by Poppet
Jarred out of my thoughts, I realize I'm all the way back to the bar which overlooks the dreaded dance floor. It's a swollen pond of doom-black, bathed randomly with the carnelian light that makes everyone's skin look singed and livid; whipped raw with hellish light and grateful to be stripped of the pretense. That dance floor is the cage where the oldest ritual on earth plays out, night after night, after night.
And that's where my focus was, staring at shirtless men hidden in blackout and randomly revealed with each red flashing strobe, shimmering provocatively with sweat and claiming interest with their psychedelic eyes.
When you know they're supernatural it makes sense. Until then you're simply mesmerized while they tap into the reptilian brain and course hormones to riot through your body.
Walking lust.
God made them in such a way that women cannot resist. Any normal woman would be deeply flattered by their attention.
Heck, I'm one of them.
Nodding to Darise, I sit back down on the stool I claimed at the crescent bar. “Yes, I'm fine. This place sure has changed.”
He leans over, running a hand down my cheek with a big smile, “It's so good to see you.”
Darise glides a thumb over my bottom lip as if recalling the kisses we shared earlier. It's a demanding touch, expecting more from my mouth as if kisses are promises of allegiance.
Supplication.
It's automatic to smile back even though my insides recoil. He's always going to be the Snow White of the vampyre world. Black hair, alabaster pale skin, and sinful ruby-red lips. “I'm glad you got to keep your fangs when you became mortal. They fit you.”
He pushes another dirty martini to me and lingers, leaning his weight onto the bar with elbows, bunching his impressive muscles. “I still bite.”
He says it with a wink, but it's sweet. He's always been sweet, I just forgot how saccharine he is. There's no danger in his eyes, in his movement, in his smile. He lost the rebel when he chose redemption.
But he still looks devilishly hot in coaled tones. I'm pleased he's still wearing black. It's a hooded threat when a man of muscle dresses in the color of night. It rivets attention and causes fantasies to go to places the mind seldom wanders.
He looks like he should have leather bands on his wrists that he can unwind to restrain you, tying you down, the wider ones to blindfold, hiding chains or cuffs in his back pocket, possibly with a tablet or two to ease the pain he'll deliver.
Shutting my thoughts up, looking guiltily into a gaze piercing me from a table mostly shrouded in shade a little way off, I pick up the swizzle-stick the olive is impaled on.
“So who gave you your mortality?” I ask, taking a sip and wanding the olive across the glass.
“Zaria.”
“Oh.” Licking my lips, I look away, phasing him out as I stare back at that dark table. The body builder type guy is watching me with mysterious eyes and complete intensity.
It's as if my wicked wishes are ribboning across the room and he's receiving them loud and clear.
Uncomfortable, I skip my focus beyond him to another loner sitting slumped in his chair at a table, a shot glass in his hand and a bottle of vodka standing sentry on his table. He flicks auburn hair out of his eyes and looks around as if moody and contemplative, meeting my gaze in his perusal. He holds it for a moment and then keeps sweeping the room as if looking for someone.
“Where are you staying?” Darise says, pulling my attention back to him.
“My cousin's place for now. I'm checking out a couple of rentals tomorrow. I'm looking forward to living alone.”
“I'm looking forward to getting you alone,” he smirks, dropping his voice conspiratorially.
“Oh yeah, and what will you do with me then?”
“Bite you.”
Ugh, I dunno why but that just sounds so lame.
I laugh to hide my disdain, flicking the hair off my shoulder to coat my back, looking through the strobed redness again at the other inky wall.
Jowendrhan's metallic eyes glow briefly and his long leathered legs step out from the shielding shadows. I'm given the stare of dangerous promise. His mouth curves sardonically and I watch him walk down the steps to the dance floor, to some woman dancing alone.
Without warning he stands behind her, placing his hand around her neck and tilting her head to rest against his chest, smiling down at her while strong fingers stroke up and down her throat suggestively.
