Bloodlust and Metal
Lisa Carlisle
Book 4 in the Underground Encounters series
On the run from a master vampire, young vampire Layla Black flees London to reinvent herself as the singer of an Eighties cover band in Boston. Devon St. Clair is the bounty hunter hired to track her down. As a shapeshifter with extraordinary skills, his reputation is known throughout the supernatural world. Capturing Layla should be an easy gig that will net a nice profit.
The situation doesn’t go as Devon plans. He wants Layla in his bed, but shapeshifters and vampires don’t mix. They should hate each other, but instead they’re keeping the sheets steamy. When circumstances force them on the run together, their preconceived notions are challenged. If they can evade those hunting them and convince his fellow shapeshifters to help her even though she’s a vampire, they just might have a chance to explore where all that hot, sweaty sex can take them.
A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Bloodlust and Metal
Lisa Carlisle
Author’s Note
I would like to thank my husband for his endless support, including spending his vacation reading through my early drafts. I would also like to thank my brilliant sister for reading anything I send her, even though she has four young kids.
All songs titles mentioned are copyrighted by their owners.
Chapter One
Devon
On the flight from London, I studied a road map to drive from Boston up to the nightclub Vamps where Bloodlust Diamond was playing. Vamps was hidden in the warehouse district in Caterina’s Cove, a little coastal village on the coast north of Boston. A brochure advertising condos described it as a quiet seaside setting, the perfect place to have access to the ocean without the typical tourist crowd that attacked most of the other beaches on the North Shore.
The brochure conveniently left out how Cat’s Cove, as it was called, was also home to an underground/Goth club that attracted “freaks and weirdoes” as one regular had described it online. In my word-of-mouth research, I discovered it also attracted a small but growing crowd of supernatural beings. Rumor spread it was once owned by a vampire. After an explosion took out a good chunk of the club, it was bought and rebuilt by the current owner. Employees described him as tall, dark and utterly mysterious; some speculate whether he is a vampire as well.
Vampires. I hated them. Always have. Cold, dead creatures stalking the Earth and sucking sustenance out of humans.
Pathetic.
When I got the call from a vampire named Stefano, one part of me cringed. I loathed dealing with these blood-lusting walking corpses. Since this one was willing to pay a large fee and it sounded like an easy gig, I swallowed my revulsion and took the job. All I had to do was hunt down a female vampire who stole from him and ran away. If he disposed of her, even better. One less vampire in the world.
After we landed in the US and waited at the long lines at Customs, I found the car rentals. Earlier I had requested a black car with tinted windows and plenty of space in the backseat and trunk, either of which might serve as a temporary abode for Miss Costa. Of course, I told the rental agent I had a lot of luggage. I smirked at the visual of having that bloody vampire bound in the car. Then I drove north to Cat’s Cove.
Stefano knew better than to hire a human to find Layla. They relied on paper trails and online transactions, both of which vampires kept to a minimum, especially considering their extended life periods. He needed someone like me, with abilities beyond a typical human’s. With those and the skills I’d learned in the British military, I had established a lucrative career as a bounty hunter. A job I enjoyed more than I like to admit.
Most of my targets were scumbags. They deserved to be caught and brought to justice. Not all, though. On a few occasions, I suspected the person whom I was hired to bring in might be innocent. But I had to stay objective. It wasn’t my job to judge a person’s guilt or innocence. It was my job to track them down and bring them to whoever hired me. This time, it was the thieving little vampire Layla Costa.
Tracking her down wasn’t that difficult, but it did take longer than I had expected. I caught her scent all over Stefano’s place. It was rather sweet, reminding me of herbs and flowers, and not the smell of the dead I’d associated with most vampires. This distinctive scent helped me track where she’d gone next. With her photograph in hand and scent imprinted in my mind, I asked about her at each location. One location led me to another. And eventually I discovered that Layla Costa was now portraying herself as Angelica Blackwell, a singer for a heavy metal cover band called Bloodlust Diamond. She changed her appearance dramatically, but I could still discern the same features.
She was quite striking, I noted. Both as the dark-haired vampire Layla Costa and the wild heavy metal singer with teased multicolored hair Angelica.
What did her looks matter, I corrected myself. She was just another job. I would simply grab her, take her to Stefano and collect my money.
Layla
I teased my variegated black-and-blonde hair to get into character for the show. After all these years as a brunette, it was strange seeing myself with blonde. The hair stylist I paid big money to “reinvent me” insisted this is the look to capture attention as the new singer of an Eighties hair band.
“Heavy metal,” I’d corrected.
He’d snickered. “Okay, princess.”
What did he know about music anyway?
He’d bleached one side of my hair a platinum blonde and dyed the other side black. Then he added a few streaks of black amid the blond and white amid the black.
If I turned one way in the mirror, my reflection showed a raven-haired woman. When I turned the other way, my reflection showed the blonde. Amazing how the hair color made me look like two different women. Then I looked at my reflection dead on from the front. Whoever was looking at me would focus on my wild hair, which commanded attention, rather than my face. Money well spent. The better I disguised myself as Angelica, rock singer, the less I resembled Layla Costa. Which would make it harder for Stefano to find me.
