by Kallysten
Even from inside his car, parked across the street from the police station, Matthew could tell Claire was upset when she came out. Walking in, she had seemed jittery, but now she was angry. Her expression, her brisk walk, the way she banged the door of her car shut behind her all said so, and only increased his curiosity. What business could she have had with the city's vampire department police forces, and what could have gone so badly that she was this upset?
The only thing that came to his mind, as he followed her back home, was what she had flung at Jonas’ face at the club, when she'd come very close to accusing him of killing innocent vampires. Matthew had thought at the time that she was simply trying to get Jonas in trouble with the patrons of the club, but now he wasn't so sure anymore. Could it possibly be true? He usually didn't care about Special Enforcers one way or the other; it had been a long time since he had last killed anyone and had nothing to fear from them. He had never liked the man, however, for no particular reason at first until he had learned of his infidelities. Maybe his instincts had been telling him something from the start.
If Jonas was truly staking vampires beyond what he was allowed to do, Matthew didn't know how Claire had figured it out. The private investigator he had hired to shadow Jonas had never mentioned anything about that. Then again, he had been looking for a proof that Jonas was cheating on Claire, and nothing more. Still, Matthew couldn't imagine another reason why she'd go to the police and go from nervous to angry in the space of half an hour.
Claire drove straight back home, just over the speed limit the entire way. Parked a little distance from her house, he watched it until all the lights had gone out, then drove away, thinking.
His responsibilities lay in protecting Claire. That was all he was interested in. But if she had discovered Jonas was up to no good and was trying to do something about it, nothing said that Matthew couldn't try to give her a hand. After all, he would be protecting his own skin, if he helped her put a vampire killer out of commission. It was only an added bonus that it would also serve as punishment for Jonas’ infidelities.
A call to his private investigator, Leonard, gave Matthew the address of the Special Enforcer agency where Jonas worked, and ensured that the investigator had never noticed any strange happenings.
"But you know it only took me three nights to get the proof you wanted,” Leonard pointed out. “And I wasn't looking too closely at the way he did his work. That wasn't what you asked."
"What if I asked now? Do you think you could get some kind of evidence that he's killing vamps that haven't done anything wrong?"
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I'm not sure. What kind of evidence are we talking about here?"
"I don't think pictures would be very helpful,” Matthew thought aloud. “They would show a vamp being staked, nothing more."
"Maybe a video? If it shows him approaching a vamp without any sort of warning, that'd show he's not following the red-fanged rule."
"That sounds like a good idea. I'll see if I can shadow him tonight, just to get an idea of what's going on. You're up to starting on the job tomorrow night?"
"My lady won't be too happy,” Leonard laughed, “but I guess the usual fee should calm her down."
"I'll have an advance for a week transferred tomorrow. Thanks."
Matthew had arrived at Jonas’ office by the time he hung up the phone. The building was lit up, and he could see three figures inside, one of them with a shaved skull: Jonas. Before long, they walked out together, a woman and a man accompanying Jonas. They were all geared up with crossbows in hand and stakes at their waists. By the purposeful way they moved, Matthew had the feeling that they were out to hunt, and when they piled up in a van, he followed them, keeping his distances more than he had when following Claire. Unlike her, they were probably aware of their surroundings at all times. It would make for an interesting hunt for Matthew.
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Chapter Three
When Claire stepped into the club, the letter she had left on her kitchen table was still at the forefront of her thoughts, bits of it echoing in her mind.
"...thank you for your concern ... preliminary interviews revealed nothing ... encourage you to submit tangible proof to support your claims..."
The signature hadn't been Carson's, and it made the response of the police even more disappointing. Weren't they the ones supposed to find tangible proof about what she had told them was happening? She had told Carson of the notebook and what its numbers revealed. Had he even searched Jonas’ place for it?
Shaking her head as she reached the bar, she pushed away thoughts of the letter and her anger. There would be time later to figure out what to do.
"Good evening, Leo."
On the other side of the bar, the bartender flashed Claire a big smile as she perched herself on a stool.
"Evening, Claire. Same as usual?"
He started reaching for his bottles before she even nodded. She watched him mix the drink he had offered her on her first visit to On The Edge three weeks earlier. He made it look like the easiest thing in the world, but she wasn't foolish enough to believe it actually was. The result was, as always, perfect layers that were velvet on her tongue.
"Rough day at work,” Leo said, his tone making the words an observation more than a question.
Claire was about to say that something else was upsetting her, but she frowned as she realized he was right. She had opened accounts for two new customers, and started catching up on the paperwork accumulated on her desk, which, as workdays went, wasn't so bad. And still, it had left her drained of energy and craving some relaxing time, music loud enough to drown everything—and a nice drink to go with it. The letter she had found when going home had only added to her frustration.
"Not really rough. Just the same old routine.” She shrugged. “I guess I just need a vacation."
"Then take it. Life is too short not to enjoy it."