Keeping her there, he lowers his head and kisses her so hard she looks like she's having an orgasm right there on the dance floor.
It has a ripple effect because other women are now reaching hands to grasp hair where they dance with neuri predators, each reaching for a kiss and intimacy, cupping heads and curling fingers, bouncing light off nail polish and lip gloss.
Tease.
Darn that man is sex on legs. He's so hot he's a long tall drink of mean.
Returning my focus to Darise, I look at my old lover and friend. We had one night together; just one. He was the only vampyre to ever show any interest in me. Pravus was new and I was searching for meaning in this cruel world.
He shared secrets; told me he was the child of a human and vampyre, and that vampyre are in fact fallen angels. They don't need to bite but do to give their mates pleasure.
I want to be a mate, and I'm too fucking late. The truth shattered every myth told about vampires, literally ostracizing the lies perpetrated by Hollywood and the lower level series industry from my life. I devoured vampire novels until I met a real Vampyre and learned the truth.
They aren't dead, don't need blood but do like it, never bite necks unless it's their mate's fantasy; they are hot blooded with slow heartbeats and can do a multitude of things. They see through all solid objects at will, can create anything they desire with a single thought, and never compel a human. They have shadows and reflections and don't need to be invited in.
We even spell their name wrong because the defining aspect to a vampyre is the pyre burning in their blood which makes them so balmy. A hug from a vampyre is like lying on a tanning bed with a gazillion volts of UV aimed at you.
My world shattered into a million pieces with heartbreak. My tainted desires were crushed as inconsequential, until I learned how incredible these vampyres are. Moving from place to place with the speed of thought; tall, muscular, fallen angels, who have such spiritual insight they are vehicles for enlightenment rather than damnation.
It was an appealing paradox.
I still wanted the dirty grit of my fantasies but found the fact that they are angelic a complete turn on. Darise was once my walking aphrodisiac, and now I'm left with nothing but the mystery of the neuri to redirect my hankering for a mate who is more than a man.
He's gone and turned into a mortal and now he's dead boring. He's an impostor in an alien world.
“You don't belong here Darise. It's time you lived a mortal's life. Nine to five buddy, mortgages, tax, grocery shopping...”
He shakes his head, leaning back my way, “I will never be that mortal. I manifest everything I want, or need. I may be mortal but it doesn't mean I have to bore myself to death with tedium.”
“So you never cook?”
“Nope.”
“Do you go out to eat?”
“Nope.”
“What do you do?”
“I take in museums, art, movies, that kind of thing. Culture darling, it's becoming in a man my age.”
I know he's teasing but... B-o-r-i-n-g.
“I have to pee again,” I say.
He winks at me, “You can't hold your liquor, lady.”
I can hold it just fine, but I need to escape. I can't believe you were once my entire world. Whatever I saw in you was either pretentious and put on for my benefit, or you lost it in domestic bliss.
In fact, he doesn't even have a girlfriend and I can't say that surprises me. You can be hotter than Lucifer but if you don't have swagger to your strut you are never going to land the elusive catch of
the century.
Swiveling on the stool, I stand up, almost bumping into that auburn haired gentleman. Behind him, oddly enough, is Jowendrhan, chatting up some chick with white-blond hair and perfect breasts.
Now I'm just jealous.
Jowendrhan has danger oozing off him like celestial cologne.
Glaring at them, I squeeze through tables, almost missing my footing when the light blacks out in the pause before the red light comes on.
The big guy with the widest shoulders I've ever seen stabilizes me with a fast reflexive hand on my elbow.
“You okay?”
Wow, his voice is incredible. It seduces with fractured tones like a violin playing all strings simultaneously. He's cute too.
He has longish black hair, a bit like Superman on a bad hair day. In fact that's exactly who he reminds me of, Superman crossed with Lou Ferrigno.
I nod, blushing, calculating that he must be at least six foot eight.
Damn, that's fucking tall.
I'm tempted to ask him if all neuri look like him but change my mind, biting my lip and heading back to the ladies room.
