Bozena and Sveta (Neuripra) Page 7

  I should have eaten before coming here.

  Twisting back to the bar, I place the emptied chalice down, only to be caught in Darise's accusing stare.

  Oh god. Shit! I forgot that after a vampyre has kissed me they can hear every single thought in my head.

  Strike out.

  I'm with Sveta now. Don't you guys get it?

  *

  Sveta:

  The sensation sneaks up on me. It's akin to having a ghost blow in my nape.

  Sitting straight, it's automatic to look behind me, smothering in invisible cobwebs. It's the warning vibration I know all too well. The net is closing, danger is near... is here.

  Flicking over to neuri vision, I survey the shadows, breathing deeply to scan for recognizable spirit.

  Zena is here, I can smell her. So is Jowendrhan and.... Here one second, gone the next. Standing so abruptly I send my chair clattering across the office, my body pumps to readiness when my muscles expand for combat.

  Inhaling, slowly, I trace the resonance. A vampyre walked in here. Materializing and vanishing so fast Zauran didn't even notice.

  What the hell do they want?

  Axing to face Zauran, I warn in slakax, “Wkhv duh vhdufklqj iru vrphrqh.” (They are searching for someone.)

  Very few people alive speak slakax, if we've got lurkers they won't have a clue what I just said.

  Flicking his focus to me, a frown furrowing his brow, his eyebrows shoot up in exaggeration when he notices my appearance. Neuri blend, we don't walk around pumped up like Atlas ready for action. We only look like this when deeply moved by emotion or threat.

  “Do you think they heard us?” he whispers, using the range below human and vampyre hearing.

  Making him wait for my answer, I track the room, searching and examining everywhere before daring to relax.

  Whoever was here is definitely gone now.

  “I need to get to Zena. If she goes outside, or they are inside... fuck! It doesn't matter Zauran, they'll find out sooner or later.” I reach over and thump his shoulder with my fist, harder than I intended, “Thanks for letting me use Pravus, and I'll see you Saturday for a can of whoop ass.”

  I don't wait for an answer, urgency riding me like a chariot of megawatts. Bolting down the passage, I shoot into the club, doing instinctive tactical recon before slowing to a mellowed saunter, melting deeper into the hub.

  She's there at the bar with her old boyfriend Darise, and her old lover Jowendrhan. How fucking cozy. I bet those depraved boys are into gang bangs when the mood suits them.

  Circling the floor, I check my guards are at their posts, each of them giving me an imperceptible nod that they've kept all eyes on the target and nothing happenstance has occurred.

  I nod back, ready to engage in the game and scare the beastie boys off my chick.

  When will you get the message? She's mine motherfuckers!

  The cowards spot me and vacate her side, scattering like the irritating fleas they are. Blood sucking scum.

  *

  Božena:

  A man who is obviously too handsome for his own good smiles at me. His eyes are mischievous, as if he's harboring wicked thoughts and is tempted to subject me to them.

  I hold his dark gaze for a moment too long, and then pin my focus back on the crowd of music surfers riding the swells on the dance floor.

  While my stomach roils with passionate interest, I bide my time before flicking my gaze back his way.

  He's still watching me.

  Snatching my attention back to the bottles behind the bar, tension and excitement wrestle inside me. I wish he'd look somewhere else so I can take my time studying him.

  Feigning fascination with my wine, I tilt the glass this way, then that, lifting the delicate goblet up and inhaling the bouquet. I wish I was a connoisseur who can detect hints of citrus, chocolate and vanilla, who could note the Sangiovese grapes are speciality chianti, and I wish I could know that they survived a late frost and had the hottest summer which brought out the crisp sweetness of the varietal.

  But I don't know any of that shit and I'm done pretending I know what I'm doing, because all I want to do is look back at that big bad boy who is holding the wall up.

  Sneaking a glance his way, my heart heaves dramatically at his incredible stature. He's watching the dancers and lovers performing the mating ritual on the smokey focus point of the room.

  His silhouette is smooth, strong, defiant... sssssexy.

