"Did you hunt for Esmeralda?"
My head snaps up. "No."
"Then stop beating yourself up. You didn’t break your promise." He kisses me on the forehead and lingers for several heartbeats. "I don’t expect you to hide away in the daytime simply because I have to. How bad is your arm?"
I close my eyes and swallow past my embarrassment and shame. I misjudged him.
“Josie?” he prompts.
Of course he knows about the injury. I can’t hide anything from him—especially the scent of blood. “It’s healing,” I mumble.
He quirks a smile that would make most women faint and the others die of a heart attack. “Anything I can do to help the process along?”
I shake my head. Keller is powerful, and no doubt could somehow speed up the process. I can’t bring myself to ask him for help. Guilt has a way of turning smart into stupid, and I’m rocking one hell of a tall dunce cap.
“Let me know if you change your mind.” With that he turns and leaves.
I feel like a fat ass heel. All the little pep talks I have with myself cause more harm than good. Apparently, I'm the one creating issues. One day, I'll have to have a therapy session with myself and figure out why. I'm not ready for the intensity of that conversation yet, and I know I’d clam up if I were to ever see a real therapist, though Sage swears by hers. Sharing the complexities in this mind would be mortifying. Not to mention, they’d probably result in me wearing a new wardrobe. One that includes a strait jacket. I wonder if they come in red?
I dash up the stairs to see if the troublesome pixie has left me any more gifts. I hope so. Focusing on that will keep my mind off the tougher subjects like relationships. The door is bare. I duck inside, give the room a quick eye sweep and find nothing awry. Damn you, Esmeralda.
It’s not long before the heavy pounding of the bass drum summons me. I love to watch Keller play. He gets so into it. Shamefully, I also love watching the women lust after him. Yes, indeedy. He is hawt, and he is mine. And I have some seriously f’d up issues.
I take the stairs slowly this time, and smile when only zingers accompany every step. I’ll be as good as new by midnight.
Sage is behind the bar. She’s wearing a white Wolfie’s tank, tied up in the front to expose her midriff. She, too, has bright red hair—right now, anyway—but that’s where the similarities end in the physical department. Some say we’re twins, but I’m not seeing it anymore. Sage has grey eyes and her body is covered in bright tattoos depicting dragons and other fantastical beasts. I’m tat-free. She’s also rocking several more piercings than me. I’m afraid they’ll get ripped out in a fight, so I stick with a small diamond stud in each ear. She’s taller and a size three on a fat day. I don’t hold it against her.
“Hey, girl,” I say, and bump hips.
Sage doesn’t acknowledge me. I follow the line of her vision and have to chew on my lip so I don’t bark out a laugh. Sagey girl is smitten with a capital S.
I can’t say I blame her. Grant is not only eye candy, he’s also a wicked good bass player, a top notch fighter, and one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. His dark hair is cut close and the dimple in his chin is to die for. If I weren’t with Keller, I’d totally dream about this guy. On second thought, I wouldn’t. Sage would find a way to pop into my dream and rip out both of our hearts. Poor guy has no idea what he’s in for. I’d warn him, but that would take away all the fun. I have every intention of finding a comfy spot on the sidelines with a big bag of popcorn and a large soda, and watching the show play out.
I tug on her pigtail. She finally notices me. “Hey!” she squeals, and forces a smile.
Unlike most vampires, Sage can’t mask her expressions and she often blushes, which totally cracks me up. I think a malfunction occurred in the turning process, but I love her all the more for it. Right now, she’s squirming big time because she knows she’s been caught with big fat red hearts shooting out of her eyes.
“Why don’t you just ask him out?”
Her gaze flicks to Grant before she ducks her head. “I can’t, and you know it.” Red smears across her face as if someone has painted stripes on her cheeks.
I step closer to keep our conversation quiet. “I know what you say, but that doesn’t mean I get it. Lots of people make this work. Why do you have to be any different?”
“Because I am different, Josie. I wouldn’t expect anyone to settle.”
