by SL Figuhr
He looked at her, expecting her to elaborate but she didn’t, merely turned her head to watch the band onstage. Missy came back with her espresso, and another whiskey for him. Illyria held up a Euro toward the waitress, not really paying attention. Eron noticed how Missy took it in two finger tips, with a slight sneer for the other woman before walking off. He glanced briefly toward the stage, saw Steve was now scowling at him and giving "what the hell?" looks.
Mica’s friend.” Why the hell is everyone so concerned with my love life all of a sudden? He noticed she wrapped her hands around the tiny cup but didn’t drink any of it.
Illyria was now watching the people in the bar, and he idly wondered if she was mentally tallying up which ones could be considered food, and which ones to leave alone. “We do not. But the warmth,” her voice sunk a note with longing, “we crave it.” She gave a small shudder, her eyes closing briefly and reopening, and her tone taking on a brisker note. “We are in a bar; it is what people do when they are in one, is it not? Order a drink?”
She turned back to him, her eyes drifting past his head and he watched as they lit up with happiness. Why won’t they do that for me? he thought churlishly and felt another presence behind him.
In a moment the man was bending over and they brushed their lips together before he sat down in the chair facing the bar, with his back to the band. Steve’s eyes narrowed again at Eron, he cut them to the man and gave a chin jerk. Eron ignored him. He had a scowl on his face. He wanted to sit in peace and think, and now he felt like a fifth wheel. Missy came over again with change, and another espresso was ordered. The drink came back quickly, and Phillip gave his most charming smile to her. Eron watched as she blushed, nearly dropped the money he gave her, and fled, her cheeks crimson.
“Please tell me you two don’t intend to spend all night here.” “Don’t worry, we have a dinner date later,” she laughed.
As the words sank in, he gave a little grimace and downed half the contents of his glass and watched as the male leaned in to whisper in Illyria’s ear. He could have stepped from the pages of a men’s magazine. He had on charcoal gray slacks, sharply creased, a snowy white, immaculately pressed button-down shirt complete with studs at collar and cuff. When he moved, there was glimpses of his subtly patterned red vest and from the sleeve of his coat peeked an expensive men’s watch. The male vamp must have cut his hair, because it didn’t fall in its customary waves to his shoulder, but was a mess of curls precisely styled to look like it hadn’t been. He also wore a long black cashmere coat and there was the faint scent of some expensive and subtle cologne. Eron was aware the two of them received admiring looks from both sexes. It made him feel scroungy, sitting as he was in his comfortable jeans, slightly worn sweater, peacoat, and beat-up boots.
Missy made another appearance, checking to make sure they were all right. Eron noticed she could barely tear her eyes from Phillip’s face, and even though he had not given her any encouragement, it still rankled. After she had left, he risked a glance to the stage. Steve was ignoring him, concentrating on the music.
Eron didn’t want to know, but it was like a train wreck: he couldn’t help but look. All he saw was a large man in a sharp Armani business suit with two men who screamed “personal protection” at his back. The man made his way to the bar, and by the look on the faces of the waitstaff, was not wanted.
He gave his devastating smile, emerald green eyes lightening with promises of things to come. “As you wish.” He stood and seemed to slip through the crowd like butter. In no time at all, Phillip had engaged the man in conversation, and soon Illyria was rising.
“You should ask her out, Eron; she might even be willing to spend the night.” The vamp squeezed his shoulder gently and bent her head near his ear to whisper, “You need something to put you in a better mood,” and was soon leaving the bar with the other men.
Eron scowled as rage surged inside; he wanted to hurl his glass against the wall. He downed the last of his whiskey instead, wondering how they planned to keep the man’s demise out of the papers.
She smiled at him, a sweet smile that was a little rueful as she admitted, “They did look a little too boardroom for here, like they should have been at some function making millions.”
He had to admit she had a nice laugh. It brought a smile to his face, lightened his mood a bit, so they managed to chat some before she had to go back to work. It was a while before Eron realized Steve’s set was over, and the band had put away their instruments. The bar was a lot emptier when Steve came over with a beer in each hand and sat down.
“God, what a night.” He took a long pull. “Saw that woman come in, and that man. You nearly blew it with Missy, pal; you still might have.” Steve gave Eron a look of disgust. “Look, you wanna be alone the rest of your life, chasing after screwy women—”
At least not in the sense you mean.Steve shook his head again, taking another long pull, finishing off the bottle. “Whatever.” He lit another smoke, blowing out a stream, jabbed the end toward his friend. “And another thing, they looked like a couple. What the hell you doing running after her if she’s in a relationship? What kind of man are you? I thought you were better than that.” He motioned for Missy and held up the empty, turning back to Eron’s scowling face.
“Look pal, you may be older than me by several thousand years, only you look 30, so lemme tell ya something I’ve learned and you haven’t. Or maybe you’ve forgotten,” he added after taking another pull of beer and another hit. “Guys looking like that one don’t generally like poaching on their territory when they’re still actively with the woman. And that’s another thing—why would you want a woman like her anyway if you know she cheats?”
“Hey, it’s called having morals,” He shook his head and took another slug and hit. “All’s I know, she screams danger, and the business man she and her friend were with? Not the kind of people you hang around with voluntarily, if you get my drift. But hey,” he lifted a hand and let it fall. “It ain’t none of my business.”
Missy came over with two more bottles and a full whiskey. “Last call, guys. Here ya go.” Eron was all set to refuse the drink when she said, “On the house.”
Steve looked at him, a smirky grin pulling up one side of his face as he took another pull of beer. “I’m telling you, ask her out.” He ignored the glare Eron gave him and said, “Hey, Missy, my friend’s a little shy here. Would you be interested in going out with him sometime?”
“I curse you, and those not of my kind that stand here, perpetrators of crimes against our people. I curse you!”The short phrase echoed and echoed inside Eron’s head. “I curse you! I curse you! I curse you!” He was dissolving into a sea of burning whiteness as the blonde woman’s curse thundered through his being. “Missy. That was her name.” Eron had not realized he spoke aloud until it wasn’t bar light he was seeing, but torches. He was lying on a cold stone floor. Behind him, a door shuddered as people outside tried to break it open. “What the hell?” He couldn’t think, couldn’t remember what he was doing here.
How long has it been? It was a great effort, but he sat up, a fading ache at the back of his head reminding him of the blow which had taken him out. He had been at the Harvest Ball, the young man who looked like a grown-up version of Nicky had staged a coup, and some weirdo with a staff had set off some firework or something which burned bright as the sun.
He realized a veil had just been torn from his eyes. Stray memories he didn’t even realize had been locked away for centuries crashed down on him with an intensity, leaving him momentarily crippled with emotion. What else am I not remembering because of her? I think Steve was right; I’ve been chasing shadows.
Just thinking of the long-dead man, the innocent woman, made his blood boil in anger and frustration. It was almost as great as his anger at Illyria. We were cursed. She got us all cursed.
Why now? Why was it broken now? What or who had caused it to break? Was it from those two men and their strange bomb? One thi
ng Eron had learned in his very long life: the older he got, the faster he healed from wounds. Eron sat up, dislodging Illyria’s body at the same time.
He only had time to gasp out, “Oh shit!” before her eyes flew open, she sank her fangs in his neck and there was nothing he could do as he fell back against the shuddering wood door to the garden.