Discovery of the Vampire (Deathless Night: Into the Dark #4)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

ESME

D odging the gang of drunk pendejos loitering near the door, I glanced over my shoulder, quickly scanning Bourbon Street to make sure no one was paying any attention to me before I slipped into the club.

I hesitated just inside the door, catching my breath as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the heavy darkness, broken only by the eerie purple neon lights that bathed the interior. Almost immediately, I was hit by the scent of strong alcohol and cheap, overpowering perfume. Music pulsed through the club, the heavy bass vibrating in my chest, only slightly louder than the cacophony of feminine voices in shouted conversations and the clink of glassware behind the bar.

All familiar things for a nightclub, and yet...something felt distinctly…off.

As I waited for my eyes to adjust, barely there vibrations whispered along the surface of my skin, like I was standing too close to an electric current, and the hair rose on the back of my neck.

Outwardly calm, I scanned the room, taking in the black tables and chairs scattered around the open space in front of the stage—which was packed full with women of all ages—before finally locating the long, obsidian bar along the far wall to my right. Despite the weird energy in the room, no one paid any attention to me, so I decided it was safe enough. Perhaps I was just being oversensitive after everything I'd just been through. After all, I was in New Orleans, a city known for supernatural occurrences. Perhaps there was magic everywhere here.

Spotting an empty stool, I straightened my spine, grabbed the handle of my small suitcase, and pulled it behind me as I trudged toward the bar and sat down. Then I took a few calming breaths and rubbed my temples, trying to quiet my thoughts before removing my black leather jacket. "A Paloma, por favor ," I told the bartender when a masculine hand wiped off the bartop in front of me. "And use the good tequila."

" Sí, senora. Enseguida, " a deep voice responded.

With one arm still stuck in my jacket, I glanced up in surprise to find myself on the receiving end of a pair of knowing dark eyes surrounded by a ruggedly handsome face. The bartender smiled, flashing two gleaming white fangs before he turned to take the orders of a couple of girls who were anxiously keeping one eye on the stage like they were afraid to miss something. I questioned if they were even old enough to be in the bar, despite the IDs they flashed, but…I pushed the thought aside. Not my problem.

I watched the bartender start our drinks, wondering how long a person could go without sleep before they’d start to hallucinate, when the name of the club flashed above the mirrored wall behind the bar. The Purple Fang, huh? Ah, now I saw the gimmick. It seemed I wasn't quite to the point of hallucinating yet.

However, it continued to nag at me that there was something much more concerning about this club than fake fangs. I glanced around at the other patrons. They all seemed oblivious to the charge in the air, but it prickled against my skin, setting my teeth on edge. It wasn't any kind of magic I was familiar with, thank the gods, yet it was enough that I should've turned around the moment I walked in here.

But I'd been running for almost a week, the last two days of that on a bus where I didn't dare close my eyes longer than a few minutes at a time for fear I'd wake up stripped of the few belongings I'd brought with me. And dios mío , I just needed a goddamn moment to catch my breath.

Pulling my own magic even closer to my skin until it was nearly undetectable, I squared my shoulders, smiling at the bartender when he brought me my drink. I declined his offer to start a tab—no paper trails, gracias —and gave him cash, including a healthy tip, which he took to the register with a nod of thanks.

The first sip of tart grapefruit and smooth tequila made me sigh with pleasure. I would stay long enough to enjoy this drink and the handsome bartender. Maybe I'd even get another. Then I’d go back to the bus stop and get the hell out of this city and keep making my way north and east. As far from Mexico as I could get. If that wasn't enough, I'd spend every last cent I had with me to buy a ticket, get on a plane, and cross the ocean.

A bright light suddenly swung around the room, blinding me for a moment as it reflected in the mirror behind the bar before it stopped in the center of the stage. Bemused, I turned my stool until I could see what all the fuss was about.

And then I saw him .

Pale as moonlight on desert sand, with eyes so green I could see the color from across the room, he moved with inhuman grace as he strode into the spotlight wearing an obnoxious Hawaiian shirt and skintight black pants that outlined the sleek, powerful muscles in his thighs and calves. For a moment, all my carefully honed instincts fell silent as the room erupted into whistles and cheers. The music changed to something with a dark alternative style, and the man began to move as a girl sang in a breathless voice about leaving bite marks on her ribs…

I couldn't look away.

With a wicked grin, he prowled across the stage like a big cat, each movement fluid and mesmerizing. And when his piercing eyes scanned the crowd with a predator's intensity, I watched, fascinated, as the people on the dance floor lost their damn minds, screaming and waving their arms to gain his attention. But they were stupid women. All of them. Didn't they sense the danger emanating from him? Because I sure as hell did.

As if he felt my harsh judgement, his chin suddenly jerked up and our gazes locked.