Oh, no, she didn’t. Now I’m pissed. I grab her by the elbow and pull her into the back room. Wolfie’s is busy, but I have no doubt the staff can handle it without us for a few minutes. Once the door closes, I transform into bitch mode. “Settle? What the hell?”
Sage winces and toys with the ring on her middle finger. The ring, a simple gold band, was a gift from her father. Her real father—not the vampire known only as Sire. She never speaks of the sire she and Keller share, and she never takes off the ring. I know the band is the one thing that keeps her rooted to her true identity—her real essence. Sage doesn’t like being a vampire, but her soul is too strong to allow her to walk into a sunrise. Not to mention, I would totally kill her if she ever did anything so insanely stupid. The fact that her body would be nothing but ashes would not deter me in the least.
“I won’t apologize for my feelings.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to let others decide for themselves before you close down and close them off. It’s not fair to you, and it sure as hell isn’t fair to Grant.” Anyone would be lucky to be with Sage. “You have self-esteem issues, babe, and they don’t look good on you.” Harsh, I know. But reality has to bite hard with really sharp teeth before some people take notice.
Sage collapses onto a stack of boxes. She holds her head between her hands. Her pigtails swing a couple of times before settling. “What if he’s not interested?”
“Seriously? Are you fifteen?” I kick her shoe. “What if he is?”
Sage throws me a glare before pulling her legs back and out of reach. “Easy for you to say. You’ve got Keller. You’ve never had to wonder if the feelings would be returned. Plus, and the bigger issue here, you don’t have to worry about feedings.”
Vampires can’t feed off each other. The potency of the blood is not the same and ingesting too much is toxic. They can handle small amounts, but anything more could potentially be fatal. I bet Hector would love to know that tidbit of information. Myth has it that vampires can only be killed three ways: sunshine, staking the heart, or beheading. Two of those are true. One isn’t. And there are definitely more than three ways.
“True,” I say in answer. “But your brother and I have our own set of problems, and you very well know it. Our relationship has never been chocolate and roses, so don’t paint me in perfect colors, okay?” I lean against the wine case and sigh. “It would be so much easier to walk away and not deal with them. But I have more respect for Keller than that. Hell, I have more respect for myself. Some things are worth fighting for.”
“Point made,” Sage says and wipes at a bloody tear. “I can’t be with someone knowing they are feeding off someone else. It’s too intimate, whether they mean for it to be or not. And vice versa. I have to feed, too.” She sighs. “I just can’t figure this one out.”
“Then don’t.” I hand her a napkin, thankful we are out of sight from the humans. Blood-tinged tears are hard to explain. “Take the first step, maybe everything else will solve itself.”
“You think so?”
“No.” I smile. “Probably not. But you’ll get at least one night of great sex out of it. Doesn’t that make it worth it?”
Sage stands and shakes her head. The light reflects off her nose ring like a lone twinkling star. The description fits, considering who’s wearing the jewelry. She shoves past me with a friendly nudge. “Sometimes I swear you’re really a man.”
I smile. “Don’t tell Keller that.”
She laughs, which was the entire point. I know one night with Grant will not be enough for he
r, but it’s a start.
When we return to the bar, there are at least a dozen uniformed cops milling through the crowd. I catch Keller’s eye and angle my head. What the hell?
I see them.
How long have they been here?
Just a few minutes. There are too many for this to be a casual walkthrough.
I agree. I head toward the nearest officer. His head is cue-ball-bald and he has the start of a paunch. I offer my hand and glance at his nametag. There are way too many letters that look like they’re in the wrong order so I don’t even attempt to pronounce it. “Hi. I’m Josie, co-owner here. Is everything okay?”
He begrudgingly shakes my hand, and examines me from head to toe while his other hand rests on the hilt of the gun holstered on his left hip. If he’s trying to intimidate me, he’s not doing a very good job. His nostrils flair, and I swear I see a hint of drool caught in the corner of his mouth. Perv. He’s totally dying to frisk me. I’m not telepathic with anyone other than Keller, but that sleazy look in his eye is a dead giveaway. For a second, I think he’s going to ask me to turn around and bend over. Instead, he clears his throat and says, “Any reason to think otherwise?”
