by M. L. Guida
Ignoring his demanding hunger, he jumped into the shower. Hot water thumped on his skin, but the hunger refused to be denied, and he was forced to leave his watery cocoon. Within minutes, he had dressed and headed down to the kitchen to the refrigerator.
The aroma of coffee tempted his senses. A hot cup of coffee was a simple pleasure, one he’d sorely miss. He also missed the morning sun. His hours were all screwed up since now his morning meant waking up after the sunset.
Hair rumpled and wearing a pink fluffy robe, Eleanor sat at the kitchen table sipping a cup. A full coffee pot sat on the counter, along with bottle of Nestlé's Italian Creamer. “You’re drinking coffee?”
He couldn’t help but notice the plunging hollow between her breasts. An impulse to untie the robe and see if she was naked underneath seized him. Refusing to give into temptation, he swung open the refrigerator door and seized a plastic bag. The tantalizing scent inflamed his hunger, and he sank his fangs into the bag to drain it dry. Cold, tangy liquid gushed down his throat. His voracity would not be denied. He wanted more. So much more. He tossed it onto the kitchen floor and grabbed another, and then another, feeding his craving until the ravenousness was smugly satisfied.
“Jayden, are you all right?”
“Yes,” he lied.
He picked up the empty bags, slammed the door shut, and tossed them into the garbage.
She glanced at his hand, then his face. “Still hungry?”
“No. How come you can drink coffee?” he asked, his voice sharp with envy.
“If you’d been listening, you would have heard that I can. I’ve developed a few tolerances over the last several years.” She raised her cup. “Being able to drink coffee is one of them.”
He glanced at the clock. “I’ve got a gig in a couple of hours.”
“Will Desmond be there?”
“Yes, why?”
“Then I’m coming with you.” She finished her coffee and raced out of the room.
She protected him like a mother goose over a newly hatched gosling. He didn’t need her to shield him. He should be shielding her. Asking for help had never been his strong suit. His dad had taught him and Jacob that men were the protectors. A sensitive man was a pussy. He’d deal with Desmond his way, head-on, fists clenched and ready to fight.
He grabbed his leather coat and snatched his motorcycle keys. He hit the buttons that opened both the garage door and metal gate. Just because he liked wearing them, he put his sunglasses on. Old habits died hard.
The garage door creaked open, and he slid his leg over his motorcycle. It wasn’t as fancy as Eleanor’s Harley, but it fit him like a sleek pair of ski pants.
“Jayden,” Eleanor called. “Wait.”
Hell no! He wasn’t going to be her pet dog on a leash.
He gunned the engine and sped out of the garage before she could lock the gates and keep him prisoner. The gates started to shut. He sped faster, snow spinning into the air. He prayed he wouldn’t slide across the driveway or crash into the gate. His heart raced as fast the motorcycle’s engine. He wasn’t stopping. The bike spit snow out, the roar ringing in his ears. He clutched the handle bars tighter and prayed as the gates creaked.
A slither of an opening remained. Jayden crashed through it as the gates banged together. He didn’t look back. If Eleanor wanted to find him, she’d know where to look. It wasn’t a secret. Nightmare was playing at the Mountain Bar and Grill.
Freezing air stung his face and rippled through his hair. Christmas lights adorned pine and aspen trees as he drove down 8th Avenue and turned down Frisco Street, taking the back roads to Main Street. The bike’s tires crunched on the snow. He glanced into the lighted windows, seeing people walk around. He pretended not to notice that he could hear their hearts thumping and blood pumping through their veins. His incisors lengthened. He gripped the handle bars tight, refusing to give into his blood lust. Was he ready for tonight? The bar would be filled with fans screaming for him, women wanting to touch him, their blood tempting him.
If he couldn’t handle it, Desmond would. Jayden would end up another upside-down cross on his friend’s forearm.
He pulled into the back of Mountain’s and parked his bike. He shoved his keys into his pocket and headed for the back door. Before he could reach for it, the door banged open and Desmond blocked his path, glaring. “Where the hell have you been?” He yanked Jayden’s sunglasses off his face. “Why are you wearing these at night? Are you high or drunk?”
