One Bite with a Stranger

by Christine Warren

  After finishing her drink on an empty stomach—she’d been too nervous to eat dinner earlier—Reggie could almost see how Ava might have a point about this whole fix thing. Maybe a good, fantasy-fulfilling one-night stand was the best way to forget about Greg. And if Ava already knew the guy, Reggie could be confident he wouldn’t be an axe murderer or some sort of monster. Maybe she just needed to relax and let herself go with the flow.

  Reggie pushed away from the table, taking a minute to brace herself against the alcohol racing to her head, just as the DJ spun into a new tune. The song had a deep, hypnotic beat and a dark, haunting melody. Signaling for another drink, she consigned her instinctive reticence to the wind and let her body pick up the rhythm of the music. The black leather pants she’d thought would be too confining turned out to move quite well with her shimmying hips. She ignored the looks her ass attracted from a few guys at the bar and tried to locate her friends.

  Danice obviously liked the beat, too, because she’d accepted an invitation to dance with a tall, burly biker and shouted she’d be right back. Reggie watched her go, envying her friend’s ease in the crowded club. When the waitress set a fresh glass in front of her, Reggie raised it to her lips and turned to face the bar. She wondered if she’d be able to pick Ava’s friend out of the crowd.

  Not the one right in front, she decided, watching a pretty, pale boy gesture grandly to the bevy of emaciated young women who surrounded him. Ava knew Reggie well enough to realize she’d never go for an overly theatrical kid. How in the world would she take someone like that seriously? He’d pull out a pair of handcuffs, and she’d have to ask if his daddy knew where he’d gotten them. She similarly dismissed a handful of brooding punks and a couple of leather-clad biker types. Ava’s taste ran to something significantly more sophisticated.

  Stubbornly ignoring her headache, she started to think Ava’s friend might have stood them up when her gaze hit the end of the bar and skidded to a halt.

  The most perfect man she’d ever seen sat there in the shadows with a hand wrapped around a glass of amber liquid and his eyes locked directly on her face.

  Dmitri Vidâme nursed his single glass of Scotch and wondered if there might be enough liquid in the glass to drown himself.

  Literally.

  Because he was about four minutes away from burying his face in it and breathing deep. Perhaps the fumes would counteract the odor of sweaty, chemically enhanced humans with sex on their minds and cobwebs in their heads.

  If it hadn’t been for Graham’s insistence that this “Vampire Ball” made a perfect place for a young rogue to hide in plain sight, Dmitri would never have let himself be caught within ten city blocks of the place. Such a gothic circus as this event hardly fit his normal thinking as to what constituted a good time, and frankly, the attendees who filled the Mausoleum’s vast basement dance floor had begun to annoy him.

  Look at them, he marveled, struggling to keep the sneer from his face. If any of these children ever came face to face with a genuine vampire, they’d soil themselves and go running home to Mommy.

  Barely cut loose from apron strings, and the little humans thought themselves misunderstood and tormented. They thought they felt more comfortable in the dark than in the sunlight, thought they knew what it meant to be isolated and tormented.

  Dmitri wanted nothing so much as to slap some sense into them.

  Actually, that wasn’t precisely true. Even more than a little judicious violence, he wanted to go home. A quiet evening in front of his fireplace sounded infinitely more appealing to him than another five minutes surrounded by pretentious children in “gothic” garb. Even one of the endless, politically charged meetings of the Council of Others, which he currently headed, sounded more appealing. Considering that that body had been founded to govern the uneasy alliance of the vampires, werewolves, changelings, and other nonhuman inhabitants of New York City, looking forward to one of its meetings made quite a statement.

  Dmitri swore under his breath and tossed back half of his drink in one swallow. He had let Graham, his good friend and fellow Council member, talk him into coming to this torture session. Rumors had recently reached the Council about a few young vampires who had taken to frequenting these goth events and feeding off the eager attendees. The fledglings risked exposure with their behavior, and the Council had decided they needed a stern warning.