I'm bored. It's time I found some fire to fight with. I'm missing the burn.
It doesn't take long before I'm back in the maze of dark passages, heading toward the main doors and the hub.
I'm a little let down that Darise has become such an insipid guy. He is still a total hottie, but missing the charisma that used to bend my bones and roll my eyeballs white.
Do I just go and not say goodbye, or, do I go back there, flirt, enjoy a bit of attention, and then call it a night?
There's always that dark stranger to contemplate. What is a neuri, exactly?
I'm blindsided when movement blurs the shadows and body slams me into the thick carpet which lines all the walls.
“Božena, come home with me.”
Jowendrhan's hand is on my neck, strapping me to the wall at my back and giving me the sensual thrill of intimidation.
“Darise is no longer the vampyre you fell in love with. I know what you want...” He leans heavier into my hips, his charismatic voice sliding deeper into an intimate whisper. His mouth rests on my cheekbone to harness my attention, “You want the thrill, the danger, the supernatural darkness...”
He draws out the sss in a hissss. It's chillingly sexy.
The hand not supporting his weight hides my breast in a hot palm. “Come with me,” he teases seductively.
The innuendo is blatantly clear.
Darise is different. He's a watered down version of who he used to be. I'm a little disappointed to be honest.
As if I spoke out loud, Jowendrhan yanks me off the wall and swivels, stepping with me into a rush of swimming shadows.
Another step, held steady in his strength, and I'm inside a pristine white room; the lighting is low, and ambient music drifts across the floor like transient mist across a cemetery.
Chapter 11
Sveta and Ryan:
Ryan watches me after she vanishes with the only vampyre left with any clout; Jowendrhan.
“What?” I mumble, downing what's left of my vodka and considering getting myself a beer.
“Will she turn him, or will he turn her?”
I shrug, “They all seem to want to be mortal. I for one look forward to having the last of his kind wink into extinction. Good riddance to heaven's crap.”
“Sveta, what's the deal with Božena?” he says, giving me the don't consider avoiding me or the question, stare.
Ryan's an elder, an alpha of immense esoteric magic, and it pleases me when he plants a beer down on the table next to my hand, sitting on the chrome and leather chair at the other side of my table after twisting it the wrong way round.
Surveying around me, I appreciate long legs wobbling their length inside slut shoes. The skirts are too short, the tops too low, the cleavage too perfect, the hair so treated it's almost laughable. This is my playground and I come here to screw humanoids into screaming my name, waiting for the one special scent to walk through that sinful door.
She walked in tonight and left with the wrong species. This is going to be rectified, soon.
“What do you mean 'what's the deal'?” I say, taking the first long swallow of golden bitterness with my focus tracing the outline of a thick nipple suctioned by red fabric on the rack walking past.
“Why does she look and smell like Zaria?”
“You haven't met Phoebe. There are three of them. They could be triplets except that their ages are different and they grew up on opposite ends of the world.”
“Have you met Phoebe?”
“I tailed her for Zauran, yeah. We're trackers Ryan, there's nothing we're better at than following, and gathering intel.”
Black sleeves are shoved up higher so he can fold his arms and rest elbows on the table. “So there are three of them? And they all smell like that?”
“Yup,” I nod, licking the foam off my lip, watching a blond bend over to retrieve something she dropped, riding her skirt up to give me the perfect view of pussy in sheer black lace. Narrowing my gaze, I inhale. She's a smoker, I can smell it. I stay away from druggies and addictive personalities. Call it an inherent trait of self-preservation. Losing interest I finally meet his eyes.
“Tell me about Phoebe,” he says.
It's an order, and it pisses me off. He turned Zauran into an alpha, hurt him bad when he did it too, which technically makes my oldest sibling my superior. I have no choice but to tell him, except he's a prick and I wish I didn't have to.
Black eyes charge with purple static. He heard me so he's taking it from me against my will. Dick.
