She shot the guy a peeved look, but before she could say anything else, another man pushed the rude one aside.
“Beat it, Sal. Find some other place to loaf—and stop annoying my customers”
This man was older, with eyes that shined with quick laughter. He gave Nika a swift once over and then gestured to the black and gold logo on her tee-shirt. “Where you from, sweetheart?” he asked, wiping his hands on a stained dishtowel.
“New Orleans,” she replied, and in her full drawl it sounded like ‘Nawlins.
He nodded. “Nice. I’m a fan of the Saints, too. Well, when the Giants aren’t playing, anyway.” With an easy laugh, he gave her a chin pop. “Now what can I get you?”
“Just coffee and a donut.” She pointed to a glazed cruller.
“In the Big Apple it’s never just coffee. It’s coffee regular. That means milk and two sugars.”
“Then coffee regular sounds perfect,” she met his smile with one of her own.
“Good, and to make up for my buddy’s lack of manners, I’ll throw in a buttered bialy just to say welcome to the Big Apple.”
“A bialy?” she raised an eyebrow.
“A New York tradition right up there with bagels and cream cheese,” he explained while wrapping her food. “No charge, sweetheart.” He handed her a grease-splotched paper bag. “Welcome to the City that Never Sleeps.”
The small crowd waiting in line behind her applauded, and Annika thanked the man before scooting out toward the street. Had they recognized her? She shook her head. Not likely. Not with her back to the queue the whole time.
Breaking off a piece of the cruller she walked toward the famed New York City Library munching on its buttery goodness.
Midtown Manhattan was a crawling mass of humanity, and at this time of day they seemed to all congregate on the steps of the library with its giant lions guarding the steps to enlightenment.
An array of diverse scents set her Were senses on fire, so Annika wandered into Bryant Park and sat at a small wrought iron table, sipping her coffee.
Lifting her face to the warm spring air, she inhaled, trying to enjoy the small slice of nature as people rushed back and forth. She ignored their frenetic pace until a riot of scent hit her. Her eyes flew wide, turning to stare at a particular man as he tossed a paper bag into the trash.
He was ultra-thin and geeky, complete with bowtie and dandruff, and Annika snorted out a laugh from the scent of raw sex clinging to the man. Literally.
Holy fuck! The nerdy dude clearly had hot, nasty monkey sex with more than one partner. In the last hour or so! The sticky musky scent tickled the back of Nika’s throat and she coughed.
“God bless,” he replied automatically.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she muttered a quick thank you trying not to giggle.
He nodded absently. “Have a good day.”
“Not as good as yours, I’m sure,” she mumbled back with a smirk.
He gave her a curious look and she couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing and watched as he headed in the opposite direction toward the library.
Annika shook her head. If the music didn’t pan out, she could always make a living as a private investigator sniffing out cheating spouses.
She finished her food and headed out of the park to the street. Lifting her hand, she tried hailing a cab like she’d seen others do, surprised one pulled over almost immediately. she opened the rear passenger door and slid onto the backseat.
“Where to, lady?” the cabbie asked, glancing at her in rearview.
The newspaper on his dashboard showed a front page picture of her with the band, but even with her face splashed across every tabloid in town, no one recognized her. Or if they did, they didn’t care.
Annika grinned, and for the first time in ages she felt free.
“Sweetheart, the meter’s ticking. Where to?”
She met his eyes in the mirror.
“The Red Veil.”
“Oh my God! You’re here! You’re really here! Annika Lee is in the house!” A perky brunette with a short, 1920s bob came forward, her pace almost a giddy skip. “I’m Bette Mason. Welcome!”
Annika bit the inside of her cheek as she took the enthusiastic woman’s hand. It was cold and marble-white, and when the girl smiled, a definite hint of fang peeked from beneath her red lipstick.
“I’m pleased to meet you. Are you the club’s manager?” Nika replied.
The brunette vampire’s short, chin-length hair brushed both cheeks as she shook her head. “No, that would be Abigail Bigly. She’ll be here later tonight.”
