Chapter 2
That pretty little blonde smells all wrong.
I noticed it the moment she walked in. A woman that lovely? Her blood should smell soft and sugary, perhaps like candied rose blossoms, to match the sweet color in her cheeks. Her eyes had locked on mine when she arrived, her skin blooming pink before her gaze darted away.
But it wasn't just me she refused eye contact with, otherwise I might take that personally. No, she couldn't keep her eyes fixated in one place for longer than a few seconds or even bring herself to look at the bartender as she ordered her first, second, or third cocktail.
The only place her eyes seemed drawn to was the door. Every few minutes, every single time it swung open, she warily glanced at the dark wood.
Was she waiting for someone?
Unlikely.
Her heart rate spiked every time the hinges creaked, a telltale sign of nerves.
One not uncommon in a place like this.
What was uncommon was someone like her being here.
This place was a dive if I'd ever seen one.
And I had, them being the ultimate hunting grounds for those like me for years.
Nothing makes easier prey than one that thinks of themselves as a predator.
They live for these kinds of bars. Places soaked in grime, paneling peeling off the walls, all the streetlights refusing to stay alight— like the things that happen here should only be done in the cover of darkness.
But she was pristine.
Hair of the brightest blonde, eyes stunningly large and brown, with black lashes that flutter with each blink framing them, giving me the distinct impression of a deer.
Her soft face, full cheeks, and pouty lips all give the appearance of innocence, of a liveliness not yet drained from her.
She couldn't be older than her late 20's.
And yet...
Something about her blood smells of decay, of death.
If that was the only strange thing about her, I could ignore it. From time to time, people smell wrong when they're terminally sick or on certain medications.
But something, some intuitive piece of my predator brain, keeps whispering to me that it's more than that.
The jumpy glances to the door, her clear discomfort at even being in a place like The Shallow; she hasn't even taken her clearly exquisitely made cloak off.
The piece of clothing would draw enough attention even if she didn't. The cloak hid most of her body from me, but based on the muscle of her toned legs that flexed as she walked in, I knew what lay beneath it had to be the curves of daydreams.
I've watched her for nearly an hour now, wondering why this woman, this seemingly innocuous person, has captured my attention and refused to relinquish it.
Perhaps it has been too long since I've taken someone to my bed, and my body is thinking for itself tonight. What has it been? Three years? Four?
It's hard to say now; the days of eternity seem to blend together, the years flying by as I hide from the sun.
Suddenly, the door swings open harder than necessary, the wood slamming against the wall and rattling the framed pictures hanging askew.
The mystery blonde jumps and shouts, her reaction bringing all eyes to her rather than the man barreling into the bar.
The bartender reaches out, asking if she's alright, placing a placating hand on hers.
With a frantic nod, Blondie pulls her hand free, using it to push a loose curl behind her ear in a nervous gesture.
Why the fuck am I still seated here staring?
The mystery can be solved quite easily if I just go speak to the girl.
Rather than wait a second longer, I take down the last of the whiskey before me, planning to order another, which will bring me conveniently within reach of her.
Two steps toward the bar, I'm stopped short, another man planting himself in the seat next to her.
From my angle, I can see her side profile as she looks at the man, the red and blue light of the bar illuminating as her face twists from the doe-eyed, frightened little thing into a wicked glare that would scare even the most seasoned of criminals.
Immediately, she schools her features, looking away from the man before he can catch her staring daggers at him.
I can't even blame her, honestly.
Nearly every barstool is empty, roughly a dozen chairs around the L-shaped bar he could have taken, yet he places himself right next to her, taking up so much space she needs to make herself small to keep her arm from touching his.
Was I about to get similarly close to her before he did? Yes. Does this make me a hypocrite? Well, yeah. But I wasn't going to crowd her or use my size to force her to fold in on herself. I just wanted to solve my mystery and chat with a beautiful woman while I did it.
If, at the end of that, she insisted on taking me home and letting me show her a good time, well, who was I to say no?
The man leans even closer, asking her what she's drinking.
Rather than respond, she turns away, feigning shyness.
His face reddens, clearly not used to or willing to take the dismissal. "Come on. Just one drink. I don't bite."
I do, motherfucker, so back off.
Where on earth that thought came from, I'll never know. But something zips up my spine, some strange need to step in and protect Blondie from this dude she has less than zero interest in.