That same electricity that had only teased me before now crackled between us, so intense I felt it all the way through to my bones. The muscles low in my stomach clenched as a languid heat rushed through my veins, and for a moment, I couldn't catch my breath.

Dios , what was this male? I'd never seen anything like him.

His lips curled into a devastating smirk, and heat bloomed across my cheeks as I wondered if he could read my thoughts. Much as I wanted to look away, I couldn't help myself. I was completely captivated by the raw magnetism and power he exuded, just like the people rushing the stage, vying for his attention.

My head told me to finish my drink and leave, right now , but my ass remained glued to the stool. Whatever this man—this creature—was, he had just complicated my plans spectacularly.

Not human. No. Not a witch, either. But what then?

Tearing his eyes away, his hips began to sway to the pulsing beat and he danced, taking his time as he slowly removed his shirt and jeans, stripping down to nothing but a black g-string that left very little to the imagination. Oil glistened on his skin, highlighting every perfect contour of his muscular body, and an image of his pale skin sliding against my own popped into my head. Without taking my eyes from him, I reached behind me and felt around for my drink. Taking a big gulp when I found it, I blinked only once as the burn from the tequila did nothing to extinguish the heat raging inside of me. Like the gladiator sculptures in France I once saw photos of, he was a perfect specimen of manhood brought to life. There wasn't an ounce of extra anything on him.

The air grew so thick with desire I could practically smell it, and the audience's hungry eyes devoured him whole. Just as mine did.

Barefoot, he strolled to the edge of the stage, his movements deliberate and purposeful as he ran his eyes over the crowd. The women at the back surged forward, crushing the ones in front, waving cash in the air and shouting for his attention.

Picking a middle-aged blond randomly from the crowd, he leaned down, grabbed her under her arms, and pulled her easily up onto the stage, his muscles flexing. He set her on her feet, grabbed a chair from the side that had "Bite Me" painted in red across the back, and sat her in it. Her eyes widened as he straddled her legs, then rolled his body to the beat of the music, his hips undulating sinfully as she ran her hands over the ridges of his abs and licked her lips. My own mouth watered as the barely contained bulge in the front of his G-string came within an inch of her mouth.

I wet my lips with my tongue, the tip darting out to moisten them as a flush crept up my neck, spreading across my cheeks like wildfire. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, a primal rhythm that matched the pulsing bass of the music. My blood raced through my veins, every cell in my body alive and tingling with desire. I wanted to taste the salty heat of him, run my hands over those chiseled muscles, and feel the power rippling beneath his skin. Wanted to feel that power command me. The urge was so overwhelming, it made me shift restlessly in my seat as I imagined what it would be like to be the woman in that chair, to have those sinful hips rolling against me .

He grinned out at the audience of enviable women, and then suddenly, his eyes flashed up to mine again and held. With a quick tilt of his head, he gestured toward the back of the club. All eyes swung toward me, and I sensed more than the usual amount of menace I normally felt from other women as those eyes narrowed with envy.

Following his direction, I saw a black curtain hiding the entrance to another room. A sign hung on the wall that read, "Private dances only."

When I looked back, his attention was once again on the woman in the chair, and I wondered if I'd imagined the whole thing. But a few minutes later, as he helped the overheated woman off the stage, then kneeled, linking his fingers behind his head to collect the tips the crowd eagerly tucked into his G-string, he glanced up at me, eyebrows lifting in question. Or was it a challenge?

I hadn't imagined it. And I was tempted. Oh, was I tempted. The air in the club suddenly felt thick and heavy and I struggled to take a breath as I wondered why, out of all the women eagerly throwing their money at him, he'd chosen me? I was just someone sitting at the bar across the room, watching quietly, nursing my drink. I hadn't made any grand gestures or tried to catch his attention. So why me?

I didn't trust it. I didn't trust him .

I shook my head no.

Something flashed across his face—a fleeting mixture of disappointment and hunger. His eyes darkened for a moment, the green irises nearly swallowed by the expanding pupils. His jaw clenched, the muscles twitching beneath the taut skin. It was a look of barely restrained desire, a yearning that went beyond mere physical attraction. But as quickly as it appeared, the expression vanished, replaced by his usual charming smile as he blew kisses to his attentive audience and rose gracefully to his feet to collect his discarded clothing.

As I watched him disappear behind the curtain, I couldn't shake the feeling that I’d just dodged a bullet. Or walked away from the most exciting thing that would ever happen to me. It was a toss up, really, and not something I wanted to examine too closely. That male on the stage had just proven one thing, at least: I wasn't blending in as well as I thought I was, which meant I needed to leave.

Turning back to my drink, I finished it off, gathered my things, and got the hell out of there.

But as I turned down a small, cobbled road searching for the bus stop, a sign caught my eye. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing the other pedestrians to walk around me as my mind went back to the dancer at the club.

