Working Class Vegas Vamp is a free urban fantasy serial, usually publishing on Tuesdays. It is unedited and subject to change. If published later, it may differ significantly, and will probably include additional material. Typos and English errors are likely; feel free to leave a comment or write me at am {AT} amscottwrites.com (revised as a standard email address. Pesky bots!) Available for a limited time only!

Haven’t started yet? Chapter 1 is here: https://www.amscottwrites.com/2024/10/29/working-class-vegas-vamp-chapter-1/ ‎

Chapter 6

I stopped next to a uniformed State Patrol officer and rolled down the window. Forcing my voice to a high, quavering tone, I asked, “What’s the problem, officer?”

He shined a flashlight in my face, moved it through the entire vehicle, and returned the beam to me. “License and registration, please, ma’am.” He held out his hand.

“Of course.” I opened the glove box and removed the registration, then pulled my fake driver’s license from the pocket in my tote bag. Handing both through the window, I kept up my act, squinting and shading my eyes from the bright lights.

The officer stepped away, and used the microphone attached to his shoulder, announcing my fake name and all the associated ID numbers. My identity should hold up; I’d obtained it years ago and never used it.

The officer returned, handing my documents back. “Please open the trunk, ma’am. We’re searching for a fugitive.”

I frowned. “The only thing back there are suitcases. My granddaughter is about to have a baby.” Although, I hadn’t checked my trunk after I returned from my hideout; that may have been a mistake.

“Open the trunk, ma’am.” He put a hand on his weapon.

I thought about objecting, but that would blow my cover. “All right.” I punched the trunk button, sending the lid upward.

The officer drew his weapon and moved to the back of the vehicle. “Clear!” He slammed the lid, and returned. “Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am. Please move ahead to the next station.”

“Next station?” I wasn’t faking puzzlement, but the man had stepped away, pointing forward. The marked car in front of me rolled out of the way, so I eased the accelerator down, stopping next to another man with a raised hand. With another row of vehicles blocking the way, I had little choice.

A dog’s paws landed on my window frame and a big, black, wet nose thrust against my face. I reared back, but it was too late. A rough tongue rasped along my neck, followed by a bark in my ear, making me wince again.

That wasn’t a dog. I put a hand on the snout and shoved, rolling up the window, while paws scrabbled against the glass. “Get that thing away from me! That’s disgusting!”  A fully shifted werewolf during a new moon—Theoden was playing at the high roller tables tonight.

Before I could react, a nightstick shoved into the gap, keeping the window from closing. “Ms. Flammen. Step out of the vehicle.”

Nothing left to do but keep bluffing. ”I don’t know who you’re talking about, young man. Remove your stick, now.” I kept my tone high and quavery, then snapped the last sentance. I didn’t use command voice often, but I’d found it fairly effective, and it took less time than mesmerizing.

The stick slid out of the gap until the werewolf clamped his massive jaws around the baton, halting it. With the moon far from full, it was probably the alpha werewolf, and my command meant nothing to him. I’d never met the Vegas Pack alpha; Janice said he despised the Strip. She’d also implied the alpha hated Theoden as much as I did, and yet, here he was, running me down like a mouse.

The Nissan couldn’t ram through the roadblock, and fast as I was, a were in wolf form would easily catch me on foot. The last line of official vehicles blocked a bridge, so driving off either side meant a dropoff the car couldn’t handle, and the riverbed was dry, so I couldn’t lose the wolf in the water. Assuming I could get out of sight, which was unlikely.

I had no options left.

The wolf let go of the nightstick, but both bodies blocked the door. I yanked the useless wig off my head and sighed with relief when the itching stopped. Taking the glasses off, too, I glared. “Well, if you want me to get out, move! Men.” I shoved the door, expressing my loathing in the only way I had left, and stood up, bringing my tote bag with me.

The werewolf crowded close, the man extending his arm to point beyond the roadblock. “There’s a car to return you to the city, ma’am. I’ll get your luggage and someone will drive your vehicle back.” The wolf herded me through the line of police cruisers to a waiting limo. Theoden loved his fleet of shiny black cars, and the convenient drivers even more.

The wolf’s huge jaws depressed the back door handle, and pulled the door open before the driver’s door opened. A woman stepped out–another werewolf. Long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face men would fight over. “You better not scratch that!

The wolf snarled, and the driver jumped, then bowed her head. Then he shoved the top of his massive head against my bottom, urging me into the vehicle.

“Rude!” I glared, but got in. Typical limo, with bar service and comfortable leather seats all around. Except the bar included bottles of blood wine. I didn’t want to be here, but since I was, I’d take advantage of the amenities.

I reached for a bottle, but the werewolf jumped inside, knocking my arm away. “Watch it, dog.” Leaning forward, I grabbed the bottle. The wolf ignored me, curling up on the bench in front of me, and putting his snout on his paws. He was huge, taking up the entire seat, and nothing but lean muscle over solid bones.

Yeah, no way I’d have outrun a wolf built to take down elk or buffalo. Or maybe a mastodon. I opened the bottle and took a long drink. Delicious; a willing donor combined with a good wine. But nothing less than the best would do for Theoden.

A snarl drew my attention to the alpha–he glared at the bottle in my hand. I snorted. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. I need blood to survive. You’re running free women down like a fox hound for the so-called Night King of Vegas. I know which is worse.” His dark brown eyes met mine and his lip curled, but his protest subsided. After holding my gaze for at least thirty seconds, he looked up and away, then turned his back on me. I tipped the bottle back. No reason to show up sober. Theoden had me in his clutches, and my days of freedom were gone. Being drunk might be the only way to survive the nights to come.

The car sped away from the scene of my defeat. Hopefully, he’d get bored quickly. I couldn’t imagine what he wanted from me, a middle-aged working class vamp. Not when beautiful young women and men surrounded him. Humans threw themselves at his feet, vamps bowed, werewolves served him, while everyone else did their best to avoid his attention. I certainly did, but he’d made a point of seeking me out.

Probably because I’d escaped his command from the start. I drank again. I still didn’t know why he’d turned me without promises of fealty and loyalty. Perhaps he’d already figured out I wouldn’t have accepted his terms? He certainly hadn’t expected me to walk away from his luxurious high-rise home only a month after my turning.

Theo’s Den—my name, not his—was a high-end condo development, just a block from the Strip. After the owners got convicted on racketeering charges, he’d bought it, renovated the top five floors for his favored vamps and supporters, then rented the lower fifteen floors to anyone who could afford it—and were willing to “donate” a pint of blood every month. Humans were told the donations went to a blood bank—true—but supernaturals knew that bank was for the benefit of Theoden and his vamps. Some of it went to Theoden’s blood box bottling company, so I bought his competitor’s more expensive but ethically sourced product instead.

The lights of Vegas grew brighter, and I drank faster. I’d rather not remember the coming conversation. Finishing my bottle, I reached for another, but a massive, rough paw pushed my hand away. Lip curling, the werewolf growled.

“Really? I’ve been avoiding Theoden for years. My freedom is gone. If I want to drink my way into captivity, why shouldn’t I?”

”Because we’re here, Ms Flammen,” the driver said. “Take the elevator—you’ll be sent to the correct floor.”

Great. Off to my doom.

***To be continued***

Working Class Vegas Vamp Copyright © 2024 by AM Scott. All Rights Reserved.

Cover by Achlys Book Cover Designs