Chapter Twenty-nine – Jack
Chapter Twenty-nine
Jack
After that, unlife was unlife. I tried to make my way in the world, and eventually fell back into doing tattoos via word of mouth.
My hands were steadier than they’d ever been, though I thought I could tell a subtle difference between my skills before getting blood and recently after.
Paco and I continued our friendship and I made other friends too, though generally I kept my secret to myself.
Then after a few years on my own I met her. At a dive bar of all places, it was like the beginning to a noir detective novel. She walked in, and I set my beer down.
There was something about her, an innocence, a radiating glow.
It called to both halves of me, the human side that wanted to protect her and the hunger that wanted to eat someone so pure just to see how she tasted.
Before I could distract myself with other thoughts, she noticed me noticing her and held my gaze for just a second too long.
A girl that good wouldn’t be in a dive bar on accident, would she?
I didn’t think my feeling was wrong, she didn’t look like an alcoholic.
So either she was waiting for a low class friend, or was looking for a little attention.
I pulled out a pen and took up a napkin, and did a quick sketch of her face in profile.
She was beautiful so it wasn’t hard—high cheekbones, a perfect nose, hair loose and blonde. And when I was done I walked over to her.
“Hey—I know this is weird, but I just saw you and,” I shrugged like it was no-pressure, nothing, and handed her the sketch I’d made of herself.
She preemptively winced, waiting for me to do something so gauche as to offer her a phone number—I stood at a respectful distance, feeling bad for her for having to suffer the rest of mankind.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it. Then she looked at it, and I saw her eyebrows rise. “Do things like these get you a lot of play?”
“Sometimes,” I grinned. “But I tend to only draw really beautiful women, which lowers my average.”
She laughed at that, warm and easy, and I could almost feel her checking out my arms. My hands, with their distinctive tattoos were visible—I braced myself to be judged. When she didn’t, I dared a name. “I’m Jack.”
“Angela.”
“May I?” I asked.
“Only if you give me your pen.”
Out of all the times I’d drawn portraits, no one had ever asked to see the pen itself afterwards. I wondered if she would write her number down, or if she’d chuck it across the room to buy herself time for an escape. I sat down, not close, not far, and watched her work.
Angela turned the napkin sideways and started in, turning her profile into a mountainside, her hair into a stream. I watched with delight that I didn’t bother to hide—I’d never had anyone try to out-art me before. When she was done, she presented it, and I grinned.
“That was awesome.” I took it from her, and recreased the folds with a finger, wondering how she’d react if I asked her to sign her name.
“Thank you.”
“You’re clearly an artist—please tell me it’s more than a hobby.”
“It is,” she said, and started talking.
Somehow we both did tattoos and knew some of the same people—we’d never overlapped only because she lived her life in daylight.
And that’s what it was about her that I found so attractive, I realized as we continued to speak. With her light tan and her blonde hair, she was like a ray of sunlight—no wonder I was so tempted by her. Eating her would be like eating light itself.
She drew out the end of her drink as I drew out the end of mine, hoping that this was going to become something more, trying to figure out how I could make it so. I was my best self, genuine, debonair, and she was hers—lovely, charming, with the kind of laugh that made you want to hear it again.
And then both our drinks were done and there was a pause. I was two nights out from any sort of feeding and needed something tonight, for the safety of myself and others. I knew all the places I could get sure things—blood or sex—but I wanted her.
“Do you want another one? Not that I want to get you drunk, but I do want to keep you here.”
I could see her surprise at me being upfront. But unlike the rest of the men in Vegas, I had nothing to gain from subterfuge. She gave it a moment’s thought, then said the last thing I thought she would. “Let’s go outside.”
“Sure,” I said, and followed her out.
The scent of her in the air, the ten steps from our table to the doorway, the way her hips swayed—there wasn’t a part of me that didn’t want to be with her, in her, fang or cock—and as we got two steps outside she answered all my prayers by turning around to maul me, kissing me desperately—as if she needed to feed from me as badly as I wanted to feed from her.
We spun in the parking lot, mouths tasting, pushing hands through hair, until I’d moved her without thinking to lean up against my car.
“Careful,” she said, as I pressed her into it, knowing there was no way she didn’t know I was hard.
“It’s mine—and trust me, I don’t care.”
Her hands were on my chest and everything in me wanted to grab a fistful of her hair and pull her near—it was time to ask.
“Do you want to….” I said.
At the same time she said, “We could….”
We both laughed a little, so full of ourselves as the moon pushed out from behind a cloud—and then something changed.
“I….” she began, pulling back. Sensing the change in her, I made room. “I’m a mom. This isn’t what moms do,” she said, suddenly shy.
No. No, no, no, no. I wanted to know her light so badly. “You sure? I feel like I’ve slept with more moms than you have.”
“I’m sure,” she said, and it sounded final, no matter that her hair was sexily tousled and I could still taste her in my mouth.
“Okay. For tonight? Or for forever?” I didn’t often chase women—or men—down, there were so many other options that there wasn’t a need. And I knew better to get involved with someone who had a kid, they didn’t deserve that—but that spark of life I sensed in her made me want to be reckless—
“For a really long time that I’m not sure about. I’m rusty and….” She brought her hands up as if protesting her innocence—she needn’t have, I believed her.
“You don’t have to explain. It’s all right.” I made myself downshift forcibly. “You do what you have to do.”
“Thank you,” she breathed, visibly relaxing.
“Of course.” Thea had been right about men in this town. The ones who lived here were working too hard to bother to be decent, and no one from out of town bothered to try. “Do you want to keep talking?”
“I probably shouldn’t.”
Damn. “Sure. I get it,” I moved a little further back, giving her even more space—all the more so because the hunger lurched inside, reminding me I was two nights out.
If it wasn’t going to be her, I needed to go get busy somewhere else.
“This is going to sound awful, but, if this isn’t happening—I should probably go finish a friend’s sleeve like I was supposed to.
You were—and are—totally worth standing him up for, but rent’s coming up.
If you don’t need a ride home or anything, that is. You’re tiny—one beer….”
“No, I’m safe to drive.” She shook her head. “Do you always tattoo so late?”
“Yeah. I’m up till dawn, most nights.” If only she knew.
Then the moon came out again and illuminated her, and I realized I’d been wrong earlier—I’d thought she was made for sunlight, but something about her positively glimmered beneath the moon.
And so I asked for something I knew I shouldn’t: “Can I get your number?”
She looked charmed while I was questioning what a damn fool I’d been. “No,” she answered, wise enough for us both. “But,” she said, reaching into her purse to pull out a business card. “You can call me here.”
I took it. “Thanks, but I have my own friends to give me tats.”
“No—I’m offering you a job.”
My bemusement turned to mystification. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s hard to find good vampires.”
“What?” How did she—
“You know—people willing to stay up till dawn. Good night artists are hard to find. This way you could have your own station—you wouldn’t have to share anymore.
And I take a smaller cut of night-time stations, since it’s harder to get walk-in clientele—so I could be good for you—and you could be good for me,” she said, and my other-sight felt her blood rising as she flushed.
No one in Vegas had offered me honest employment before. I was taken aback by the thought of it. “I see.”
“Just think about it? And if you want it, give me a call.”
I wanted it all right—in all senses of the word. I grinned at her, then made a show of flipping the card across my fingers before putting it into my back pocket.
Wondering why Bella died and how the Pack is involved? Blood by Midnight: Dark Ink Tattoo Book Three is next.