by Ким Харрисон
A stirring of unease ruined the feeling when a living vamp came forward with an unsettling quickness. His shoulders looked as wide as I was tall, and he massed three hundred pounds if he was an ounce. But his eyes were sharp, revealing a quick intelligence, and he moved his muscular bulk with the sexy grace most living vamp's had. "I'm sorry," he said in an iron-pumping-gym accent as he came close. His hand was reaching out—not to touch but clearly indicating that I should leave. "Piscary's lost its MPL. Vamps only."
Kisten slid behind me and helped me slip his coat off. "Hi, Steve. Any trouble tonight?"
"Mr. Felps," the large man exclaimed softly, his speech taking on a well-educated accent to match the intelligence his eyes couldn't hide. "I wasn't expecting you until later. No. No trouble apart from Mike upstairs. We're all quiet down here." Brown eyes apologetic, he glanced at me. "Sorry, ma'am. I didn't know you were with Mr. Felps."
Seeing a golden opportunity to pry, I smiled. "Does Mr. Felps often bring young women not of the vampiric persuasion to his club?" I asked.
"No, ma'am," the man said so naturally that I had to believe him. His words and actions were so innocuous and unvampiric, that I had to sniff twice to make sure he was one. I hadn't realized how much of the vampire identity stemmed from attitude. And as I scanned the lower floor, I decided it was like any upscale restaurant, more mundane than when it had its MPL.
The wait staff was appropriately dressed with most of their scars hidden, and they moved with an efficient quickness that wasn't the least provocative. My gaze roved over the pictures above the bar, faltering when I saw a blurry shot of Ivy in her biker leather, riding her cycle with a rat and a mink perched on the gas tank. Oh God. Someone had seen us.
Kisten gave me a wry look upon seeing where my eyes were. "Steve, this is Ms. Morgan," he said as he handed my borrowed coat to the bouncer. "We aren't staying long."
"Yes, sir," the man said, then stopped in his tracks and turned. "Rachel Morgan?"
My smile grew wider. "Pleasure to meet you, Steve," I said.
A rush of fluster ran through me as Steve took my hand and kissed the top of it. "The pleasure is mine, Ms. Morgan." The large vampire hesitated, gratitude passing behind his expressive eyes. "Thank you for not killing Piscary. It would have made Cincinnati hell."
I chuckled. "Aw, it wasn't just me; I had help bringing him in. And don't thank me yet," I said, not sure if he was serious or not. "Piscary and I have an old argument, and I simply haven't decided if it's worth the effort to kill him or not."
Kisten laughed, but it sounded somewhat forced. "All right, all right," he said as he pulled my hand from Steve's. "That's enough. Steve, will you have someone get my long leather coat from downstairs? We're leaving as soon as I open the floor."
"Yes, sir."
I couldn't hide my smile as Kisten moved his grip to my elbow and subtly guided me to the stairway. I decided that though he kept touching me, it wasn't for any ulterior motive—yet—and I could tolerate him moving me around like a Barbie doll. It kinda went with my sophisticated look tonight and made me feel special.
"Good God, Rachel." His whisper in my ear made me shiver. "Don't you think you have enough of a badass attitude already without dumping blood on the floor?"
Steve was already gossiping to the help, and heads were turning to watch Kisten escort me to the second floor. "What?" I said, smiling confidently at anyone who would meet my eyes. I looked good. I felt good. Everyone could tell.
Kisten pulled me close to put his hand at the small of my back. "Do you really think it was a good idea to tell Steve that Piscary lives only because you haven't decided if you want to kill him or not? What kind of an image do you think that gives you?"
I smiled at him. I felt good. Relaxed. Like I had been sipping wine all afternoon. It had to be the vamp pheromones, but my demon scar had yet to even twinge. This was something else. Apparently there was nothing more relaxed and comfortable than a sated vampire, and they apparently liked to share the feeling. How come Ivy never felt like this? "Well, I did say I had help," I admitted, wondering if my words were slurring. "But killing Piscary is gonna move to the top of my wish list if he ever gets out of prison."
Kisten said nothing, peering at me with his brow furrowed, and I wondered if I had said something bad. But he had given me Egyptian embalming fluid that night, thinking it would knock Piscary out. He had said he wanted me to kill him. Maybe he'd changed his mind?
