“I’ve been a loner for three thousand years.” He lightly touched my sore cheek. “You may find it hard to believe, but I crave a normal life. I just don’t know what normal is anymore.”
Staring at the blood on his chin, I could see why.
Catching the direction of my gaze, Atticus abruptly wiped his mouth and chin with his sleeve. He stared at a smear of blood and lowered his arm, avoiding eye contact. Vampires did that to gain trust, but I had a feeling he was embarrassed about not looking like his clean and dapper self.
A visceral look briefly flashed across his face, and his fangs elongated. “You have no idea how it grieves me that men treat you so cruelly.”
“Then you and I have something in common. Thank you for the ice, Mr. Rain.”
“Call me Atticus.”
“I’ll address you informally once I trust you, and your observation was correct—I’ve never trusted Vampires. People are deceptively kind when they want something from you. I don’t want special treatment just because you’re afraid I might slander your club, so let me allayyourconcerns by giving you my word that I won’t. What happened tonight wasn’t your fault, but I still think that last incident could have been prevented.”
“What would you suggest I do differently?”
“You only have bouncers working during the busy hours. You can’t expect your servers to watch everyone when they’re filling orders and cleaning tables. Do better. A club like this demands it. And I’ll do better by not letting my emotions get out of control. I should’ve walked away, but I’ve been so hormonal lately that I’m not always thinking clearly. Maybe I should avoid clubs until after the baby comes.” I collected my thoughts and hoped that Virgil hadn’t caused further trouble. “Goodbye, Mr. Rain.”
With a swift movement, he bowed and pressed his forehead to the top of my hand. “Good evening, my lady.”
Chapter 6
Atticus reclined in his desk chair while reflecting on the evening. He had instructed his employees to put Joy’s face to memory. If she ever returned, he wanted to know so he could provide her with everything she desired despite her protest about special treatment. The best food, the best drinks, the best table, the best security.
When she had asked the bartender for caviar, it had given Atticus a pang of regret. He left luxury items off the menu to cater to the locals, who didn’t have refined palates. Instead, he focused on hearty meals and desserts that were easy to stock.
Early that evening, while conversing with an acquaintance, it startled him when he overheard the silver-haired woman encouraging Joy to date other men at the bar. Atticus had been enamored by Joy since he first laid eyes on her, but it wasn’t just her looks that held his interest. She was compassionate and devoted to her pack. Her laugh tugged at his heart, and her anger made him want to punish everyone who had wronged her.
While tapping his pen against the notepad, he thought about how her attention had always been focused on the women in her group. Maybe she had trust issues with men.
And why shouldn’t she? On two different occasions in his club alone, she had been assaulted. The predatory behavior exhibited by men in her presence incensed him. They were ensnared by more than just her beauty, and hers was incomparable. It was her aura—her spirit—which shone brighter than most. But that same light attracted deviants. Atticus felt a heavy responsibility to ensure the safety of all his patrons, but most especially the women. Knowing that a woman had been victimized in his establishment triggered him.
Atticus scribbled on his notepad, his thoughts racing out of control. In his three thousand years of living, he had seen everything, experienced everything, and lost everything—including himself. A simple job working at a bakery had made him feel human again. Others said it was beneath a man of his age and money, but immersing himself in the lives of Shifters and their families—watching their children grow—had reignited his passion for life. Not only had he cleaned and prepped in that bakery, but eventually he learned to bake. Seeing people smile and enjoy something he had made with his own hands humbled him.
Not enough to start his own bakery though. But he did learn a lot about operating a business in the modern world.
In order to secure their future, immortals had to continually build their wealth. With his newfound business experience, he chose to open a club in a small town where there wouldn’t be competition. Plenty of Shifters lived in and around Storybook, but so did immortals who wanted to break away from city life. Once word got out, people visited his club from neighboring towns. They also got occasional visitors from Austin, San Antonio, and even Dallas. Usually they were just passing through or on vacation, but it provided enough income that he could think about things like underground parking and maybe expanding the club to include first-class dining.
Atticus set his pen down and stared at his bloody sleeve. He pinched his lower lip when a memory flashed in his mind of Joy slapping that fiend. Atticus had raced across the bar, fearing the man would strike back, but didn’t make it there in time. Had he not been so engaged in conversation, he might have gotten there before it started.
How dareanyonestrike a woman with child. The man couldn’t have known, but Atticus knew, and his anger ripened.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he gripped his pen to finish writing, and it shattered in his hand.
The flavor of that man’s sins lingered on his tongue, but there was nothing sweeter than the taste of fear. Atticus no longer drank blood recreationally, so he hadn’t consumedthatmuch blood in years. Indulging in a few drops or a glass now and again helped keep him strong and healthy, but Vampires with blood addictions never lived to be ancients. While it wasn’t illegal to drink from Breed so long as it was consensual, those who lacked self-control and crossed the line of morality sullied their reputation, and a man’s good name was all he had.
An expected knock sounded at the door.
Atticus concealed his ink-stained hand beneath the desk. “Enter.”
Yuri, his trusted manager, walked in and bowed. “I came as quickly as I could, Mr. Rain. A small fire in the kitchen, but it’s under control.”
Yuri originated from Russia, though his accent wasn’t heavy. Atticus had lost his original accent long ago, but he’d also learned that blending in with whatever country or culture he lived in made people more willing to trust him.
Atticus pushed his phone aside, a modern convenience he enjoyed since it allowed him to get an immediate response from his staff. He tapped his fingers on the paper. “You’re familiar with Joy Lockwood?”
“Yes.”
“I need your assistance with something.”
