“Not hungry, Karson—have enough last night, did you?” I said, between bites.
“I didn’t, actually,” he replied condescendingly. “The night’s events ensured I was forced to leave early.”
God, his arrogance annoyed me. I curled my fingers around the handle of the coffee cup tightly and fought the urge to throw it at his smug face. “I guess the redhead should thank me then.”
“I would not hold your breath for a thank you card.”
I scoffed, “At least she’s alive to send it.”
He stiffened. “Perhaps we will talk when you are in a better mood,” he rose, turned on his heel, and strode out.
I polished off the last bite of my croissant.
Dahlia entered the room moments later. “I’m so hungry.” She attempted to sound bright but couldn’t entirely disguise the bitterness on her face. She lowered herself opposite, munching into a pastry. I stared at her, this strange, tough, beautiful girl. Why was she at The Bite? Why had she followed me? And how did she know where I was staying? It held the attributes of stalker status.
I took another croissant, spreading some jam over it and washed it down with a cup of coffee. It was the proper stuff, freshly brewed, not instant. He was a killer, drank people’s blood, and he liked good coffee. That would make for some interesting fun facts for tinder. I stopped eating, watching Dahlia polish off her third croissant.
“What are you, and why are you following me?” I asked, unable to withhold the questions any longer.
“I’m the same as you,” she said, avoiding eye contact as she grabbed a cup and poured some coffee. She wasn’t a vampire then, that was a relief. She added in three heaped sugars. “I will explain the why part later.”
“How did you know about vampires and why were you at The Bite?”
She stirred her coffee and glanced up. “I followed you there, and I have known about them since I was a little girl.” She wiped her mouth on a white napkin, lifting the cup to her lips, the steam misted the features of her face.
“Why did you follow me?” I asked again, unsettled.
She took a loud slurp and sat her cup down, looking mildly annoyed. “It’s a long story, I will tell you everything on the way home. In the meantime, stay away from the fanged prick.”
“He saved our lives.” I reminded her, unsure of why I felt the need to defend him.
There was a long pause as she stared at me as if taking my measure. “Vampires don’t do anything out of the goodness of their hearts, they are as coldhearted as they are cold?—”
A harsh female voice came from the foyer, cutting Dahlia off. We exchanged concerned glances.
Dahlia frowned, rose, and headed to the foyer. A leak of discord rolling through me, I followed her. There were two people standing with Karson. A female dressed all in black, and a man I vaguely recognised. He’d been seated at the bar last night, watching us with keen, mildly amused interest. A vampire—I could tell instantly, now I knew about them—there was something different that seemed to seep from their pores. The male was well dressed, he wore a black linen shirt, black dress slacks, and shiny black shoes, like he was heading out for dinner. He walked and held himself with a confidence, an air of class I’d seen in the upper tiers of the human world; usually the kind of self-assurance which comes from earning a high income. Hegrazed his eyes over me, and I couldn’t read his expression, but I shivered under the appraisal.
The female vampire was talking to Karson. She’d lowered her voice and spoke so quietly I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Karson looked angry.
“What’s going on?” I asked hesitantly.
The girl vamp darted her eyes between Dahlia and myself, finally settling on me.
“Ah, yes, but of course it would be the ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’, dowdy one,” she said, as she glided over.Dowdy!I would have been offended, but beside this glamorous creature I paled in comparison. She looked like she was ordained from some higher realm. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Her skin was dark and flawless, she had an angled, defined jaw, high cheek bones, full lips, and sultry brown eyes.
“Monique,” Karson issued a firm warning, his voice breaking her name into clearly defined syllables.
“Oh, calm down, Karson, I just want to get a look at her.” She’d obviously bought the story we were a couple. Karson wasn't correcting her for some reason, so neither would I. Monique’s shoulder-length brown hair was greased straight back behind her ears. Long, thin silver earrings dangled down to below her jaw line. Her nostrils flared. She was sniffing me. My stomach tightened and grew cold.
Her slender fingers snaked slowly toward my face, like I was a pet she might pat. Without thought I shot my right hand out and caught her wrist.
“Don’t touch me,” I warned.
Her fingers curled around my wrist; long red fingernails, no longer fingernails, they were razored claws. I stifled a gasp, startled by the instant transmutation to predator. I chose not to dwell on what might happen if she pressed any harder. Even if Iwanted to move, I couldn’t, I was held there by the power of her dark eyes, it was as if they’d disabled every muscle in my body.
“Careful, I wouldn’t want you to break a nail,” I grated out, glad my voice sounded even.
Monique’s lips hardened. Her eyes began to change colour. The brown deepened, her pupils wove and began to thread out like a black spiderweb, expanding until only the ring of brown remained on the outer edges of her eyes. It was amazing—majestic even—I was held transfixed, I would have been in awe except I knew it was an attempt to scare me. At least I hoped that was all it was.
