Chapter 1
1
brOGAN
T he deep bass of the music at The Purple Fang vibrated through my bones as I danced across the stage, conscious not to do anything that wasn't human-like.
This job was a constant balancing act. We needed to be enough to awe the ladies in the crowd so they'd spend their money and trust us with a private "performance" in the VIP section behind the curtain, but not so much that they'd run home and grab their torches and wooden stakes.
I took a deep inhale, breathing in the different scents of my new life. It may not seem like much to some, but to me, this life was freedom. This was power. This was everything the cult I'd once called home had tried to strip away from me. Here, on this stage, I was the master of my own destiny, the commander of the hungry gazes that followed my every move.
Yet, as I leaned in close to a customer, I felt that familiar tension crawl up my spine and creep into my shoulders. Honestly, it didn’t surprise me anymore that it still happened after all these years. The feelings of shame that are ingrained in a person from birth were a hard thing to break free of, even years and years of freedom from that life. I forced myself to relax, hoping the customer hadn't noticed anything as I winked and took a few casual steps back to give myself some space while I got my shit together.
As I did, my eyes scanned the crowd below me—a sea of hungry expressions and outstretched hands waving cash in the general direction of my G-string. Lovely ladies, all of them, and I enjoyed playing with them up here on the stage. It didn't matter to me if they were old, young, blond, brunette, white, Asian, Black, brown, short, tall, thin, or plump. They were all beautiful and they all deserved to have a little thrill in their short human lives, one I was more than happy to give them as a nice little “fuck you” to my old life.
But other than some quick cash and an even quicker meal, I wasn't interested in any of the women who crowded the stage tonight. Instead, my gaze sought out one particular face. A face that haunted my dreams and, within just a few short nights, had ignited a blazing inferno in my undead heart.
Long dark hair, deep brown eyes, red lipstick, bright smile, the saucy sway of her hips when she walked—it was all permanently etched into my mind, a constant presence that refused to fade away. Despite what I told her out on the street, every night for the past week, every time I stepped onto this stage, I found myself scanning the bar. Hoping to catch even the smallest glimpse of the woman who was completely disregarding my demand for her to stay away and made my blood burn and my fangs ache to sink into her warm flesh.
As I moved to the beat more from habit than any enjoyment of performing, more memories of my previous interactions with Esme—such a beautiful name—flashed through my mind. The way her pulse raced the first time I'd spoken to her. The way she smelled . The carefully measured responses she gave to my casual questions. The rapid-fire way she slung her own at me.
The way she fucking smelled .
But besides my physical attraction I had to her—stronger than anything I'd ever felt before or since becoming a vampire—there was also an underlying current of... something I couldn't quite put my finger on...
I would say it was magic. Hell, I was around witches enough to know what that felt like. But that wasn’t quite right. Whatever Esme had, whatever subtle power vibrated beneath the surface of her skin, it wasn't any kind of magic I'd ever felt before.
This all added up to one hell of an attractive mystery that intrigued the fuck out of me more than I cared to admit. And I, a creature of the night who'd been alive way too long and got bored way too easily, was eager to solve it.
And that was the fucking problem.
With a final, sensual body roll, I concluded my performance without pulling a customer onto the stage for my usual chair dance. That was only fun anymore when Esme was here and I could watch the flames of jealousy burn behind her eyes, even though she tried to put on her usual too-cool facade.
I collected my clothes with a grin and a wave and jogged off the stage, trying hard to silence the voices still whispering in my head that were unusually loud tonight. The ones telling me I was tainted, impure, and should be ashamed for doing what I did, both on and off the stage.
Giving my head a little shake, I let the thunderous applause drown them out as I hit the dressing room to wash the oil off my skin and get dressed. Then I’d sneak out the back door and go home to the large, historical house in The Quarter I shared with the rest of my coven.
As I stripped off my performance clothes, my eyes landed on the row of Hawaiian shirts hanging in my locker, and a small smile tugged at my lips as I ran my fingers over the soft, colorful fabrics.
To the others in my coven, my obsession with these shirts was completely fucked up, especially for a vampire. Someone said something about it nearly every day. Usually Dae or Elias. But to me, they were more than corny pieces of clothing. For one, I found it fucking hysterical to be the exact opposite of the brooding, dark creature that society expected me to be. And two, if you wanted to get really deep about this shit, wearing the obnoxiously colorful shirts was another small rebellion to my old way of life where I was never allowed to wear anything that wasn't dull and modest.
But mostly, they were just really comfortable. And the bright colors made me happy.
I hit the shower, keeping my mind carefully blank of sexy Latin lips as I soaped up and dried off before going back to my locker. I'd never hear the end of it if one of the guys found me banging one out in here. And “never” was a long damn time for a vampire.
