Page 5 of Discovery of the Vampire
Despite Brogan’s warning, I continued to frequent the club. But the others were beginning to notice me. Two of them were watching me from the bar even now, the handsome bartender and the large black male with the aura of tragedy and distrust in his dark brown eyes.
I was going to have to be careful.
1
BROGAN
The deep bass of the music at The Purple Fang vibrated through my bones as I danced across the stage, conscious not to do anything that wasn't human-like.
This job was a constant balancing act. We needed to be enough to awe the ladies in the crowd so they'd spend their money and trust us with a private "performance" in the VIP section behind the curtain, but not so much that they'd run home and grab their torches and wooden stakes.
I took a deep inhale, breathing in the different scents of my new life. It may not seem like much to some, but to me, this life was freedom. This was power. This was everything the cult I'd once called home had tried to strip away from me. Here, on this stage, I was the master of my own destiny, the commander of the hungry gazes that followed my every move.
Yet, as I leaned in close to a customer, I felt that familiar tension crawl up my spine and creep into my shoulders. Honestly, it didn’t surprise me anymore that it still happened after all these years. The feelings of shame that are ingrained in a person from birth were a hard thing to break free of, even years and years of freedom from that life. I forced myself to relax, hoping the customer hadn't noticed anything as I winked and took a few casual steps back to give myself some space while I got my shit together.
As I did, my eyes scanned the crowd below me—a sea of hungry expressions and outstretched hands waving cash in the general direction of my G-string. Lovely ladies, all of them, and I enjoyed playing with them up here on the stage. It didn't matter to me if they were old, young, blond, brunette, white, Asian, Black, brown, short, tall, thin, or plump. They were all beautiful and they all deserved to have a little thrill in their short human lives, one I was more than happy to give them as a nice little “fuck you” to my old life.
But other than some quick cash and an even quicker meal, I wasn't interested in any of the women who crowded the stage tonight. Instead, my gaze sought out one particular face. A face that haunted my dreams and, within just a few short nights, had ignited a blazing inferno in my undead heart.
Long dark hair, deep brown eyes, red lipstick, bright smile, the saucy sway of her hips when she walked—it was all permanently etched into my mind, a constant presence that refused to fade away. Despite what I told her out on the street, every night for the past week, every time I stepped onto this stage, I found myself scanning the bar. Hoping to catch even the smallest glimpse of the woman who was completely disregarding my demand for her to stay away and made my blood burn and my fangs ache to sink into her warm flesh.
As I moved to the beat more from habit than any enjoyment of performing, more memories of my previous interactions with Esme—such a beautiful name—flashed through my mind. The way her pulse raced the first time I'd spoken to her. The way shesmelled. The carefully measured responses she gave to my casual questions. The rapid-fire way she slung her own at me.
The way she fuckingsmelled.
But besides my physical attraction I had to her—stronger than anything I'd ever felt before or since becoming a vampire—there was also an underlying current of... something I couldn't quite put my finger on...
Iwouldsay it was magic. Hell, I was around witches enough to know what that felt like. But that wasn’t quite right. Whatever Esme had, whatever subtle power vibrated beneath the surface of her skin, it wasn't any kind of magic I'd ever felt before.
This all added up to one hell of an attractive mystery that intrigued the fuck out of me more than I cared to admit. And I, a creature of the night who'd been alive way too long and got bored way too easily, was eager to solve it.
And that was the fucking problem.
With a final, sensual body roll, I concluded my performance without pulling a customer onto the stage for my usual chair dance. That was only fun anymore when Esme was here and I could watch the flames of jealousy burn behind her eyes, even though she tried to put on her usual too-cool facade.
I collected my clothes with a grin and a wave and jogged off the stage, trying hard to silence the voices still whispering in my head that were unusually loud tonight. The ones telling me I was tainted, impure, and should be ashamed for doing what I did, both on and off the stage.
Giving my head a little shake, I let the thunderous applause drown them out as I hit the dressing room to wash the oil off my skin and get dressed. Then I’d sneak out the back door and go home to the large, historical house in The Quarter I shared with the rest of my coven.
As I stripped off my performance clothes, my eyes landed on the row of Hawaiian shirts hanging in my locker, and a small smile tugged at my lips as I ran my fingers over the soft, colorful fabrics.
To the others in my coven, my obsession with these shirts was completely fucked up, especially for a vampire. Someone said something about it nearly every day. Usually Dae or Elias. But to me, they were more than corny pieces of clothing. For one, I found it fucking hysterical to be the exact opposite of the brooding, dark creature that society expected me to be. And two, if you wanted to get really deep about this shit, wearing the obnoxiously colorful shirts was another small rebellion to my old way of life where I was never allowed to wear anything that wasn't dull and modest.
But mostly, they were just really comfortable. And the bright colors made me happy.
I hit the shower, keeping my mind carefully blank of sexy Latin lips as I soaped up and dried off before going back to my locker. I'd never hear the end of it if one of the guys found me banging one out in here. And “never” was a long damn time for a vampire.
As I slipped on a particularly bold shirt covered in bright pink hibiscus flowers, I sighed with pleasure as the soft fabric caressed my overly sensitive skin. Just one of the fun perks of vampirism—along with heightened emotions and never-ending bloodlust. Although I'd been a vampire long enough now to pretty much control that last one.
Honestly, I had no fucking idea how Killian always wore those scratchy sweaters he liked.
Pulling on my jeans and boots, I shut my locker door and shoved my G-string in my front pocket to wash. Then, as I did every night, I carefully arranged my tip money, smoothing out each bill and stacking them with practiced precision, every bill facing the same way and grouped together by currency. The familiar routine helped quiet the conflicting voices in my head—the cheers of the crowd and the stern admonitions of the Elders that I could still hear even after all these years every time I took my clothes off onstage.
When I was finished, I dropped off the club's portion of my earnings to Kenya in the back office on my way out. She barely looked up at me as she said, "Thanks!" and shoved her black-rimmed glasses up her nose.
Talk about an enigma. Kenya was one for the books.
Chuckling to myself at my own joke, I shook my head and left her to it. She was strange, that one, even by vampire standards. I mean, who the fuck ever heard of a vampire bookkeeper? It was like a werewolf accountant or a mermaid lawyer—it just didn't compute.
