Red Night (Vampire Files Trilogy Book 1)

by RK Close

  Dayna would be so proud.

  I need to know who he is. I’m running out of rooms to rearrange and closets to organize.

  ***

  It gets dark early this time of year. Mill Avenue is ablaze with lights already. Being a stone’s throw from the university, Mill Avenue is Tempe’s hot spot with shopping, restaurants, and plenty of bars. There is always something happening here on any given night.

  I stroll through the entrance of an Irish pub named Rúla Búla. I’m running late when I spot Dayna and several of our friends at a large table in the corner. Robert, her on-again boyfriend, sits next to her. These two have been on and off for five years now. We all assume they will get married eventually.

  Next to Dayna is Eric, my ex-boyfriend, with a pretty young blonde that I don’t know. Eric and I were friends before we dated, and somehow beat the odds and remained friends. Maybe because we’ve been friends much longer than the short time we were an “item.”

  I broke things off with him almost a year ago, but this is the first time I’ve seen him with someone else. I have no right to be jealous, but I can’t help but feel a little twinge of regret.

  Beside Robert are Tim and Ed. They’re brothers, both single, and both know how to steal the show. They’re always cutting up, hitting on girls, or making a scene. The rest of us are merely here for their amusement. At times they can be a bit obnoxious, but mostly they’re fun to be with.

  We’ve been friends since college with, and without, significant others joining our gang. We try to get together regularly. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Tonight there are dueling pianos at Rúla Búla. Music is loud, and the atmosphere is festive.

  “Hey there, Gorgeous,” Tim yells to alert everyone in the bar that I’ve arrived. Both Edward and Eric stand to give me warm hugs. I say hello to everyone, and Eric introduces me to Jessica. He doesn’t call her his girlfriend, only Jessica. I give her a warm smile, but inside I’m already picking her apart.

  She’s trying too hard with a skirt that’s dangerously short and double-D breasts threatening to pop out of her plunging neckline. They’re big enough that even I can’t help but look at them. From my quick evaluation, Jessica needs this type of attention to feel worthwhile. Give me a minute and I’ll actually start to feel sorry for her. She doesn’t seem like Eric’s type but maybe with her attributes she doesn’t need to be.

  Eric seems to be avoiding eye contact with me. Either he knows what I’m thinking, or maybe it’s awkward for him too.

  I’ve only had two real boyfriends, one in college, and then Eric. I’ve dated a lot, but I’ve never clicked with any of them. Usually, I don’t make it past one or two dates.

  I haven’t given up. I’m still a hopeless romantic, but Dayna thinks I’m too picky. She also calls me a “relationship virgin” because, according to her, Eric didn’t count, and neither did the one in college that only lasted three months. Pretty sure I’m doomed to be the old spinster cat lady in the group.

  Wilbur would like that.

  “Order two, you’re behind,” Dayna says even though she knows I won’t drink more than two the entire evening.

  I toss my jacket and bag on a chair and head to the bar. I lean on the wood counter and order a Guinness from the woman working on the other side. Before she can draw my beer, another male bartender with an Irish brogue and plenty of tattoos takes the glass from her and says, “I got this one, Gina.”

  Sean gives me his killer smile. He has tattoos covering both arms, and some that crawl up his neck and peek out of his collar a bit. They’re incredibly intricate and well done. I’ve always wondered how much of his body is covered in tattoos.

  Sean is attractive, with a nice lean body and dark hair that’s almost black. His eyes are so dark you can’t tell he has pupils. It gives him an otherworldly look at times. Sean’s charming, and women love him. On the weekends, he has groupies around the bar like flies. I would say he’s incredibly charismatic; someone men respect and women fight over.

  I do appreciate that he is easy on the eyes, and a real sweetheart, but he’s not my type. Whatever my type is.

  Giving him a warm smile, I ask, “How’s my favorite bartender?” He seems to love when I call him that, especially when other people are around to hear it.