"No thanks," her quiet voice reaches me, tentative. "I've had plenty."
Internally, I groan. That's not something she should have said. She just told a stranger exactly how drunk she is, and now he's like a fucking shark scenting blood in the water.
One minute, I'm watching the exchange; the next, I sink into a chair on her opposite side, two stools down to give her space, ordering another whiskey and pretending I'm not paying any attention to them.
Her eyes flick to me momentarily before darting back to the drink in front of her, her immaculately painted fingers reminding me of the scarlet liquid I can hear pumping through her body.
"One more won't hurt," he says again, crowding closer. Heat crawls up my neck, and I try to shake it off, try to ignore the way I feel as if I'm screaming at her in my head to tell this guy to fuck all the way off rather than simper and make herself smaller for him. "It's on me. What's your name?"
"I think she said no," the words escape my mouth before I can hold them in.
Both of them look at me, and while I expected a dirty look from him, her expression takes me by surprise.
She looks at me coolly, the doe-eyed innocence gone, a fellow monster staring right back at me. Her gaze travels my face before going lower, giving me a once-over that would be considered indecent if it didn't light my body on fire the way it does.
With the slightest shake of her head, I hear the unspoken message loud and clear.
Back off.
And the mystery deepens.
Who am I to stop whatever game she's playing? Perhaps it's something they're playing together and she actually does know this man. Perhaps I'm reading it all wrong, and the fear excites her.
Intuition tells me otherwise, but I take my drink and disappear back into my seat, granting her wish. Her gaze follows me momentarily, trailing me to the little booth in the back corner before she returns to staring at her glass, signaling for another.
That cloying smell of decaying blood was even stronger up close, but something about it felt off.
I could scent her own blood, the sweetness I expect from someone so vibrant, then her perfume, a dark, spicy mixture with maybe vanilla, or chocolate.
And sandwiched between all of that, was the smell of decaying blood.
A smile pulls at my lips at the realization.
It's not her blood.
She's walking around with someone else's blood on her body somewhere.
God, I want to find it.
The strange man reaches for her, his fat fucking finger about to taint her blonde waves, when suddenly the sound of sirens pulls all of us to attention.
The lights and sounds of police cars fly by, and everyone in the bar turns to watch them.
Everyone but Blondie.
She's frozen in her seat. Staring at her drink like she wishes it could swallow her rather than the other way around. She's explicitly trying not to look, staying too still.
Sirens aren't uncommon in this area, but a scandal always draws attention.
Against their better judgment, most patrons make their way to the windows, looking outside to see where the emergency vehicles stopped.
Now, Blondie finally decides to move, following the crowd to see what manner of crime we'll find outside. I down my drink all in one go, determined to keep her in my sights— to solve the mystery of whose blood is on her, of course.
Outside, in the frigid night, people gather, watching the police set up a perimeter.
The yellow caution tape can mean only one thing.
Once again, I feel a smile pulling at my lips, hoping my suspicions are correct.
Blondie watches with rapt attention and unabashed horror as the police start questioning the bar patrons and anyone else who has been on the street over the last hour or two.
The rumblings begin as a witness tells the police that he was the one who called. He found the body.
I listen as the police gather witness statements, everyone saying they'd all been in the bar and accounting for each other.
"Another mugging," a mustached officer tells a boy who barely looks old enough to be in uniform. "His wallet is gone, any jewelry he might have had on him, too."
A mugging? My eyes find the blonde in the crowd again, and as they do, she glances my way, our gazes clashing, sending waves of awareness and desire through me. She's even more beautiful in the flashing lights than in the bar, and I want to get closer again.
An inconspicuous white van arrives, the men inside piling out to pick up the body and take it away.
"Do we have an I.D.?" one of the police asks another as they watch the corpse be piled into the back of the van.
With a heavy sigh, the mustached man answers, "He's a regular at the station.
Stanley. He was being investigated for the rape of that girl last month.
All signs were pointing to him being guilty, and now that he's... well, a corpse, we can let his victim know her attacker won't be a problem anymore.
Can't say I'm sad to see this one taken down. "
A thrilled shudder threatens to wrack my body and I have to fight it down, my focus honing in on my new fixation.
As if sensing my attention, she looks at me again.
With a wink and a wicked smirk, I make my message clear, miming zipping my lips and throwing away the key.
I see you, my beautiful little doe-eyed killer.