Besides, she was saving for something better.
One day she would have her own health food store, and nothing was going to be allowed to stand in her path.
Certainly not a defeatist attitude.
Kept busy pouring drinks and washing glasses, Darcy didn't notice when the latest arrivals took a place at the bar. Not until their glares and flexing muscles had managed to warn off the rest of the patrons and she found herself virtually alone with them.
Feeling a strange flare of unease, she forced her feet to carry her toward the waiting men. It was ridiculous, she chastised herself. There were over a hundred people in the room. The men couldn't possibly be a threat.
Instinctively halting before the man in the suit, she swallowed a small gasp as she met the golden brown eyes that smoldered with a heat that was nearly tangible.
Yikes.
A wolf in silk clothing.
She wasn't sure where the inane thought came from and she was quick to squash it. The man was a customer. She was there to offer him service.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Plastering a smile on her face, she put a small paper coaster in front of him.
"May I help you?"
A slow smile curved his lips to reveal startlingly white teeth. "I most certainly hope so, cara," he drawled with a faint accent.
The hairs on the back of her neck stirred as his golden gaze made a lazy survey of her black T-shirt and too short miniskirt.
There was a hunger in those eyes that she wasn't certain was entirely sexual.
More like she was a tasty pork chop.
Yikes, indeed.
"Can I get you a drink?" She forced a brisk, professional edge to her voice. It was a voice she had discovered could wilt an erection at a hundred paces.
The stranger merely smiled. "A Bloody Mary."
"Spicy?"
"Oh, very."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "And your friends?"
"They are on duty."
Her gaze shot toward the men looming behind their leader with their arms crossed. Frick and Frack, without a brain between them.
"You're the boss." Moving to the back of the bar she mixed the drink, adding a stalk of celery and an olive before returning to set it on the coaster. "One Bloody Mary."
She was already turning away when his hand reached out to grasp her arm. "Wait."
She frowned down at the dark, slender fingers on her arm. "What do you want?"
"Keep me company. I hate to drink alone."
Obviously Frick and Frack didn't count. "I'm on duty."
He pointedly glanced around the deserted bar. "No one seems in desperate need of your services. No one, but me."
Darcy heaved a sigh. She disliked being rude. It was bad for her karma. But this man clearly couldn't take a hint.
"If you're looking for companionship, I'm sure there are any number of women here who would be happy to drink with you."
"I don't want any number of women." Those golden eyes burned into hers. "Just you."
"I'm working."
"You can't work all night."
"No, but when I'm done I'm going home." She jerked her arm from his grasp. "Alone."
Something that might have been annoyance rippled over the fiercely handsome face.
"All I want is to talk to you. Surely you can offer me a few moments of your time?"
"Talk to me about what?"
He cast an impatient glance toward the crowd, which was growing rowdier by the minute. He didn't seem to appreciate the enthusiasm of multipierced, leather-drenched teenagers ramming full speed into each other.
"I would prefer that we go someplace a bit more private."
"I don't think so."
His expression hardened. Even more unnerving, the golden eyes seemed to suddenly glow with an inner light. As if someone had lit a candle behind them.
"I must speak with you, Darcy. I would prefer that our relationship remain cordial—you are after all a beautiful and tempting young woman—but if you make this difficult, then I am prepared to do whatever is necessary to have my way."
Darcy's heart clenched with a flare of sudden fear. "How do you know my name?"
He leaned forward. "I know a great deal about you."
Okay, this was going from weird to downright creepy. Gorgeous gentlemen in thousand-dollar suits with their own personal entourage did not stalk impoverished bartenders. Not unless they intended to kill and mutilate them.
Two things she hoped to avoid.
She took an abrupt step backward. "I think you had better finish your drink, collect your goons, and leave."
"Darcy..." His hand reached out as if he would physically force her to join him.
Thankfully his attention seemed to waver and his head turned toward the door.
"We have company," he growled toward Frick and Frack. "Deal with them."
On cue the two thugs charged toward the door with startling speed. The man rose from the bar stool to watch them leave, as if half expecting an army to come charging into the club.
It was enough for Darcy.
She might not be Mensa material, but she did recognize opportunity when it came a-knocking.
Whatever the man wanted from her it couldn't be good. The more distance she could put between them the better.
Dodging toward the far end of the bar, she ignored the man's sudden shout behind her. She didn't even bother glancing toward the crowd for help. A screaming woman in this place was just another part of the show.
Instead, she turned toward the back of the club. Just down the hall was a storage room with a sturdy lock. She could hide until one of the bouncers missed her from the bar. They could deal with the crazed stalker.
It was, after all, in their job description.
Concentrating on sounds of pursuit from behind, Darcy didn't notice the thick shadows ahead of her.
Not until one of the shadows moved to stand directly in her path.
There was a brief glimpse of a beautiful bronzed face and cold black eyes before the strange man spoke a single word and she was falling to the floor as the darkness engulfed her.
Chapter Two
Styx stood silent and unmoving beside the bed. He had stood in that exact position for over seventeen hours as he had kept watch on the woman sprawled in the center of the mattress.