Youthful appearance wasn’t always what it seemed when it came to the undead. Bette might look to be in her early twenties, but the vampire could have been around since God was a boy.
“Does that mean you’re my personal assistant for the time being?” Nika hoped she didn’t sound like a diva. Some celebs liked the term handler instead, but for the dual-natured it reeked too much of zookeeper.
She shook her head, clearly disappointed. “Unfortunately no, although I did ask to greet you when you arrived. The late afternoon still zaps my strength, but I’ll feed after I get you settled and be right as rain before this evening. The Red Veil is our playground, and tonight it’s yours, too.”
“I’m trying to keep a low profile, Bette, so I hope that doesn’t mean you’ve planned something elaborate.”
The woman turned, wrapping Annika’s arm in hers. “I am such a huge fan! It’s too bad what happened with the band, but I’m thrilled you’re trying for a solo career. Ariel Fischer didn’t have to work very hard to sell us on the idea.”
The vampire had evaded her question, and doubt crept across the back of Annika’s mind.
“Come, let me show you around.” Bette gestured toward an inside door with a smile.
A labyrinth of office hallways wound until they reached the entrance to the main club. Bette motioned for the bouncer to open the door and then practically skipped through its threshold.
“This is it. The place that can boast Annika Lee’s solo debut!”
“I’d hardly call it a debut, but I appreciate the vote of confidence. Please, call me Nika.”
The vampire fangirled a silent squeal and squeezed Annika’s arm. “Our setup isn’t what you’re used to, but we have an amazing FX Manager who will help design your lighting and special effects.”
She pointed toward a corner off the back of the stage. “His name is Derick. He’s a shifter. Or at least, I think so. I’ve been around a lot of Weres, especially of late, and Derick’s scent screams dual-natured, though I can’t quite place the species. Still, he’s a yummy slice of heaven on earth.”
Yummy?
Bette burst out laughing and Nika knew it was from the stunned look on her face.
“Oh my God! I meant yummy as in eye-candy! My boyfriend would freak if I fed from another guy.”
Nika didn’t know what to react to first. The fact she was even here in the first place or that she was face to face with the reality of vampire life.
Good luck with that, home girl. Too late for a crash course in vampire 101.
She gave her head a mental shake and concentrated on the club itself instead.
Garage grunge and acid punk set the tone for the place, and Annika glanced around unfazed by the raw feel emanating from all sides.
Shadowed nooks peeked from everywhere she turned, and she wondered if that was by design. If the rumors were true, dark corners made it easier for concealed feeding. She exhaled hard.
Stop thinking about it already! You knew what you signed up for when you accepted the gig.
“Is Derick my daytime contact, then?” Nika asked, redirecting her own thoughts.
Bette nodded. “We figured you’d be more comfortable with one of your own. He doesn’t say much and keeps mostly to himself. You know, the strong silent type.”
Derick had his back to them and Annika looked at the man’s broad expanse
and inhaled. A trace scent tickled her nose along with the man’s natural musk. Bette was right.
There was something at the core of his scent that conjured a sense of cool moss and loamy earth, a rawness that made her mouth water.
He was dark haired and chiseled and Annika couldn’t drag her eyes from his muscled shoulders as he lifted boxes of equipment and heavy speakers from a forklift.
“He’s been getting the place ready for your show for days, now. We wanted nothing left to chance,” Bette added.
Derick peeled his shirt from his back and wiped his brow with the white cotton. He turned tossing the garment onto a speaker box, giving them a sideways view of his sculpted chest.
His torso gleamed with a fine sweat, and Annika’s eyes followed the line of stacked muscles toward the sexy V at his hips, until it disappeared beneath his low-rider jeans.
Oh my God.
Sex and maleness incarnate. Those were the two words that came directly to mind. Not just from the sheer beauty of his sculpted arms and broad back, but how he moved. His profile was strong, with a carved jaw and the sexy scruff of a day old beard.
Annika closed her eyes and inhaled again, only this time expanding her senses. The air around her was ripe with the scent of the secret and forbidden.