  “My day is almost complete now that I’ve laid eyes on you, my beauty.” I love his light brogue, and his attention does wonders for my ego each time I see him.

  He hands me my beer and refuses my money, as usual. He always insists on buying my first beer. This has been going on for about a year and a half. I’m flattered, if not a little guilty. After the first six months I quit arguing with him.

  “When are you going to go out with me, Sam?” He leans on the bar like he has no other customers, and it’s only us. I notice a couple patrons and a waitress waiting impatiently at the other end. A little blonde who obviously has been sitting at the bar to flirt with Sean gives me a dirty look that I ignore.

  This is our thing, Sean and I.

  “I can’t go out with you, Sean. I won’t date my favorite bartender or guys whose names start with ‘S.’ It would spoil all that is good and pure in the universe,” I say, taking a sip of my beer, and raising my eyebrows at him. He gives me another brilliant smile, but it doesn’t make it to his eyes this time.

  That’s not part of our thing.

  Now I’m feeling guilty, and maybe confused. I thank him, and leave a hefty tip as I always do before turning to rejoin my friends.

  Rúla Búla gets cranking on Wednesday nights. The place is already full of people, and I’m trying not to spill my beer as I make my way back through the crowded bar.

  As I’m squeezing between bodies I get a little tickle in the back of my head, like someone’s watching me. I stop and look at the sea of people around me. I’m about to blow off the notion until I glance out at the patio and almost drop my beer.

  Sitting at a table, watching me, is Adam.

  Chapter 7

  Adam watches me with hooded eyes that smolder in the dim lighting of the patio. My mouth is hanging open when he nods at me. Tonight he’s wearing jeans and a black long-sleeved knit shirt that hugs his broad muscled chest and arms.

  Please don’t forget he’s a stalker, and possibly something worse, Sam.

  Closing my mouth, I change directions and head out to his table. He stands as I approach, his gaze slowly traveling up and down my body.

  I think I look pretty good in my boots, flowy skirt, and cropped denim jacket, but certainly not worthy of the look he’s giving me now.

  Since he could be homicidal, I wish I was wearing sweats and a ball cap.

  “What are you doing here?” I get right to the point, putting one hand on my hip.

  “I’m having a beer. Would you like to join me?” he asks as he pulls out a chair. I look between him and the chair.

  Oh what the heck.

  I have no other way of learning who he is, and I need a last name. Maybe I can get him to answer some of my questions before I ask Sean to pull his bar tab so I can get it off his credit card.

  Sitting down, I toss my long strawberry waves off my shoulder so that I can take a sip of my beer. “Did you follow me here?”

  He responds with a question. “What would you do if I said yes?”

  I blink at him, thrown off by his response.

  “I’d say you’re a stalker. Why are you following me?” I cross my arms over my chest. My action does not go unnoticed by him.

  “If I recall correctly, it was you who followed me first. If that is the criteria used to judge me, what does it say about you?” he says with a steady gaze.

  I roll my eyes at him. “You know what I do for a living, so stop sidestepping my question.”

  “I’m merely stating a fact and making a suggestion. But since you did make yourself known to me, I’m now curious about you. I would like to know you better.” He leans forward in his chair, already in my personal space again. Does he mean know
me or know me?

  I scoot my chair back several inches, turn myself to the side, and cross my legs. Anyone with half a brain can read my body language and know that I’m not happy, comfortable, or inviting at the moment.

  Unfortunately, Adam is not deterred. He simply reaches over, grabs the leg of my chair with his boot, and pulls me closer with little effort. I’m shocked by the ease with which he does this. I’m sure it shows on my face. I’m a solid 130 pounds.

  Our legs are now touching—I glare at him and he stares back.

  “Look, you can’t keep following me, and you have to stop invading my personal space! Does your country not believe in personal space? Where are you from, anyway?” I ask, getting annoyed again.