He winked at her and turned to the other side of the bar where a waitress had caught his attention. For a few moments, she watched him as he prepared an order, chatting the entire time with the waitress and the other bartender. He never stopped smiling, and added a flourish, here and there, to his preparations. Claire had to struggle to remember instances when she had enjoyed her job as much as Leo clearly did.
Leaving a folded bill beneath her coaster, she picked up her drink and slipped off the stool. The music increased with each step she took toward the staircase. She let it fill her mind with regular drum beats and melodic vocalizing, pushing back everything that wasn't here and now. New accounts, rates of growth, columns of numbers and graphs faded away, along with the empty home that was waiting for her.
Her mind cleared and calmed down, letting her appreciate the taste of her drink a little more. The metal of the railway felt cold and smooth beneath her hand as she started taking slow steps down the staircase. It ought to have been warm, she sometimes thought, to match the frenzy of the dancing crowd below.
As she had ever since the first night she had visited the club, she didn't walk all the way down to the dance floor, and instead stopped on the last platform. Leaning against the scrollwork metal of the safeguard, she took small sips on her drink, and allowed her eyes to wander over the room. Colored lights danced over the crowd and the walls, following the rhythm of the music. In the far left corner from where Claire stood, the DJ sat surrounded by stereo systems, keyboards and computers, his eyes half closed as he turned from one blinking machine to another, pivoting on his chair as though in his own private dance. He was almost dizzying to watch.
A young woman leaned against the railing near Claire, close enough that their elbows touched for a second. Claire unconsciously pulled back and turned her face toward Sara.
"Hey. You came back."
With a slight smile, Claire nodded rather than almost shouting to make herself heard over the music. Sara returned the smile before looking down at the dancers. Her head bobbed with the music
. Her foot, resting on one of the delicate scrolls of the railing, tapped up and down as well. The movement made her short skirt dance over her thighs, and her generous bosom bounce lightly. Her whole body language reflected a youthful energy that Claire could only envy.
When she looked at Claire again, her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “Still not coming down to shake what you've got?"
Claire snorted. The first time the girl had bounced up the steps and stopped by Claire, she had been far more explicit, inviting Claire to “come shake that fine piece of ass” on the dance floor. Why the woman had ever approached her was somewhat of a mystery to Claire. She had to be in her early twenties, probably in college. If Claire had been ten years younger, they might have been friends. As it was, they had barely exchanged names, and hadn't had a real conversation to speak of. It was hard to talk at all with the blaring music.
"I'm sure you'd come down if he asked you."
A hand wearing more rings than Claire even owned pointed in the direction of the opposite bridge. Claire's eyes followed it and easily found whom the girl was showing. Her heart jumped to her throat. It was him. It was the vampire Claire had noticed on her first night at the club, and who had attracted her eyes every night she had come since.
"He's even more handsome from up-close,” the girl confided. “But still that's nothing next to the way he looks naked."
Claire's hand clenched on the railing. Just two nights earlier, she had watched Sara walk down to the dance floor, slither her way into the man's arms for a few songs, and finally leave with him. When they had disappeared up the staircase, Claire had finished her drink in one quick gulp that had done nothing to quench the deep thirst inside her, before leaving herself.
"He said I could call him Alex."
Claire turned the name over in her mind, her eyes never leaving the man. He had just reached the dance floor and pushed his way straight to the core of the dancing crowd, but she could still follow him easily. He was half a head taller than most dancers.
"But I don't think that's his real name."
Claire glanced at Sara, wondering what she meant by that. For the first time, she noticed the two red marks on her neck, small wounds scabbed over but not fully healed yet. She knew with the utmost certainty that the vampire had bitten her.
"A woman I talked to said his name was Anthony, and someone else claimed it was John. I've decided I'll be the first to sleep with him twice, and the first to know his real name."
With that declaration and an impish smile, she marched away, head high, shoulders back, and a roll to her hips that attracted eyes to her path: a determined general going to battle. Claire watched her go. She couldn't help wishing she had had the same self-confidence, and had dared to go to the man herself, if only to try to understand why he had seemed so familiar from the moment she had laid her eyes on him.
Shyness wasn't the only reason for her reluctance, though, nor was the acute awareness that she was much older than her not quite friend, or the other women the vampire chose every time he visited the club. No, she wasn't going down to him precisely because as far as she knew, he picked up a new girl each time. He slept with them, fed from them, left them dazed, wide-eyed and blabbering excitedly about what a wonderful lover he was to whoever would listen.
Claire had listened a lot, in the past weeks. She could admit being envious of some things. Her nights were long and lonely. In all truth, she was also curious about other things, and she'd need to ask one of the girls, some time, what it had felt like to be bitten. But she also knew herself enough to realize she couldn't throw herself at a man for a one night stand. She wouldn't be able to look at herself in a mirror if she did, even more so because of her small suspicion that he used thrall to charm his conquests.
She watched the vampire dance, her mind filled with the simple and inescapable knowledge that he would leave with someone he would care about for no more than a few hours, if even that.