Heaviness, thick with the essence of concentrated sex crowded her mind, and she gasped at the hungry feel. Urgency pulsed through her body, stronger than she’d ever felt and her panties dampened at the unexpected throb in her nether regions.
Her body tingled with immediate need and she swallowed hard against the effect, curling her fingers into her palms. Ariel was right, again. It had been too long.
She opened her eyes as Derick turned, only this time her breath caught for a different reason. A tattoo as clear as day on his left bicep. Three crowned lions.
Annika had seen that exact ink on Jesse’s arm. It was the LaFont crest. Their mark. A rite of passage branded into their skin when they first phased.
No fucking way.
Her eyes narrowed and she unconsciously took a step closer. It had to be a coincidence. LaFont features were distinctive, light-haired and blue-eyed. Nothing like this tall, dark delicious man standing thirty yards away.
Bette dipped her chin, her lips curling in a close-mouthed grin. “You’re feeling him, aren’t you? She chuckled. “Say the word, honey, and it’s a done deal.”
Annika ignored the question along with Bette’s undead eyes dilating at the scent of her knee-jerk arousal.
Yeah, I’d like to feel him and then some.
She squashed the thought. She was here to do a job and nothing more.
The pretty vampire didn’t push the issue, instead pointed toward a short set of stairs leading to a private bar.
“The VIP section.” Bette swung one hand wide as they stepped onto the bar’s carpeted floor. The club was empty with only scattered wait-staff stocking the bar and cleaning the concrete dance floor.
“This is where you’ll be between sets. We don’t want you overwhelmed. Beyond the ropes are our backrooms, but whether you visit them or not and with whom, is entirely at your discretion.” She paused as if waiting for a reaction.
“In the past, entrance to the backrooms was by invitation only. Vampire invitation. However, Weres and shifters were recently granted an all access pass, although there are a few rooms still too raw for daylighters.”
Nika blinked, angling her head. “I’m sorry, did you say daylighters?”
“A daylighter is what vampires call any supernatural not confined to the night,” Bette replied, “but it mostly refers to shifters and Weres. My boyfriend hates the term.”
Annika gawked at her. “Your boyfriend is a shifter?”
“A Were, actually.” Bette nodded. “Mixed relationships aren’t exactly mainstream, but old taboos are lifting. In fact, it’s how I got them to approve your performance.”
Annika rubbed her arms. There was something about this place that made her shiver, and it wasn’t the pretty vampire standing beside her. She glanced past her shoulder to Derick.
The vampire grinned, giving Nika a knowing nudge. “The moon’s pull is strong in the city. Don’t fight it, Annika. I can smell its effect on your body already, and lingering scents from our backrooms don’t help. This place reeks of sex for those of us with hyped senses. If you’re not planning to hook up, I’d take a hard run in the park or you’ll be in knots by the time you take the stage.”
Annika swallowing hard again, her eyes darting back from Derick.
“My boyfriend says a hard run is what shifters do to help take the edge off when sex is off the table.” Bette shrugged. “Personally, I like it on the table or the floor or anywhere I can sink my teeth into that wolf of mine.”
Nika’s eye widened. If Derick was a LaFont, then he had to be a wolf. Did that mean Bette and he were—?
“Are you…I mean…Derick and you…is he…” She stuttered, feeling her cheeks burn.
Bette burst out laughing. “Me and Mr. Talks-To-No-One? Not a chance, babe. I like my men hard, but that one is too hard, and I don’t mean in the way I like. He’s complicated. Moody and dark. Like he’s running from something, and to be honest I get enough of that brooding crap from my own kind.”
The vampire paused, sparing a glance at Derick, too. “Then again, if that’s what turns you on, go for it, girl. No questions asked.”
Annika didn’t say a word, and Bette laughed it off with a quick wave. “Okay, back to business, then. Your agent wants us to keep you under wraps until the show, so maybe it’s best for you to stay here.”
“Here? In the club?” Nika asked.