  I’m not sure if it’s because he keeps pushing all the normal boundaries or because he seems to know how to get under my skin.

  I reach for my beer and he grabs my hand and holds it firmly, ignoring my questions. His touch feels like an electrical current that shoots right up my arm and ends with my stomach doing flip-flops. I try to pull it away from him, but he doesn’t release me. We are surrounded by people, so I’m not completely freaking out—yet.

  “How do we become acquainted if we do not spend time together?” he asks as he gently strokes my hand with both of his thumbs. He leans forward and stares directly into my eyes with such intensity I feel naked. I squirm on my chair, still trying to pull my hand away without making a scene.

  “You want to leave with me, Samantha Lewis. Take me to your home, now,” he says, still staring into my eyes, and I feel as though I zoned out for a second, but then I realize what he said, and burst out laughing.

  “Are you serious? Does that actually work for you?” I ask, still laughing until I realize he’s not.

  He releases my hand and leans back in his chair with a peculiar look on his face. I rein my laughter in to a little cough, and take a long sip of my beer. Once again, he’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle to be solved. I start to feel uneasy under his intense scrutiny.

  When he doesn’t speak, I ask, “Adam, what exactly are you looking for here? You can’t possibly think I want to sneak off and have sex with you. My name is not Rebecca, and I do not have slut or desperate tattooed on my forehead. At this point you’re a stalker, and who knows what else. I hope you understand that this is not normal behavior. I’m going to return to my friends now, and if you continue to follow me I’m going to contact the police and have a restraining order placed on you. Do you understand me, Adam?” I stand, making sure I’m out of his reach while waiting for a response.

  He continues to study me a few moments longer before responding.

  “I never assumed you were that sort of woman. I will admit you are a mystery to me, and that I am intrigued. I will not promise to stay away, but you have nothing to fear from me. I only thought we could continue our conversation somewhere more quiet. I am usually quite persuasive. Your ability to resist my…charms is fascinating to me, and yet another reason I’d like to learn more about you,” he says.

  With that, he stands, walks a short distance, then turns to me. “I like the way my name sounds on your lips, Samantha.”

  Before I can even think of a response he turns and leaves. My stomach does a little flip at his words. He must be throwing off all kinds of pheromones or something. I caught myself imagining him with his shirt off. And I still don’t have a last name. Damn it!

  Embarrassed at my own thoughts and how inappropriate they are under the circumstances, I head back to my friends and find them openly gawking at me. Great.

  I spend the rest of the evening fielding questions from my friends about Adam. I tell them that we met at the mall—which is partially true—and that he wants to date me, if you can call it that, but I’m not interested. Lies, lies, lies. My body seems to have a will of its own, but my head knows that’s not happening.

  Dayna won’t stop talking about how attractive he is, and how she can’t believe I’m not into that. Eric keeps quiet, and continues to avoid making eye contact. He, and his “friend” leave early, and I’m glad. It hurts my heart a little to see her hanging on him.

  I do ask Sean about Adam’s tab. After checking with the waitress, he tells me the customer paid in cash.

  Awesome.

  ***

  Once home, I feed Wilbur and catch up on news from my laptop while giving my kitty some much-needed attention.

  There was another murder—two in one week. This is a little more newsworthy. Police deny it’s the work of a serial killer, but confidential sources say it’s a possibility because both victims were blonde women in their early twenties, and other similar details that are not being released while the crimes are under investigation.

  Creepy. How long did Adam say he’d been in town? He said that he’s here on business. What is his business, I wonder?

  Lying in my bed, I can’t help but think about Adam. What’s his story? Who he is, where he comes from, and why he seems fixated on me. Maybe I fit his victim profile! Crap. Why can’t I meet a nice, normal guy?

  ***

  I’m running in the forest again. I feel he’s close. I don’t know how I know, but I do. I feel vulnerable and exposed. This time I’m not sure if I want him to find me or not.