“No,” Jayden said, as he snatched his glasses back and pushed past Desmond, afraid his best friend would be his first human snack.
“We need to talk,” Desmond said.
“No, we don’t. I need to get on stage.” He hurried down the cramped wooden hallway to the small dressing room he shared with the other band members.
“That can wait. Talk to me. Why were you with Eleanor? Do you have any idea who she is?”
“Yeah, she’s a friend.”
“No, she’s not.”
Desmond came up close behind him, his warm breath on the back of Jayden’s neck stirring up a deadly hunger. His cologne nearly choked him. Jayden had never noticed it to be so overpowering before, but now, it was as if wet wood chips were being crammed up his nose. Vampire senses sucked. Too much. Too intense. Too uncontrollable.
“Kye, you’ve got to listen to me,” he said. “Please, before you do something stupid.”
Too late. He’d already done something stupid. Selling his selfish soul to a vampire temptress.
Desmond seized his arm. He was too close. Hot blood pumped hard through his jugular vein, and Jayden rolled his tongue over his teeth. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the quick pulse in Desmond’s neck. Incisors lengthened. Icy sweat swept over Jayden. He breathed hard, trying to gain control, but each time he inhaled, the sickly sweet smell grew stronger and stronger and stronger.
Drink. Drink. Drink.
Unable to meet his friend’s eyes, Jayden lowered his head, clamped his jaw tight, and clenched his fists. His body shook as he fought the urge to pin Desmond up against the wall and rip out his throat. Stop! Desmond was his manger, his best friend, his brother.
Jayden broke free of his grasp, terrified he’d turn into a merciless killer. “Later, we’ll talk later,” he whispered. Like never.
“You’ve changed, buddy.”
Sadness dripped from those words and tugged at Jayden’s heart. His throat closed up, and he lost the will to argue. What was the point? Desmond was right. He’d changed into the undead.
Jayden loped down the hallway, steeling his will against attacking anyone. The smell of beer and smoke filled the air, but he barely noticed. All he could detect was hot blood. It was better than the cold blood he had drank back at Eleanor’s. The beating human hearts were like jack hammers drilling into his temples.
He walked into the room where his band mates waited. Bright, globe light bulbs surrounded a dressing mirror that once again failed to show his reflection. Jayden winced and put on his sunglasses.
Derek Hansen rolled a quarter across his skinny knuckles. “Where have you been, Kye? You were supposed to be here at two.” The bright lights highlighted the purple tips in his spiked hair, and Derek refused to look at him.
Jayden took his coat and shirt off and tossed them onto a wooden chair. He took off his jeans and boots and put on his black leather pants and high boots. “I told Desmond I wouldn’t be here until late.”
“Why the hell not?” Michael Aims asked, pounding his fingers on the make-up counter as if he was playing his drums. His silver rings glittered in the light. With his spiked collar around his neck, flaring nostrils, and angry green eyes, he looked like a bulldog ready to spring and attack. “It’s not like we could practice without our lead singer.”
They had a right to be pissed. Number one rule was never to miss a rehearsal, no matter what. He’d missed two. Jayden hated lying to his band—they’d always been up front with each other—but what was h
e going to say? Happy Halloween, I’m a vampire. He scratched his nose and mumbled, “Had things to do.”
Robbie Dane stepped out of the shadows with hate in his brown eyes. “To do?” He lit a cigarette and blew smoke into Jayden’s face.
Jayden coughed and waved at the smoke. “Yeah, I was busy.”
“You mean like hanging out with Eleanor Baines?”
Bitterness leaked from his words. For once, his lead guitarist wore a sleeveless black shirt, and Jayden noticed the tattoo on his right bicep. The same one Desmond possessed. He’d never paid attention before since Robbie was sensitive about his weight and always wore long sleeves to hide his flabby arms. If he wore short sleeves, he tied bandanas, with Nightmare monogrammed on them, around each arm. Jayden couldn’t remember the last time Robbie had gone to a gym, and his daily consumption of fast food didn’t help.
“So where did you meet her?” Robbie glanced at the mirror that reflected four wooden chairs, a small matching table, and the band members.