A part of him knew his vigil was unnecessary. Not only was Viper's estate isolated, but it possessed a security system that would shame Fort Knox. His prisoner couldn't so much as sneeze without him knowing.
Strangely, however, he found himself lingering.
It couldn't be because of the slender, nearly fragile female body curled on the gold comforter. Or the heart-shaped face that looked unbearably innocent as she slept. Or the ridiculously spiked hair that laid bare the sweet curve of her ear and temptingly long sweep of her neck.
He was not so desperate that he need ogle a woman while she lay unconscious.
It was quite simply because he desired to be near when she awakened, he told himself sternly. She would no doubt scream and cry and create general havoc.
She was human, after all.
It's what they did.
A much more palatable explanation, he acknowledged as he carefully tugged a blanket over her slender form.
He had just stepped back when he sensed that she was battling through the enthrallment he had placed on her.
She shifted beneath the covers, her body stiffening as she realized that he had removed her shirt and miniskirt to make her more comfortable. He had, of course, left on her lacy black panties and bra. Humans were odd about such things.
Waiting patiently as she returned to consciousness, Styx at last frowned when she continued to lie on the pillow with her eyes closed. She was awake, but pretending to be asleep, he realized.
Foolishness.
He stepped forward and bent until he was whispering directly into her ear.
"I know that you are awake. Thi
s pretense is a waste of both our time."
She pressed deeper into the pillow and tugged the blanket to her chin. Still her eyes remained tightly closed.
"Where am I? Who are you?"
"I cannot speak with you in this manner," he chastised even as the scent of her filled his senses.
She smelled of fresh flowers. And hot blood.
A startling erotic combination.
He swallowed a groan as his muscles clenched in response.
"If I keep my eyes closed, then I can pretend that this is all some nightmare that will go away," she muttered.
"I may be a nightmare, but I fear I am going nowhere."
He waited a beat. When she still refused to cooperate, Styx shifted to press his lips to hers.
The large green eyes abruptly snapped open, the beautiful depths shimmering with surprise.
"Hey," she breathed. "Stop that."
Styx took a sharp step backward. Not because of her protest. He was the Anasso. His will was all that mattered. He stepped back quite simply because he wanted to linger.
He wanted to feel her heat and scent wrap about him. He wanted to taste her lips and sink his fangs deep into her flesh.
It was not only distracting; it was damn inconvenient.
"I have brought you sustenance." He pointed toward the tray on the nightstand.
The green gaze regarded the large plate of fresh ham, scrambled eggs, and toast with open disdain. "You intend to feed me before raping and mutilating me? Very thoughtful."
"You possess a most vivid imagination," he drawled. "Eat and then we will talk."
"No."
Styx frowned. No was not a word that was used in his presence. Not by anyone.
Certainly not by a tiny waif that he could squash with one hand.
"Being stubborn will harm no one but you. You must be hungry."
She gave a small shudder. "I'm starving, but I won't eat that."
"There is nothing in it that will harm you."
"There's meat."
He regarded her with a hint of confusion. He had never spent a great deal of time with mortals. They provided blood, and occasionally sex. Nothing that would offer him insight into their rather peculiar minds.
"I understood that most humans consume meat."
She blinked, as if words had somehow startled her. "Not this human. I'm a vegetarian."
"Very well." Centuries of training allowed him to keep his temper in check. He had expected the woman to be nothing but trouble, and it seemed he wasn't to be disappointed. Gathering the tray, he crossed the room and opened the door to hand it to a waiting Raven. "Please bring Ms. Smith something . . . vegetarian," he commanded.
Closing the door, he turned to find the woman sitting up in the bed with the blanket wrapped firmly about her. A pity, that. He had discovered over the past hours he liked looking at her body.
"Where am I?" she rasped.
"At a small estate north of the city." He moved back to stand beside the bed.
Her beautiful lips thinned. "Well that tells me precisely nothing. Why am I here?"
Styx folded his arms over his chest. The woman seemed to forget she was his prisoner. He would be the one in charge of any interrogations.
"What do you recall of last evening?" he demanded.
She blinked at his abrupt tone, her slender shoulder rising in a vague shrug.
"I was working at the bar and some man with his two goons started to harass me." Her eyes narrowed. "I was on my way to the storeroom when you ... did whatever it is you did to me."
"There will be no lasting harm."
"Easy for you to say."
He ignored her rebuke. "What did the men want of you?"
She paused before realizing that she had no choice but to answer. "To talk."
"About what?"
"I don't know. What do you want?"
He gave a low hiss at her elusive answers. As a rule his reputation preceded him. Most intelligent creatures did whatever necessary to please him. They had no desire to discover for themselves if the rumor of his cold ruthlessness was fact or Fiction.
They were wise.
"Did you recognize them? Have they approached you before?"
"I've never seen them before in my life."
"And you have no idea why they would be interested in you?"
"No."
He studied her pale features for a long moment. He didn't believe she was lying. After all, Salvatore had spent weeks tracking her to Chicago, an unnecessary effort if they were acquainted.
