BloodlustandMetal (3 page)

“Would you mind giving me your autograph?”

“You have pen and paper?”

I looked in my pockets even though I knew I didn’t have
them. “No.”

“Go buy a shirt or CD or something and find me later.”

I smiled graciously and walked away.

That didn’t exactly go as planned. But it didn’t blow up in
my face either. As I walked over to the display selling T-shirts, bumper
stickers, CDs and all kinds of merch, I tried to think of what my next step
would be.

“What can I get ya?” a guy showing more tattoos than his
actual skin color asked me.

I grabbed a CD but then noticed it featured the previous
singer. I imagined Layla wasn’t with the band long enough to record a CD. “One
of these.”

After paying him, I retreated to one of the back walls of
the club so I could think of my next move. I watched her all night. A few times
I caught her looking around. A part of me hoped she was searching for me. But I
remained in the shadows, lurking and waiting for the right moment. Like a
predator.

Layla

What was it about that guy, Devon? He acted like a fan of
the band, approaching me to get an autograph, but something about the
excitement in his tone didn’t match the piercing glint in his eyes. The
contradiction captured my interest and made me want to find out more about him.

Not to mention how captivating he appeared. Tall and
muscular, with tattoos covering his exposed skin and a shaved head giving him
the look of a total badass. And the eyes. A blue-green hue that stood out
against his tan skin. Intense yet gleaming with excitement.

Something about him bothered me and I wasn’t sure why. My
senses stood on alert when he spoke to me and I couldn’t discern between sexual
excitement or danger. I tried to catch his scent, but there were too many
bodies serving as distractions. Although I tried to put him out of my mind and
focus on the conversations around me, several times that night I caught myself
looking around the club for him. When I didn’t see him again, I thought he must
have left.

Parts of me felt relieved, while others were disappointed.
The contradiction was very unsettling. Deep down I knew I wanted to see him
again.

Devon

The bartenders indicated it was last call. Time was running
out.

She left the club with the rest of the band. I followed them
as they walked up the alley to where the van was.

I ran up to her. “Angelica, wait. I got a CD. Will you sign
it for me?” I asked, smiling broadly.

She stared at me and blinked a couple of times before
answering. “I thought you’d left.”

She was thinking about me.
“No, I’ve been around.”

“Of course I’ll sign it.” She took the CD from me. “Hey
Joey, you have a Sharpie?”

One of the guys in the band reached into the pocket of a
pair of black jeans so tight I don’t know how he fit anything in there. He
pulled out a marker and threw it to her.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a
minute.”

Joey sized me up before walking away with the other guys.
What was his problem? After they disappeared up the alley, I scanned the area
to see if there was anyone else nearby. While she signed the CD insert, I
fingered the silver rope in my jacket pocket, getting ready to pull it out.

We were alone in the alley. It was the perfect time to
snatch her. My car wasn’t far from here. It would be better if we were closer
to it, but it wasn’t easy to lure vampires where you wanted them to go.

Ah, another problem. She’d scream. Her cry would alert the
band members who were still in earshot. Three guys and a vampire would be a
challenge sheerly for the number involved rather than their strength, which
wouldn’t compare with mine.

How could I fasten her wrists while keeping her from
screaming? Before I figured out how to capture her without alerting her band
members, that guy Joey appeared at the end of the alley.

“You coming or what, Angelica?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

She handed the CD to me and said, “Enjoy. Nice to meet you,
Devon.” Then she surprised me by leaning forward and kissing me on the cheek
before scampering up the alley to Joey.

I watched her slip away and then put my hand over my cheek
where she kissed me. Such soft lips. My cheek still tingled there.

My experiences with vampires led me to believe they were
just sacks of cold, dead flesh, but her lips were warm. What would it feel like
to kiss those lips? To touch her flesh?

My mind wandered to a vision of her onstage again. She
seduced the audience as she teased them, running her hands over her curves, her
voice oozing sexuality. What would it feel like with
my hands
running
over those curves?
My eyes
locking with those deep, dark, mysterious
eyes as I penetrated her for the first time?

Devon, you’re missing the point in this situation.

She got away.

I walked out of the alley just in time to see the black van
pulling away. If I hadn’t stood there like an idiot, I could have dashed to my
car and followed them, found out where she lived.