I lift my middle finger to salute him while he scavenges for discarded carcasses on the deserted beach of my mind.
“She's with a mortal. Why are all these women with mortals?” He's scowling now.
Neuri in major league pissed off mode, alert. I don't need this shit in my life.
“Because they love them. An alien concept to you I know.” I give him my eat shit smirk. The woman walking past pours hormones over me. She's ovulating and hornier than a succubus in mating season.
I nod to him, standing and following her, “Later. I have an itch to scratch.” I love ovulating women, they have roaring orgasms with the slightest provocation. Easy pickings.
Human men would get so far if they tracked their mate's cycle. An ovulating female thinks about sex all day, every day, until her fertility window shifts. And the added bonus is she's wetter than Waterworld. They are primed and ready, just like the good little animals they are.
Božena is currently unavailable, and right now I'm hard enough to crack coconuts thanks to the lingering scent she left behind. I'll get her alone, eventually.
Beating Ryan to that state line is going to be a challenge... unless... unless I can coax him to go after Phoebe.
Now that's a plan and a half.
Tonight was most informative. Listening to Jowendrhan's thoughts, Darise's, and Božena's – the world has taken on a clarity it didn't have this morning.
Cornering the horny human, I lean an arm on the wall next to her chair, smiling down at her and sheathing my eyes with fire, “Hello sweetheart. I'd like to drink you... I mean, get you a drink.”
I bet I look lecherous; and just as fuckable as I am repulsive. I can't help it, I desire a non-human woman and they just don't exist. So to amuse myself I've become a peddlar of perversion.
I'm damn tempted to finger this chick right here in her dark corner. So many women get off on the public thing. The idea of public sex, for some reason, is a turn on.
She should have stayed home with her Bob. A battery operated boyfriend is a helluva lot safer than me.
But the ditz just swoons closer, reaching for my face to stare her fascination at my eyes. Ridiculous, Serbian women should know what neuri look like. They should know who we are and what we do. It's hard not to shake my head, and force myself to keep still while suffering the fawning scrutiny.
And no, I don't work-out, sugar. I don't need to.
Listening to her thoughts I am getting harder by the second.
*
Božena and Jowendrhan:
“Where are we?” I ask Jo, looking around.
This place is monochrome, cleaner than a pediatric ward, and so devoid of personality it's foreboding. Despite the walls and tiles being gleaming white, it feels stifling and the opposite of spacious.
It gives me the unsettling sensation of being caged.
“This is my crypt,” he says with another threatening smile.
“Your... er – uh... seriously?”
He laughs, and it's a sharp contradiction to everything I've witnessed from him tonight. His laugh is so natural and delightful it could make babies coo.
“It has no windows or doors, that's why I call it a crypt.”
Turning to face him I notice the way he seems uncomfortable, pulling at the neckline of his long sleeved iron gray shirt as if it's restricting him.
“Why no windows or doors?” I guess that explains the intuitive reaction of feeling imprisoned.
He literally rips his shirt straight down his torso from the neckline, pulling it off and shedding it, discarding it with a careless toss onto a long white leather sofa.
“Sorry, I find clothes entirely too hot.” He gestures to the wall behind him, unfazed parading in front of me with shadows and dim lighting caressing his build into walking art. “We can't have windows Božena, you surely know that?”
“Why not?” I didn't know that.
His laugh strikes me again when it overpowers the soft music. Stepping closer, seeming somehow three times larger than he was in the disguising dark of Pravus, he blocks out my view of huge black and white photos hanging on the wall behind the sofa.
Very arty, clean, sterile.
Stark eyes contrast with white hair, and a dangerous smile aims at me in all its long fanged glory. “Božena, you don't mind if I call you Zena?”
My friends call me that. “Hmmm, that all depends.”
Stepping closer so I'm dwarfed by his height and musculature, he drawls in a slow low spell, “Depends on what? I don't make false promises. I offered you danger and I fully intend to take you through a war zone of sensations. I will deliver.”
