Chapter Four #2
“Can’t it be both?”
This time, she does smile. Just a faint hint, but it transforms her face. Makes her look younger, less exhausted, and more alive.
“So, Crave, President of the Eternal Sins MC, what brings you over here? Don’t you have biker business to attend to?”
“My business can wait. Right now, I want to know what brought you through my door.”
“Your door?”
“I own this place… Sins & Spirits. My club runs it.”
She glances around, taking in the leather-clad bikers, the rough edges, the air of barely controlled violence that permeates every motorcycle club. “Seems like your kind of scene.”
“What makes you think you know my kind of scene?”
“Just a feeling.” She sips her drink. “You look like a man who’s seen some things. Done some things. Carries weight.”
You have no damn idea.
“Takes one to know one,” I say quietly.
Something flickers in her eyes again. That flash of crimson-gold that makes my Bloodfire surge. She blinks, and it’s gone, but I saw it. I definitely saw it.
Without thinking, I reach for her hand, intending to touch her, to see if that electric feeling I had when she walked in is real or purely my imagination after centuries of feeling nothing.
Our fingers brush.
The moment our skin makes contact, her blood hums beneath the surface.
It’s not audible, not something anyone else could hear, but I feel it.
A vibration, a frequency, a song that resonates with something deep in my core.
And for just a heartbeat, just a fraction of a second, I see it, a flash of crimson-gold light that pulses beneath her skin.
She jerks her hand back as though I’ve burned her.
“Sorry,” I say, not sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine.” But her voice is tight, and she’s staring at her hand as if it betrayed her. “I should probably go. Early shift tomorrow.”
“Stay.” The word comes out rougher than I intend because it’s almost a command. I soften my tone. “One more drink. Tell me about your shift. About what keeps you coming back to a job that clearly drains you.”
She hesitates, the war playing out in her expression. Part of her wants to run. Part of her wants to stay. Finally, the staying part wins out.
“One more drink,” she concedes. “But you have to tell me something in return.”
“Like what?”
“Why you’re really here. In this bar, in that booth, watching everyone as if you’re waiting for something bad to happen.”
I’m a vampire, and once upon a very bloody time, I was part of a coven no sane creature crossed.
Now my past stalks me, feral and determined to finish what it started.
And honestly?
I’m dying to see which one of us snaps first.
“Because…” I say carefully, “… when you’ve lived a certain kind of life, you learn to always watch your back.”
“What kind of life is that?”
“A violent one.”
She nods slowly, with quiet assurance that this makes perfect sense. “I know something about violence. See it every day in the ER. People hurting each other, hurting themselves. Sometimes I think the whole world is bleeding, and we’re all just trying to mop up the mess.”
“That’s dark.”
“You asked.” She shrugs nonchalantly.
And damn if I don’t respect that. Most humans would try to pretty it up, make their lives sound more manageable than they are. But Sloane lays it out, raw and real.
We talk for another hour. About death, about meaning, about the loneliness that comes from being the one who sees too much. She doesn’t know she’s talking to a monster, but somehow, everything she says resonates. It feels as if we’re speaking the same language, just in different dialects.
I don’t reveal what I am.
I can’t.
The Law of Silence is absolute.
But I drop hints, little breadcrumbs that make her eyes narrow with curiosity.
“You ever feel there’s more out there?” I ask at one point. “That the world you see isn’t the whole story?”
“All the damn time,” she admits. “Sometimes I swear I see things. Things that don’t make sense. And lately…” she trails off, shaking her head. “Lately, it’s getting worse.”
“Worse how?”
“Just… strange things. Dreams that feel too real. My hands…” She looks down at her palms, and even in the dim bar lighting, I see the faint tremor. “Forget it. You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t think anyone’s crazy, especially not in a place like this.”
She glances around again, and this time, I see her really looking, seeing past the surface. Noticing Rogue’s eyes flash gold when someone bumps into him. Watching Scorch’s smoke curl impossibly upward. Observing the way Eden moves with too much grace to be fully human.
“What is this place?” she whispers, and there’s wonder in her tone.
Not fear.
Wonder.
“It’s a sanctuary,” I tell her honestly. “For people who don’t quite fit anywhere else.”
“And you? Do you fit here?”
“I’m still figuring that out.”
Rogue appears at my shoulder, breaking the moment. “Sorry to interrupt, Prez, but we’ve got a situation. Ronan’s about to lose control.”
I curse under my breath and stand. “Fucking prospects. I have to go… club business.”
Sloane nods, understanding flickering in those hazel eyes. “Of course. Thanks for the drinks.”
“Come back,” I say, surprising myself with the intensity in my voice. “Tomorrow night. Next week. Whenever. Just… come back.”
She studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Maybe I will.”
As I walk away, heading toward whatever chaos Ronan has created, I feel her eyes on me. I still feel that hum beneath my skin, that recognition of something not quite human.
For the first time in centuries, something has my attention.
I don’t know who she is, or what she is, but I’m damn well going to find out.