That male wasn't human. That much was certain. And I'd bet my last peso that the others who worked at The Purple Fang weren't either. The way they moved, the intensity in their eyes, the almost predatory grace they possessed—it all screamed supernatural. Even the handsome bartender.

Which meant that maybe, just maybe, they could help me.

But first, I needed to find out who—and what—I was dealing with here. I was sure it wouldn't be easy. To live out in the open the way they did, they must guard their secrets closely.

But I was Esme Ramirez, and I'd never backed down from a challenge. Especially not when the answers I sought could finally lead me to the justice my family deserved.

I stared at that sign for a long time, weighing my options, and then I turned on my heel and dragged my suitcase up the three steps and knocked on the wooden door.

Hopefully, my new landlord was still awake.

* * *

The following night, I went back to the club, occupying the same stool I had the night before—at the end of the bar closest to the door. Just in case.

I was two drinks in when the bartender announced the next dancer, and the male I'd watched the night before strolled out onto the stage wearing much the same thing, except this time his shirt had large purple flowers all over it.

His name was Brogan.

To my surprise, those striking eyes found me right away, and he cocked his head with interest. I gave him what I hoped was a sexy smile as I slowly re-crossed my legs, then took a sip of my drink.

His eyes travelled down my red corset top and black jeans, lingering on my strappy black heels a few seconds before making their way back up to my face. We stared at each other for a long moment, until a woman in the audience screamed something slightly obscene and he tore his eyes from mine and smiled at her, shaking his finger in mock disapproval.

The next time he looked for me, I got up and walked out the door.

* * *

Nearly every night for the next week, I arrived at The Purple Fang just as the entertainment began, and I would leave as soon as Brogan finished dancing. Sometimes even before. And every night, it was harder and harder for him to take his eyes from me and give his fans his attention.

But this night, I stayed. And waited.

He came out from behind the curtain still wearing his stage outfit, which was an even more garish Hawaiian shirt than the night before and a pair of skintight leather pants. The ladies went wild when they saw him, but he sent them away with a smile, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on me.

With a sexy smirk, he strode toward the bar. My gaze was drawn to him as I watched him approach, his strides long and easy. My heart pounded as I tried to appear nonchalant, discreetly wiping my sweaty palms on the front of my pants.

He slid onto the stool next to me without an invitation, his outer thigh brushing against mine as he signaled the bartender. "Elias! Whiskey, neat. And another of whatever the lady is having."

I arched a brow at him. "Awfully presumptuous of you."

His smirk widened into a grin as he heard my accent, his green eyes traveling over my face and stopping on my mouth with even more interest than before. "I prefer the term 'confident'."

I snorted. "I bet you do."

Brogan leaned closer, his voice low and intimate. "I've seen you here every night this week. If I didn't know better, darlin', I'd think you were stalking me."

I met his gaze head on. "Maybe I just like the drinks.” I smiled at Elias. “And the handsome bartender who makes them for me.”

Brogan chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent pleasant shivers down my spine. "Oh, I'm sure you do. Elias is very good at what he does."

"He's right." The topic of our discussion set a glass of whiskey down in front of Brogan and another Paloma on the bartop for me. "On the house," he told me with a wink.

I gave him what I hoped was an alluring smile. "Thank you."

Brogan's bright gaze was hot on the skin of my face. "So, what's your name, darlin?"

"Esme," I told him without hesitation. There was no need to withhold my name. I doubted anyone this far from my small town would’ve heard of me or my family.

Reaching across the small space between us, he took my hand in his much larger one and brought it to his mouth. But he didn't kiss the back as I'd expected. Instead, he turned it over and pressed a soft kiss to the pulse on the inside of my wrist, his lips lingering there as he said, "Nice to meet you…Esme." Then he smiled against my skin as my heart rate sped up from the sound of his deep voice saying my name.

I withdrew my hand from his and wrapped both hands around my drink, sipping it as I took a second to steady myself.

If he thought my actions rude, he didn't show it. "That's a pretty name. It suits you."

I was acutely aware of Brogan's proximity, the heat of his body, and the light scent of his cologne mixed with something darker. Something completely him. Those piercing green eyes watched me as he waited for me to reply, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his sensual mouth.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but I had to be careful. I didn't want to scare him away before I even knew if my intuition was right, or if he could help me. Deciding to start with something innocuous, I asked, "Do you perform every night?"

He shrugged one broad shoulder. "Most nights, yes. We're a little shorthanded these days, but I enjoy it."

"You don't get any time off?" I pressed, trying to sound casual.

Brogan's lips curved into a smirk. "Why are you askin’?”

"I'm just curious." I took another sip of my drink. "What made you get into this line of work?"

His pause was so brief I almost missed it. "I felt it was necessary at the time, and now it's what I do."

"Necessary for what?"

