Page 4 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

The bouncer waved me forward. Though butterflies exploded in my gut, I flashed my ID, paid the charge, and stepped into another world.

Wilde Card spread before me in a sprawling maze of levels and alcoves. Rainbow strobe lights swept across a dance floor that pulsed with a sea of brightly coloured bodies surging and swelling as one, a tide of laughter and joy.

The crowd here dwarfed anything I’d seen back in Braymore, even when the tourists descended en masse to the historic seaside town, often searching for their Irish roots. But this—hundreds of strangers pressed together, each caught in their own private moment—made me feel more alone than any empty street back home ever had.

Circular booths lined the walls, upholstered in deep-purple velvet. To my left, the bar stretched the entire length of the wall. Three bartenders danced between stations. One of them—tall, with close-cropped, dyed silver hair—caught my eye and winked.

Suddenly the air tasted of sweat, artificial fog, and…possibility.

I wasn’t sure what I’d imagined a gay bar would be like inside, but watching everyone move so freely, sogoddamncomfortably in their own skin…

It made my chest ache with something between envy and hope.

The back of my neck prickled, and I knew—I justknew—it was the staring, smoking-hot dude before I even turned around.

I spun, and there he was. Close. Way,waytoo close.

I stumbled backwards, catching my foot on absolutely nothing. His hand shot out, steadying my arm, and every nerve ending in my body decided to focus on that single point of contact. Long fingers wrapped around me, warm through the gaps in my jumper.

Up close, he wasbeyondridiculously attractive. I almost wanted to snap a picture for evidence. Thick dark hair fell across one eye in an artful sweep. A thin scar curved up from the corner of his mouth, somehowmaking him even more attractive, the bastard. And his eyes… In this light, they weren’t just dark; they wereblack. No distinction between iris and pupil.

Those dark eyes reminded me of the deep, unfathomable ocean—pulling at me like the tides ever seeking to claim what lay upon the shore.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Uhh…” What the fuck did anyone say to that? “Thanks?”

He stepped closer, and I caught a whiff of something earthy. “What are you drinking?”

An alarm bell went off at the back of my head—what if this guy spiked my drink?

Stop that.

Here was an incredibly attractive guy who had chosenme, out of everyone in this bar, to flirt with—and I was going to ruin it with paranoia.

Heart hammering, I batted my eyelashes at him. “Whatever you want to buy me,” I purred, aiming for a semi-seductive voice but achieving something closer to a seagull with laryngitis.

Yet my boldness earned me a raised eyebrow and a slight widening of that crooked smile. He looked me up and down, gaze lingering on the patches of exposed skin. “You look like a whiskey sour sort of guy.”

“Uhh… why not?” I said, too brightly, digging my nails into my palms.

“What’s your name, handsome?”

“Flynn.”

“Flynn,” he echoed, licking his lips as if savouring the taste of it. “Where are you from, Flynn?”

Resisting a sigh, I said, “I was born in England, but I’ve lived in Ireland for the last ten years.”

I’d found myself repeating that same sentence again and again since I’d moved to London. It was usually followed by some comment about how pale I was, or my subtle accent.

“That explains your unique accent,” he said with a smile.

Called it.

“What’s your name?” My voice was already strained from shouting over the pounding music.

He smiled at me, pausing before finally saying, “Damien.” He leaned in, boldly tucking a lock of my dirty-blond hair behind my ear. His face came closer and closer, his hot breath tickling my skin. “And I look forward to hearing you screaming that name many,manytimes later.”

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