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After drying off, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, stepped into a pair of scuffed leather boots, and left the house.
He paused on the porch a moment, gazing at the house across the street. He took a deep breath, remembering the softness of Sky’s skin beneath his hands, the velvet touch of her hands running over him. He was mightily tempted to go see her for a few minutes, but, knowing it was for her own good, he resisted the urge.
He drove to the Scarlet Cabaret, a club located just outside the town limits. It was a favorite haunt of his when he was in a hurry and didn’t want to waste time hunting. The place was usually crawling with foolish mortals. Most came hoping to see a real vampire. A few were addicted to the vampire’s bite, which granted ordinary humans a high like no other.
Walking into the club was like slipping on a pair of comfortable old shoes. The dimly lit interior, the heady fragrance of blood of all types, the melody of so many beating hearts all blending together, the unmistakable scent of musk that filled the air, the low, sensual music coming from the jukebox.
Thorne moved through the crowd toward the bar. He was aware of the glances sent his way, the quickening of female hearts. He nodded at the bartender. Few were aware that the owner was a werewolf.
A tall redhead broke away from a group of women clustered at the end of the bar. Her smile was confident as she approached him. “I’m Miya,” she said, her voice a throaty purr.
Thorne inclined his head. “Kaiden.”
She brushed the hair away from her neck with a slender hand. “I have what you’re looking for.”
“Oh? And what might that be?”
“Blood, of course. Isn’t that why the vampires come here?”
Interesting, he thought, that she knew what he was. Few mortals were able to discern the Undead at a glance.
“Am I wrong?” she asked boldly.
“What makes you think you’re right?”
“You have the look. You know, that arrogant, just a little too perfect to be human look that we mere mortals never attain. And your eyes. They’re deeper, darker, and they see right through us. But mostly it’s the innate allure that we can’t resist.”
Interesting, Thorne thought again. “Sounds like you’ve made a thorough study of the Undead.”
“You could say that.”
“Anything else?”
She shrugged. “You smell like death.”
Damn, she was good. “Who the hell are you?”
“I told you. I’m Miya. Van Helsing.”
“Van Helsing?” He snorted. “Are you kidding me?”
She laughed. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re lying.” She didn’t smell like a vampire, but she didn’t smell human, either. Try as he might, Kaiden couldn’t figure out what she was, or what she was up to.
“Believe what you like. Why should I lie?”
“Because if you were a true descendent of Abraham Van Helsing, you’d be hunting vampires, not offering to feed them.”
“No way.” She shuddered delicately. “Taking heads or hearts is far too messy, and not nearly as satisfying.” She moved closer, her hand sliding seductively across his chest. “So, what do you say?”
“I think I’d be a fool to trust you.”
She ran her hands down the front of her dress. “Do I look like I’m hiding a weapon anywhere?”
He laughed softly. Her clingy black dress fit like a second skin, defining every luscious curve. The only thing under that dress was Miya herself, and that, in itself, was a dangerous weapon.
“I’d be the best you ever had.”
“Honey, the best I ever had is waiting for me at home.”
“I can’t believe you’re turning me down!” she exclaimed. “No one has ever told me no.”
“I believe you.”
“But you don’t want me?” She was angry now.
He was about to tell her he was sorry when he caught the scent of a newly made vampire. He glanced over Miya’s head, muttered a vile oath when he saw Desmarais enter the club.
Being a vampire certainly agreed with the former hunter. Dressed in an expertly tailored black suit that would have done Valentino proud, Girard Desmarais strolled into the club as if he owned it. There was no sign of age in his stride or his posture. His gray hair appeared thicker, his skin, though still lined with age, looked distinguished instead of merely old.
Desmarais came to an abrupt halt when he saw Thorne.
Murmuring, “Excuse me,” Thorne moved past Miya to confront his old enemy.
“I’m not looking for any trouble in here,” Desmarais said, his voice pitched low so that only Thorne could hear.
“I trust Cassandra told you everything you need to know about your new lifestyle.”
“She told me I need to ask your permission to stay in Vista Verde. Any point in my doing that?”
“You know what they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Do whatever you want, old man. But if you come after me again, I’ll destroy you.”
Desmarais snorted. “You can try.”
Thorne grinned. “If I don’t get you, Cassandra will.” He jerked his thumb in Miya’s direction. “She’s looking for a bite. Of course, I don’t know how she feels about old men or old blood.” He laughed softly. “You might be a good match at that. She claims to come from a long line of hunters.”
Before Desmarais could reply, Thorne murmured, “Have fun,” and went in search of more suitable prey.
It didn’t take long. His choice for the evening was a woman he had sought out on other occasions. Olivia was an attractive brunette in her early fifties. She had been a member of the Goth scene ever since her husband passed away fifteen years ago. Thorne liked her because she knew when to talk and when to be quiet, because she was willing to satisfy his thirst for blood as well as slake his physical desire when he was in the mood.
She smiled at his approach. No words were necessary between them. Taking her by the hand, he led her into one of the cribs in the back. The rooms were small, bare of all but the simplest furnishings, and reserved for vampire use only.
She required no foreplay, no words of seduction. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tilted her head to one side in silent invitation.
With a sigh, Thorne sat down and drew Olivia into his embrace, his fangs extending as the scent of her blood called to him. She was sweet, her blood satisfying on many levels, yet even as he drank, he couldn’t help wishing it was Skylynn he held in his arms, Skylynn’s soft moans of pleasure that whispered through the room.