Like a fool, I’d let her slip away.

I walked back to my car, kicking myself for acting like an
amateur. This was supposed to be a straightforward job that I took care of in
one night. I should have thought of the screaming issue long before instead of
drooling over her while she sang. By letting her escape, I’d complicated
matters and now had to track her down.

What was wrong with me? I was a professional. I’d been doing
this for so long that it had become natural. A simple matter of luring her away
from people and snatching her. I was so good at it that Stefano heard of my
reputation and specifically hired me for the job, even though I had to fly over
to Boston from London.

Was I losing my touch? Or was there something about this
woman that was throwing me off my game?

Not a woman, a vampire.

Perhaps that was it. Somehow she put some sort of vampy mind
confusion on me.

Of all the supernatural beings in the world, I hated
vampires the most. Dead bodies surviving off the blood of human beings.
Soul-sucking monsters. Voluntary shapeshifters considered themselves superior
to other beings since we had the best of both worlds. We weren’t dead like
vampires or forced to change during the full moon like werewolves or other
shifters. Those of us able to take the form of any animal we chose considered
ourselves the best of the best. I favored the magnificence and strength of a
lion, but also loved being able to fly so would often transform into a falcon.

On the other hand, those blood-sucking corpses thought they
were superior to shifters. Who knows where they got that preposterous idea. I
suppose it was because they were immortal. They could live forever—yeah, only
if they found living beings to suck on like a leech, I might add. They looked
down upon us shapeshifters, they considered us even more inferior than humans,
they called us animals.

I failed to see what was wrong with that.

So why did I agree to take a job from a vampire? Simple reason.
Money. A large payment for a straightforward job. Find someone and bring her
in. And when it came down to it, money meant more to me than my hatred for
those dead creatures.

Back at my hotel, I nursed a Jack Daniels at the bar while I
thought about plan B—how to find and capture Layla Costa tomorrow night. At
least I knew she’d be back at the club with the band. Tomorrow I’d be more
prepared.

And this time, I would not be distracted by her charms.

Joey

I didn’t like that guy talking to Angelica. The seconds I
waited for her to come to the van ticked by, making me feel like an anxious
parent—or a jealous boyfriend. I was the last one to get on the van while I
waited for her to come into view. When she finally appeared, I exhaled in
relief, unaware that I’d been holding my breath.

Trying to keep my tone level, I asked Layla, “Who was that
guy?”

“Just some fan,” she answered in an off-hand manner.

“I don’t like him.”

She looked me straight in the eye and said, “You don’t know
him.”

“Something about him gave me the creeps.”

“Oh come on,” Rocco, our drummer, said. “What is this—your
female intuition?”

“Funny, Rocco,” I said. “I’m a good judge of character.
Always have been.”

“So what do you call your tendency to think everyone has
something to hide?” Mark chimed in. “Paranoia?”

“No. Experience.”

Angelica was looking out of the van window as if trying to
stay out of the conversation. Having known her for almost a month now, I knew
she was tougher than she looked, but there was still something very vulnerable
about her. It made me want to look out for her no matter how often she
protested she could take care of herself.

“If he was just a fan,” I said, raising my voice to regain
her attention, “why wouldn’t he ask for our autographs as well?”

“Duh,” Rocco said. “He’s a guy. And Angelica is sexy as
hell. You never have a girl asking for your autograph and not the rest of
ours?”

“Point taken,” I said. “But something about him doesn’t sit
right with me.”

“Don’t worry about him,” Rocco said. “What’s the chances
we’d see that guy ever again?”

“We’re playing here again tomorrow night,” I said. “If he’s
here again, then we know he’s a stalker.”

“Or a fan,” Rocco added. “Double duh.”

I stared at him for a few seconds before turning back to
her. “Angelica, listen to me a minute.”

She slowly turned away from gazing out the window to face
me. God knows what must go on in her head all the time, stuck with a bunch of
guys on a tour van several nights at a time. Maybe one day I’d have to ask her
about that. She was never forthcoming about herself. Most women I knew barely
paused to take a breath when they knew they had someone to listen to them
chatter on. Maybe she felt she was still new to the band and not yet
comfortable with us. Maybe she thought she had big shoes to fill replacing
Derek, our previous lead singer. Or maybe that was just her nature. The more
she retreated into herself on our drives, the more compelled I was to draw
something out of her. Was I driving her crazy?

