Chapter 14 Karson
Karson
The bar was a droning hive of impaired limbs and robust laughter.
Karson watched with bored indifference as the remaining crowd hurried to the bar, like seagulls to a discarded fry, for last drinks.
He’d stayed away from Church Heights, his birthplace and early childhood home, for years, until finally a few years ago he’d ventured back to face the demons that’d plagued him his whole life.
He had in the interim conquered the living evil mercilessly—defeating someone else’s demons was easy enough.
His own emotional ones were a different beast; the past was not something he could leave behind, it entangled into the fabric of who he was.
Changed his core, made the darkness stretch, as endless as a night sky devoid of stars.
He’d delivered considerable justice to the root of his problem. He lost no sleep at night over their demise. His actions were warranted and—he reassured himself—for the greater good. After all, the only good witch was a dead witch.
Now, Church Heights had become a sanctuary of sorts. A place he could escape from the incessant grind of life. Here, he could relax. Here, he waited. For her.
A tiny blond with a robust chest walked past at least three vacant spots and sidled up beside him.
Pretending, dismally, to be paying him no attention.
When he paid her no heed in return, she flicked her beach-colored hair over her shoulder and peered up under a false set of lashes, stretching higher than her IQ.
When he still refused to acknowledge her, she stuck her chest out.
He sighed. She was wasting her time, and even if she’d been up to his standards, which she wasn’t, he wasn’t in the mood.
He’d seen thousands of attractive women over the years and slept with countless numbers of them.
Women had always been drawn to him. He didn’t need to question why; he knew he exerted an irresistible pull.
Everything about him, from the way he moved to his looks, was perfectly designed to draw females to him.
Perhaps it was some hidden, ancient, instinctive drive.
Like animals, the desire to breed and procreate with only the strongest was what drew them.
Regardless, sex for him—when he wanted it—was as easy as a glance in their direction, a smile, some scant, feigned charm.
And Karson was incredibly bored.
Bored with how easy they all were, bored with them throwing themselves at him.
Bored with using the same lines that worked over and over again.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a genuine thrill.
Neither sex nor killing fully satiated him anymore.
He took a sip of whiskey and moved his gaze across to her.
She was attractive by anyone’s standards, but not in a model kind of way.
Her face would never grace the covers of any shallow-minded magazine, but there was something about her that drew his eyes like a moth to a flame, and he could not pull them away.
He’d first watched her from the darkened corners of the room, watched her generous smile reveal straight white teeth, watched her flick her long brown hair that cascaded down her back and sparkled like a mountain waterfall.
He watched the way, when she was nervous, she’d twist her fingers subconsciously around a ring she wore on her engagement finger.
He knew from the moment their eyes first locked, and he’d stared as if mesmerized into the seemingly bottomless pools of ivy green, that she would be his.
It was implausible to him to have a compulsion so strong.
He didn’t stop to question why. All he knew for certain was he had a powerful urge to touch her, to run his fingers through her hair, to wrap his lips around the curve of her slender neck.
Usually, if he saw something he wanted, he took it without delay.
But there was something about her that made him not want to rush—she had an attitude, and he liked it.
Perhaps he’d play with her a little first. He’d bait the hook, cast the line, let her nibble a little and pull it away.
Change the bait if he had to, cast the line again, and move it through the water to tempt her.
He’d know if she began to get bored of the game.
He’d know when the right moment was to let her sink her teeth in.
Yes, that sounded better. And to think he’d always regarded fishing as boring.
And then when he tired of her . . . well, that would depend on his mood.
Karson took another sip of his whiskey, draining the last of his glass, and sat it on the bar.
“Can I get you another?” a brunette standing beside him said.
“No, I’m heading out shortly.”
“Me too. Perhaps we should leave together?”
He glanced at her. She was attractive, with doe eyes, a generous mouth, and flawless, tanned skin. Briefly he considered having her tonight. Then his gaze drifted back to her, and suddenly the brunette paled in comparison.
“No, not tonight, sweetheart. I already have plans.”
He eyes pulled back to Amelia, just as she flitted her gaze to him.
He watched the pink flush of her cheeks, as enchanting as the first blush of springtime roses.
A glow seemed to dance around her as if all the stars sparked to life beneath her skin.
She was intoxicatingly beautiful. She dropped her head, and long, silken chocolate strands covered her cheeks as she almost ran out of the bar.
He stifled a laugh. He was going to enjoy her.
He followed her out the door.