Her heart rate spiked every time the hinges creaked, a telltale sign of nerves.
One not uncommon in a place like this.
Whatwasuncommon was someone like her being here.
This place was a dive if I'd ever seen one. And I had, them being the ultimate hunting grounds for those like me for years. Nothing makes easier prey than one that thinks of themselves as a predator. They live for these kinds of bars. Places soaked in grime, paneling peeling off the walls, all the streetlights refusing to stay alight— like the things that happen here should only be done in the cover of darkness.
Butshewas pristine.
Hair of the brightest blonde, eyes stunningly large and brown, with black lashes that flutter with each blink framing them, giving me the distinct impression of a deer. Her soft face, full cheeks, and pouty lips all give the appearance of innocence, of a liveliness not yet drained from her. She couldn't be older than her late 20's.
And yet...
Something about her blood smells of decay, of death.
If that was the only strange thing about her, I could ignore it. From time to time, people smell wrong when they're terminally sick or on certain medications.
But something, some intuitive piece of my predator brain, keeps whispering to me that it's more than that.
The jumpy glances to the door, her clear discomfort at even being in a place like The Shallow; she hasn't even taken her clearly exquisitely made cloak off.
The piece of clothing would draw enough attention even if she didn't. The cloak hid most of her body from me, but based on the muscle of her toned legs that flexed as she walked in, I knew what lay beneath it had to be the curves of daydreams.
I've watched her for nearly an hour now, wondering why this woman, this seemingly innocuous person, has captured my attention and refused to relinquish it.
Perhaps it has been too long since I've taken someone to my bed, and my body is thinking for itself tonight. What has it been? Three years? Four?
It's hard to say now; the days of eternity seem to blend together, the years flying by as I hide from the sun.
Suddenly, the door swings open harder than necessary, the wood slamming against the wall and rattling the framed pictures hanging askew.
The mystery blonde jumps and shouts, her reaction bringing all eyes to her rather than the man barreling into the bar.
The bartender reaches out, asking if she's alright, placing a placating hand on hers.
With a frantic nod, Blondie pulls her hand free, using it to push a loose curl behind her ear in a nervous gesture.
Why the fuck am I still seated here staring?
The mystery can be solved quite easily if I just go speak to the girl.
Rather than wait a second longer, I take down the last of the whiskey before me, planning to order another, which will bring me conveniently within reach of her.
Two steps toward the bar, I'm stopped short, another man planting himself in the seat next to her.
From my angle, I can see her side profile as she looks at the man, the red and blue light of the bar illuminating as her face twists from the doe-eyed, frightened little thing into a wicked glare that would scare even the most seasoned of criminals.
Immediately, she schools her features, looking away from the man before he can catch her staring daggers at him.
I can't even blame her, honestly.
Nearly every barstool is empty, roughly a dozen chairs around the L-shaped bar he could have taken, yet he places himself right next to her, taking up so much space she needs to make herself small to keep her arm from touching his.
Was I about to get similarly close to her before he did? Yes. Does this make me a hypocrite? Well, yeah. But I wasn't going to crowd her or use my size to force her to fold in on herself. I just wanted to solve my mystery and chat with a beautiful woman while I did it.
If, at the end of that, she insisted on taking me home and letting me show her a good time, well, who was I to say no?
The man leans even closer, asking her what she's drinking.
