She’d worn white, hadn’t she?
Her ivory blouse sported a high neckline and sleeves made of sheer chiffon; the billowing top tucked into buttery-soft shorts whose cuffs hit Abby mid-thigh. She’d teased her bangs into a poof, securing the overlong pieces above her forehead with a crystal pin while leaving the rest of her blond hair to fall in a smooth sheet to the middle of her back. And for a change, she hadn’t downplayed her large eyes, sweeping navy liner along the lids to form a dramatic cat eye.
Abby had hoped to achieve the right balance of sophistication and fun for her first night out but fell short if Samuel’s reaction was anything to go by.
What did she care what he thought anyway?
She didn’t.
Not one bit.
Abby suppressed a sigh. At least Lady Rose looked amazing.
The original outfit from the night of the attack had been purchased in reparation, but couldn’t be salvaged. Vampire blood stains. But Cindy had been more than happy to sell the same clothing twice.
“I see you did not change your mind,” the queen said. “You look wonderful by the way.”
“My feet are cold and it’s all your fault.” Noah’s nonsensical statement came from the passenger side of the car. He turned and flashed Abby a devilish grin. “You knocked my socks off.”
Samuel was driving and snorted in apparent disgust, but the queen laughed delightedly, always amused by the young shifter’s silly humor.
“How about you save me a dance?” Noah said. “I’ve got moves you wouldn’t believe.”
“You’re on duty,” Samuel reminded his nephew.
“We can spare him for one song.” Lady Rose insisted, still smiling. “I would enjoy watching some of these moves.”
Abby was saved from entering the conversation by their arrival at Chess.
The club was within easy walking distance of a monorail system connecting Mud Island to downtown Memphis, the restricted access the only way the general public was permitted onto the property after sundown. A steady stream of locals and tourists could be seen traveling the well-lit path from the station to the weekend hotspot.
Tucker and another Guard member escorted the prince, tailing the queen in an identical Hummer. A third set led the small caravan to the front of the brick building where an attractive brunette argued vehemently with the doorman.
The angry woman was dressed in a pair of sky-high strappy sandals, an ebony skirt that barely covered her butt, and a dress code breaking fire-engine-red shirt. The Ferwyn attendant was in the process of turning her away.
She staunchly refused to go.
Noah’s quick inhale coincided with the pretty human shoving her purse at her companion and casually stripping the banned top to reveal a black bra underneath. She tossed the offending blouse at the club employee’s chest. Her hands went to her hips as she glared at the shifter. He brought the red shirt to his nose and grinned, then stepped aside to wave the triumphant women inside.
“On. Duty,” Samuel said, this time with a touch of amusement.
Abby was still smiling as she swung the car door open, breathing in the sweet smell of honeysuckle. She tugged on her shorts, and then followed her boss inside.
The prince guided the queen into the club, their dark heads bent close in conversation. The stunningly beautiful vampires made a striking pair. One clothed in flawless white and the other in a suit, shirt, and tie so intensely black it seemed to absorb the light.
Once they filtered through the lobby and bypassed security, Abby discovered the interior of the nightclub was designed in a basic square. The outer edges were tri-level and lined with tables; private booths and full-service bars spread evenly throughout the raised platforms. The setup imitated a luxury sports arena with a dance area in the center instead of a playing field.
The main floor was painted in a black and white checkered motif that was mostly concealed by the partying throng. White wooden cages mimicking chess pieces dangled from thick cables attached to the ceiling and were large enough to hold a dancer inside. The performers wore next to nothing and gyrated to music so loud you’d have to yell to be heard—if you were human. Abby had no idea how the Dádhe and Ferwyn could stand the assault on their sensitive eardrums.
She trailed Tucker and a whip-thin female Guard with short lavender hair through the pulsating masses, her heart pounding in tempo with the song the DJ played from his lofty roost in the middle of the dance floor.
The lieutenant led them to a roped section. A burly attendant unhooked the flimsy barrier, and they climbed deep steps to a partially enclosed booth on the third tier. Abby slid onto the thick upholstery, the horseshoe-shaped seating somewhat muting the blaring music from the high-tech speaker system.