As I slipped on a particularly bold shirt covered in bright pink hibiscus flowers, I sighed with pleasure as the soft fabric caressed my overly sensitive skin. Just one of the fun perks of vampirism—along with heightened emotions and never-ending bloodlust. Although I'd been a vampire long enough now to pretty much control that last one.
Honestly, I had no fucking idea how Killian always wore those scratchy sweaters he liked.
Pulling on my jeans and boots, I shut my locker door and shoved my G-string in my front pocket to wash. Then, as I did every night, I carefully arranged my tip money, smoothing out each bill and stacking them with practiced precision, every bill facing the same way and grouped together by currency. The familiar routine helped quiet the conflicting voices in my head—the cheers of the crowd and the stern admonitions of the Elders that I could still hear even after all these years every time I took my clothes off onstage.
When I was finished, I dropped off the club's portion of my earnings to Kenya in the back office on my way out. She barely looked up at me as she said, "Thanks!" and shoved her black-rimmed glasses up her nose.
Talk about an enigma. Kenya was one for the books.
Chuckling to myself at my own joke, I shook my head and left her to it. She was strange, that one, even by vampire standards. I mean, who the fuck ever heard of a vampire bookkeeper? It was like a werewolf accountant or a mermaid lawyer—it just didn't compute.
But that was Kenya for you. She'd always been a bit of an odd duck, even before she was turned. At least from the stories she'd told us. None of us had known her before Killian brought her home.
I guess that was the thing about being a creature like us, though. You could reinvent yourself as many times as you wanted, and no one could say shit about it. If Kenya wanted to trade in her moonlit hunts for a calculator and a stack of ledgers, who was I to judge? It made her happy and provided us with a bookkeeper for the club.
Outside in the alley, I breathed in the cool winter air as I shoved my hands in my front pockets and leaned against the cold brick wall, my eyes on a group of women I recognized from inside who were lingering outside the club trying to decide where they wanted to go next. As I waited for them to leave so as not to draw attention, my thoughts continued to run a mile a minute. And unsurprisingly, they raced right back over to a woman who was nothing but curves and attitude all wrapped up in the prettiest package I'd ever seen. One who couldn't take no for an answer, and kept showing up at the club even after I'd straight up told her to go home. That I didn't date customers.
Or anyone, really.
A low growl rumbled through my chest as my thoughts circled back around to her. That woman was more than just a beautiful distraction. She was dangerous. I'd felt it all the way to my bones the first night I went over and talked to her. Felt it every time she showed up here. Felt it with every seemingly innocent question she asked, even though I tried to avoid her now.
Hell, she was probably just fishing for information. Information that could expose my true nature, my world—or my entire fucking species, if I wasn't careful. And that would be bad for all involved.
I'd pushed her away in an effort to maintain that professional distance I kept with all my "customers." Her touch, her accent, her smile full of dimples and sass, it made me stupid. And a stupid vampire was a dead vampire.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. What a fool I was, pining after a human like some lovesick teenager. I had no fucking business longing for something as ephemeral as love.
And yet… I sighed deep and gazed up at the overcast sky… that woman had awakened something inside me, something I thought had died a long-ass time ago.
I gave my head a subtle shake. Nah. It wasn't worth it. No matter how much I craved her, it was better to keep my distance. She was up to something. I didn't know what, or why, but I didn't trust her as far as I could throw her.
Well, I could throw her pretty far, actually.
But…yeah. Still no. We had enough shit going on right now without bringing humans who had no idea of the creatures who lived among them into the mix.
The group outside the club finally made up their minds and wandered off, and after a minute, I pushed off the wall and strolled out to the street, deciding to enjoy the cool night air and walk home. Which, actually, I did most every night.
I was at the front door of our home not long after, and even before I went inside I could hear Killian and Lizzy's voices coming from the kitchen. Following the sound, I found them sitting at the island, Killian watching Lizzy sip on a glass of red wine, his eyes focused on her mouth as he quietly said something that nearly made her choke on her alcohol.
"Evening, lovebirds," I said, sauntering into the room and making a beeline for the open bottle of wine. Grabbing a glass, I poured myself a healthy portion. Alcohol didn't do much of anything for me anymore, but I still enjoyed the taste of it from time to time.
Lizzy smiled at me, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "Hey there, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Shirtless. How was work tonight?"
I chuckled and shook my head at her as Killian's gaze shot to my bare chest where the top half of buttons of my shirt were undone. A low growl filled the room, and I started buttoning up my shirt before I found myself back outside, and not by walking through the door this time. But Lizzy only grinned. "Oh, you know, the usual. Shaking my moneymaker, breaking hearts, the whole shebang."