  La-fabulicious-freaq, he's singeing hot.

  My focus is riveted to him. It's delicious visually tracing the strong muscles of his neck to his shoulders. He's wearing a leather waistcoat and jeans, his jacket clutched in a fist, hanging by his hand to tickle the top of his boot.

  Dim shadows force the vein on his shoulder to stand out as it curls into his substantial bicep, and the forearm he has suspended is rippling with more veins and ample strength. Everything about him is sexy, capable, able, rough, cashmere, a contradiction of gentle and hard, smooth and rugged, wild and restrained.

  The stubble gives him that reckless ruffian appeal, the straight nose, the moody eyebrows, the stubborn chin, the 'don't fuck with me' hairstyle that bristles as much as his 'strip me and hurt me' vibe, everything he is makes me crave touch.

  What's it like feeling the smooth heat of that arm, tracing the supernatural muscles bunched in his arms and chest, teasing anyone with a pulse and hormones to lick their way down the divots and planes of that skin, to unbutton the leather shielding his body and taste all the way down to that silver buckle on his belt.

  Just staring at that belt is making me overheat.

  His movement jerks my attention up to his face, and I'm frozen at him catching me licking him with my gaze.

  I feel guilty, except he's flashing me a supernova smile while his dark eyes fracture the red lighting into gold dust.

  God, he's just so fucking beautiful.

  Embarrassed, heat flaming up my neck and burning into my cheeks, I whip my attention back to the crowd milling around the club, socializing and flirting, meeting and greeting, feeling and kissing...

  It's become impossible. Helpless, I'm drawn back to look at him, spying him shouldering between strangers, walking to the other end of the bar, studiously ignoring me while a smug smirk taunts his lips into a twitch of a smile every third second.

  Leaning both arms on the bar he orders his drink, and then sends his focus back to me, boldly meeting my stare and holding it hostage.

  Full lips compress and I watch him swallow, in slow motion, the entire room fading as if we're the only two people alive.

  It's making me outrageously horny.

  He looks down, deepening the dimple in his chin which the stubble fails to camouflage.

  Aw, it's so damn cute. He looks shy, as if my overt lusting is embarrassing him.

  Shattered, I dive back into my wine, sipping it, trying to find the hidden undertones in the thick liquid, looking for the elusive hints of fuller flavor.

  Remembering belatedly to breathe, I half inhale it in instead of swallow. With my eyes watering, I struggle to hide the cough, hastily putting my crystal goblet on the bar and suffocating on a quiet choke.

  There's goes the dignity. I can't even drink wine in public without making a complete ass of myself.

  Mortified, I dare to peek his way, only to find he's not looking at me, he's talking to some guy with tattoos and a gazillion piercings.

  They thump shoulders, do a weird handshake, and he laughs, breaking my sanity with the smile of a god in the throes of domination.

  He keeps snapping his dark delicious eyes toward me, unable to give that man his full attention. It makes me ache, watching him move, so graceful and charismatic, confident and salacious, powerful... freaqalicious!

  He looks at me, smiles back at the guy, nodding... then slowly he maneuvers so he can look past the stranger, at me again.

  Every time he meets my eyes with his own, my temperature ratchets up a hun
dred degrees. I'm growing weaker and more desperate... desperate to be in those arms, tasting that skin, writhing my naked flesh over his, reveling in the sated comfort of muscles and heat, and bites and licks, brutal kisses, harsh hugs, rough fucking...

  I'm a magnet and he keeps staring, deep mystery captures my heart with every glance, and it's so darn adorable when he looks away, conversing, unwilling to be caught watching me, but whenever he looks back my way I'm already drooling at him, utterly smitten with a new obsession.

  Incredible fingers blade through his hair, his hand rubbing to the back of his neck. He's poised with his weight on one leg, the other relaxed, and it's so goddam sexy in the way it hollows out his hips and enhances the bulge in his jeans.

  His arms are corded limbs of might with muscles too big to ever look subtle. With his hand hooked behind his neck, it bunches his bicep and shoulder muscles into individual swells, deepening the dark line running down his chest, his skin exuding a smooth sheen with every flicker of the red strobe light.