I bite my tongue to keep my sarcasm in check. One breath. Two. “Seeing a dozen cops inside my bar gives me pause, that’s all.”
Another officer walks up. This one I recognize. “Hey, Bruce. What’s going on?”
Baldy shakes his head at Bruce. Bruce shakes his back. I’m not familiar with cop speak, but I have a feeling they are silently arguing. About me.
Bruce stands with a hand on each hip. Unlike Baldy, he is not gripping his weapon. Bruce is a handsome man in his late forties. He has a full head of sandy brown hair and keeps himself in shape. I’ve seen him running in the morning more than once. I’m betting Baldy is a bit jelly.
“We got word there’s some dealing going on in here. You seen anything like that, Josie? Had any trouble?” Bruce asks.
What the fuck? Inside, my blood is boiling and all it took was one word. Dealing. I’m being set up and I don’t like it one bit. Time to pull out the big guns, or blades, as it would be. I force a smile that reads why, whatever do you mean, officer? “Sage and I run a tight ship, Bruce. You know that. The hardest thing we’ve got in here are my whiskey bombs.” I bat my lashes for good measure.
Bruce laughs. He’s not fooled. He knows I’m a hard ass and I average about a negative one on the charm meter. Still, he plays along. “I’ve had one. Burned the hair right off my chest.” He glances at his partner’s bald head.
Baldy doesn’t smile. “Any suspicious characters in here lately?”
I look around even though I know exactly who is in my bar. Hmm. Let’s see. There’s a troll, who most would think is just a hulking man who got beat one too many times with the ugly stick. He’s at one end of the bar and a succubus is planted at the other end. Two witches are mingling with a group of cowboys. A phoenix is flirting with Lucian and Alex. Still, I say, “None. We’ve got a bar full of tourists and regulars, exactly how we want it.”
“We won’t stay long,” Bruce says. “But if you see anything…” He hands me his card.
I tuck it into my back pocket like a good girl. The minute they leave, I’ll trash it. Human cops can’t help with this problem. “I’ll call you,” I say with fake promise in my voice. “If you could make it quick, that would be great. Y’all are gonna scare everyone off.”
“Will do.” Bruce and I shake hands.
Baldy grunts and hefts his belt up over his gut. Yeah, that totally makes him look tough. Jerk. I wouldn’t sell him a whisky bomb if he begged me and flashed a hundred dollar bill.
I head back to the bar, cursing up a storm on my way. There’s not a doubt in my mind this is Esmeralda’s doing. Too far, pixie. Too far. No one messes with Wolfie’s and lives to tell about it.
Everything okay?
I look over my shoulder and give Keller a knowing look. It will be. I pour a draft beer and shove a bowl of pretzels toward a customer, when all I really want to do is shine my blades.
Chapter Twelve
Keller
Matthew ends the song with a rowdy “yee-haw” and then calls Josie’s name over the microphone. I stop searching the crowd for pixies and look toward the bar area, which is stacked at least three deep. Wolfie’s is jamming. With a little assistance from the bartenders, Josie hops up on the bar top and steps on a stool, before jumping down to the other side. A man dressed in ripped jeans and a wrinkled, plaid button-down grabs her wrist and pulls her close.
Shite. I get ready.
Every muscle in my body tenses until I became rock hard and poised for action. Josie waggles a finger in the college boy’s face and removes his hand from her wrist by squeezing his pressure points, all the while keeping a very charming smile on her face.
I relax.
Josie can protect herself. I know that, yet the urge to defend her honor is hard to squelch. The need to protect her at all costs will never be suppressed.
Which is exactly why I felt it was imperative to check on Cross.
Lucian made it back in time for set up. I should have been happy to hear Cross was indeed still in his new home in Savannah, currently surrounded by a handful of whores and his usual zombie-like horde of vampires. Cross still keeps his security team bloodthirsty to the point of crazed mental illness. Somehow, I’m disappointed. At least with Cross, I know who—and usually what—I’m dealing with. I can’t rule him out completely, but even an ancient vampire would be hard pressed to be in two places at once. Doesn’t mean Cross’s hands aren’t dirty. The bastard has it out for Josie, therefore, I have it out for Cross.