The music coming from the second floor grew louder the higher we rose up the stairway. It was a steady dance beat, and as it thumped into me, I found myself wanting to move to it. I could feel my blood humming, and I swayed as Kisten pulled me to a halt at the top of the stairs.
It was warmer up there, and I fanned myself. The huge plate-glass windows that had once overlooked the Ohio River had been replaced with walls, unlike the openings remaining downstairs. The dining tables had been removed to leave a building-wide, high-ceilinged open space ringed with tall cocktail tables pressed against the walls. There were no chairs. At the far end was a long bar. Again no chairs. Everyone was standing.
Above the bar just below the ceiling was a dark loft where the DJ and light-show panel was. Behind that was what looked like a pool table. A harried-looking tall man was standing in the center of the dance floor with a cordless mike, pleading to the mixed crowd of vampires: living and dead, men and women, all dressed similar to what I had been wearing earlier. It was a vamp dance club, I decided, wanting to cover my ears against the loud catcalls.
The man with the mike caught sight of Kisten, and his long face lifted in relief. "Kisten!" he said, his miked utterance turning heads and causing a cheer from the surrounding women in skimpy party dresses. "Thank God!"
The man beckoned to him, and Kisten took my shoulders. "Rachel?" he questioned. "Rachel!" he exclaimed, pulling my attention from the pretty spinning lights above the floor. His blue eyes went worried. "Are you okay?"
I nodded, my head bobbing up and down. "Yup, yup, yup," I said, giggling. I felt so warm and relaxed. I liked Kisten's dance club.
Kisten's brow furrowed. He glanced at the overdressed man everyone was laughing at, then back to me. "Rachel, this will only take a moment. Is that okay?"
I was watching the lights again, and he turned my chin to look at him. "Yes," I said, moving my mouth slowly so it would come out right. "I'll wait right here. You go open the floor." Someone bumped me, and I almost fell into him. "I like your club, Kisten. It's fab."
Kisten stood me upright, waiting until I had my balance before letting go. The crowd had started to chant his name, and he raised a hand in acknowledgment. They redoubled their calls, and I put my hands over my ears. The music pounded into me.
Kisten gestured to someone at the bottom of the stairs, and I watched Steve take them two at a time, moving his hulking size like it was nothing. "Is she what I think she is?" Kisten asked the big man as he came close.
"Ye-e-e-e-ah," the big man drawled as they both peered at me. "She's blood-sugared. But she's a witch." Steve's eyes left me and fixed on Kisten. "Isn't she?"
"Yes," Kisten said, almost having to shout over the noise from the people for him to take the mike. "She's been bitten, but she's not bound to anyone. Maybe that's why."
"Vampy, vampy pher…uh…pher—" I licked my lips, frowning. "Pheromones," I said, my eyes wide. "Mmmm, nice. How come Ivy never feels like this?"
"Because Ivy is a tightass." Kisten frowned. A sigh shifted him, and I reached for his shoulders. He had nice shoulders, all hard with muscle and possibility.
Kisten took my hands from him and held them before me. "Steve, stay with her."
"Sure, boss," the big vampire said, moving to stand beside and slightly behind me.
"Thanks." Kisten peered into my eyes, holding them. "I'm sorry, Rachel," he said. "This isn't your fault. I didn't know this would happen. I'll be right back."
He shifted away, and I reached out after him, blinking at the tumult that rose as h
e took the center of the room. Kisten stood for a moment, looking sexy in his Italian suit as he gathered his thoughts with his head bowed and waited. He was working the crowd before he even said a word; I couldn't help but be impressed. A closed-lipped, roguish smile quirked his mouth when he pulled his head up, eyeing them from under his blond bangs. "Holy shit," he whispered into the mike, and the crowd cheered. "What the hell are you all doing here?"
"Waiting for you!" a female voice shouted.
Kisten grinned, moving his body suggestively as he nodded in the direction of the voice. "Hey, Mandy. You here tonight? When did they let you out?"
She screamed happily at him, and he smiled. "You are a ba-a-a-a-ad bunch of vixens, you know that? Giving Mickey a hard time. What's wrong with Mickey? He's good to you."