  It hardly counted as a crisis of epic proportions, and Dmitri would have been happy to let a few of Graham’s Lupine packmates do the Council’s dirty work, but the werewolf leader had volunteered Dmitri and himself for the job instead. Dmitri was tempted to “volunteer” Graham for the French Foreign Legion in exchange.

  Neither man had spotted any of the suspected rogues during their two interminable hours at this event, and Dmitri was more than ready to go home. As soon as Graham stopped sniffing around that blowsy little blonde he was currently “questioning,” Dmitri would say his goodbyes and head out. Maybe he’d stop for a bite on the way home, just to wash the taste of this place out of his mouth.

  He had so many better things he could be doing, he reflected, trying to pick Graham out of the shifting crowd.

  Where had he and that blonde disappeared to? The Council had been busy lately, but even diplomatic problems hadn’t kept his mind occupied. He felt boredom creeping up on him and wondered if it were time for him to step down from his Council seat in favor of new pursuits. Dmitri had been born a warrior in a world where strength equaled survival and warfare had been a way of life, but progress had forced the retirement of his broadsword many years ago. These days wars were fought from a distance, with computers and satellites and aerial attacks.

  Technology had taken all the fun out of the bloodshed.

  Dmitri sighed and rubbed a hand over his stylishly short hair. Back in the good old days, he’d worn it long and tied it back with a leather thong before battle and the memory left him feeling suddenly old. Even older than his years. In the beginning, warfare had kept him interested, then it had been business and investing, but even that complex game had begun to lose its appeal. How would he entertain himself now, for all the years to come?

  Restless, he pushed the depressing thought from his head and tapped fingers on the scarred wooden surface of the bar, sorely tempted to just forget his goodbyes and leave Graham to his fate and his bimbo. He reached for his glass to drain the last drops of fiery whisky, and that’s when he saw her.

  Temptation.

  She stepped up to the bar, swept along in the wake of four other women, but Dmitri could not have described a single one of them. He saw only her, with her face like a vision and her body like a gift from the gods.

  The woman looked impatient and a little nervous and sadly out of place among the ridiculous throngs that surrounded her. For one thing, she had the look of a woman, rather than a child. He could see she was young, probably in her late twenties, but she wore her age comfortably, as a mature woman should. Her skin, milk white and dusted with freckles the color of honey, looked smooth and unlined.

  Dmitri saw a great deal of skin, from her hairline to the generous swell of her breasts where they were cuddled and lifted by the black satin of her corset; from the graceful curve of her shoulder to the tips of her slender fingers. Her snug black leather pants and tall black boots covered everything else, hugging her curves with loving care and making his body tighten.

  Lord, she is stunning.

  He certainly felt stunned. He hadn’t reacted to the mere sight of a woman in longer than he could remember, but he reacted to this one. Already he could feel his cock hardening beneath his trousers, filling with blood and heat, while his sense of boredom died a sharp and final death.

  She stood out in stark contrast against the sea of sameness that surrounded her. She, too, had dressed all in black, but she shared nothing else with the other women in the room. Her skin had the pearlescent glow of natural fairness, and her hair had not been dyed a flat and light-absorbing black. It rippled ove
r her shoulders and down her back in waves of burnished mahogany. When she turned her head, the light caught it and sparked dancing flames across the shiny surface. Dmitri imagined burying his hands in it, using his grip to hold her still while he drove into her body.

  He wanted that body, he acknowledged, wanted to feel those pale, white curves against him, under him. Her body flowed beneath clinging black cloth and stiff metal boning in a reflection of Venus’s glory. Smooth, graceful shoulders curved down to generous breasts, and the corset accentuated the way her waist nipped in waspishly beneath their enticing fullness. Her hips flared from that narrow span, round and lush and firm, and her legs, gloved by the smooth leather pants, looked round and soft and perfect for clasping around his hips, or throwing over his shoulders, or tangling firmly with his.