  Every movement... even miniscule twitches, send his muscles roiling, unravelling with ripples, crests and dips, like holy parchment needing to be read, fingered, caressed, appreciated, worshipped.

  Holy fuckness!

  With a laugh exposing a kissable mouth and perfect teeth, he glances my way again, his entire demeanor tensing for a second, those dark eyes finally promising more.

  They haven't just licked me, they've broken my legs, turned my hips inside out, and sucked my nipples so hard I swear to god they are no longer on my body.

  It hits me with such force that I can't breathe. Winded, I have lust coating my insides in merciless ferocity. It is uncomfortable.

  I slip off the bar stool, knowing it's time for air. Afraid to go outside, I'm heading to the ladies.

  Pretending I can't feel the weight of his stare, I wander as gracefully as I can manage, out of the hub, into the passage, speeding up to bullet into the cloakroom.

  Inside it, surrounded with scarlet velvet opulence, I sag against the cool wall, pressing my hand over my ribcage, trying to calm the wild drumming of my heartbeat.

  That was some powerful attraction.

  Hot with a capital H. Sexy with a capital S. Bad with a capital Fuck Me.

  Washing my face, sipping water, I wait for the heat to calm down and for my composure to slip back into place. Happy with my appearance, I hook my long black hair behind my shoulders, primping before the mirror. Content with the black jeans, boots, and v-neck long sleeved tee, I nod to myself and head back for the door.

  By the time I get back to my wine he'll be gone.

  Guarding my thoughts, employing a charade, I know it won't be long before my date arrives and I'll be riding into the night on the back of his bike, holding to lithe hips and resting my cheek on the wide V of his back.

  Hold on tight to your sanity, Zena. Be a good girl and hopefully later you can be all bad.

  Back in control, I strut into the passage and head toward the bar. It's a long corridor and my chances of getting there just got smashed.

  I'm abruptly halted by the body that sags against the wall, blocking my path. Casual and arrogant, he props a hand on his hip, resting his head on the leathered forearm up against the wall supporting his weight.

  “You lost?” drawls intimately to me.

  He speaks to me like a lover, flirtatious and clandestine.

  “Do I look lost? Fuck off.”

  Dipping to escape under the arch made by his body and arm, he seals the gap with a chiseled chest.

  Could that waistcoat be any tighter? He looks like he melted it onto his body. Even with his jacket on, it does nothing to hide the machismo aimed at me, showing off and draping sexuality all over Pravus's wall

  “Need a chaperone?” he asks, giving me a deviant smile.

  My courage is diminished by his stature and menace.

  “No. Get lost wise guy.”

  I know enough to keep my true thoughts hidden from the supernaturals in this place. Snapping back, I try to flee around the other side of him, but he moves, filling the gloomy passage with his height and broad shoulders.

  Hemmed in by him, his stance is that of a man about to tackle, ready to overpower like a hand to hand combat expert.

  Fucker!

  Surveying the blockade of muscle, I'm disappointed with the construction boots on his feet with their obvious metal caps glinting like switchblades in the semi-dark.

  The only weak area would be a knee to the groin, except I don't think violence will get me out of here unscathed.

  There's only one thing for it, charm my way past him.

  Lurching back against the wall, I stare up at him with my game face on. “Where's your date?”

  His smile is skew, and cute. “She makes me work for my pleasures. She doesn't show until she thinks I've suffered her penance long enough.”

  Bending closer, he mumbles next to my ear, “If she had her way, I'd be enrolled in self-flagellation classes and learning to crawl over shattered crystal.”

  Twirling my hair into a ringlet around my finger, I suck on my lip, giving him the coy attentive audience mask. “Wow, she sounds like a real bitch. Does she bite?”

  “Bite?” His laugh is scornful. “She broke her fangs in months ago. Now I'm her personal scratching post. She doesn't cum until I'm bleeding onto her fingernails.”

  “You like pain, huh?” I smile.

  His left shoulder inches up in a wry shrug, “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Who wants to do the hurting.”

