First Drop of Crimson

glanced away. Christ, she was lovely.

He slid his gaze over her, unable to help himself. Under her coat, Denise wore a cowl-necked sweater and a long black skirt, her boots peeking out from under its hem and gloves covering her hands. The only skin visible on her was her face and neck. Spade found himself staring at her pulse with a hunger that had nothing to do with blood. What would she taste like, if he placed his mouth there?

And what would she taste like everywhere else he put his mouth?

Denise shivered, snapping his attention back to the fact that they were standing outside on a sidewalk when they should be inside looking for Nathanial.

“This way,” he said, extending his arm.

She placed her hand in it with another shiver, not meeting his gaze. A good thing, too, because his eyes had probably gone green with lust.

“What’s it like in this place?” she asked, still looking away.

Spade forced his control back into place. “It’s exactly what you’d think a vampire bar would be like, if you didn’t believe in vampires.”

That made her look at him. “Huh?”

He grunted. “You’ll see.”

Chapter Eight

I am so overdressed, Denise thought, looking at the people inside the Crimson Fountain. The patrons had a decidedly Goth edge, with black clothes as an apparent must. She felt out of place in her blue sweater, although her skirt and boots were black, at least. Leather and vinyl also seemed to be everywhere, along with various gothic necklaces, earrings, piercings, and tattoos.

Spade led her through the dense crowd of people dancing. She was careful to look at everyone she passed, hoping one of them would be Nathanial. But she wasn’t prepared for the fang-filled smile directed at her when she brushed by a dancer whose skin was as warm as her own.

Surprised, Denise touched his arm again. Warm living flesh, all right. The man’s smile widened, showing more fang.

“Want to dance with the undead, beautiful?” he crooned, swaying his hips.

“But you’re not a vampire.”

His smile faded. “Yes I am.”

Denise looked at the man, his faux fangs, and the people around him. Exactly what you’d think a vampire bar would be like, if you didn’t believe in vampires. Spade was right. This place looked like every bad undead stereotype come to life. It even had some coffins propped up on the stage behind where the band performed.

“Excuse me,” she said, brushing past him.

Spade waited for her a few feet ahead. He had a slight grin on his face. “What do you think?”

“That you have a sick sense of humor, telling Ian to bring his people here,” she replied. “And that you’re overdressed, too.”

Spade also wasn’t wearing a speck of leather or vinyl. Instead he had on a long-sleeved, creamy silk shirt and slacks that were some sort of thick, expensive-looking material. His floor-length coat only made him look more elegant. She marveled that all the leather-clad wannabes had no idea the classily dressed man was actually the creature they were imitating.

He leaned in, his mouth almost brushing her ear. “It’s the perfect meeting spot. Who’d think real vampires would frequent a place like this?”

Spade didn’t move back after he spoke. Denise wasn’t sure if he was waiting for her to reply, but her mind was suddenly blank. His hair rested against her cheek, dark and silky, and his lips were so close to her ear that her slightest movement would connect them. He was also so tall, she couldn’t see past his shoulders, and with the edges of his coat brushing around her, she felt like one step closer would result in her being swallowed up by him.

The thought was somehow tempting.

Denise jerked back, confusion, guilt, and fear com peting in her. Was her reckless train of thought due to the growing demon essence within her? The inhuman in her drawn to the inhuman in him? Had to be. Spade was a vampire, the same creature that promoted panic attacks in her, and besides that, Randy had been dead for only a year…

Spade stared at her until Denise had to look away. His gaze was too knowing, too intense. From the corner of her eye, it almost looked like he’d taken a deep breath, but of course that was impossible. Vampires didn’t need to breathe.

“Ian’s this way,” he said, turning around. His voice sounded lower. Throatier.

She followed him, keeping her eyes on his shoulders as he maneuvered through the crowd.

Ian was seated in an open booth, two women on either side of him. Denise felt her former angst melt away, replaced with incredulity. Even in a room full of people pretending to be vampires, Ian stood out.

Black boots with crisscrossing chains adorned his legs, the same color as the leather pants that dipped low on his hips. And aside from the studded slave collar Ian wore around his neck and the studs pierced through his nipples, that was all he had on.

Ian grinned at her, trailing a pale hand down his chest. “Luscious, aren’t I, poppet? Go on, stare. I don’t mind.”

Denise tore her gaze away, but not because she’d been transfixed in admiration. Sure, Ian had an abdomen that could double as a washboard and his face was eerily handsome, but he also had monster written all over him. Couldn’t those women sense the menace oozing off him? If she’d met Ian in an alley, she’d run like hell, no matter how much beautiful skin he showed.

“You look like a Dracula porn movie reject,” she managed.

Spade laughed, but Ian winced. “Let’s not speak of him. Like the devil, Vlad might appear if we do.”

The word devil sobered her. That’s right, she wasn’t here to focus on Spade, or Ian, or anything except searching for Nathanial. Her family’s lives depended on it, and so did her humanity.

As if in response, her stomach let out a growl, even though it had been only three hours since she’d eaten. Ian raised a brow, hearing it even over the pumping music. Spade glanced down at her, hearing it as well, then gestured at Ian’s booth.

“Wait here whilst I see if there’s anything for you to eat.”

A slow smile lit Ian’s face. Denise didn’t want to be left with him, but insisting on following after Spade sounded too clingy. The brunette to Ian’s left scooted over, making a space for Denise. She sat, concentrating on searching the faces of the men in the club, not the vampire to her right. Or the one on his way to the bar.

“How amusing,” Ian drawled.

Denise didn’t look at him as she replied. “What?”

“Charles, going to fetch you food as though he were a servant,” Ian replied. “Master vampires don’t do that, poppet. Makes me wonder even more about the two of you.”

Denise glanced over, noticing that neither of the women reclined on Ian seemed to care about him saying vampire. Maybe they were humans who belonged to him. Or maybe he’d tranced them into not caring.

“We’re, ah…he’s…it’s none of your business.”

What had she been about to do, tell Ian Spade was with her only because she’d coerced him? Or how it was demonic essence that had turned her into a compulsive overeater? It had to be. Normally when she was stressed, she ate less, not more. Besides, if this wasn’t something supernatural, she’d have put on ten pounds this past week.

“He’s only being polite. You should look the word up,” Denise settled on.

Ian snorted. “And angels fly out of my arse when I fart. All his chivalrous tendencies aside, I haven’t seen Charles this attentive with a human in almost a hundred and fifty years.”