The crowd cheers and parts to make a path for Josie to get through the masses on the dance floor. She’s been singing on Nashville stages for years and her talent is well known around the area. Many come to Wolfie’s for Karaoke Wednesday just to hear her sing. I am one of them. Over the years, she’s also had several opportunities in the form of recording contracts, but Josie has turned them all down. She’s told me that Nashville needs her. She’s right, of course. Though that fact robs the rest of the world of her talent. She doesn’t see it that way. Josie sings because she likes to, not because she needs to.
Hunting is an entirely different story.
I watch her approach from the best seat in the house. I’m not the only one watching. All lore in attendance seem to stiffen with rapt attention. I keep one eye on Josie and the other on everyone else.
Her black cowboy boots are well worn. Every scuff and imperfection shows how much she loves what the people of this city stand for. Pride. Family. Work. Roots. Tight jeans cling to her curves like a second skin. Her hips sway to a song only I hear. Her heart keeps the beat steady, and that is what I focus on now. An ache only Josie can relieve balls in my gut.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I remember the first time I laid eyes on her. The setting was very similar to this, except I was on the other side of the stage, leaning against the bar and trying to stomach a Bloody Mary, of all things. At the time, I’d had no idea that when I’d entered this very same bar so long ago I’d meet the woman who would capture my heart and take possession of my soul. Finding the one being who could restrain the monster—Death—Inside me had seemed impossible. It had only taken one note, one lyrical word sung in her throaty, melodic voice, and I was lost. Lost to blood lust and lost to any and all other women.
In a perfect world, Josie would have returned the sentiment from the get-go. She would have run off the feckin’ stage and fallen into my arms, proclaiming her undying love. We would have lived happily ever after, like the couples in those blasted fairy tales. Tales are precisely what those stories are. Brilliantly told, but not an ounce of truth in the lot.
The world isn’t perfect, even if my soul believes Josie is.
“Are you ready?” Matthew yells over the mic as Grant plays his bass guitar with quick fingers and a tap of his thumb against the tight strings.
/>
The crowd responds with a rousing, “Hell, yeah!”
I smile.
The colony—the vampire’s version of rehab—had done their best—or, more accurately, worst—to teach me all those years ago. Yet, no one could have trained me for the restraint it would take to make Josie mine. I’m still working on that. Even now, my fangs erupt from my gums with want. Patience has never been my strong suit. Josie tests every drop of it I contain and stretches it to very fragile limits. I run my tongue over my teeth and pull my lips closed tight. I fed from her mere hours ago and already I am starving for another taste. That connection, that level of intimacy, is something few share. I’m like a junkie in need of a fix.
Josie grabs the mic stand and pulls it to the front of the stage. My gaze zeroes in on her ass, then crawls up her back and rests on her fiery locks—the same locks I wrap around my fists when I feed. My shaft hardens at the thought. I swallow as Josie lifts one hand in the air to silence the crowd. As if she’s the Pied Piper, they obey. My nerves crackle with icy heat beneath my skin.
If I breathed, I’d be holding my breath right now, waiting for her to begin. Josie knows how to work the drama angle for maximum effect. Tonight is no different.
She looks over her shoulder and burns me with a saucy smile and glittering eyes. A lesser man would have fallen off his drum stool. I merely adjust with a shift of my hips. Turning her back to the audience, Josie opens her mouth and Patsy Cline’s Walking After Midnight rolls from her throat as she sings the first two lines a cappella. My heart, normally sluggish on a good day, roars to life.
She fists her hand, pulls her arm down, and I hit the bass drum to kick the song into full gear. Josie swivels on her booted heels and rocks the house Hawk-style. She likes the classics with a twist, so I drive the beat hard to add a little rock flair into the mix. Luc lets the guitar scream and the crowd goes crazy. This is not rehearsed. Every time Josie sits in with Crimson Beat, the performance is completely off the cuff. Raw. Intense. The guys love that. My little firecracker has my band mates wrapped around her deadly little fingers.
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 137