  His smile is now so sharp it could slice constellations.

  Unsure, I wonder how I can get past if he gets off on pain. The last thing I want to do is turn this dude on. The thought almost makes me laugh. “You should learn to offer to buy a girl a drink before you corner her in a dark place.”

  “This isn't cornered angel, this is the gentle approach. You're so skittish you're like a new foal lost in the cheetah enclosure.”

  “Angel?” I ask, quirking a sarcastic eyebrow.

  Planting hands on either side of my head, he presses closer, bending so he is staring those anthracite eyes straight into mine, “It's the perfume you wear. It's called Ange Ou Demon. It suits you.”

  His smile softens, curling hot seduction at me as he whispers into my head, One half angel, the other half demon. It's definitely your perfect perfume. I'm looking at the angel, when what I really want to play with is the demon.

  His observation is so astute it's like soul rape. My perfume is personal and I'm damn shocked he knows what it is.

  Crikey, it was so tough to find a perfume I even liked. I wanted it to be clean, but girly at the same time. Ange Ou Demon somehow worked on both levels with the freshness of thyme and the soft floral of orchid, but when it settles into my skin and warms up, the hints of oak and mandarin come through.

  To me it smells like a childhood summer's day, and fuck it, I fell in love with it.

  If what Akae says is true, I don't mind being all demon either.

  You think a lot. For the record... Angel... Your perfume smells like spring. It's fresh and flowery without the hay-fever. You smell like a lily after a shower and the sun comes out to heat the stamen.

  “Ha! You are such a romantic sap. Next you'll be writing me poetry and stalking me.”

  Either that or you are into some blatant in-your-face innuendo. 'Heat the stamen'.

  Cocking his head, his dangerous smile pouts smooth luscious lips at me, glossing them with the barest light filtering into this depth of the passageway.

  “Well, angel? Would you like to be cornered?”

  Enticing as he is, and even though my heartbeat is hopscotching around my body with his proximity and clean cologne, I am cautious.

  “I think your social skills could use some work,” I whisper.

  He's so close I'm afraid to breathe.

  “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

  “Yes.”

 
“What if I don't want to leave you alone? What if the only thing I want is to shove you up against this wall and fuck you into the grouting?”

  Swallowing thickly, I'm frozen, my pulse accelerating. “What's your weakness tough guy?”

  “You are.”

  He says it without hesitation.

  “So I can break you?” It's so absurd I am tempted to laugh.

  “Angel, you've broken me in so severely I've forgotten what the wild tastes like.”

  Releasing my smile, I reach out to trace the determined jaw poised in front of me, “But I am wild. All you have to do is taste me and you won't forget the scent of freedom, or the thrill of reckless galloping.”

  He growls in a half laugh, rushing me with arms and strength, lifting me up and burying my body between the wall and his weight.

  Desire runs rampant through my bloodstream when he sinks his teeth into my earlobe and runs a hot tongue into my neck.

  Holding tight, I close my eyes, savoring the neuri who plays games with me.

  This is our thing. We always pretend we don't know each other, and it's endless fun to see what approach he'll try next.

  So he noticed my perfume. I think I like being called angel.

  Pulped in his crushing strength, his hug is enough to smear me over his body like war paint.

  Inching my face closer, I hickey his neck, sucking and tasting like the vampyre I once was, clinging to the only light in this endless darkness.

  Safe, horny, happy, I let him lead me back to the bar and my wine. Retrieving his beer after getting me reseated, he returns to sit in front of me, his legs on either side of mine, holding to my knees in a silent touch of romance and ownership.

  He stares for a while, and I just fidget with my wine knowing I've already had too much to drink. Lifting his hand, he fingers my necklace.

  *

  Sveta:

  “Why do you always wear jade?”

  Her eyes aren't green, but I'm thinking maybe she wears it because she's secretly into Chinese culture or remembers an incarnation as a Mayan... something deep like that.

  “Because I'm jaded. Some girls wear their hearts on their sleeves, I wear my bad attitude in plain sight.”