PROLOGUE
ESME
Dodging the gang of drunkpendejosloitering near the door, I glanced over my shoulder, quickly scanning Bourbon Street to make sure no one was paying any attention to me before I slipped into the club.
I hesitated just inside the door, catching my breath as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the heavy darkness, broken only by the eerie purple neon lights that bathed the interior. Almost immediately, I was hit by the scent of strong alcohol and cheap, overpowering perfume. Music pulsed through the club, the heavy bass vibrating in my chest, only slightly louder than the cacophony of feminine voices in shouted conversations and the clink of glassware behind the bar.
All familiar things for a nightclub, and yet...something felt distinctly…off.
As I waited for my eyes to adjust, barely there vibrations whispered along the surface of my skin, like I was standing too close to an electric current, and the hair rose on the back of my neck.
Outwardly calm, I scanned the room, taking in the black tables and chairs scattered around the open space in front of the stage—which was packed full with women of all ages—before finally locating the long, obsidian bar along the far wall to my right. Despite the weird energy in the room, no one paid any attention to me, so I decided it was safe enough. Perhaps I was just being oversensitive after everything I'd just been through. After all, Iwasin New Orleans, a city known for supernatural occurrences. Perhaps there was magic everywhere here.
Spotting an empty stool, I straightened my spine, grabbed the handle of my small suitcase, and pulled it behind me as I trudged toward the bar and sat down. Then I took a few calming breaths and rubbed my temples, trying to quiet my thoughts before removing my black leather jacket. "A Paloma,por favor," I told the bartender when a masculine hand wiped off the bartop in front of me. "And use the good tequila."
"Sí, señora. Enseguida," a deep voice responded.
With one arm still stuck in my jacket, I glanced up in surprise to find myself on the receiving end of a pair of knowing dark eyes surrounded by a ruggedly handsome face. The bartender smiled, flashing two gleaming white fangs before he turned to take the orders of a couple of girls who were anxiously keeping one eye on the stage like they were afraid to miss something. I questioned if they were even old enough to be in the bar, despite the IDs they flashed, but…I pushed the thought aside. Not my problem.
I watched the bartender start our drinks, wondering how long a person could go without sleep before they’d start to hallucinate, when the name of the club flashed above the mirrored wall behind the bar. The Purple Fang, huh? Ah, now I saw the gimmick. It seemed I wasn't quite to the point of hallucinating yet.
However, it continued to nag at me that there was something much more concerning about this club than fake fangs. I glanced around at the other patrons. They all seemed oblivious to the charge in the air, but it prickled against my skin, setting my teeth on edge. It wasn't any kind of magic I was familiar with, thank the gods, yet it was enough that I should've turned around the moment I walked in here.
But I'd been running for almost a week, the last two days of that on a bus where I didn't dare close my eyes longer than a few minutes at a time for fear I'd wake up stripped of the few belongings I'd brought with me. Anddios mío, I just needed a goddamn moment to catch my breath.
Pulling my own magic even closer to my skin until it was nearly undetectable, I squared my shoulders, smiling at the bartender when he brought me my drink. I declined his offer to start a tab—no paper trails,gracias—and gave him cash, including a healthy tip, which he took to the register with a nod of thanks.
The first sip of tart grapefruit and smooth tequila made me sigh with pleasure. I would stay long enough to enjoy this drink and the handsome bartender. Maybe I'd even get another. Then I’d go back to the bus stop and get the hell out of this city and keep making my way north and east. As far from Mexico as I could get. If that wasn't enough, I'd spend every last cent I had with me to buy a ticket, get on a plane, and cross the ocean.
A bright light suddenly swung around the room, blinding me for a moment as it reflected in the mirror behind the bar before it stopped in the center of the stage. Bemused, I turned my stool until I could see what all the fuss was about.
And then I sawhim.
Pale as moonlight on desert sand, with eyes so green I could see the color from across the room, he moved with inhuman grace as he strode into the spotlight wearing an obnoxious Hawaiian shirt and skintight black pants that outlined the sleek, powerful muscles in his thighs and calves. For a moment, all my carefully honed instincts fell silent as the room erupted into whistles and cheers. The music changed to something with a dark alternative style, and the man began to move as a girl sang in a breathless voice about leaving bite marks on her ribs…
I couldn't look away.
With a wicked grin, he prowled across the stage like a big cat, each movement fluid and mesmerizing. And when his piercing eyes scanned the crowd with a predator's intensity, I watched, fascinated, as the people on the dance floor lost their damn minds, screaming and waving their arms to gain his attention. But they were stupid women. All of them. Didn't they sense the danger emanating from him? Because I sure as hell did.
As if he felt my harsh judgement, his chin suddenly jerked up and our gazes locked.
That same electricity that had only teased me before now crackled between us, so intense I felt it all the way through to my bones. The muscles low in my stomach clenched as a languid heat rushed through my veins, and for a moment, I couldn't catch my breath.
Dios, whatwasthis male? I'd never seen anything like him.
His lips curled into a devastating smirk, and heat bloomed across my cheeks as I wondered if he could read my thoughts. Much as I wanted to look away, I couldn't help myself. I was completely captivated by the raw magnetism and power he exuded, just like the people rushing the stage, vying for his attention.
My head told me to finish my drink and leave, rightnow, but my ass remained glued to the stool. Whatever this man—this creature—was, he had just complicated my plans spectacularly.
Not human. No. Not a witch, either. But what then?
Tearing his eyes away, his hips began to sway to the pulsing beat and he danced, taking his time as he slowly removed his shirt and jeans, stripping down to nothing but a black g-string that leftverylittle to the imagination. Oil glistened on his skin, highlighting every perfect contour of his muscular body, and an image of his pale skin sliding against my own popped into my head. Without taking my eyes from him, I reached behind me and felt around for my drink. Taking a big gulp when I found it, I blinked only once as the burn from the tequila did nothing to extinguish the heat raging inside of me. Like the gladiator sculptures in France I once saw photos of, he was a perfect specimen of manhood brought to life. There wasn't an ounce of extra anything on him.
The air grew so thick with desire I could practically smell it, and the audience's hungry eyes devoured him whole. Just as mine did.
Barefoot, he strolled to the edge of the stage, his movements deliberate and purposeful as he ran his eyes over the crowd. The women at the back surged forward, crushing the ones in front, waving cash in the air and shouting for his attention.
Picking a middle-aged blond randomly from the crowd, he leaned down, grabbed her under her arms, and pulled her easily up onto the stage, his muscles flexing. He set her on her feet, grabbed a chair from the side that had "Bite Me" painted in red across the back, and sat her in it. Her eyes widened as he straddled her legs, then rolled his body to the beat of the music, his hips undulating sinfully as she ran her hands over the ridges of his abs and licked her lips. My own mouth watered as the barely contained bulge in the front of his G-string came within an inch of her mouth.