“I know you’re an independent woman who can take care of
herself and all,” I began. “But you’re with us now and we take care of each
other. We’re like a family. Watch out for guys like that. I’ve been touring for
years and I’m telling you, when you catch a bad vibe about someone, stay away
from them. It’s not worth it to stick around to see if you’re right or wrong.
Just run.”

“I didn’t get a bad vibe from him,” Angelica said. “In fact,
I thought he was kind of cute.”

Why did it feel like she jabbed me with a hot poker when she
said that? I checked out women all night at the club. Of course she was going
to check out guys. Nobody in the band was in a relationship so we were free to
look. Or touch.

Then she added, “Thanks for looking out for me, Joey. But
you’re right. I can take care of myself. So don’t worry about me.”

Layla

What was with that guy, Devon? Both times I’d spoken to him
tonight, he’d left me reeling with all kinds of contradictory emotions.

And why did I kiss him on the cheek?

I was lost in my thoughts on the drive away from the club.
Luckily Rocco turned the conversation away from me to talk about how well the
show went. I nodded and agreed at certain points, but was distracted as I
thought about Devon.

The way he looked at me each time had totally captivated me.
As the singer of a rock band, I was getting used to shy kids who’d stare or
ogling fans. But this guy didn’t seem like either. He played the part of a fan
trying to get my autograph, but something about him didn’t settle right.

Joey had noticed it too. But Joey looked at it in a paranoid
older brother kind of way.

What was it about Devon that didn’t fit? His confidence? Not
cockiness, but he exuded some sort of self-awareness that didn’t match the
approach of an adoring fan. Every sense in my body responded to him. Whatever
it was about him was utterly alluring. His appearance, his voice, his scent.
When I finally caught a scent of him, it was unlike any I had ever smelled
before. A heady mixture of masculinity—and something else, something rather
intoxicating I couldn’t quite place.

Not to mention his accent. Nothing like a sexy English
accent especially on a guy who looks like a bad boy. One of the things I missed
about England—the accents. The phrase
sexy motherfucker
popped into my
mind and made me smile.

I closed my eyes and sank lower in my seat. Then I recreated
an image of him in my mind because I didn’t want to forget what he looked like.
Not that I thought I would. His presence was definitely memorable. Tall and
muscular with a shaved head. Although he was British, he didn’t have the pale
skin I’d expect, almost as pale as I was. He had a delicious olive complexion
more indicative of Spain or Portugal. Maybe he was of mixed heritage. His arms
barely showed the color of his natural skin, so covered in tattoos of tribal
designs and animals.

Forget what Joey said about him being a stalker. I was
hoping he did return to the club tomorrow. And not necessarily to see the band.

Devon

I had the night planned out. This time I would not be
disarmed by any of Layla’s charms. I knew how she operated and was prepared not
to let her get the best of me.

While at the club, I ordered a drink from the attractive
pink-haired bartender and watched Layla play. Tonight she was going for a punk
yet pretty style. She wore a tiny, white, lacy baby doll-style dress, the kind
that Courtney Love wore back on the
Live through This
tour. I preferred
other types of music over the metal stuff Layla and her band played, but
alternative grunge was okay. I’d choose Nirvana over Metallica. I actually
thought Layla looked even sexier tonight wearing the tiny, flowing dress rather
than the skintight outfit from last night.

Focus, Devon, focus. What she’s wearing doesn’t matter to
you unless it factors into the equation of how it will affect you capturing
her. Keep your mind in the game and not on your cock.

Going for a more analytic approach, I continued to appraise
Layla from a more objective mindset. She sported a pair of black scuffed-up
combat boots. That was good to know in case she kicked out. It would hurt. A
lot. But at the same time, it might be preferable to being kicked by the red
stiletto heels she wore last night. While sexy, they could inflict serious
damage if they made direct contact with a shin—or a groin.

From a damage perspective, the stilettos would hurt worse,
but the combat boots might be able to reach a broader area with the heavy
heels. Or if they had steel toe-caps, ouch.