Jayden tried to slip behind the skinny coat rack to escape the wall mirror, but he was wider, and the wool and leather coats offered little protection. And only the damn coat rack reflected in the traitorous mirror that shouted what he was—the undead.
Robbie turned and stared at Jayden, his eyes hard. He flexed his right arm, tightening his tattoo and slapped his forearm.
Jayden jumped, slamming his head into the wall. Was that a challenge? “Uh…around town,” he said, swallowing the hard cold lie.
Robbie tapped his forehead. “Why the sunglasses?”
“Felt like wearing them.”
“Take them off.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see your eyes.”
Robbie’s commanding voice was chilling, deadly. Jayden stood nose-to-nose with him, Robbie’s smoky breath choking him. Jayden glanced at the door then back at Robbie. He slid against the wall, inching toward freedom.
Robbie shifted his gaze toward the door and stepped around Jayden with his back to the door, cutting off Jayden’s escape. Shit. He was trapped.
Michael stopped drumming, and Derek let the quarter roll down his knuckles onto the floor. The loud bang took Jayden’s breath away. Cold fear settled in his gut, and he shivered. Shit, was his own band about to kill him?
Chapter Five
Jayden looked at the man who had been his friend for the past five years, the man he’d sweated next to, been poor with, and picked up women with. The man now looked at him as if he were a threat.
Someone knocked on the dressing room door. “Be ready in five minutes.”
Jayden didn’t need another reminder. He pushed Robbie away. His lead guitarist flew half way across the room and knocked over a wooden chair. Jayden grimaced. Shit, this was not happening.
He swung open the door, heading backstage. Behind the curtain separating him from the crowd, he froze. Kaboom, kaboom, kaboom rang in his ears. The smell of beating human hearts and fresh blood washed over him in a tsunami of sound. He stumbled and grabbed onto the curtain, wrapping it around his closed fist. He shut his eyes. His incisors lengthened. He fought the compulsion to yank open the curtain, fly into the audience and rip out their throats to satisfy his hunger.
“Is there a problem?” Desmond said. He stood too close to Jayden. His voice was low and taunting.
“No,” Jayden said, but he wasn’t even sure he spoke. He opened his eyes and forced himself to release the curtain. Stay in control. He could do this.
He shook his head to try to clear the lust burning in his brain.
Michael slid around him, and before Jayden could stop him, ripped off his sunglasses. His eyes widened and he took a step back. “Red contacts?”
Jayden swallowed his fear. His stomach growled as hunger threatened to explode within him. “Yeah, I thought it would be cool.” He grabbed his sunglasses. “What do you think?”
Robbie edged closer. Jayden battled to not grab Robbie’s shoulders and sink his fangs into the blood pumping through his jugular.
“No,” Robbie said. “I think it makes you look like an ugly vampire.”
“Easy,” Derek said, pushing on Robbie’s shoulder as he headed for his mark on the stage, holding his bass close to him. “Get your guitar, Robbie, curtain’s going up soon.”
Robbie leaned closer and whispered into Jayden’s ear. “Pale skin, gold rings around your eyes—I know what you are, bro.”
Jayden met his cool stare. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Robbie snorted and shook his head. Soft mushy words tumbled out of his mouth. But Jayden could hear him. He could hear every word. “The only good vampire is a dead vampire.”
Eleanor had said that earlier about Desmond. And Desmond was a vampire killer.
Snare drums rattled, tapping in Jayden’s ears as if he stood before a firing squad. Eerie laughter came from stage right. Desmond pointed at him with a thumb and finger gun. He mouthed the word “bang.” Jayden broke out in an icy sweat. Shit, he should have stayed at Eleanor’s.
“I’d like to welcome—Nightmare,” Justin Hammer, the owner of the bar, announced.
The curtains parted. Dry ice released and smoke rose around each band member. Tiny white lights rolled over them. Red and purple stage lights beat down on Jayden like blazing hot suns. Sweat streaked down his back and temples. God, he hadn’t even started singing or strutting, and he was drenched. Ignoring his wanna-be-vampire-killers, he grinned at the audience. He loved the women who winked, and desire flickered in their eyes.