I accentuated my eyes with black eyeliner, extending them slightly beyond my lash line to give me a cat’s-eye style. Then I added two coats of black mascara. It was too easy for features to wash out under the stage lights. With some blush and a dark-maroon lipstick, I made sure it wouldn’t happen tonight.
I put on red stiletto boots over the tight black vinyl pants and readjusted my tank top in the full-length mirror. Then I took a nip of the blood from my flask. Just a little bit to take off the edge. Immediately after drinking blood, I felt almost drunk so I tried not to overdo it before going onstage. But a little sip was my ritual to fortify me for the energy I’d expend tonight.
“Here we go again,” I said to my reflection. Then I drove to the rehearsal space to meet up with the rest of Bloodlust Diamond, the band I’d joined six weeks ago. Their lead singer had quit to enter drug-and-alcohol rehab. I was looking for a new opportunity after running away from Stefano. What would be more fun than reinventing myself as a sexy rock star for a fun metal band?
With our equipment stashed in the back of the van, we drove to Caterina’s Cove, a town I’d never heard of north of Boston. A woman named Maya Winters had called us from Vamps, some sort of Goth/underground club.
“We’re having a theme week,” she’d explained. “Hair and Roses—the best and worst of the Eighties. We’d like to book you to play here a couple of nights.”
Since Bloodlust Diamond was usually out there soliciting gigs, we jumped on the opportunity.
“How did you hear about us?” our guitarist Joey Bangs asked.
“I’m always looking for new talent to book here. I aske
d our regulars if they knew any good bands who played Eighties covers and a few mentioned you. They’d seen you play around Boston. So I checked out your website and liked what I saw.”
When we walked through an alley to reach Vamps, I thought we’d probably made a mistake. Who would come to a hidden club in a town nobody had ever heard of? But when we reached a building with gargoyles perched on each side of the front door, my interest was piqued.
The bouncer called some of the staff to help us unload and set up our instruments, which was cool since we weren’t big enough to hire roadies. When I opened a door with a sign reading “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here” and entered the main area of the club, my initial impressions changed drastically. Judging by the wall-to-wall people, this place was definitely not unknown.
The dance floor was packed with people jumping or dancing wildly to Ozzy Osborne’s Crazy Train. Although a number of people got into the spirit when they came to our shows, almost everyone here had dressed for the Eighties theme tonight. Most of the women had teased their hair to make it bigger and harder than nature intended. Some of the guys had long hair, but I couldn’t tell if it was natural or very good wigs. I should go out there and give some a little tug.
Many of them wore band shirts with torn jeans. I read some of the shirts—Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax, Testament, Biohazard, Danzig. Some of the women opted to vamp out in tight black spandex pants or animal print.
A smaller portion of the crowd dressed from the older punk scene. Spiked hair, hair shaved into an asymmetric style, or mohawks. I wondered if they were punk rockers or just going all-out for the night. Punk band shirts—The Ramones, The Clash and Black Flag—and a lot of spiked belts. An even smaller portion sported a Gothic look. Black clothing, pale faces and eyes painted dark and smoky.
Despite the variety of couture, one accessory was a given—black boots everywhere.
The sounds of Crazy Train faded out and I noticed the DJ at the back of the club. He’d play before and after we had our set. The crowd slowed down as the music dimmed. The DJ blended the final notes into Nine Inch Nails’ Head Like a Hole and the crowd’s energy rose again.
While the guys from the club helped us set up our equipment onstage, I walked up to test the mic and adjust it to my height. Whoever played here last had to be extremely tall as I moved it all the way down to reach my much smaller stature of 5’2”. Maybe I could inch up to 5’ 5” or 5’ 6” in stilettos.
Then I met up with the guys backstage and we went over the set list. Joey caught a glimpse of a tall, striking woman striding toward us.
“Hi, Maya,” he said. I noticed he used the tone he reserved for women he found attractive. “This is Mark, Rocco and Layla. Guys, this is Maya Winters, the woman who booked us.”
After we all exchanged hellos and nice to meet yous, Maya ran over the last-minute details about our set.
Maya walked out onstage as the DJ faded out the end of the song.
“Good evening, everyone,” she said. “I’d like to welcome you to a special event at Vamps tonight. As you know we’re having Eighties week here, Hair and Roses, bringing all of you back to the best—and the worst—of the Eighties.” Lots of shouts and hollers from the crowd. “Judging by the outfits here tonight, I’m glad you’ve all gone for the best.” More hoots from the crowd. “We’re also going with the best by bringing you an awesome band recommended by some of you regulars out there. Thank you. You know who you are. So without further ado, get ready for some of the best of Eighties heavy metal. Let’s welcome Bloodlust Diamond!”
The crowd applauded.
“Ready?” Joey said.
“Ready,” Mark Dudley, who we called Studley, said.
“Let’s go.”
More cheering as the guys walked on the stage, raising their hands in welcome as they took their positions at their instruments.