A witch in a white halter dress took their drink order, the pale ink symbols on her bare arms and shoulders glowing under the glimmering blue lights.
All the queen’s staff at Chess wore off-the-menu white. The Guard did not.
Samuel’s warriors were garbed in the usual t-shirts and cargos. But without their guns and swords, which had been checked at the door, there wasn’t much to distinguish them from the regular customers. Their uniforms were slightly altered to conform with house rules: swapping green pants for black and adding a teeny tiny stitched ESC onto the sleeve of their customary black tees. Abby thought the white logo was practically microscopic.
“So, what do you think of Chess, Abigail?” Lady Rose’s pride in the establishment was evident.
“It’s overwhelming,” she admitted, easily viewing the nightclub from the raised vantage point.
The mob on the dance floor was a billowing sea. The intermittent strobe lights cast rhythmic shadows on heads that bobbed and arms that waved, hips rolling to the latest remix. The hanging cages swayed, their inhabitants encouraging the rocking motion from six feet above the crowd’s heads.
A cluster of college girls was gathered below a shirtless Anwyll male dancer, his tattooed biceps and defined abs glistening with sweat. The intoxicated group yelled encouragement as he worked the castle-shaped cage’s bars, gaining lift and speed.
Abby’s eyes flew to the cables connected to steel beams, imagining them squeaking and groaning under the added stress.
“He’s perfectly safe up there.” The prince was slouched against the plush seating, holding his recently delivered bloody cocktail. The Dádhe race needed to consume human plasma, but it gave Abby the creeps whenever their nutrition came via a glass with ice.
“Would you rather I sample the clientele?” he asked, seemingly reading her mind.
“No.” She’d been caught staring. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Are you curious about the rumors?”
“Myles, let her be.” Lady Rose sipped at her scarlet drink through a slim black straw.
“Rumors?” Abby asked warily.
“About our eating habits. What do you think you know about my kind, Miss MacCarthy?”
The queen’s resigned sigh was loud.
“I’ve heard you can ingest bland food and drink almost any liquid,” Abby said, playing with the stem of her margarita glass, uncomfortable with the discussion. “I know vampires require human blood every few days to stay in peak condition but can go without for several weeks before they are adversely affected. Blood comes from a banked supply where it’s sold in pints or…from a live donor.” She sought the darkened corners of Chess where couples engaged in all sorts of activities not related to dancing, noting several men and women staring longingly at their booth. “I don’t think you’d have to look far for a willing companion.”
“They are not our companions.”
“What?”
“They are cows,” he said flatly. “Chickens. Pigs. Whichever correlation works best for you. I suppose some could be considered cats or dogs if you’re especially fond of them.”
“That is quite enough.” Lady Rose clutched the prince’s wrist to forestall him from saying anything further.
He ignored her.
“Humans are food. Feeders. Some under blood contract and some not,” he said baldly. “They are not sexual partners or lovers. They’re not fuck buddies.”
“But—”
“We can induce humans to experience any emotion we want with our bite: blissful contentment, unmitigated joy…orgasms,” he interrupted, swirling the macabre contents of his tumbler. He took a long pull of his drink, swishing the concoction in his mouth as though he were sampling a fine brandy before swallowing. “It costs my race next to nothing to change what would typically cause pain into a pleasurable experience. Something humans will want to do again. And again. It was to our advantage to make an effort in the past when preserved blood wasn’t an option. And it is still to our benefit today as most of us prefer it…fresh from the oven.”
Abby couldn’t maintain eye contact with the gorgeous but seriously scary vampire. “But I’ve seen vampires and the Untouched kiss.”
Lord Myles bared his teeth, the air filling with the odor of wet dirt and moss. Incisors clicked into place and pierced his lower lip. A ruby bead welled and hung on the precipice of his sensuous mouth for the length of a heartbeat before he licked it away. “There’s magic in blood and bone, Miss MacCarthy. You’d do well to remember it.”
