Karson is a vampire who just killed another vampire.
I leaned over the sink, turning the cold tap on. My hands shook as I splashed my face with water. My head throbbed, but my stomach had settled at least. I lifted my head and stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were wide to the point of frantic, and bloodshot from vomiting.
I took a sip of water, swirled it in my mouth, and spat into the sink. Then I wiped all remaining traces of the red lipstick off my lips—I could not tolerate the sight of the color. Nor could I stand in here all night, and there was no window I could escape from. I was seized by horror but driven to maintain composure; I refused to show any of them fear. If you showed bullies fear, they preyed on it. I’d learned that from all the different schools I’d been shunted between.
I straightened my shoulders and stepped back into the room. The body of the vampire was gone, the blood had already been cleaned up, and everyone was back in their seats or dancing as if nothing had happened. Dahlia and Karson stood by the bar.
Karson’s eyes were dark and furious. I curled my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.
Dahlia, too, looked furious. Was she a vampire? If she was, why did she need the knife? And where did she stash it?
The fans had been switched off, and every fiber of my being screamed at me to get out of there, but instead I walked past them. I desperately needed the numbness of alcohol. The bottle might also make an effective weapon.
The redhead sat on the seat where Karson had been, casting undisguised contempt in my direction as I stepped behind the bar. It seemed ludicrous given the situation.
“You can’t be behind here,” the barmaid said with a scowl.
“Watch me,” I challenged her.
She hesitated, glancing at Karson as if seeking permission, and I guessed she got it. She shrugged and left me alone, and I promptly snatched a full bottle of scotch off the shelf.
Karson was watching my every move, as if waiting for me to crack apart or blow up. Right now, it was a toss-up between the two.
I twisted the top off the bottle and took a couple mouthfuls. The alcohol scorched like embers, but it washed away the viletaste of acid that clung against the walls of my throat. I took a couple more swigs.
Karson grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the corner of the room. I clutched the bottle tightly, as if it contained the last dregs of my sanity.
“Leave,” he commanded the redhead.
She stood up, and I took in her outfit. She was dressed like a low-grade hooker; her boobs breached her top and looked like they were trying to make their great escape, and her vagina snacked on the seams of her leather shorts.
She pouted. “But, Karson, the night has only just begun.”
“Trust me when I tell you, sweetheart, it is in your best interest to move away,” he answered. The threat was so smooth it almost bypassed her.
Sweetheart—the same thing he’d called me. I fought the urge to bash him over the head with the bottle. It would hurt, maybe not do any real damage, but hitting him would be immensely satisfying.
She glanced between us as if debating whether his threat held weight. As if him tearing the head off a vampire wasn’t enough to convince her.
He snarled in the back of his throat. “Leave us, Felicity.Now.”
Felicity recoiled back, startled by his rage. She stabbed me with her eyes, and with a toss of her hair, she strode away.
Karson turned to me. “Sit down.”
Hollow of mind, wrapped in a haze of disbelief, I sat on the burgundy velvet seat like it was made of pins. Myweapon,the bottle, rested between my legs.
He lowered himself beside me. Not too close, but at the same time—too close. I couldn’t help but stare at his hands, seeking evidence of blood. They were clean, but his black shirt wasstained darker and soiled like an oil slick on an ocean at night. I took a large gulp of alcohol and swallowed it down loudly.
“You have five seconds to tell me what you’re doing here, and how you found me.”
Katrina and Robert’s faces flashed in my head and suddenly the anger returned. “Well, if you need me to explain all that, I’m going to need more than five seconds.” His lips thinned, and he said nothing, but his look was enough to rattle the words from me. “I found your address in the office at work, and a girl in the bar down the road told me I could find you here. I came to ask you if you murdered Katrina and Robert.”
He sat back, clearly perplexed. “What makes you think I murdered them?”
Was he trying to ascertain how many clues he’d left behind? Like the fact that he’d just ripped the head off a vampire wasn’t enough evidence in itself. “You told me Robert was drunk, and I knew he wasn’t drinking. Then you told me Katrina went home ill. She didn’t; I saw her. You ran me out of the fire and tried to pretend I’d run myself out. So I knew you were not a normal human. Katrina had ligature marks on her wrists that were conveniently missed in the medical report. Oh, and let’s not forget all the other car accidents that aren’t really accidents, and all those missing hikers.”
He simply stared at me, and my heart sank. No denial wasn’t exactly a full confession, but it was as good as. The vampire’s death I could handle, maybe, but not people I cared about.
