I’ve read about it in books. Who hasn’t? The stars have chosen her, chosen her soul, to match perfectly with my own. Where I’m jagged, she’s smooth. Where I’m hard, she’s soft. We’re nothing but contradictions that somehow irrevocably belong together. I don’t know if I even believe in karma and all of that shit. Sure, I’ve sinned in the past, but I truly believe I have done good things as well. And though there’s darkness inside of me, it’s interwoven with swatches of light—a light that only Violet seems capable of evoking.
“You look…stunning,” I say to her now as I pull the car into the crowded parking lot. She glances coyly at me out of the corner of her eye, but I notice a slight blush to her cheeks that hadn’t been there earlier.
“You said that eleven times already,” she points out, swatting at my chest.
“Then I’ll say it twelve times. You look beautiful.”
And she does. Violet? If I didn’t know she was a vampire, I would believe her to be an angel. It’s not just her soft curves, accentuated in the skintight dress, and golden hair tumbling down her shoulders. It’s her. She embodies an inner light and warmth that surrounds me and steadily melts the ice around my heart. It sounds like a cliché, but it’s true. Before I knew her, I thought she was a witch sent to torment me. I’d never experienced such a strong reaction as I did when I first spotted Violet Dracula.
But if she is a witch, I’ll willingly allow myself to be pulled under her thrall.
“What are we doing here?” Violet asks curiously as she stares at the modernistic, four-story building directly in front of us. Flashing, colorful lights are visible through the numerous windows lining the length of the wall. At the front entrance, a long line of monsters and humans alike snake around the building, disappearing from view.
“I thought you would want to go out,” I say sheepishly. I scrub a hand through my messy brown curls as panic vibrates through me.
Oh, god. I fucked up, didn’t I? I should’ve stayed at home. I should’ve taken her to my lab and gifted her the perfume of Cheryl’s tears I made earlier today. I should’ve—
“I do,” she declares, cutting off my internal rambling. “Thank you, Frankie. I appreciate this. A lot. It’s been…a stressful few weeks.” She laughs half-heartedly, but her gaze goes hazy and distant. No doubt, she’s thinking about her crazy half-sister, Ms. Stevens, who attempted to murder her. I don’t know what exactly transpired during those few minutes before Dimitri and I were able to reach her, and I don’t dare ask. I only know the truth about Ms. Stevens because Dimitri told me…and I have no fucking idea how he knows about that. Violet is surprisingly fragile for a monster. Vulnerable, almost. She wears her heart on her sleeve, which for most people, isn’t a bad thing. But for Dracula’s daughter? It can prove to be fatal.
“I’ve never done this before,” I admit as I hurry around the car to open her door. When I spot the goosebumps on her arms, I make quick work of removing my tweed suit jacket and draping it over her frail shoulders.
“Gone to a club?” she asks as we cross the busy street, her arm brushing my own.
“Gone on a date,” I blurt out before I can lose my nerve. When she glances at me out of the corner of her eye, my cheeks heat. “I’ve never…been attracted to anyone like this before. I thought there was something wrong with me—”
“There is nothing wrong with you,” Violet cuts in adamantly. She pauses in the middle of the congested street and takes my hand in hers. Mine are so much bigger than her dainty ones. It makes me feel even more protective of her. “You’re Frankie—my Frankie—and you’re amazing.”
Heat blazes through my body at the compliment. More than that, at the sincerity behind the compliment. I sometimes think Violet is too pure for this world, too pure for me.
“Let’s get inside,” I say at last, instead of blurting out all of the things I actually wantto say.
A crease appears in the skin between Violet’s brows as I guide her towards the front of the line. Someone behind us begins to scream obscenities, but I merely cast him a look capable of withering flowers. He shuts the hell up immediately.
“Shouldn’t we wait in line?” Violet whispers, her smoky voice curling around me and settling at my dick.
“Not if you’re me,” I retort cockily, stalking up to the bouncer. Pablo and I? We go way back.
As in, I enhanced his dick by five inches.
“Pablo,” I greet as soon as we are at the front entrance.
“Paul,” he corrects, his bald head glinting in the strobe lighting. “Do you want to come in?” He doesn’t spare Violet a glance.
At my look of annoyance, he steps away from the door—ignoring the mutterings of the other patrons—and allows me to pass. Before Violet can step through as well, he steps back in front, muscular arms folded over his chest.
“She’s with me,” I say bluntly, glaring at the imbecile. He almost appears…disappointed? What the hell?
Very reluctantly, Pablo—Paul—steps back and allows Violet to enter. Immediately, she intertwines her fingers with mine in a surprisingly possessive move.
Paul brushes his fingers across my shoulders, a wistful expression on his face. “Do you think we can meet up later?”
“I don’t take clients on weeknights,” I dismiss, pulling Violet in after me.
Immediately, the scent of sweat and alcohol barrages my senses. Flashing strobe lights illuminate the concrete dance floor in hues of
