Sheridan screamed.

The sound drew the woman’s attention, and she looked over at Sheridan in annoyance at having been interrupted.

The man climbed off of his partner with a disgruntled grumble, and stalked toward the door, wiping his mouth. Sheridan stumbled back and the man slammed the door in her face, the thick wood mere centimeters from her nose.

Her heart was a jackhammer in her chest and she remained rooted in place, unable to tear herself away from the door, unable to coax her mind away from what she’d seen. In an instant, Hunter was at her side, and she was only vaguely aware of him as he gently gripped her elbow and tugged her away.

“There was a man in there,” she stammered as he led her to the elevator, “and he was… he was eating that woman, or… there was so much blood…” So much blood. A theme of late. She felt a hysterical giggle rising and choked it down, feeling like she’d stumbled into some kind of nightmare. Maybe none of this is real. Maybe I was in a car accident on the way home from the bank.

Inside the elevator, she stared at her own reflection in the mirrored wall as they descended to the lobby. No, not the lobby, lower still, into a basement. Hunter stepped off first and held his hand out to her. She hesitated, but took his hand and allowed him to lead her down a dimly lit hall into a small, well-appointed but windowless office.

He gripped her by the shoulders and sat her down in a plush leather arm chair that seemed well-loved. But despite its years, the leather was creamy soft to the touch; she sank into it. Hunter perched himself on the edge of a large, oak desk, one leg crossed over the other.

“Sheridan.” He said, and she met his gaze. She was instantly calmed by the sherry-colored eyes that looked back at her. “I want you to understand what’s happening here, and to take heart in the fact that no one is getting hurt.”

“But I saw—”

“I know what you thought you saw,” he continued. “You thought you saw someone hurting someone else. But that isn't the case.” He hooked one corner of his mouth up in a roguish grin. “Well, it is. But I can explain.”

“That man—”

“Was biting his client. Yes.” Sheridan blinked, slouching in her chair. Hunter flared his nostrils and exhaled a sigh before returning the full weight of his attention to Sheridan. “We run a very… specific sort of business here, you understand. There are humans who have been aware that vampires exist for centuries, and those that do often have specific… tastes, shall we say.”

“Vampires?” Sheridan thought she might actually faint.

“Yes, do try to keep up.” Sheridan quirked a brow at Hunter’s sudden terse tone. He softened under the pointedness of her stare. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s better that you come to terms with it now, the sooner the better.” He canted his head to the side, examining her expression. “Unless, of course, you want to leave right now and forget everything you’ve seen here.”

This snapped her back into herself, and she shook her head. “No,” she stated firmly. Because, after all, where else would she go?

Hunter gave her a sad smile. “Fantastic.” He rose to his feet, rounding the desk until he came to a small bar that held a crystal decanter full of rich, brown liquid. He poured a finger or two into a glass and pressed it into Sheridan’s hands. She sipped it, and it burned pleasantly on the way down. “The humans who work for us,” Hunter said, resuming his seat on the edge of the desk, “are protected. And that includes you. No harm will ever come to you, so long as you are with us. Do you understand?”

Warmth blossomed in her belly, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the drink or because this creature in front of her—a vampire—had some strange otherworldly sway over her. Either way, she could do nothing but nod, the feint of a smile playing on her lips.

“You see, no one is getting hurt here. These are humans who simply want to act out their vampiric fantasies –a harmless bite here and there. We have been making our living using those fantasies for centuries. Everyone is here because they want to have a new experience .”

“A new experience ,” she echoed, like an obedient lap dog.

“Yes.”

Sheridan sipped again from her glass until the whiskey was gone, and when it was, Hunter plucked the empty glass from her hand and abandoned it. “Do you feel better now?” He asked, and she nodded, feeling hazy, like she’d popped a Xanax or inhaled too deeply in an opium den.

“Yes,” she said again, and he held his hand out to her to help her to her feet.

“Good.” He led her back out to the elevator, and up they went. “Then there are some people I’d like you to meet.”

***

The bar at the Lodge looked like an upscale alchemist’s lab, but as soon as Sheridan stepped into the room, she couldn’t focus on the ornate decor: she was looking at the bartender himself. Tall and broad-shouldered, the man’s jet-black hair was slicked back, and he was peering at her with a pair of shrewd brown eyes. When he grinned, she saw the flash of a sharpened canine, and she had to wonder why she hadn’t seen similarly pointed fangs on Hunter. Did he have them? Was he hiding them? Could they do that? She had endless questions.

“Sheridan, this is Marco,” Hunter said, leading her toward the bar. Marco stuck his hand out, and she took it, giving it a hearty shake because she didn’t know what else to do. Marco grinned. She tried not to stare at his exposed biceps. But she couldn’t be blamed: he was wearing a black vest with no shirt beneath it. She imagined he got a lot of tips this way.

“A pleasure, Sheridan,” Marco said.

“Likewise,” she murmured, rubbing at her eyes in order to get her vision to focus. She felt strange, sleepy almost; and took a seat at the bar.

“What can I get you?” Marco asked. “I make the best gin gimlet in the world.”

“Sure,” she said. But Hunter waved a hand dismissively.

“No, no,” he said. “There are barely any ingredients in a gimlet. Marco, I want you to show her what you can really do.”

“That’s hardly appropriate, in public,” Marco said, and he actually winked at her. She felt a blush creeping into her cheeks: what a corny move, winking. And yet he was able to pull it off.

“That’s enough,” Hunter said, looking between Sheridan and Marco. “Give her a dark and stormy. You like rum, don’t you?”

She nodded; she would have said yes to anything.

***

The morning sun was streaming in, rousing her from a deep slumber, but she barely remembered stumbling back to her room, let alone into her bed. And when she threw the covers off, she saw that she was wearing a set of pink silk pajamas. Right! The wardrobe! She rose to her feet and padded across the room to where the large walk-in closet had been left open, the light still on. She saw, recalling her excitement the night before, that the closet was filled to bursting with designer clothes.

But she didn’t have a moment to take inventory of her new wardrobe before there was a knock on the door. She went to it and threw it open, and was greeted by a bright and smiling face. “Too cute!” the stranger said, motioning to her pajamas, “if a little worse for the wear.”

“What?” She asked, still waking up.

“You, sweetie,” he said, crossing his arms in front of him. “You’re too cute, but you need to do something with all… this.” He gestured at her from head to toe. And she was inclined to agree: she had I-drank-too-much-last-night breath. “But no matter. I’m Ty, I’m just here to say hi and to congratulate you on your first day of work. Why don’t you go ahead and shower and then we can get started.”

“Oh,” she stammered. “Yeah um, ok. Sure. Give me like twenty minutes?”

“No rush, honey,” Ty said. “I’ll be downstairs.” He turned to go, but paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “Oh, and I love ‘Sheridan’,” he commented. “It’s so much more exciting than Maria.”