“Survival,” he said. "Isn't that why all of us do what we do?"

Startled, I searched his face, half expecting to see that knowing smirk, but his expression was open and curious as he waited for me to respond.

"I suppose it is.” I took a bigger sip of my drink this time, hoping the fall of my hair hid the heat creeping up my neck. "And do you ever get bored? Dancing the same routines night after night?" I placed my hand on his arm as I met his eyes. The muscle beneath his warm skin even harder than I imagined. "How did a man like you end up dancing in a place like this?"

His gaze was shrewd, and I could tell he wasn't entirely convinced by my deflection. But after a long moment, he seemed to decide to let it go. For now.

"My story?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, darlin', that's a long and complicated tale. One that's best saved for another time, perhaps."

I leaned closer. "Aw, come on. Not even a little hint? I'm dying to know what makes you tick."

Brogan's smile turned predatory, and he leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. "Oh, I think you'll find that I'm full of surprises, Esme. And if you're not careful, you might just get more than you bargained for."

* * *

The next night, I waited for him outside the club, my bare legs freezing beneath my red dress in the chilly night air.

I watched as Brogan and a female I'd seen there before who usually stayed in the back—Kenya, I think the bartender had called her once—exited the club. Brogan locked the door behind them, muttering something under his breath. I couldn't quite make out the words, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw.

Kenya glanced in my direction, and I met her gaze head-on, unafraid. I wanted them to see me, to know that I was here for him. Brogan followed her gaze, his eyes widening slightly when he saw me standing there.

They exchanged a few words, too low for me to hear, but I could tell by their body language that they were discussing me. Kenya seemed unconcerned, but Brogan…the expression on his handsome face was wary.

Shit.

I'd spent the entire day convincing myself that I hadn't done anything to raise his suspicions the night before. Apparently, I was wrong. But I couldn't run away now. Not when I was finally making progress.

After a moment, Kenya started walking in the opposite direction, leaving Brogan behind. He watched her go, then glanced back at me, his brow furrowed. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with me.

I didn't move, didn't say a word. I just waited, holding my breath as he took a step toward me, then another. But before he could reach me, Kenya called out to him, and he hesitated.

They spoke again, still too far away for me to hear, but I could see the reluctance in Brogan's posture, the way his eyes kept darting back to me. Finally, he nodded, and with a quick kiss on the head, he let her go on without him and continued toward me.

I needed to get closer to him. Just a little bit closer. Get him to trust me enough to let his guard down.

"Hey," he said as he reached me. "It's awfully cold tonight. What are you doin' out here?”

Even though he was trying his hardest to be nonchalant, I saw the burning desire in his bright green eyes as they took in my tight red dress.

I smiled up at him, trying to focus on my mission and not the way my heart raced at his proximity. "I wanted to see you."

Brogan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Esme...I appreciate the attention, really. And playing around and flirting with you in the club has been fun. But I don't date customers."

His words hit me like a slap in the face. I blinked, taken aback by his bluntness, so different from the man who'd enjoyed teasing me the night before. "I...I wasn't asking for a date."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing me. "Then what are you doing here, alone, waiting on the street for me in the middle of the night?"

I swallowed hard, scrambling for an excuse. "I...I wanted to talk to you. To get to know you better."

"Why?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“No particular reason,” I lied, my voice trembling slightly. "I'm…curious about you, that's all."

Brogan studied me for a long moment, his gaze intense and searching. I held my breath, praying that he couldn't see through my deception.

Finally, he shook his head. “Look. I’m sorry, but I can't do this. And I’m sorry if I led you to believe something different. Whatever it is you think you want from me, I can't give it to you."

My heart sank, but I refused to give up that easily. I smiled. "Brogan, you're overreacting. I don't know anyone else here is all, and I just thought?—"

"No," he cut me off, his voice firm. "I have rules, Esme. And one of them is not getting involved with customers outside of the club. It's too complicated."

I bit my lip, fighting back the urge to argue with him. I knew that pushing too hard would only make him more suspicious of my motives.

"Okay," I said softly, taking a step back. “I understand. I’m sorry for bothering you."

Brogan's expression softened slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might change his mind. But then he shook his head again, his jaw clenching with resolve.

"Go home, Esme," he said, turning away from me. "And don't come looking for me again. It's not going to happen."

With that, he walked away. I watched him go, my heart heavy with disappointment and frustration and my ego more than a little bruised.

But I wasn't giving up that easily. Brogan may have rejected me tonight, but I was far from finished with him. One way or another, I would find a way to get close to him.

And when I did, I would finally get the answers I so desperately needed.

* * *

Despite Brogan’s warning, I continued to frequent the club. But the others were beginning to notice me. Two of them were watching me from the bar even now, the handsome bartender and the large black male with the aura of tragedy and distrust in his dark brown eyes.

I was going to have to be careful.