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Hot Tramps, Cool Vamps Prologue Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Dark-light, dark-dark, dark-light-dark… Club music and strobe lights tripped a discordant litany in Juna King’s brain, a jerking, jolting accompaniment to the mass of human and immortal motion throbbing in the nucleus of Manhattan’s diciest demon dive, Pleasure Cell. Dark… Juna’s gaze skittered over the sunken dance floor, skipped across a cavernous seating area and settled on a male standing near the towering bar. Dannock’s clan ruled the Cell—a conclave of iniquities that catered to the darkest cravings of every species—and tonight, as usual, Dannock was decked out like a prince. Gem-studded black leather adorned his seven-foot, outrageously bulked-out body. Nearly every inch of uncovered flesh, including his shaved skull, was decorated with the blood-red tattoos that signified he was alpha in the hierarchy of his clan. He sensed her regard immediately—he’d been her lover long enough to ignite a few of the extrasensory sparks possible between partners with immortal blood—but he didn’t pause his conversation with the group of VIP mortals currently kowtowing to his power. Dannock was a master of mixed signals and he waited just long enough to make Juna doubt all her reasons for being here tonight before he slowly turned his head and fixed her with a long, hell-hot stare. Later, those black, black eyes told her. She shivered, a reaction that was part anxiety, part anticipation. “Cold?” The warm voice in her ear and the equally warm body at her back sent her senses dancing back toward brightness. Inhaling the deliciously clean scent of a young human male in his sexual prime, Juna forcibly pulled her mind from the spell of Dannock’s eyes and looked over her shoulder. Her favorite mortal was smiling her favorite smile—sweet and slightly sheepish meets blatant sexual appeal. She allowed her lips to curve in an answer but subdued any sparkle of emotion. Because the owner of that incredible smile was becoming too important to her, revving up the side of her psyche she rarely acknowledged, nudging her toward things irresistible and forbidden. Things like— Light… The strobe flared and then morphed into a rainbow of laser beams. She shook her head, still smiling. “No, not cold. Hot.” Reaching for one of the drinks he held in his hands, she watched the lasers light up his tall, muscled body, his white T-shirt and faded jeans attracting flashes of purple, indigo, magenta, lime. Attracting more than a few pairs of eyes as well. Immortal, human. Male, female. Tom Farrell was like a shiny, new trinket to this shadow-souled crowd of pleasure seekers. Barely twenty-one, he had the clean-cut good looks of an all- American athlete. Which made sense because that’s what he was. A jock. A good boy. Cocky but nice. Boyishly goofy with friends, polite with strangers. Sometimes a smartass but mostly plain old smart. And, oh dear God—sexy, sexy and sexy. “So.” His green-gold eyes sparked with warm humor as he raised a bottle of beer to his lips and drank briefly. “No thanks for the fifteen minutes I spent navigating a gamut of ghouls to fetch that frou-frou drink for you?” His deep voice was a semi-hoarse rumble over the music. He leaned his hand and hip against the dance floor’s Lucite barrier and took a longer drink—a stance that was definitely a pose—and Juna gave him the once-over he was asking for, perusing the beautiful symmetry of musculature and motion that made him one of the most attractive creatures she’d ever known. “Far as I know, mortal love slaves never get thanks.” Juna sipped her drink and smiled some more. “They just do their jobs quietly. Obediently. Subserviently.” Tom laughed, a low but bold sound that curled enticingly around Juna’s mostly bare flesh. “I’m thinking we need to go over the job description for love slave one more time,” he said. “Oh?” “Yeah, ’cause so far it’s been all slave and no love.” He reached out with his free hand and smoothed a swathe of her long black hair over her shoulder. His eyes lingered briefly on the breast he’d just uncovered—she was wearing a handkerchief halter that was more decoration than clothing—and her nipples tightened annoyingly. Covering her response, she reached up to adjust the heavy ruby pendant that hung between her breasts. Tom caught her eyes, gave her a knowing smile. She glanced away, worried about the increasing occurrences of his obvious yet respectful moves on her, signals that he wanted more from her than just friendship and flirtation. Her needy reactions to any little overture were even more worrisome. The mortal love slave thing was a joke, of course—Tommy was a summer intern at Stoked Corp, the same company Juna worked for. Officially he was on security detail but he and Juna both knew he was a glorified babysitter, a corporate tool Stoked had hired to keep one of their favorite screws in line. “Love slave” was one of the lines he had casually fed her friends to explain his sudden and persistent presence at her side. But lately the jokes had become more brazen, more meaning-laden, and Juna knew if she let things progress, her friendship with him would have to end. Had she ever been able to maintain a “just