morning.”
With a smile, she glanced between the two of them. “Didn’t mean to intrude, Sir. I just came in to get a drink.”
Before he could reply, she strode away and headed for the bar along the far wall. Like everything else in the place, except her boss, the wooden bar was black, and bore an assortment of ruts and grooves that spoke of a violent past. Figured. She shot a quick glance at the patrons. The club was filled with a rough lot of Goth-type humans. She also felt a number of vampires weaving through the crowd, probably in search of a midnight snack.
“What can I get you?” someone asked, and slapped a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of her.
The man behind the bar had an air of authority about him that said he was more than just a bartender. Tall, with dark, white-tipped hair, he had roped muscles and pale skin. Too pale. She met his steely gray gaze and he bent forward and sniffed the air around her, as if that might tell him more about her. If he was an immortal, he would sense her pulsating power, just as she sensed his.
“What are you?” he asked, leaning his hands on the edge of the scarred bar top.
“I’m Special Agent Helene Alexander,” she replied, reached into her jacket pocket and flashed him her credentials.
Unimpressed, the man chuckled and shook his head. “We’ve had your kind in here before, Special Agent. Ended up joining the crowd instead of fighting it.”
An FBI agent who chose to become one of the undead? Certainly not her Assistant Director . Hernandez was completely mortal, unlike his squeeze. Helene had sensed nothing unusual about him with her second sight. Or with her touch when they’d briefly shaken hands at their introduction.
She briefly wondered which other agent it might be. “I just came in for a drink, nothing else,” she assured him.
Once again the man just laughed, heartier this time, and leaned his forearms on the bar. The action brought him closer. The overwhelming power of vampire swept over her as he said, “That’s a shame, I could think of some interesting things we could do all night long.”
She eyed him coolly. “What makes you think I’d have any interest in a vamp like you?”
With a wistful smile, the bartender said, “I get the feeling we’re two of a kind.”
“You think you’re like me?” she retorted, but as he leaned toward her again, his powerful immortal aura came close enough for her to read him. His hand brushed hers, and visions of his past rushed through her. Scenes of violence and loneliness. Of abuse suffered at the hands of someone more powerful. She jerked away.
The revelations dissipated, and calm settled over his aura. It was the kind of calm few were born with, and others only obtained by enduring some extreme challenge. A challenge where justice had finally been served, soothing a troubled soul. It was a powerful and enticing kind of calm.
He must have sensed the connection that had sprung between. He said, “Sometimes it helps to just have a friend.”
In all her existence, Helene had never had true friends. Not even among the other gods and goddesses, who were always busy playing games to maintain their standing with Zeus.
“You think we could be friends?” she challenged.
He smiled, shrugged, and placed a shot glass on the counter before her. “Stranger things have been known to happen,” he replied, but in his eyes she caught a glitter of interest that said friendship wasn’t the only thing he had in mind.
Deciding his dare might not only be entertaining, but also help drive thoughts of her too-tempting partner from her mind, she said, “I guess we’ll just have to see, Mr.—?”
“Foley,” he said, and offered his hand. “Daniel Foley.”
Chapter Seven
The dream came to Miguel again that night. But this time, as the young woman began to scream, the wounded woman in her arms rose and faced him. Only it wasn’t the woman he had inadvertently killed.
It was Helene.
The right side of
With a smile, she glanced between the two of them. “Didn’t mean to intrude, Sir. I just came in to get a drink.”
Before he could reply, she strode away and headed for the bar along the far wall. Like everything else in the place, except her boss, the wooden bar was black, and bore an assortment of ruts and grooves that spoke of a violent past. Figured. She shot a quick glance at the patrons. The club was filled with a rough lot of Goth-type humans. She also felt a number of vampires weaving through the crowd, probably in search of a midnight snack.
“What can I get you?” someone asked, and slapped a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of her.
The man behind the bar had an air of authority about him that said he was more than just a bartender. Tall, with dark, white-tipped hair, he had roped muscles and pale skin. Too pale. She met his steely gray gaze and he bent forward and sniffed the air around her, as if that might tell him more about her. If he was an immortal, he would sense her pulsating power, just as she sensed his.
“What are you?” he asked, leaning his hands on the edge of the scarred bar top.
“I’m Special Agent Helene Alexander,” she replied, reached into her jacket pocket and flashed him her credentials.
Unimpressed, the man chuckled and shook his head. “We’ve had your kind in here before, Special Agent. Ended up joining the crowd instead of fighting it.”
An FBI agent who chose to become one of the undead? Certainly not her Assistant Director . Hernandez was completely mortal, unlike his squeeze. Helene had sensed nothing unusual about him with her second sight. Or with her touch when they’d briefly shaken hands at their introduction.
She briefly wondered which other agent it might be. “I just came in for a drink, nothing else,” she assured him.
Once again the man just laughed, heartier this time, and leaned his forearms on the bar. The action brought him closer. The overwhelming power of vampire swept over her as he said, “That’s a shame, I could think of some interesting things we could do all night long.”
She eyed him coolly. “What makes you think I’d have any interest in a vamp like you?”
With a wistful smile, the bartender said, “I get the feeling we’re two of a kind.”
“You think you’re like me?” she retorted, but as he leaned toward her again, his powerful immortal aura came close enough for her to read him. His hand brushed hers, and visions of his past rushed through her. Scenes of violence and loneliness. Of abuse suffered at the hands of someone more powerful. She jerked away.
The revelations dissipated, and calm settled over his aura. It was the kind of calm few were born with, and others only obtained by enduring some extreme challenge. A challenge where justice had finally been served, soothing a troubled soul. It was a powerful and enticing kind of calm.
He must have sensed the connection that had sprung between. He said, “Sometimes it helps to just have a friend.”
In all her existence, Helene had never had true friends. Not even among the other gods and goddesses, who were always busy playing games to maintain their standing with Zeus.
“You think we could be friends?” she challenged.
He smiled, shrugged, and placed a shot glass on the counter before her. “Stranger things have been known to happen,” he replied, but in his eyes she caught a glitter of interest that said friendship wasn’t the only thing he had in mind.
Deciding his dare might not only be entertaining, but also help drive thoughts of her too-tempting partner from her mind, she said, “I guess we’ll just have to see, Mr.—?”
“Foley,” he said, and offered his hand. “Daniel Foley.”
Chapter Seven
The dream came to Miguel again that night. But this time, as the young woman began to scream, the wounded woman in her arms rose and faced him. Only it wasn’t the woman he had inadvertently killed.
It was Helene.
The right side of
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