For now, he was dancing with the same woman he arrived with every night. They made quite a couple together. She was pretty, no more than that, but the way she held herself, the way she moved spoke of a grace and confidence that outshone more beautiful women around her. These women wore tight fitting dresses and skirts that revealed more than they hid; she, on the other hand, always wore loose shirts and long, flowing skirts that might have been fashionable in another century, in another country. She never seemed out of place, however, and the strangeness of her attire, if anything, added to the attraction.
Claire wasn't sure what she was most jealous of: the woman's—the vampiress'—poise and magnetism, or the fact that her companion carefully guided her steps down the staircases every night and watched her, always, with burning eyes.
* * * *
Diane's lips curled into a smile that came close to being mocking. It wasn't Matthew she was making fun of, though, he was sure of it.
"She's watching you, Childe. Can you feel her eyes on you?"
The words were almost drowned out by the loud pulse of the music, but Matthew guessed what he couldn't hear. There was no need to ask about whom she was speaking. No need to answer either. Diane's hands rested on his shoulders, and she knew him well enough to feel that he was tense. How could he not be when, just on the edge of his vision, leaning against the safeguard of the bridge, Claire kept staring in their direction?
"She'll stay there until you leave with your night's prey. And then, she'll sulk and pout and go away, like she's been doing the last few nights. Your girl is such a child."
Matthew caught himself before he could start arguing with her. Claire was no child, and she had proved it, as far as he was concerned, when she had thrown Jonas out of her life for good. However, he understood that Diane, who favored bold actions above prudence, couldn't fathom why Claire had been coming to the club for weeks now, practically every night, without ever doing anything more than watch. He wasn't even sure he understood it himself. As far as he knew, she had never had much fondness for clubs or bars.
The fast beat of the song they had been dancing to came to an end. The DJ, for a few seconds, sent several tunes at once over the speakers, so that different melodies seemed to come from different angles. The crowd roared its approval, then again when one song took over and the others faded in the background. Without ever missing a beat, Diane whirled in Matthew's arms, her skirts unfurling like the petals of a flower around her. She threw back her head and raised her arms; when she lowered them again, her hands settled on another man's shoulders.
Matthew didn't even try to see whom she had chosen, this night. It only mattered to him when they decided beforehand to share a prey. Two women were already shimmying closer to him and he smiled, welcoming them until they were both inches from him, and both pretending that the other didn't exist. In the middle of so many dancers, it was difficult to separate scents; but as close as the women were he could begin to discern the lust coming in waves from each of them. It was a heady scent, one that brought Matthew images of hands caressing, limbs intertwining, and skin parting beneath his fangs to allow warmth and sweetness to slide down his throat.
His choice should have been easy to make. He recognized the busty brunette in front of him, could almost still taste her on his tongue, and that meant that she was a no. He had made it his rule never to sleep twice with the same prey. Once usually had them wishing for more, but twice gave them hopes that only meant grief and annoyance for Matthew.
Something stopped him before he could fully turn to the other girl, however. When walking down the staircases, he had vaguely noticed the girl standing by Claire and talking to her, and he had wondered who she was, and what they were saying. The girl was in front of him now, making moon eyes at him. It was too good a chance to understand why Claire came to the club to let it pass.
Leaning in toward the petite redhead with skin paler than his own, he murmured in her ear, “Don't go far, I'll be looking for you later.” Her eyes widened, and she licked her lips as she moved
back a little. When Matthew turned to fully face Claire's friend, the triumph was unmistakable in her eyes.
He enticed her closer with a crooked finger. She stepped right against him, her small hands resting flat against his chest. The gesture could have served to hold him back, but it was belied by the way her body rocked against his, reminding him what she had felt like beneath him in her bed.
"I knew you'd remember me.” She had to stand on the tip of her toes to breathe the words in his ear. They held a confidence that Matthew found amusing. “Did you like my present?"
He had to think for a second before he remembered what she meant by that. His prey had a tendency to hide souvenirs in his pockets. He supposed they were meant to make him remember them fondly, and maybe seek their owners again. If he wasn't mistaken, this woman had slipped a green thong in his pants pockets.
"I did. Pretty."
"I could wear it for you, if you wanted.” She pressed a little more noticeably against his crotch. “Or, you know ... I could not wear it."
Matthew made a noncommittal noise, hoping that it would satisfy her, and leaned in so he could talk to her more easily. The music and the movements of the dancers around them made it awkward to try to have a conversation.
"Tell me sweetheart, have you been telling your girlfriends about me?"
She laughed. “Of course I did. How did you guess?"
"I saw you talking to that girl on the bridge. You were talking about me, weren't you?"
The music shifted abruptly, and a high-pitched note dissolved into deeper, slower tones. The girl took the opportunity to slide her arms fully around Matthew's neck, pulling their bodies flush.
"I was telling her how you lied to me about your name."
He would have expected reproach in her voice, but instead she watched him with determination. She wasn't asking yet, but she would, soon, and expect an answer that Matthew wouldn't give, in part for the same reason that he didn't play with the same prey twice.
"And what did your little friend think?"