friends” relationship with a guy she was this attracted to? No. Had she ever denied herself the indulgence of sex with a hot, beautiful creature who desired her? Nope. Self-denial. God, it sucked. Her immortal side was, by nature, selfish, demanding, arrogant. Her human side was playful, trusting and more than a little bit love-starved. The combination tended to get her into trouble. Tom’s smile went crooked and he took another swig of beer. She watched his throat work, noticing the way the smooth, tan skin stretched over his Adam’s apple and the muscled lines of his neck. Pressing her right canine hard against her tongue, she inhaled deeply through her nose. She knew his scent intimately. And now she desperately wanted to know his taste… Her need for him had been mighty from the beginning. Now it was a craving that, through denial, was becoming an obsession. A very, very dangerous obsession because it went beyond the simple need to feed her body, slake her lust. She had to put a stop to it. He was her friend and she didn’t want to hurt him. She could never have—probably didn’t deserve—a real boyfriend, an intimate, long-term relationship. Certainly not a normal one. Certainly not with a human. Her upbringing had placed her in a zone that no sane lover—immortal or human—would ever want to penetrate. She wasn’t averse to hurting herself but she never wanted to hurt a true friend. Which is why, when she took a lover, she took on a male like Dannock. The music went quiet, freezing the dancers for a long, bizarre moment. The lights flashed off completely and then flickered on as a new song started up with a sonic blast. As dark descended and then became light again and again and again, Juna blinked, trying to make sense of sound and vision. Somebody jostled her against Tommy. Her knuckles brushed against the hard, cotton-covered muscles of his abs, making her drink splash over her glass and onto him. He gasped, laughed. The slow strobe continued to flash—black, white, black, white—in time to the song’s belly-shaking bass. Juna stood still as Tom took her drink and set it on a nearby table. He took her cold, wet hand and held it in his big, warm, strong one. His gaze met hers and held. She licked her lips, didn’t look away. Hypnotized, she watched the lights illuminate the green and gold striations in his eyes. Such beautiful eyes… What was wrong with her? She should laugh, drop her hand, make a joke about the bizarre atmosphere or the maniacal beat of the song. But she didn’t. Instead she stood there and thought about snaking her hand around his neck, tugging him down for a long, fervent kiss. A kiss she knew would be more intoxicating than any of the drugs or drinks available at the bar. The song changed abruptly, the beat giving way to the shattering, high-pitched wail of a popular demon singer. Tom laughed, finally breaking eye contact to look at the craziness on the dance floor. “This music fucking reeks.” Juna had to laugh in agreement. “Yeah. It does.” Tom put his beer down next to her drink and, tugging on her hand, began walking toward the dancers. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Since we can’t beat ’em, we’ll join ’em.” Another laugh, another tug and they were dancing. Sort of. It was too crowded to do anything but bounce. Tom raised his eyebrows at a nearby satyr, an attractively fey creature who wasn’t shy about putting some serious grind into a brazenly intercourse-like move with his human partner. Juna let a burst of giggles loose as Tom’s mouth gaped. With a shrug and a smile, Tom grabbed Juna’s hips and copied the satyr’s moves with hilarious intensity. Juna put her hands on Tom’s shoulders, still giggling. The lights went dark for another long moment and even though Tom’s warm hands embraced her, she felt the sudden seductive pull of Dannock’s black eyes from the other side of the club. Dannock had promised there would be new blood at the gambling tables tonight—immortal high rollers who were reckless enough and rich enough to make the play interesting. If Juna was lucky, if she was smart, if she was steady and, most importantly, if she could give Tom the slip, she might be able to win enough to step off the ride for good. If that’s what she truly wanted. Lightdark, lightdark, lightdark. Just one more time around on the carousel, Juna—this time the lights will be more sparkly, the music more melodic, the mirrors more glittery, your steed more steadfast… Curving her fingers into Tom’s supple shoulders, Juna tried to ignore the spinning sensation in her head, the familiar tug-pull that tightened her gut. What did she want? If she stilled her endlessly looping thoughts and listened to the part of her soul that was solid, unwavering—what did she really want? The answer came with a lot of pain and a little surprise, but she knew it was the truth. In this moment, on this night, she would gladly give up her immortal powers and the luxuries and the live-forever lifestyle that went with them. Give them up so she could guiltlessly hold Tom close and let their bodies react to one another with total freedom. Ah well. She could always pretend. She was good at pretending. She closed her eyes, disregarded the dark doubt welling in her heart and gave herself up to Tom’s vibrant, happy energy. |