The women cheered, and I covered my ears, almost falling over as my balance shifted. Steve took my elbow.
"Well, I was trying to go out on a date," Kisten said, dropping his head dramatically. "My first one in I don't know how long. You see her, over there by the stair?"
A huge spotlight slammed into me, and I winced, squinting. The heat from it made my skin tingle, and I straightened, almost falling when I waved. Steve caught my arm, and I smiled up at him. I leaned into him, and he shook his head good-naturedly, running a finger along the underside of my jaw before gently standing me upright.
"She's a little out of it tonight," Kisten said. "You are all enjoying yourself far too much, and it's rubbing off on her. Who knew witch runners needed to party like us?"
The noise redoubled, and the pace of the lights quickened, racing over the floor and up the walls and ceilings. My breath came faster as the beat of the music grew.
"But you know what they say," Kisten said over the rhythm. "The bigger they are—"
"The better it is," someone yelled.
"The more they need to party!" Kisten shouted over the laughs. "So take it easy on her, okay? She just wants to relax and have some fun. No pretenses. No games. I say any witch with enough balls to bring down Piscary and let him live has long enough fangs to party with. Are you all A-positive with that?"
The second floor exploded into sound, pressing me into Steve. My eyes warmed as my emotions swung from one extreme to the other. They liked me. How cool was that?
"Then let's get this party started!" Kisten yelled, spinning to the DJ nest behind him. "Mickey, give me the one I want."
The women screamed their approval, and I watched in slack-jawed surprise when the floor was suddenly covered in women, their eyes wild and their motions sharp. Short revealing dresses, high heels, and extravagant makeup was the rule, though there were a few older vampires dressed as classy as me. The living barely outnumbered the undead.
Music rolled from the speakers in the ceiling, loud and insistent. A heavy beat, a tinny snare drum, a corny synthesizer, and a raspy voice. It was Rob Zombie's "Living Dead Girl," and as I stared in disbelief, the varying motions of the clean-limbed and scantily clad female vamps shifted to the rhythmic, simultaneous movements of a choreographed dance.
They were line dancing. Oh—my—God. The vampires were line dancing.
Like a school of fish, they swayed and moved together, feet thumping with the strength to shake the dust from the ceiling. Not a one made a mistake or misstep. I blinked as Kisten did a Michael Jackson to move to the front, looking indescribably alluring in his confidence and suave movements, following it up with a Staying Alive. The women behind him followed him exactly after the first gesture. I couldn't tell if they had practiced or if their quicker reactions allowed them such a seamless improvisation. Blinking, I decided it didn't matter.
Lost in the power and intensity, Kisten all but glowed, riding the combined agreement of the vampires behind him. Numb from an overload of pheromones, music, and lights, I felt myself go hazy. Every motion had a liquid grace, every gesture was precise and unhurried.
The noise beat at me, and as I watched them party with a wild abandonment, I realized that it stemmed from the chance to be as they wanted to be without fear of anyone reminding them that they were vampires and therefore had to be dark and depressed and carry a mysterious danger. And I felt privileged to be respected enough to see them as they wished they could be.
Swaying, I leaned into Steve while the base line beat my mind into a blessed numbness. My eyelids refused to stay open. A thunder of noise shook through me, then subsided to mutate into a faster beat of different music. Someone touched my arm, and my eyes opened.
"Rachel?"
It was Kisten, and I smiled, giddy. "You dance good," I said. "Dance with me?"
He shook his head, glancing at the vampire who was holding me upright. "Help me get her outside. This is fucking weird."
"Bad, bad mouth," I slurred, my eyes closing again. "Watch your mouth."
A giggle escaped me, and it turned into a delighted shriek when someone picked me up to carry me cradled in his arms. I shivered as the noise lessened, and my head thumped into someone's chest. It was warm, and I snuggled closer. The thundering beat softened to casual conversation and the clatter of china. A heavy blanket covered me, and I made a sound of protest when someone opened a door and cold air hit me.
The music and laughter behind me subsided into an icy silence broken by twin steps crunching on grainy snow and the chiming of a car. "Do you want me to call someone?" I heard a man ask as an uncomfortably cold draft made me shiver.
