CHAPTER ONE
Thirst tore through Evan Brooks—a craving far richer, far more demanding, than anything the patrons of the bar he tended would ever experience. It was a clawing need that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with blood. Her blood—the petite blonde who'd walked through the doors of the Temple, Texas bar "Shooters" in a gust of hot wind that melded with her scent and insinuated it inside his nostrils. She smelled of jasmine and innocence, of temptation he didn’t dare act upon. And he would bet the last breath he had in his lungs that she tasted of honey and sighed like an angel.
He watched her cast a furtive look around the room, evaluating the clusters of the Friday night crowd gathering at wooden tables, clouded with smoke, and exhaling chatter that fused with the Hank Williams honky-tonk tune. Her hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head, and she swiped at a long strand falling from a clasp, a nervous tremble to her hand confirming what he suspected. Going to a bar alone was unfamiliar territory for her.
Abruptly, she started walking across the hardwood floor, toward the lonely end of the bar, with the six vacant high-back dark oak seats that matched the paneled walls. Focusing on her destination as if it offered her some form of escape. Had she glanced to her right, to where Evan stood, she might have reconsidered the wisdom of seeking solitude in a place where there would be only her and a big, overpowering male with long raven hair and midnight black eyes smoldering with…lust. No. His little Blondie headed straight for him. A woman living dangerously and she didn’t even know it.
“Two more beers down here,” came a shout from the other end of the bar.
The interruption was both irritating and perhaps ideal. Evan had no desire to see this woman run away, though it was exactly what he should want. He didn’t have time for distractions. He was a "Warden," a vampire who hunted those who preyed on humans. In this case, a werewolf. Unfortunately, the wolf had killed five Houston women before the Vampire Council had gotten word and sent Evan and his brothers to track it down into south Texas, in the small city of Temple.
Yet, despite knowing the business at hand, Evan found his gaze lingering wistfully on the soft sway of the female’s hips, a moment before he yanked two Buds from a cooler and walked them down to the two thirty-something guys at the far end, who, like the woman, wore scrubs. Most of the crowd here were either staff or visitors of Scott and White Hospital directly across the street.
"Shooters" was the staff’s place of escape, where they all came to drink away whatever ailed them that couldn’t be cured by modern medicine. This is where they talked about what happened inside that hospital, and that is exactly why Evan needed to be here. The wolf had a thing for young girls, and their sisters and friends. The sooner he knew of one victim, the more chances he had to save another.
Evan plopped the beers in front of the men and left them to their drinking. In the week since the owner had taken one look at Evan’s big, intimidating—don’t cross me or dare to cross anyone in this bar—persona, and hired him. Evan already knew these guys as regulars. They’d run a tab of at least a half dozen each before paying out, and they were nowhere near that now.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t be around long enough to find out anything more about them, or anyone else in this bar—besides Blondie, perhaps. Her, he wanted to know about. But once he found his prey, he’d be gone, and for everyone’s sake, that needed to be soon.
His gaze attached to the woman again, a predatory thrum in his veins as he sauntered down the length of the bar to where temptation called. She’d found a seat and sat primly at the counter, fingers laced together. He wanted to have them laced around his cock, her legs around his waist, all that primness melting into wild abandon.
He stopped directly in front of her and dropped a napkin on the bar. “What can I get ya there, ma’am?”
She blinked up at him with gorgeous baby blue eyes that the shadowy lighting did nothing to conceal from his vampire sight, her lips parting in a silent gasp. “You’re…the bartender?”
“I take it I don’t meet your expectations?”
“I…” she blushed. “It’s not you. It’s…” She tilted her head slightly, seeming to gather her wits and lay it on the line. “To tell you the truth, I’ve walked by this place several times this past month, and it always seemed fairly quiet. One of those sparsely populated places where you hang out at the bar, get drunk, and bore the friendly, unintimidating bartender with your troubles. But this place isn’t sparsely populated, and you're… well…you’re…”
He arched a brow. “I’m?”
“Not short, bald, and unintimidating like I pictured, that’s for sure,” she said quickly.
“Short and bald,” he repeated, his lips twitched with what threatened to be a smile. Not something he remembered doing a whole hell of a lot in the past century, but something about this woman’s nervous rambling absolutely charmed him. He was used to being seduced, not charmed. He believed she was doing both.
“Yes,” she said and waved off the words. “But that’s okay. I think you’ll get shorter once I get started drinking.”
He rested his hands on the bar, leaning in closer, subtly inhaling her scent. “I thought it was the opposite? Men get taller and better looking once a woman starts drinking.”
“I don’t think that’s possible in your case,” she said a second before her eyes went wide, clearly recognizing she’d inadvertently admitted she thought he was good looking. “Not that I was saying, I mean you are…” She sighed. “I need a big, fruity alcoholic concoction 'stat,' please. And since I normally don’t drink, I’ll take whatever you suggest.”
Evan would suggest she have a nice, long drink of him, but he decided that was a conversation better left untouched. For now. Probably not ever, he thought regretfully. “I’m certain I can come up with something to please you,” he assured her with no intention of being subtle, his gaze lingering on hers a steamy moment before he sauntered away, down the bar.
After making quick work of filling another order, Evan mixed a Kahlua and cream mixture, light on the alcohol, and set it in front of the lovely little piece of angelic temptation.
She took a long sip. “Perfect,” she said. “I can barely taste the alcohol. Thank you…bartender.”
“Evan,” he told her, finding himself amused yet again.
“Evan,” she said slowly. “That fits you much better than ‘bartender.’” She reached over the counter and offered him her hand. “I’m Marissa.”
His gaze locked with hers, his long fingers sliding around her tiny ones, consuming them, the way he wanted to consume her. His stare held hers, sexual tension spiking with an instant charge. What fit him, was her. And damn he wanted to find out how well. To know how sweet she would be all naked and soft in his arms.
Reluctantly, he released her hand, “Bad night?”
“Bad month,” she said. “That’s how long I’ve been working in the ER. You see I…” She waved off her words. “You don’t want to hear this. You don’t even know me.”