Page 7 of Discovery of the Vampire
With that, I headed for the stairs, eager to escape any further interrogation. I already knew I should put an end to the game I was playing with Esme. No one needed to tell me that. It would be a simple thing to get into her head and make her forget that she'd ever met me. Hell, I could easily drop her off in another town and convince her she'd never even been to New Orleans.
Entering my room, I laid back on my bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling. That’s exactly what I should do. And I would. But first, just in case, I needed to find out what she was about. There was a reason she was hanging around so much and asking so many questions, and it was more than just natural human curiosity. Or, much as I hated to admit it, her attraction to me. For all I knew, she was working with that damn djinn and feeling us out for weaknesses.
I sighed and sat up, rubbing the back of my neck. I didn't get the vibe that she was evil. But she wasn't exactly sweet and innocent either. Hell, maybe the next time I saw her, I should go ahead and force her to tell me, then make her forget everyone and everything she'd learned here. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
But honestly, where was the fun in that?
It wouldn't hurt anything to take a few more days and see if I could figure her out my own way. And along the way, maybe I could get this woman out of my system.
I moaned, knowing instinctively it wouldn't be that easy, but still trying to convince myself otherwise. Every fucking fiber of my being yearned to hold her against me, to drown in her scent and sink my fangs through her soft, tan skin to the hot blood rushing beneath the surface. To bury my cock in her wet heat…
Fucking hell. I bet she had a great pussy. And ass.
And tits.
And everything in between.
But, funny enough, her body wasn't even the thing that attracted me the most.
I closed my eyes, dropping my head into my hands, and tried to talk some sense into myself as my imagination went off the rails. It was an impossible dream, a foolish fantasy. But in my dreams, at least, I could pretend that the chasm between our worlds didn't exist, that the danger didn't matter.
In my dreams, I could almost believe that a creature like me could find happiness with a woman like her. Killian and Jamal had done it. So why not me?
Because she doesn't know what you really are.
And because even if she did, I wasn't like them, I answered myself.
I had…issues.
With a groan, I glanced down at the uncomfortable bulge in my jeans that never went away completely no matter how many times I jacked off or how many cold showers I took. Not since the first time I'd laid eyes on her.
Hell, I'd even lost my desire to feed on anyone else. Something that would need to be remedied very soon.
My skin began to prickle with the coming dawn, and I headed to the bathroom across the hall, my thoughts in a whirlwind and my hands already unfastening my jeans and inching toward my cock.
2
ESME
Ileaned against the bar at The Purple Fang, my gaze locked on Brogan as he riled up the crowd.
Here, in this sultry underworld of New Orleans, the strippers on the stage fed not just on lust, but on blood…
At least, that was my working theory. And the first lines I'd written in my journal last night.
Tearing my eyes away for a second, I laughed to myself as I took a sip of the Paloma Elias had just set in front of me without my having to ask. I thanked him with a smile as he took the cash I'd set on the bar, flashed his fangs with a grin and a wink, and went back to straightening the bottles on the shelves. He was always cleaning and organizing when he wasn't making drinks. It made me wonder if he was this meticulous at home.
Did vampires have disorders such as OCD?
I checked myself with that thought. I didn't know for sure they were vampires. I couldn't prove it. But I'd been doing a lot of research to fill my days since I'd arrived here, and I felt it in my bones—the males who worked in this bar weren't human. Not anymore. And I had my suspicions about the pretty black female with the nerdy glasses who spent most of her time in the back office.
What was her name?
Oh. Kenya.
I took another sip of my drink. As always, the women in the audience were enraptured. They crowded around the stage like a bunch ofmujeres tontas—foolish women—throwing their money at Brogan as he stripped for them, showing off hard arms and abs and a perfect ass.Myhard-earnedcash, however, I kept tucked securely in my lacy red bra. I needed it a hell of a lot more than he did.
My jaw dropped in disbelief as a woman with at least three pounds of plastic beads around her neck waved a stack of hundred-dollar bills at him to try to get his attention. I could've fed myself and my family for weeks with that money back in Mexico. Brogan smiled and winked, calling her to the front, then leaning down to shout something in her ear over the music.