His statement left her completely stunned.
Abby never had much contact with the magical community beyond a few witches in high school. And then at the facility, they taught her how to avoid the more dangerous Fae Touched for fear of discovery. To her knowledge, the director didn’t deal with any other nonhuman race beside her own, but he had to know the truth. What other misconceptions were the public being fed? Literally.
“So…never?”
“Would you have sex with your food?”
“That depends,” she said numbly, pulse racing.
“On what?”
“On whether it included chocolate.”
Lady Rose threw her head back and laughed. Lord Myles’ mouth lifted in the pretense of a smile.
The quip seemed to be an ice breaker, and the next hour past quickly. Abby nursed her drink, listened to the Dádhes’ sibling-like banter, and spent the next hour people watching—or shifter watching; she hadn’t seen Samuel since being seated.
She gathered her purse. “I’m going to freshen up. I’ll be right back.”
The vampires nodded absently, involved in a heated discussion concerning regional politics.
Abby waved off Vicky, the Dádhe Guard with purple hair, and made her way to the main level, telling herself she wasn’t hoping to catch a glimpse of the commander. Staying on the edges of the dance floor, she weaved in and out of traffic, apologizing whenever she bumped into someone and politely declining two offers to dance.
She caught sight of Johnnie at a lower level bar. The pretty Ferwyn who’d escorted her to the queen her first day on the island had quickly become a friend. Abby held a finger high to let the bubbly shifter know she’d return to visit shortly. Johnnie acknowledged her with arms raised above her head and an energetic butt wiggle.
Abby pushed through the swinging doors, the beat from Chess dulling to an insistent throbbing bass as they closed behind her. She headed toward the sound of giggling girls and what she suspected was her destination. The staccato of her heels on the polished cement sounded unnaturally loud in the empty corridor.
“I will never leave you.” Samuel’s low-pitched voice drifted from a nearby room. A quieter, distinctly female voice responded, and although Abby couldn’t make out the woman’s words, there warmth in them.
She moved unthinkingly to the doorway’s cracked opening, pulled as if by a magnet to the scene inside the office.
The commander stood with his hips on the edge of a wooden desk, a woman with sandy-colored hair kneeled at his feet. She wore a white pantsuit that bared one shoulder, her thin torso pressed to his leg, her cheek resting on his thigh. Samuel stroked the crown of her head with obvious affection.
Abby’s heart stuttered, a huge lump forming in the pit of her stomach. She must have made an involuntary sound because his glowing yellow stare was suddenly boring into her through the six-inch gap.
Feeling like the kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, she opted for a cowardly retreat.
Abby didn’t get far, Samuel catching her by the arm within seconds.
“I’m sorry I interrupted.” She was stammering, trying to explain the unexplainable. “I was on my way to…” Abby decided to shut up. There was no excuse for the intrusion. She had been spying on them.
“Wait.” He turned to introduce the female joining them. She was a shifter. A beautiful one. “Sarah, this is Abby.”
The she-wolf said a quiet hello.
Disconcerted, Abby offered Sarah her hand, forgetting to maintain her distance. Her smile felt brittle as she greeted Samuel’s girlfriend? Mate?
Abby knew her skin would be ice-cold; the blood having rushed from her extremities to her embattled heart. Surprisingly, Sarah’s palm was just as cool. A Ferwyn’s body temperature ran hot, as if they had a perpetual low-grade fever. Was she sick? Did shifter’s even get sick?
Now that she was looking closely, Sarah’s complexion was sallow, the blond hair hanging to her waist dull and limp against her drawn face. Dark shadows marred the delicate skin underneath swollen and red-rimmed light brown eyes.
Before she could ask whether the female was feeling ill, the shifter rubbed her cheek like a kitten against Samuel’s shoulder and said her goodbyes. The noise of the club returned briefly after her departure, cutting when the doors rolled shut again.
Abby stared at the concrete floor, the knot in her stomach growing to basketball-sized proportions. Seconds ticked by, and neither spoke. Her throat ached, and all she wanted to do was escape. She was such an idiot.
