiggle of a pierced brow, “Could help you out, love, if you know what I mean.”

      Impatiently Diego said, “Just tell us about Meghan.”

      “Little chit was here last night on one of her rampages.” There was a bit of swagger in his stance as he continued, “Think we finally settled things between us. She didn’t seem to mind putting the bite on me in the alley.”

      Vampire-to-vampire feeding being the ultimate of pleasures, Samantha thought. Esperanza had the palest touch of embarrassed color on her face while Diego’s showed nothing but annoyance at Blake’s locker room talk. Much like humans, polite vampires didn’t discuss intimate details. Feeding on another vampire was as intimate as having sex—dangerous, mind-blowing, near-death sex.

      “That was a risky thing, amigo. With Meghan in one of her states, she could have easily ripped your throat out,” Diego said.

      Blake leaned forward until he was almost in Diego’s face. “Jealous, old man?”

      In a flash, Diego wrapped his hand tight around Blake’s throat and squeezed hard. Blake fought to free himself, but Diego’s grip was too strong. When he finally released the punk vamp, he said, “Respect your elders, Blake. As for Meghan, she is under my protection. And so I ask, do you know where she went?”

      Blake took a step back from the table, rubbing his throat. “I think she wanted a snack after our little get-together. She left with some old dude late last night and didn’t come back.”

      “Thank you,” Diego said and dismissed the young vamp with a nod.

      Blake hurried off, melding into the crowd on the dance floor as best he could with his shock of pale hair.

      “You don’t think she drained the human?” Samantha asked.

      “I saw nothing in the news about it.” Diego gave her a long look. “Blake was right when he said you look a little…fragile.”

      She shrugged off his concern. “Three children died last night.”

      “I heard.” There was understanding in his voice as he added, “And you feel responsible?”

      “Wouldn’t you?” After being turned, Diego had seen the change as a way to atone for his earlier selfishness. As his strength had grown, he’d taken in those who were weaker, protecting them when necessary.

      “You were hurt, mi amiga.” He covered her hand as it rested on the tabletop, but he didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Sí, you’re very weak. Your skin is chilled. You should have said something.”

      Samantha pulled her hand away and hid it beneath the table.

      Diego shot her a hard look then tossed down the shot of blood, grimacing afterward.

      When Esperanza went to pick up her drink, he stayed her hand. “It’s stale. Let’s find ourselves a snack and after…” He paused and glanced at Samantha, “You can restore yourself from one of us.”

      “Diego—”

      “Querida, do not argue. You are more frail than I have ever seen you. I imagine you slept the whole day. I know how much you must hate that.”

      She couldn’t argue. Lassitude had chased her for the better part of the day, preventing her from assisting the women at the shelter. Instead of a vamp schedule of daytime slumber and nighttime activities, she’d always tried to mimic a more human life. It was necessary if she wanted to run the shelter and help others avoid the violence that had doomed her to her vampire state.

      Without answering, she watched Diego and Esperanza go in search of sustenance.

      Samantha perused the inhabitants of the club, hoping to spot Meghan, but if the confused young vampire was here, she wasn’t making herself known.

      But the others in the building…That was a different story. Samantha could smell them. Their sweat, filled with lust and