"No. I think all she needs is some air. If she isn't right by the time we get there, I'll call Ivy."
"Well, take it easy, boss," the first voice said.
I felt a drop, and then the cold of a leather seat pressed against my cheek. Sighing, I snuggled deeper under the blanket that smelled of Kisten and leather. My fingers were humming, and I could hear my heartbeat and feel my blood moving. Even the thump of the door closing did nothing to stir me. The sudden roar of the engine was soothing, and as the car's motion pushed me into oblivion, I could have sworn I heard monks singing.
Twelve
The familiar rumble of driving over railroad tracks woke me, and my hand shot out to grab the handle before the door could jiggle open. My eyelids flashed apart when my knuckles smacked into the unfamiliar door. Oh yeah. I wasn't in Nick's truck; I was in Kisten's Corvette.
I froze, slumped and staring at the door with Kisten's leather coat draped over me like a blanket. Kisten took a slow breath, and the volume of the music dropped. He knew I was awake. My face warmed, and I wished I could pretend I was still passed out.
Depressed, I sat up and put Kisten's long coat on the best I could in the tight confines of the car. I wouldn't look at him, gazing out the window to try to place where in the Hollows we were. The streets were busy, and the clock on the dash said it was nearing two. I had passed out like a drunk in front of a fair slice of Cincinnati's upper-middle-class vampires, high on their pheromones. They must have thought I was a weak-willed, skinny witch who couldn't hold her own.
Kisten shifted in his seat as he eased to a halt at a light. "Welcome back," he said softly.
Lips pressed tight, I subtly felt my neck to make sure everything was the way I'd left it. "How long was I out?" I asked. This is going to do wonders for my reputation.
Kisten moved the gearshift out and back into first. "You didn't pass out. You fell asleep." The light changed and he inched up on the car in front of us to bully it into moving. "Passing out implies a lack of restraint. Falling asleep is what you do when you're tired." He glanced at me as we went through the intersection. "Everyone gets tired."
"No one falls asleep in a dance club," I said. "I passed out." My mind sifted through the memories, clear as holy water instead of mercifully blurred, and my face flamed. Sugared, he had called it. I had been blood-sugared. I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home, crawl into the priest hole the pixies had found in the belfry stairway, and just die.
Kisten was silent, the tensing of his body while he drove telling me he was going to say something as soon
as he double-checked it against his patronizing meter. "I'm sorry," he said, surprising me, but the admission of guilt fed my anger instead of pacifying it. "I was an ass for taking you into Piscary's before finding out if witches could get blood-sugared. It never occurred to me." His jaw clenched. "And it's not as bad as you think."
"Yeah, right," I muttered, hand searching under the seat until I found my clasp purse. "I bet it's halfway across the city by now. 'Hey, anybody want to go over to Morgan's tonight and watch her get sugared? All it takes is enough of us having fun and down she goes! Whoo hoo!' "
Kisten's attention was riveted on the road. "It wasn't like that. And there were over two hundred vamps in there, a good portion undead."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"
Motions stiff, he pulled his phone from a pocket, punched a button, and handed it to me.
"Yeah?" I questioned into the phone, almost snarling. "Who is this?"
"Rachel? God, are you okay? I swear I'll kill him for taking you into Piscary's. He said you got sugared. Did he bite you?"
"Ivy!" I stammered, then glared at Kisten. "You told Ivy? Thanks a hell of a lot. Want to call my mom next?"
"Like Ivy wouldn't find out?" he said. "I wanted her to hear it from me. And I was worried about you," he added, stopping my next outburst.
"Did he bite you!" Ivy said, jerking my attention from his last words. "Did he?"
I turned back to the phone. "No," I said, feeling my neck. Though I don't know why. I was such an idiot.
"Come home," she said, and my anger shifted to rebellion. "If someone bit you, I could tell. Come home so I can smell you."
A sound of disgust came from me. "I'm not coming home so you can smell me! Everyone there was really nice about it. And it felt good to let go for five stinking minutes." I scowled at Kisten, seeing why he had given me Ivy to talk to. The manipulative bastard smiled. How could I stay angry with him when I was defending him?