  He sat there at the bar, staring and fantasizing and wanting her, and while he did so, he gave in to his instincts and slipped lightly inside her mind.

  She didn’t notice him, as wrapped up in her thoughts as she was, but he’d have been astounded if she had. Most people didn’t notice his mental presence even when he didn’t keep quiet, like he did now. Very few people out there had any sort of psychic talent, and even fewer knew how to use it. He didn’t probe deeply enough into the woman’s mind to see if she did; he just wanted to get a sense of her, to decide if more than her beautiful body intrigued him.

  More than intrigued, he found himself entranced and unexpectedly entertained. This woman possessed a lively mind and a sharp-edged humor.

  Look at that. He heard her voice in his head, husky and feminine and arousing. Lord Velveteen thinks he’s just the shit sitting there with those silly little stick figures fawning all over his poet shirt. Does he have any idea how ridiculous it is for a grown man to have a visible rib cage and lacy shirt cuffs?

  Oh, wait. That’s right. He’s a long way from a grown man.

  He watched her raise a glass to her slick, painted mouth, and his eyes narrowed. He wanted those lips to part around his cock, and the violence of his lust surprised him. This woman had an unsettling effect on him.

  And that one, he heard her scoff. How ridiculous does he look? He’s got more mascara on than I do, and he didn’t even check for clumps. Is he crooking. His. Finger. At me? Get real, sonny. I’m not about to answer that insulting little summons with a makeup tip, let alone with what you’re after.

  Dmitri’s head whipped around, and his gaze locked on the mascaraed Romeo. A quick mental push sent the kid reeling back against the bar and put the fear of God into him—or, at least, the fear of Dmitri.

  Where is this guy Ava invited? If I have to wait around this circus much longer, he can kiss his chances for some nookie goodbye. I don’t care how badly they think I need this. I refuse to consider sleeping with someone who can’t even manage to show up on time for it.

  Rage turned his vision black for a split second, and Dmitri actually felt his fangs lengthen in anticipation of the wounds he would inflict on any man who dared to touch her. He would show these pretenders a real vampire’s fury if a single one of them thought to lay a hand on what Dmitri intended to claim for his own. His woman would not be touched by any man but him.

  His woman.

  Dmitri registered the possessive term with surprise and tested the phrase in his mind. In all his considerable lifetime, he’d never felt such an instant proprietary interest in any woman. He’d never been tempted to conquer and claim so quickly. But in this case, he wanted to mark the woman so the entire world would know to keep its distance.

  When he saw the woman turn her gaze to him, he ruthlessly tamped down his emotions and moved his touch to the edge of her mind. He didn’t think she had noticed his presence within her, but he felt it prudent to be cautious. Already, he detected a stubborn and independent streak in her. He didn’t want her to struggle against him. Not yet.

  He felt her gaze on him, and he met her stare with a bold one of his own. Heat arced between them, slicing through the crowd as if to remove all barriers separating them. He wanted no barriers, wanted her bared to him, body and mind, so he could sate himself with her flesh, her thoughts, and her blood.

  She was perfect, and she would be his.

  Chapter 3

  Lord, but he is scrumptious.

  Unable to keep from staring, Reggie decided even if this wasn’t Ava’s friend, he was the only man she wanted tying her to a bed tonight, thank you very much.

  He perched on his barstool with the lazy, elegant grace of a panther, and his thick, dark hair looked as glossy as a panther’s furry hide. It capped a face of arresting sensuality. She couldn’t call him handsome, not with features so firm and chiseled they looked like they’d been cut from granite, but she could definitely call him yummy. In fact, she’d just adore eating him all up.

  His hard features matched his body, or what she could see of it from across the room. He had the graceful, muscled physique of the big cat she’d already compared him to, with broad shoulders, long, muscular legs, and a lean, flat stomach. His dark, casual clothes suited him and drew attention to his impressive frame.

