“Then I have a few rules of my own.”
Oh, no. They weren’t going there. “You can’t make any rules. This is my home. And now that that’s settled …”
“If we’re sharing, it’s my home, too.”
Frustrating man. “Absolutely not. The only reason you’re staying is because of my generous nature.”
“Rule one,” he said, ignoring her. “I will leave my—shit, is that what you called my precious weapons and clothes?—around if I like. But you may pick them up and store them somewhere of your choosing if they bother you. Two, you may walk around naked anytime you wish. Three, guests are allowed if I approve of them. Four, I’ll sleep in your bed. You may sleep on the couch if that bothers you, but I hope you’ll rethink that. Five, I have your cell phone, so I have no need of your home phone. Six, if I need someone added to the ID, I’ll add them myself. No worries. Seven, I have no problem with this rule. No crumbs. Eight, as I currently have no money, I’m happy to pay rent with my body. Nine, thank you for sharing your stuff. Ten, I promise to only invite delivery girls.”
Oh, really? “You can’t drink from anyone but me, moron.” And she’d never been more pleased by that.
“Then we can both strike rule ten from our list of demands.” How satisfied he appeared, as if he’d backed her into a corner.
Clearly, he considered himself a clever little boy. Well, she would show him. She closed the rest of the distance between them, his body stiffening a little more with every inch of ground she gained. Rather than hurt him, or jump him, the sexy bastard, she bent down and grabbed his bag. Then she marched to the only window, opened it, allowing moonlight to seep inside, and—
Blinked.
The bag was no longer in her hand. Was nowhere to be seen, actually. Worse, she was once again in front of McKell, and he was smiling that siren’s smile.
“Rule eleven,” she gritted out. “No manipulating me with your ability.”
“You manipulate me all the time.” Was that a … pout?
She gasped with affront. “I do not.”
He arched a brow. “Don’t you? You have only to look at me, and I’m putty in your hands.”
The confession went straight to her head. This was the first time he’d complimented her, truly complimented her, as if she were his equal—or perhaps even his superior. And she’d thought him irresistible before …
“Fine. Manipulate time. Can we seal the deal now?” She leaned into him, rising on her tiptoes, flattening her palms on his chest, ready to enjoy the kiss he’d promised her.
“First. My rule eleven,” he said just before contact. “No other men, Ava. I’m the only one for you, because you … you belong to me.”
She froze, popped her jaw, then fell back on her heels, ready to nail his ass to the wall. “Actually, I don’t.” He had reduced her to property, like a house or a car. Or a slave.
“You do.”
His insistence was both frustrating and flattering. She focused on the first and ignored the other. “So, are we hunting vampires tonight or not?”
He nodded. “We are.”
“Let’s go, then.”
“No kiss to seal the deal?”
“Fuck you.”
He gave her another butterscotch grin, and motioned to the door. “After you, darling.”
Sixteen
Apparently, vampires preferred inebriated humans. They were easier to lure, and no one took them seriously when they shouted about being bitten and partially drained. That was why, after a wardrobe change—the white button-up and dark slacks Ava had been wearing hadn’t been mission-compatible, in McKell’s opinion—she found herself leaning against a metal counter in a fetish bar.
Bubbles floated through the air on clouds of thick, dark smoke. Pounding music created a dizzying rhythm, and gyrating bodies littered the dance floor. Cages hung from the ceiling, and scantily clad alien females ranging in color from the brightest gold to the darkest silver writhed inside, as if they were captured in the throes of ecstasy.
How she envied them.
Pleasure was not on her agenda. “Buttered Toast,” she said when the six-armed, blue-skinned bartender finally approached her. BT, the only alcoholic drink that tasted like her favorite candy. A consolation prize.
He nodded, reaching for bottles, pouring, while fixing someone else a tequila shooter and someone else a rum punch.