“No. At Les Sanctuaire. Ariel has you booked into The Benjamin Hotel on 33rd Street, but personally, I think you’d be happier here. I had accommodations readied for you, just in case. Of course, you’re totally free to come and go as you please.”
“Les Sanctuaire?” Nika repeated in perfect Cajun French.
Bette grinned. “Our lair, and where visiting vampires rest during the day.”
“I don’t know, Bette. Taboos might be lifting, but not fast enough. You’re a fan, but I’m not so sure the other residents will share your enthusiasm. No offense, but I wouldn’t want to unknowingly cross paths with someone whose more interested in my blood than my music.”
Bette shook her head, adamant. “I would never put you anywhere near the residents. You’ll have the entire east wing to yourself. The only other person who shares that side of the building is Derick. Since the sun rises on that side of the building, I guarantee no one will bother you.”
“I don’t know.” Nika hesitated, but she couldn’t say no to the hopeful look on Bette’s face. “Okay, we’ll give it a try. Once the house lights come up I’m going to need a fortress to keep the paparazzi at bay, and something tells me this place is exactly what the doctor ordered.”
Bette grinned, nodding. “No one gets into our lair without permission, and our bouncers know the consequences for breaking the rules.”
Movement across the staging area caught her eye and she turned watching Derick shrug back into his shirt. “I’ll have to get my things from the…uhm…the hotel.”
“No need,” Bette’s eyes followed hers. “I can arrange whatever you need.” She nudged Nika’s elbow. “And I do mean whatever.”
Nika nodded absently, her eyes still on Derick’s broad back. “Will I see you later, then?”
“Absolutely.” Bette smirked not knowing if the question was directed at her or the gorgeous man’s fine ass.
4
The rest of the afternoon flew by with meet and greets as the club arose from its slumber. It was well past eight p.m. when she finally collapsed on her bed in the east wing.
Her accommodations were fit for a queen, and she spent the better part of an hour soaking in a giant claw foot tub in a bathroom bigger than her mama’s house. She took extra pains getting ready. Tonight wasn’t ac official appearance, but it was still her first in
the public eye in ages.
It was near midnight when Annika walked toward the VIP section dressed to kill. A black ruched skirt with blood red trim fell to mid-calf, its rustle a soft whisper against her thighs as she climbed the stairs. A Victorian bustle cinched tight under a plunging leather over-bust corset. The perfect counterpoint for the club’s ambiance.
The outfit hugged her full curves and a feeling of freedom washed over her as she trailed her fingers along the brass railing.
She was back.
Nika took her seat at the reserved table overlooking the lower bars. The music pounded, and the rasping, almost incoherent vocals reverberated with heavy bass across the concrete floor. Tonight, every version of Goth culture in the house.
“Compliments of the Red Veil.” The waiter appeared from nowhere carrying a small silver tray. He placed a stemmed glass on a coaster and then turned the wine bottle in his hand, presenting its distinctive label.
“Vampire wine,” Nika replied with a nod. “Now that’s appropriate.”
He smiled, flashing sharp teeth. “Bette picked this especially for you.”
With an audible pop, he pulled the cork from the bottle’s slim neck and poured. “It’s a proprietary blend. Enjoy.”
The server placed the bottle in a bucket stand beside the table and then turned for the bar. Proprietary blend of what? Annika picked up the glass and sniffed.
“It’s just wine. Don’t worry.”
Stemmed glass in hand, Annika turned toward the tinkling voice. An exquisitely dressed woman in a black vintage gown, approached. She had an air of style and confidence, and if there was such a thing as Haute Goth, she would be it.
“We don’t lace the wine unless asked, and then only for very special customers.” The elegant woman held out her hand, perfectly polished fingernails gleaming red. “Abigail Bigly, manager of the Red Veil.”
“I…I...didn’t mean…” Nika stuttered.
She pressed her lips together to stop from rambling. What was it about these vampires that made her so unglued?
“Annika Lee.” She steeled herself and took the woman’s hand. “It’s pleasure to meet you.”
The Red Veil Diaries (Volumes 1-4) Page 18