Now that I’d covered up most of the bare chest Lizzy had been admiring, Killian arched an eyebrow at me as I took a gulp of wine, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. "You seem a bit off tonight, Brogan," he told me, his Irish accent a bit thicker than normal. And I didn't even want to think about why that would be. "Everything alright?"
Sometimes, the bond between a vampire and his maker was downright annoying. I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, man, I'm good. Just a little tired, I guess."
He continued to study my face, and I knew he didn't believe me. Hell, he could probably interpret the turmoil inside of me better than I could. But to his credit, he didn't push me for more answers. Because, except where Jamal was concerned, Killian usually knew when to give a guy his space.
Lizzy, however, was an entirely different story. She leaned forward, both elbows on the counter as her astute dark eyes zeroed in on me in a way that made me shift my weight from one foot to the other. "You sure that's all it is? You've been acting a little strange ever since that dark-haired woman who's always wearing red started coming around the club and plying you with questions."
I nearly choked on my wine as she laughed, the sweet sound drawing her mate’s eyes back to her again. How the hell did she know about Esme?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze. Dae-Jung probably told her. Fucker never could keep his damn mouth shut about anything.
Killian tore his eyes from Lizzy and turned his stool toward me, his golden eyes boring into mine until I couldn't look away. Heavy waves of power pulsed around me, probing at the shields I fought to keep in place. "Brogan, if there's something going on, you need to tell us. We can't afford any risks, especially with a human involved. That damn djinn?—"
"Marcus," Lizzy filled in, as if I didn't know his name.
"—has been drawing too much attention to us as it is lately,” Killian finished. “And now that he’s gone, I don’t want anything to happen that might draw him back.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Look, it's nothing, okay? She's just a persistent customer who has a thing for me. She’s not the first, and she probably won’t be the last. I’m handling it."
Lizzy and Killian exchanged a look, one that spoke volumes about their doubts in my ability to "handle" Esme.
"Just be careful," Killian finally said, his tone dead serious. “As I said, we don't need any trouble, and humans who ask too many questions are always trouble."
I nodded, knowing he was right. Draining the last of my wine, I set the glass in the sink. "I know. I know ," I repeated when he just stared at me. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry."
With that, I headed for the stairs, eager to escape any further interrogation. I already knew I should put an end to the game I was playing with Esme. No one needed to tell me that. It would be a simple thing to get into her head and make her forget that she'd ever met me. Hell, I could easily drop her off in another town and convince her she'd never even been to New Orleans.
Entering my room, I laid back on my bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling. That’s exactly what I should do. And I would. But first, just in case, I needed to find out what she was about. There was a reason she was hanging around so much and asking so many questions, and it was more than just natural human curiosity. Or, much as I hated to admit it, her attraction to me. For all I knew, she was working with that damn djinn and feeling us out for weaknesses.
I sighed and sat up, rubbing the back of my neck. I didn't get the vibe that she was evil. But she wasn't exactly sweet and innocent either. Hell, maybe the next time I saw her, I should go ahead and force her to tell me, then make her forget everyone and everything she'd learned here. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
But honestly, where was the fun in that?
It wouldn't hurt anything to take a few more days and see if I could figure her out my own way. And along the way, maybe I could get this woman out of my system.
I moaned, knowing instinctively it wouldn't be that easy, but still trying to convince myself otherwise. Every fucking fiber of my being yearned to hold her against me, to drown in her scent and sink my fangs through her soft, tan skin to the hot blood rushing beneath the surface. To bury my cock in her wet heat…
Fucking hell. I bet she had a great pussy. And ass.
And tits.
And everything in between.
But, funny enough, her body wasn't even the thing that attracted me the most.
I closed my eyes, dropping my head into my hands, and tried to talk some sense into myself as my imagination went off the rails. It was an impossible dream, a foolish fantasy. But in my dreams, at least, I could pretend that the chasm between our worlds didn't exist, that the danger didn't matter.
In my dreams, I could almost believe that a creature like me could find happiness with a woman like her. Killian and Jamal had done it. So why not me?
Because she doesn't know what you really are.
And because even if she did, I wasn't like them, I answered myself.
I had…issues.
With a groan, I glanced down at the uncomfortable bulge in my jeans that never went away completely no matter how many times I jacked off or how many cold showers I took. Not since the first time I'd laid eyes on her.
Hell, I'd even lost my desire to feed on anyone else. Something that would need to be remedied very soon.
My skin began to prickle with the coming dawn, and I headed to the bathroom across the hall, my thoughts in a whirlwind and my hands already unfastening my jeans and inching toward my cock.