Page 1 of Fated Mates and How to Seduce Them
Chapter 1
Aw, dammit. That did not look good.
Ian kept one eye on the group off to the far left, seated along the wall, all enjoying their drinks and apparently having a good time. The seating area on this side of the bar had one long bench seat, two short tables, and not much else, as people were mostly standing and drinking before returning to the dance floor. Because there were only two tables, it was easy enough for him to see things from behind the bar. He served people and kept the alcohol flowing, but he never ventured far from the left side. Something about that group near the far wall bothered him, and Ian wasn’t the type to dismiss his instincts.
He’d been bartending for two years now, and any bartender could tell you there was always a rhythm of when things went south. The bar opened at five o’clock, closed at two a.m., and the closer it got to midnight, the higher the probability of shit hitting the fan.
It was nearly midnight now.
And that group over there? That was trouble brewing.
And it all centered on the tall, handsome man.
Said handsome man wasn’t a complete stranger to Ian. They both went to the same college, and they even shared a Gen Ed class this semester. Ian knew his name—André Castor—buthad never spoken to him directly. Some rich kid with all the money in the world and a nice enough guy, if the rumors were to be believed. More than anything, though, he was known as a complete playboy. Being a vampire probably had something to do with his appeal, as thanks to popular TV and movies, everyone chased after the allure of experiencing one night with a sexy, mysterious vampire. Ian couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the drama of it all.
He would admit, though, André certainly had those vampire-level good looks, like a damn model walking around without the camera crew. Light brown hair carefully styled in a crew cut, clean shaven, strong jawline, lean in build—all the typical earmarks of a Casanova. Tall, too. Taller than Ian by a good few inches, not that it meant much, as Ian ran on the short side.
Ian had seen André here at the bar for months. Every weekend shift he worked, he could count on André being here, as this was apparently a favorite hangout spot. Or favorite hunting spot. Seemed every time he saw André, there was someone new on his arm. Or he’d left with someone new. Men, women, genderfluid, redheads, blondes, heavyset, bone thin, didn’t matter—André would fuck ’em all.
Most of the time, he didn’t even have to approach them. Oh sure, he’d bought drinks for people from time to time, but Ian didn’t think that was his pickup strategy. Even on campus, he seemed charming, and when he smiled, classmates gravitated to him like flies to honey. And because he was naturally handsome, people just flocked to him no matter the setting.
More power to him. Ian had never possessed that kind of charm or good looks, so he couldn’t understand how André pulled so many people in such a short amount of time. He clearly didn’t want a lasting relationship, though, because it was always a new face every week.
Ian didn’t think less of him. Everyone went through a discovery phase in life. He just didn’tgetit, the appeal of a revolving door of faces and nights spent next to strangers.
A glance in André’s direction said he wasn’t going home alone tonight, either, not with that panty-melting smile. If someone approached to say something, André would snake an arm around their waist, practically hugging them as he leaned in so they could whisper in his ear. Using the excuse of the loud music to sneak in some skinship? That’s how it looked to Ian, at least. Not to mention his outfit was downright criminal, considering André wore an obviously tailored hunter green shirt that hugged him like a second skin, black jeans practically painted on, and leather mid-calf boots. All he was missing was the red carpet and a photographer.
A group of girls and guys from their college surrounded André, most of them plastered after two solid hours of drinking. Of the group, one of the girls kept circling André, coming in close and being all touchy and clingy. She was model-level gorgeous, with dark hair tumbling in loose curls to her waist, a red dress that barely covered her ass, and heels that made her a good six inches taller than she actually was. Ian clocked most men in the group were eyeing her, but she only had eyes for one target.
And therein lay the problem. It was André’s reaction to her that had drawn Ian’s eyes to the group again and again. She’d approach him, trailing fingers down his arm, and he’d move so she couldn’t easily touch him. André would politely escape her, maneuver to sit somewhere else, only for her to coincidentally move closer five minutes later. His body language screamed evasive as he either leaned away from her or tried to keep furniture or people between them at all times. It was obvious she was interested, he wasn’t, and he wasn’t callous enough to tell her to back the fuck off. The whole interaction looked super odd. André had standards? Since when? Or was this girlcreeping evenhimout? Frankly, the sight of the resident Romeo running from any willing partner was right up there with signs of natural disasters. The more Ian watched, though, the more he was inclined to agree with André’s instincts.
Ian normally would let a guy handle himself, but this girl, in particular, gave off avibe. It was a combination of ick and this chill that chased over his skin, leaving goose bumps behind. He couldn’t put a finger on it, couldn’t explain it; he just knew she was trouble. She kept handling André’s drink, too, moving it to the side or handing it to him, which was a red flag for Ian. Every time he saw that move, a roofie usually followed.
She wasn’t trying to date-rape André, was she?
She better not try, not on Ian’s watch.
Wait, did drugs even work on vampires? If he had possessed even five seconds of free time, he would have done some discreet googling.
The bar was loud at this time of night, with a live band performing center stage and people dancing in front of it. Ian was so busy he would have borrowed a cat’s paw, but still, he lurked near the left side of the bar. It wasn’t as crowded over here, just André’s group and anyone walking past them to get to the bathrooms. He more or less kept a visual on the group at all times. It was damn tempting to intervene, but what could he say to the man? She gave him the willies? Hardly a convincing argument from a virtual stranger.
Ian had to go into the back, grab another bag of ice since they were almost out, and refill the cooler. He was gone for less than a minute and distracted for maybe three.
It was three minutes too long.
He caught it as she once again handled André’s drink. She had some kind of baggie tucked in her hand this time, though. Ian caught the slip of powder as it went in. He swore and immediately tapped Harry on the shoulder, pointing to thegroup with his other hand. “Hey. I think she just spiked his drink.”
Harry’s gaze turned sharp, his hands stilling in pouring a drink. His chestnut brown hair fell into his eyes, the gel failing him, and he’d picked up a stain on his white button-down at some point. “You sure?”
Ian didn’t have a chance to explain before he spied André taking a healthy swallow of his spiked drink.
“Aw shit,” Ian grumbled, vexed. “Harry, alert Boss.”
“Okay, on it. But what are you doing?”
“Saving him.” Ian moved quickly, throwing up the hinged countertop and slipping sideways. He had to get to André before that girl or someone else whisked him away.
Ian was halfway to the group when André abruptly stood and then staggered to the right, fetching up hard against the wall and shaking his head as if dazed. Dammit, the drug had acted fast. What the fuck had she given him?