“I’m sorry,” she finally croaked through dry lips. “I should be getting back to Lady Rose.”
“Abby, look at me.” Samuel’s demand was soft.
She didn’t want to.
A low sound of frustration was her sole warning.
He wheeled her around, walking her backward until her shoulders bumped the wall. Her chin lifted in surprise, inadvertently obeying his command. Yellow fire burned in the depths of his eyes.
“You smell so damn good,” he said.
Samuel planted his forearms on the wall, boxing her in with his muscular frame. Although they no longer touched, the heat pouring off his body seared her skin. She pressed her hand to the center of his chest, unsure whether she planned to push him away or pull him closer. The t-shirt he wore was soft, the muscles beneath her palm, hard.
He might not be free.
“Is Sarah sick?” Abby let him go, clutching her small purse to her breasts like an iron shield.
“No,” he whispered near her ear. “Her Ca’anam is…far away, and she is suffering. As her Alpha, I can offer some of my strength through the pack bond. It seems to help.”
“Her Ca’anam?” Goosebumps covered her nape as his mouth dipped into the space between her jaw and the crook of her neck.
Abby tensed.
“Noah’s sire.” He inhaled deeply.
“Sarah’s your sister?”
The tight ball inside her chest loosened. The gorgeous shifter appeared to be in her early thirties and not old enough to have a grown son. Though Abby knew Ferwyns didn’t age the same way as humankind did, being told something is true and having irrevocable proof were two different things.
“Mm hmm,” Samuel hummed. The low, steady sound caused her entire body to prickle in feminine awareness, even as her mind and heart screamed for caution.
“Samuel, I don’t think…”
His firm lips rose to skim the length of her jawline before skating across her cheekbone. They pressed briefly against her temple and then fell to her earlobe.
“Just feel,” he said.
His husky command sent a shiver racing down her spine. Abby didn’t second guess hers
elf, closing her eyes, and tilting her face to the side in silent invitation.
Samuel groaned in response to her unspoken request.
His fingers tunneled through her hair, bunching the thick mass at the base of her skull. Bending his knees, he tipped her head back and nipped at the underside of her chin. His teeth scorched a trail down her neck, raking the sheer neckline of her blouse. Abby wished she’d chosen something else to wear, desperate to feel his lips on her skin.
“Abby, look at me,” he said in a rough whisper, biting on her bottom lip and then soothing the slight sting with a feathery brush of his mouth.
She rolled onto her toes, wanting to get closer. Wanting a real kiss. When he continued to deny her, she reluctantly opened her eyes. A satisfied smile crossed his handsome features as he pushed away from the wall, wrapped his forearm beneath her butt and lifted her effortlessly. He settled her securely onto his chest; her hair still firmly entwined in his fist.
Abby grasped the material of his tee, an impatient sigh escaping her throat. She needed more.
Samuel rasped his tongue over the dip in the center of her upper lip, then slowly moved to the seam, coaxing them apart. She gave into the sweet pressure, opening to him instantly and was rewarded with his mouth crashing onto hers. Using the grip on her hair, he angled her head and plunged in deep. The sensual assault reduced her insides to pure mush.
“Hey.” The interruption came from a female. An annoyed one. “You okay?”
Samuel broke the kiss with a snarl, his strong arm tightening around Abby’s hips. He pressed her cheek into his shoulder.
“Yes. Leave,” he snapped at the unwelcome intruders, his breathing ragged.
“I wasn’t talking to you, big guy.”
Abby tried to get her jumbled mind to work properly. Samuel’s kiss had wreaked havoc on her senses, and she found it hard to breathe, let alone think.
Four young women were staring at them with varying degrees of amusement, embarrassment, and anger. The indignation was from the apparent leader of the group, an Anwyll.
Abby guessed the girl was barely out of her teens since only her biceps bore visible tattoos. Probably barely old enough to get into the bar. Her three friends were human, and unlike the witch confronting them, noticeably tipsy.
Fae Touched (Fae Touched Book 1): Paranormal Romance Page 11