When she had her drink in hand, Ava sipped and turned, surveying the crowd. Lots of faux black leather, face paint, whips and chains. How … cliché, she thought. She supposed the vampires could be themselves here, without worrying about fear and recrimination. They could blend.
Was this the fate that awaited McKell? What if vampires couldn’t live in the daylight? Would he be disappointed? Try and return underground? Or would he embrace this way of life?
She didn’t like the thought of him clubbing every night, all kinds of skanky girls trying to rub up against him, but she didn’t like the thought of him leaving the surface, either.
Just find a vampire and get this over with. Even though she doubted vampires they found at night could teach him how to live during the day, but a promise was a promise.
A few guys were watching her, waiting for her body language to morph from Stay Away to Mating Season. Who to encourage, who to encourage? All of them appeared human to her, but then, as she’d told McKell, so did he.
So, just how was she supposed to tell the difference?
She wasn’t, she recalled, as she continued to sip her drink. Okay, she drained it and signaled for another. She was just supposed to lead as many people as possible to the alley outside, where McKell waited. She was supposed to lead them one at a time to minimize the chance of placing herself in harm’s way. Ugh. One at a time would take forever. And how would it look if she kept going in and out of the club with a different person? Everyone would realize she was up to something. Or think she was a whore.
She didn’t mind the latter—that could actually work to her advantage—but McKell had told her to act shy, demure, and weak. And really, the clothes he’d chosen for her reflected that image. Clothes that had come from Noelle’s bag of laundry. Bitch hadn’t yet picked it up. Anyway, he’d liked the Naughty Librarian ensemble—white shirt, tie, barely-there plaid skirt. With added scarves and leggings, of course, so not an inch of her body was truly revealed, her skin somewhat protected. Ava felt ridiculous. Her curls were knotted on top of her head, and she wore a pair of cat-eye–shaped glasses.
At least she (kind of) fit in. There was a flaw in McKell’s logic, though. A shy, demure girl would not dress up. A shy, demure girl would not be here, soliciting attention.
She downed the rest of her second drink, then pretended to stumble forward, planning a quick recon mission around the dance floor. Only, three steps in, someone finally approached her.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she replied.
For several agonizing minutes, she flirted with him. All the while, his gaze flittered between her lips and her breasts. Fangs never sprouted, but what did she know? Finally, she said, “Let’s go somewhere private.”
He readily agreed, and she led him to the back of the building, past the door. Cool air caressed her, and so did the guy, his fingers skimming the curve of her ass.
She jumped out of his reach. “Don’t touch the goods.”
“Human,” McKell said, stepping from the shadows. His features were taut, his hands fisted.
Great. All that flirting, wasted.
“What’s going on?” the guy asked, nervously glancing between them. “You robbing me? Well, the joke’s on you. I don’t have any cash.”
McKell fisted his shirt and propelled him into the wall, then motioned Ava back inside with his free hand.
“Don’t hurt him,” she said.
“I’ll use my voice on him. Swear.”
“Okay. I’m trusting you.”
“Let me go,” the guy begged, perhaps sensing the menace that constantly poured off of the vampire. “Please.”
McKell held tight as Ava entered the building. Determined, she wound her way through the crowd, loosening her tie and unfastening several buttons on her shirt, displaying the lacy edges of her bra, but more importantly, displaying the thudding pulse at the base of her neck. That drew attention, all right, but still not the right kind. Four more men hit on her and all four were human.
On that fourth trip outside, she noticed a new smattering of blood on the concrete, and realized McKell was punching the guys before sending them on their way. She didn’t scold him. Most likely she would have done the same thing, had the situation been reversed.
Still. This was getting old, she thought, trekking back inside.
Two males stopped her before she reached the bar. Both were handsome, and both were switching their focus between her mouth and her breasts, just like the others. These two were of the faux-leather variety, with spiked collars, and crimson-colored makeup painted to look like blood trickling from their mouths.
Fake vampires, for sure. She almost brushed past them. Almost. They were tall, as muscled as McKell, and danger radiated from them. So did hunger. Maybe … maybe the painted “blood” was their version of hiding in plain sight.