  She found herself craning her head to see him better through the milling crowd. A knowing smile curved his sensual mouth, and Reggie blushed, cheeks flaming even harder when another gorgeous male specimen stopped beside her mystery man and placed a hand on his shoulder. The newcomer leaned his head down to hear what Mr. Mouthwatering had to say, and when his head turned and his eyes locked on Reggie, she knew they were talking about her.

  Oh, my. Apparently the truly drop-dead gorgeous travel in packs, she thought, when she got a good look at Mr. Hunk’s friend.

  The second man had a body covered in lean, hard muscle, and his toffee-highlighted, chocolaty dark hair looked like it needed a good cut. His skin was darker than Mr. Oohlala’s, but he had the same sort of commanding presence and authoritative stare.

  She waited for the same surge of lust that had hit her the moment she saw the first mystery man, but nothing happened. Her brain appreciated that the friend made a truly appealing decoration, but she experienced no urge to tear off her clothes and fling her body against his. Shifting her gaze to Mr. Magnificent, she felt her hands reaching toward her zipper.

  Across the bar, her mystery man laughed out loud, and she heard the sound even over the din of music and conversation. She felt it, too. It vibrated in the pit of her stomach and aroused her like a caress. Her thighs clenched together.

  Okay, Reg, get a grip, she instructed herself, breaking eye contact and looking around for her friends. Maybe they could distract her from her hormone attack. Danice and Corinne gyrated on the dance floor, oblivious to anything other than the music, but at least Ava and Missy were still sticking close to Reggie’s side. Frankly, Ava wasn’t likely to budge until the guy she’d arranged to fix Reggie up with got there.

  Reggie thought she could count on Missy, too, but even as the thought crossed her mind, a group of women stopped next to their table and launched a babbling greeting for Melissa Roper, their old pal from college, here at the nightclub. Grateful for the chance to focus on something other than Mr. TakeMeNow, Reggie pasted on a smile and let Missy introduce her to the other women.

  Their small table suddenly became the place to be in the crowded club. The friends seemed to breed more friends, and their numbers swelled from four to seven. Reggie stepped back to make room for yet another one of them to hug Missy hello and found herself maneuvered entirely away from the table. An elbow struck her in the small of her back, and she turned to glare at whoever hadn’t watched where he was going. She scanned the crowd, but no one looked close enough to be the culprit.

  Sighing, she turned back toward Missy and the college friends only to realize she’d lost their table completely. Somehow, when her back was turned, she’d been swept away in the crowd and couldn’t even see where Missy and Ava had been standing.

  She started to get angry before another thought struck her. If she couldn’t see her friends, they cou
ldn’t see her. She could make good her escape!

  Suddenly, she felt like she’d just managed a prison break. Now if she could just avoid the warden and the bloodhounds long enough to make it through the front door, she’d be a free woman.

  She wasted no time. Ducking behind a tall man in purple latex, she started to weave a path through the bar toward the front entrance. She’d gotten maybe five feet before a hand closed around her elbow and pulled her to a halt.

  “Surely you are not leaving yet, malishka?”

  Reggie rocked to a halt on her four-inch heels and froze. She felt the warm hand on her skin and the dark presence beside her, but everything else disappeared. Even the throb of the music faded into the background. Reggie refused to acknowledge whether or not anything else had taken up throbbing instead.

  The smoothly accented voice that spoke from slightly behind her wasn’t nearly as surprising as the firm, warm hand that slid down over the smooth satin of her corset to settle with intimate possession on her hip. Her head snapped up, and she found herself looking into the intense, black eyes of the stranger from the end of the bar.

  Wow. He’s even yummier up close.

  That was her initial reaction, followed closely by an embarrassed blush when he smiled down at her with a lazy sort of amusement, as if she’d spoken her comments aloud.

  That’s impossible, Regina. He’s just a guy, not a Psychic Friend. So get a grip. And what is he doing with his hands on me, anyway? I know I’ve never seen him before. He is not the sort of thing a girl forgets.