He grabbed the microphone and said in his huskiest voice, “Hello, Frisco. Are you ready to rock?”
Cheers erupted. Human hearts beat louder than thunder, rivaling Michael’s drums. The smell of human sweat and beer filled his senses. He inhaled and gagged. It was as if he’d fallen into a vat of a combination of flowery and sweet perfumes and spicy and woodsy colognes.
Get a hold of yourself, Kye.
He tried to block out the scent.
Robbie strummed his electric guitar. The long chords of their hit, ‘Hearts on Fire’, vibrated on the stage.
Men and women hurried to the dance floor. Their individual scents of saltiness, sweetness, foulness, and freshness overwhelmed him. He took a deep breath. Concentrate on the music. Letting the beat take him, consume him. He sang, “Livin’ hard, lovin’ easy. Journey to desire on a one-way ride…”
Jayden lost himself in the music, in the black notes. The drums and guitar set his blood on fire. He was surprised that he could resist the human blood pumping around him, the tantalizing smells, the dazzling temptations. Was it the music?
The next song was ‘Midnight Lover’. On stage, he was alive. Problems forgotten. Music soared threw his veins, inhibitions forgotten. He danced and swayed like a dirty dancing Mick Jagger.
“Look how you’ve seduced this rock-n-roll man,” he sang.
Out of the darkness, a shadow of a woman appeared, drawing his attention away from the women dancing. Even through the shadows, he recognized her.
Eleanor. Her long, curly, brown hair tumbled down to her waist. She wore a red leather halter top that lifted her large breasts, and black jeans hugged those firm legs. He wanted to slip a hand inside the top to cup a breast while his other hand cupped her sweet ass. God, she was tempting. He ached to capture a nipple in his greedy lips. He forgot the next line until Derek bumped him, his brows furrowed and his lips mouthed, what gives?
The chords played again. This time, Jayden sang the line, but the temptress blazed in his mind. She slid into a dark corner, hidden from the bright lights and crowded dance floor. Her eyes burned into him. He trembled as if this was his first time up on stage. Was it her vampire power?
He glanced stage right. Desmond leaned against the wall. Hopefully, he hadn’t spotted Eleanor. No, he was focused on him. His usual warm smile had vanished to a sneer. His dark gaze followed Jayden like a prison guard worried Jayden would transform into a bat and escape from his watch.
Eleanor shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have risked being vulnerable.
The song ended. Jayden slightly bowed. People clapped and whistled. He smiled, basking in their appreciation. “We’re just getting started.”
The crowd liked their music. The band packed whatever bar or venue they played. When people clapped, demanding more, humbleness swept over Jayden. It was his dream, to play, to sing, to please people. His instrument was the keyboard. His father had forced him to play the piano and wanted him to play classical music. As always, Jayden disappointed him. He’d chosen to play rock music. His father had never understood Jayden’s love to play in the nightclubs—the adrenaline, the rush. Each time, he poured out his very soul.
“For this next song,” Jayden said, “We’re going to play one of my favorites.”
After the applause died down, Jayden nodded to his band. He wanted Eleanor to hear his music, the song he’d written. Even through the back corner where she remained hidden, his vampire eyes could see long silver earrings dangling from those perfect ears. Slender fingers tapped on the table as a half smile spread on her full red lips.
She didn’t venture out, but she dared to come here to see him sing. Or was it too make sure he didn’t turn into a ravaging murderer?
Robbie twirled around his electric guitar and strummed a hard beat, the twang rumbling through the bar. Michael banged on the drums, followed by Derek’s bass. People nodded and danced on the floor.
“Through a smoky room,” Jayden sang. “A dark desire rose.”
The steady rhythm chimed through his veins. The music descending lower and louder, taking him on a mountainous ride of heavy beats. He slid across the dance floor to stage right. Desmond was gone. Prickles crept down Jayden’s torso as if ants scurried across his hot skin. A wad of dread struck his gut hard. Eleanor.
Desmond never left his post. Always there to ferret out any problems and make sure the equipment and lighting was just right.