I sipped another nip of blood while nobody was looking to counter the initial stage fright that consumed me before I went on. Once I started singing, I was fine. It was that quiet moment between walking out there seeing the crowd and beginning to sing that gave me an issue. I checked my lips for any signs of blood that the dark lipstick wouldn’t camouflage. Then I walked out to join the guys, striding confidently to compensate for my nerves.
Maya touched my shoulder as she passed and said, “Break a leg.” I had to look up at her. Damn, she was tall. What I would do for long legs like that.
Enough of that for now. I’d already reinvented myself for more than one lifetime.
Devon
“This is bullshit,” I overheard some guy in the club say.
“What is?” his friend asked.
“This whole fuckin’ night. I thought we were going to see Bloodlust Diamond play. Now they have some lame-ass chick singing. When did that happen?”
I took a sip of my beer, pretending not to listen to the conversation.
“Don’t be such a dick, man,” his friend said. “The other singer left. Went into rehab or something. Their new singer is a woman. Big whoops.”
“She’s going to kill the band. How can a woman sing metal? The way the other singer did? No fucking way.”
“We’ll find out soon, won’t we? In the meantime, relax, dude. Go hang out at the bar if you don’t want to listen.”
“Good idea. You know where to find me.” He walked away in a huff.
His friend noticed me and must have assumed I heard the whole conversation. “I don’t know what crawled up his ass,” he said, then focused his attention on the stage as three guys and then a woman came out. “Who cares if she can sing or not? She’s smokin’ hot.”
I nodded. He was right—she was quite ravishing. The photographs of her didn’t do her justice and I had thought she was striking when I saw those. Now I was transfixed. Looking at the males in the club staring at her with rapt expressions on their faces, I wasn’t the only one. She wore a heavy black trench coat that hid her body and drew all attention to her face. Her large eyes sparkled and her cheeks looked so soft I wanted to touch them. Her lips with the perfect amount of plumpness were just begging to be kissed.
Not only had her presence commanded the attention of every guy in the club, but most of the women as well. What they couldn’t perceive, but I could, was she wasn’t human; her skin was far paler and eyes much brighter.
I examined the others in the band. Humans. Did they know their singer was a vampire?
When Layla yelled out, “Hello, all you motherfuckas!” the rest of the crowd looked up too. “We’re Bloodlust Diamond and we’re here to have a wicked time rocking out tonight. Who’s with us?” A bunch of people hooted and cheered. “Good. I don’t want anyone creeping around in the back of the room. Get up closer. I want to see you. I want to hear you!” The crowd screamed again. “We’re going to start with some old-school Metallica.” She turned to the band and said “One, two, one, two, three, four.”
The drummer launched a heavy beat and the band joined in. Then Layla leaned close into the mic and sang the beginning lyrics to Am I Evil.
I hope that jerk at the bar heard her, because as she wailed the lyrics, she left no doubt that she could sing. How a tough-ass voice came out of a petite body like that was a mystery. Even in her red stiletto heels and teased-up hair, I gauged her to be 5’3” at the most. The illusion of the heels and hair made her appear much bigger and tougher than she was.
For some reason, I imagined her coming out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel. No hair done up or makeup on, no heels. All natural. She was probably a wee little thing that you’d just want to pull on top of your lap and hold. And touch…
Wait, why was I thinking stuff like this? I had a job to do—capture her. Not fantasize about her coming out of the shower.
I studied Layla as she played, watching how she moved. Although my eyes scanned every visible inch of her, I convinced myself I was focused on her the same way I would with any other acquisition I’d been hired to bring in. I had to be aware of
anything I needed to know to capture her.
She was a vampire so she’d be fast, her reflexes even faster than mine. She’d be strong, but that’s where I had the advantage. I had more strength than most men in human form, and once I transformed, I had the strength of whatever animal I shifted into.
She would be tougher to capture than a human, but I loved challenges. Capturing humans was almost too easy. Throw a supernatural into the mix and that’s when things really got exciting.
When the band finished the song, I went to the bar to order a beer.
The jerk was still complaining at the bar. “Oh great. A girl covering Whitesnake. Just shoot me now.”
I ignored him, even though I agreed with him about covers. Most bands who played covers killed them. They either tried too hard to copy the original and failed or went the other way and tried so hard to make it their own they lost the essence of the song. That’s not to say some bands didn’t kill it in a good way. Every now and then a band would play a cover that blew the original away.
When I heard Layla wail out the first two lines of Still of the Night, I turned back toward the stage, compelled to see her again. Her voice stirred something inside me. She threw off her heavy black trench coat. When I saw her up against the microphone stand in such an erotic stance, I tried to ignore the sensations surging through my body. Her skintight black pants showed off finely toned legs, making me wonder what her ass looked like. Her black tank top was torn at the top, revealing some cleavage. Her pale arms showed definition as she clutched the microphone.
She belted out the sexiest rendition of the song since David Coverdale sang it. Her voice alternated between a purr and a seductive wail. Whenever I heard this song from now on, it wouldn’t be Tawny Kitaen writhing on a Jaguar that I fantasized about. It would have to be this vixen on the stage compelling me and every other guy in the bar to watch her, listen to her, be her slave.
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