“Would you like to retire to the back rooms with us?” one asked, and there was something strange about his formal words and deep voice. Something … distracting, whisking through her mind, making her forget … what? who?
McKell. His name blasted through her mind, and she recalled that she was here to hunt.
“So … would you?” the other asked silkily.
She didn’t want to, wanted to take them outside, but … no, actually, she did want to go to the back room. Her blood was heating, her body humming. Touching these men would be nice.
Ava frowned, shook her head. That wasn’t right. The only man she wanted to touch was McKell.
McKell.
Again, his name returned her to her senses. He was the reason she was here. Hunting vampires. “I’d rather go outside,” she said. “Out back.”
“No. You want to go to one of the back rooms.”
Yes. That’s what she wanted. Wanted so badly. “Let’s go, then.”
Both men smiled happily, as if they’d never doubted their appeal. And maybe they hadn’t. There was something strange about them, something she should know, and that voice … her mind fuzzed, and she lost her train of thought.
They wrapped their arms around her waist and ushered her to the back of the club, where several open doorways loomed. They urged her through the middle one. Why was she allowing them to lead her, again?
Inside, the smoky air thinned, the bubbles cleared, and she saw several black couches. All occupied. Men and women, men and men, women and women. Roaming hands, straining bodies. Moans and groans. Sex scenting the air. No biting, though. Biting, like McKell needed—
Once more, she was jarred back into focus. McKell. Vampire. Hunting.
“Come,” one of her companions said, urging her the rest of the way inside.
Hunting smunting. “Yes, I—No.” She shook her head, and pressed her weight into her heels. God, what was wrong with her? She shouldn’t be doing this. Didn’t want to do this. Only one man tempted her. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this,” she said, pushing her thoughts out of her mouth.
She managed to disengage from their arms and stride away before they could speak. Why had she even considered being with them? She was McKell’s. Kind of.
Behind her, she heard sputtering, but the men didn’t chase after her. Good. She would have had to kill them. Although, she should be escorting them—
Them. She skidded to a halt, frowned. “Them” who? She’d just come from outside, and McKell had just proclaimed her fourth guy human. Right? She looked around. She stood in a hallway, naked bodies painted on the walls. How had she gotten here?
What the hell was going on?
Just find McKell one more person and call it a night. There were rooms behind her, she realized. She changed directions and peeked into all three, finding drug users and various sexual acts being performed, but no vampires. Meaning, no one had tapped into a vein like a beer keg.
But in the middle room, she spotted two men standing near the doorway. They were handsome, as large as McKell, and they watched her intently, hungrily. For some reason, that made her uneasy. The unease intensified when she backtracked into the club and they followed her.
Get away, instinct demanded. Smoke once again enveloped her, hiding her—but in the next instant, she forgot why she wanted to hide. Forgot the men.
Just one more person, she reminded herself, marching onto the dance floor and winding through the writhing bodies. Hands reached for her, hips bumped against her. She allowed the music to sink into her bones and propel her into motion, swaying, grinding. Hopefully luring. All the while her gaze scanned.
A few seconds later, she spotted two faux vampires dancing with a blond female. They seemed familiar somehow, made her heart leap in … fear? As if she’d dealt with them before. But that couldn’t be right. That … she had dealt with them, she realized. She’d spoken with them. They’d taken her into that hallway, then somehow made her forget she’d ever met them, and only when she’d thought of McKell had her wits returned.
And now, their attention was off her and on the blond. Was that why she’d suddenly remembered what had happened?
Either way, they were vampires. They had to be.
Her blood chilled, becoming a river of sludge in her veins. They were far more powerful than she’d realized. McKell had warned her, but she hadn’t listened. Stupid of her, and a mistake she wouldn’t make again. These two could play with human memory, hiding what they didn’t like. They could even compel humans to do what they wanted. Look how easily they’d led her to those rooms.