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Yeah, it was a pig move, and I never usually viewed women as purely sexual beings. I cared who they were inside. All aspects of their personality were much more important than what they looked like. But there was something about her which almost called for it like she knew exactly what everyone in the bar was thinking, and beyond that, shewantedthem to think it.
But her eyes saidkeep your hands off.
Trouble.
Shooting me a look that would’ve had me staggering if I weren’t sitting down, she flawed me and set off a reaction of desire I’d rather forget.
Because I had more self-control than that.
The alcohol had provided me with just enough relaxation to create a light buzz in my mind, but not enough to stop me from defending myself if I needed to.
With her, I didn’t know if I’d need to defend myself or if I wanted to take her to bed.
Or both.
There was no shortage of women to seduce in the military. Women who whether or not they had come out or they were simply curious about being with another woman, and would’ve happily slept with me. But I didn’t really want anyone after my injury. There was in the deep recesses of my mind, the awareness I might not be able to move as gracefully in the bedroom as I had before, that my leg might give out or stunt my motion, and it might be a turn-off for women.
Weakness was certainly a turn-off for me, and I didn’t want a pity fuck.
In fact, I didn’t want anyone until I sawhermove.
I’d love to say I witnessed her dancing, and that’s how I knew she could move so smoothly.
Instead, she had kicked the living shit out of almost everyone in the bar.
This woman was something else.
It turns out she wasliterallysomething else.
She started a fight at the bar, I had no idea why. But she’d proved to be more than capable of looking after herself.
Her strength was almost supernatural.
Funny about that.
I had considered getting involved but decided against it. I figured I’d done enough fighting for a while, and instead, I opted to simply leave her to whatever shit she was dealing with which made her start a bar fight in the first place. The fact she was outnumbered was her problem.
It turns out it wasn’t a problem.
My conscience would’ve kicked in if I believed her to be in danger of getting hurt—protect the innocent rang strong in me—and these men in their bikie vests, well, I doubted they were innocent. But she was barely cracking a sweat as she took down two of the larger men, so I shrugged and moved to leave. As I was making my way toward the front door, I glanced back at her, maybe for one last look, maybe because the horny part of me wanted something to think about when I collapsed in bed tonight, or maybe because she was magnetic and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her and her movements.
Her shoulders heaved with deep heavy breaths as she stood over her latest victim, and a wide grin plastered on her face exposed teeth slightly sharper than I’d have expected.
The part that really got my attention—swiveling her head to look back at me before I left, her eyes were yellow—no longer golden, but bright yellow with black slits for irises.
Maybe I could’ve played that alone off as a trick of the light. However, the veins on her neck and arms had grown so dark I could trace their pathways across her body, black lines filled with ink spilling out underneath her milky skin in random spots that seemed to take her over, changing the tone of her skin to a sickly gray before it became black in places. It was like she was being painted from the inside out into something not distinctly human.
I had seen a lot of things.
Her victim stirred, and she silenced him with a kick to the head before she stared back at me, her head snapping up with an unnatural speed, and I know she knew I hadseenher.
Yet, she smiled.
Most other people would tell themselves they were crazy, and it couldn’t possibly be real. But I know what I saw.
I know what I saw.
Since then, I’d been following her path of destruction across the city. I knew it was her after the first few attacks occurred. Several times I had tried to be in the right place at the right time by chance, but it hadn’t worked, not yet. I didn’t have enough data to create a pattern yet. The signs were the same—occupants of the buildings were beaten until they fled and the buildings destroyed. No one wanted to talk to the police about what happened because it would start a line of awkward questioning about who would want to target them and what they were doing in those places. Was it really only a bar? A club? What was in the rooms out back? Evidence of drug labs was denied, and the ownership of the buildings was so expertly twisted up in paperwork it was obviously the work of some larger criminal organization. Or several.