  I see a shadow up ahead. Is it him? I stop and watch. The shadow watches me back. Then I hear my name from somewhere behind me. It sounds like Adam, but I’m confused. Who is the shadow figure ahead of me?

  I look back and see Adam running toward me. I think he’s saying my name, but I can’t be sure. He looks desperate and furious as he runs toward me. I look back at the shadow, but it’s gone. I spin around in a circle searching for it.

  Suddenly, someone has me in a tight embrace. I look up, expecting to see Adam, but the face is hidden in shadow, and all I can see are fangs…before they sink into my neck.

  I scream and scream…

  I wake with a start. I’m breathing hard, and my heart is threatening to beat out of my chest. What was that? And who bit me? I reach up and rub the spot on my neck that still throbs with a phantom pain. The water next to my bed is empty. I head to the kitchen for more.

  I stop dead in my tracks. My patio doors are open, and my little warning bells are lying on the chair. Oh, crap! I run for my bed and grab the knife from under the pillow.

  Here we go again.

  Chapter 8

  The view of the city from the roof is beautiful. Blue skies as far as I can see today. I had Harold let me onto the rooftop to take some pictures. I wonder if I can get my own key.

  I walk around the entire roof looking for anything out of the ordinary. Finding nothing amiss, I make my way over to the edge of the building that is directly above my balcony. There are no rope marks, which I would expect to find if someone had actually rappelled off the roof.

  I’m out of theories as to how he’s gained access to my condo—twice.

  After finding nothing helpful on the roof, I head to the lobby on my way to the gym.

  My hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and I’m wearing a tank top, loose sweat pants, and sneakers. The temperature is in the 80s for the next couple of days. So much for our cold front.

  I’m in deep thought about my current late night visitor when I hear, “Hello, Samantha.” I jump a bit before realizing that Gabe is sitting on the sofa in the lobby.

  I try to recover quickly, but there is no hiding my over-reaction. I smile. “Hi, Gabe. I didn’t see you there.” I love to state the obvious around him.

  He stands, gives me a warm smile, and says, “I’m sorry if I frightened you. I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me on Saturday.”

  I’m stunned, and it must show on my face, because he quickly adds, “I know it’s short notice, so if you’re not available I understand. Maybe another time.” He actually breaks eye contact as he looks down at his shoes.

  That’s a first.

  I snap out of my daze. “No, I’d love to have dinner with you Saturday. You
surprised me, is all.”

  This seems to make him happy, and he perks up. “May I stop by at seven?”

  “Yes, seven would be great.” I feel like an idiot—but a happy idiot.

  “Great. There’s a nice Thai restaurant downtown that I’d like to take you to. Do you like Thai?”

  “That’s one of my favorites,” I say, trying to keep the dumb grin off my face. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  We smile at each other before he heads to the stairs, and I float out the door to find my car. Can my day get any better than that?

  Cue music: Walking on Sunshine.

  ***

  I’m ready to kick some bootie by the time I walk through the doors of the gym. I am high on happiness. Maybe I should get a pedicure before Saturday.

  I head to the back and a tall, lean Hispanic man with a thin, tight mustache looks up from a clipboard as I walk up.

  “You’re late,” he says, and goes back to his writing. I’m in such a good mood that even Eddie can’t bring me down.

  Eddie is the boxing and martial arts coach at my gym. I’ve been training with him for the past three years. We have a standing date on Thursdays. He talks tough, but he’s a big marshmallow.

  “Your clocks are fast. By the way, I had some trouble this past weekend, and I want to go over the situation with you, if that’s all right?” I ask.

  Looking up from his clipboard, he narrows his eyes at me and gives me his full attention now. “What kind of trouble?”

  I tell him a condensed version of the situation between Adam and me Saturday night.

  “Uno, don’t go walking alone after dark. You make yourself a target that way.

  Dos, be aware of your surroundings at all times. If you did this, he wouldn’t have been able to get you in that position.