Still, there was some explanation for why the werewolf was so anxious to get his hands on her. There was a connection between them, if only he could discover it.
"They must have some reason." He stabbed her with a warning glare. "You possess some value for Salvatore to risk so much."
Astonishingly she didn't cower or whimper beneath his stern gaze. In fact, she tilted her tiny chin as she returned his glare with one of her own.
"Look, I've tried not to become one of those hysterical women who flap their hands and faint on cue, but if you don't start telling me who you are and why I'm here, I'm going to scream until I get some answers," she warned.
Styx blinked. Maybe he should reconsider his approach to the woman. Granted, she was troublesome enough. And no doubt she was terrified. But there was a hint of steel resolve that he hadn't been expecting.
"Do you desire the truth?" he demanded.
"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes. "If you give me some cliche about me not being able to handle the truth, I really will scream."
He didn't know what the hell she was talking about, but if she truly wanted the truth he was willing to give it.
"Very well. The man who approached you last night was Salvatore Giuliani."
She gave a lift of her brows. "Am I supposed to recognize the name?"
"He is pack master."
"Pack master? You mean he's some sort of gang leader?"
"I mean that he is the king of the werewolves. The two goons, as you called them, are members of his pack."
Her expression went blank as her fingers clutched the blanket so tight her knuckles turned white.
"Okay. I'm glad we cleared that up," she at last said, her voice careful. "Now, if you would return my clothes..."
"You said you wanted the truth."
"So I did."
Styx sighed with impatience. "Humans are always so difficult. They believe nothing, even when the proof is all around them."
She scooted toward the headboard, a stiff smile forced onto her lips. "Well, we aren't very smart. Now, about my clothes ..."
He smoothly moved onto the mattress. Not so close that she would feel threatened, but close enough to warn her that she couldn't hope to flee.
"Those men were werewolves, and I am a vampire," he said in a stern tone.
"And I assume Frankenstein is waiting outside the door?"
Styx gave a low hiss. Ridiculous Hollywood myths. Humans were foolish enough without having their minds rotted with such filth.
"I see you will not be satisfied without proof." Feeling the need for a sideshow exhibit, Styx pulled back his lips and allowed his fangs to lengthen. "There."
There was no scream. No fainting. Not even a gasp. Instead, the aggravating woman continued to regard him as if he were soft in the head.
"I've seen fangs before. I do work in a Goth bar. Half our customers have fangs of some sort or another."
"I could drain you to prove my point, but I don't think you would like that, angel." He reached across her stiff body to grab the knife that had fallen off the tray. It was long and wicked enough to do its task. "Perhaps this will do."
She cringed back, fear flaring in her eyes. "What the heck are you doing?" she demanded as he ranked open his silk shirt to reveal his chest and the distinct tattoo of a dragon that glittered in the candlelight.
He didn't hesitate as he used the knife to slice through the smooth flesh of his upper chest. This t
ime he did get a small scream from the woman as she held her hand to her mouth in horror.
"Gripes. You're totally whacky," she breathed.
"Just watch," he commanded, lowering his gaze to watch as the bronzed skin swiftly knit back together to leave no more than a thin beading of blood.
His head was still lowered when he felt her shift, and before he could guess her intention, she had placed her fingers lightly against his chest.
A jolt of unwelcome awareness stiffened his body. She was barely touching him, but the heat of her skin seemed to burn a brand of need through him.
He wanted to take that hand and sweep it over his body. To close that small space and wrap her so tightly in his arms that she couldn't possibly escape.
He didn't know where this dangerous attraction had come from, but he was beginning to fear that it wasn't going to be easily banished.
Damn the gods.
"Amazing," she at last muttered.
Fiercely holding still, he struggled to keep his thoughts from straying.
"I am a vampire. A true vampire. Not one of those faux hacks who frequent Goth bars and attend yearly conventions."
She barely seemed to hear him as her fingers continued to torment his chest.
"You're healed."
"Yes."
She lifted her head to reveal troubled green eyes. "And you can do that because you're a vampire?"
"Many demons possess the ability to heal all but the gravest injuries."
"And do you have to be a demon to do that?"
He frowned. "You believe me?"
She licked her lips, making Styx swallow a groan. "I believe you are something . . . supernatural. Is that the politically correct term?"
Politically correct? Styx gave a shake of his head.
The woman was the oddest creature he had ever stumbled across.
"I prefer vampire, or demon, if you must." He eyed her suspiciously. "You are . .. taking this better than I thought you would."
Her lashes lowered to hide the expressive green eyes. "Well, I've never been precisely normal myself."
"Not normal? What does that mean?" he demanded.
"I... nothing."
"Tell me." When she remained stubbornly silent he reached out to cup her chin in his hand. He intended to be severe. She was there to answer his questions. Unfortunately, her skin was as smooth as warm silk and he couldn't entirely suppress the desire to lean close enough to smell her flowery scent. "Tell me, angel."
Guardians of Eternity 03 - Darkness Everlasting Page 2
