“I’ll be right back,” he says, sliding off his bar stool.
The bartender places a napkin and a tumbler in front of me before abandoning her post and scurrying toward Kit in her frayed daisy dukes and low cut crop top. I sniff the glass before taking a sip, Jack and ginger ale, which is strange because though it’s my standard drink, I’m almost positive I’ve never seen her in here before. I raise the glass to my lips, taking another sip and deciding to shrug it off as good luck. The four shots I just did are kicking in, and I’m filled with a relaxing warmth when the sound of Judgement day by Stealth fills the room. I nod my head to the beat, lost in the lyrics I love when I feel a hand brush across the middle of my back.
“It’s about time,” I say, turning toward Kit’s seat. Only, it’s not Kit.
“Expecting me, were you?” The stranger says, flashing me a crooked smile. His cold gray eyes hold my own, and I can feel myself melting into his delicious voice.
“I thought you were someone else,” I say. My words are breathy, intoxication hits me like a brick wall, suddenly and without sympathy.
“They always do,” he whispers, leaning in so close that I can feel his breath on my ear. I shiver at the combination of his words and proximity. “Let’s get out of here,” he says. Pulling away so that his eyes catch mine while his finger gently trails my collarbone, tracing the area at the base of my neck. I nod, swallowing hard as I stare into his glacial eyes, somewhere between the color of stormy ocean waves and solid steel.
I come out of the flashback more confused than I was before as if that’s even possible.
“I-I left the bar with you,” I shake my head in confusion. “Why would I do that, I don’t even know you.”
“So you do remember me,” he quips. A hint of mischief curls his lips. “What else do you remember?” he asks, turning serious as he sets his beer on the counter and walks toward me.
“I-I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. Did you drug me?” I ask, taking a step backward. My mind returns to the flashback and the intense intoxication I felt all at once.
“No.”
“Well, forgive me for not believing you, but I can’t remember a damned thing after meeting you last night, and now you’re standing in my apartment, drinking my beer.”
He sighs, takes one last step, leaving a few inches between us. “I hate this part,” he says, crinkling his nose in a way that makes him look playful and dangerous at the same time.
“What part?” I ask. My words are shaky, and all at once, it occurs to me that this psycho might actually kill me. Maybe I should have been afraid all along.
“The part where I tell you that you’re a vampire.”
Piper
* * *
Then: September 30th
“What did you just say?” I ask. My forehead creases involuntarily as I replay what I think I heard. Confusion, concern, and the realization that this handsome as all hell stranger is completely insane hit me all at once.
“I said, you’re a vampire,” he says, taking another step and completely invading what was left of my personal space.
I nod my head thoughtfully, pressing my lips into a hard line. Deep conversations have never been my thing; dealing with my own emotional issue is hard enough, so I stay out of other people’s drama. I’ve never been the type to get invested in anyone else’s feelings or problems, other than Kit, but his issues are barely existent. To say, having a crazy guy break into my apartment to have a chat about supernatural myths is uncomfortable would be an understatement and a big one at that.
A few silent moments pass. I clear my throat, awkwardly, to say the least.
“I, uhm…I’m not really good at this sort of thing,” I explain, staring back into his steely eyes. “Discussing my problems, other people’s problems, the whole talking to people thing, it’s just not my scene, so if you’re off your meds and you need someone to talk to, I can google you a therapist or something, but then you need to go.”
His brows raise, eyes wide with surprise, then his mouth breaks into a smile, and he chuckles dryly.
This is really weird. I stand there while the clearly unhinged, though exceptionally handsome trespasser stares back at me. Maybe he’s deciding on his next words, perhaps he’s planning my murder- who can be sure at a time like this? My eyes wander from his face. I trace his frame, taking in every detail from his cropped, slick hair and stubbled face down to his plain black shirt, slim jeans, and black boots. Nothing about his appearance screams 'unmedicated psychopath’, but that’s not exactly a full-proof assessment. Also, I’ve been told I’m not the best judge of character when it comes to hot guys, so there’s that.
He takes a deep breath and pinches the space between his eyes.
“Look. Normally I wouldn’t mind staying and debating the existence of supernatural beings, and the fact that you are one for hours. All night, in fact,” he adds as his eyes drop to the towel barely covering my essentials. “But as it turns out, I have someplace to be. So I’m going to have to…expedite this whole process.” His words are slow and careful as he stares back at me with a frightening intensity. “Give me your arm.”
I can feel my eyes widen at his request, his closeness finally sets in, and I notice that our toes are almost touching. I swallow the heavy feeling in my throat, taking a step backward and shaking my head in protest. He lets out a heavy sigh and narrows his eyes. In an instant, my wrist is locked in his firm grip.
“I’m trying to help you,” he whispers, never breaking eye contact as he raises my wrist to his mouth. A second later, I gasp, drawing in an involuntary gulp of air that lodges in my chest as two sharp, hot pains tear into my wrist. The burning sensation travels up my arm, dulling my senses, and warming my entire body almost immediately. My eyes fall shut, and every inch of me relaxes. My legs give way, and a strong arm catches around my waist, pulling me into soft spiced cotton. I breathe in the scent as the darkness that fills my mind begins to break, images filter in like smoke, solidifying into clear pictures. I watch myself leave the bar the night before on the arm of my mystery man, we take a turn once out on the sidewalk, cutting through an alley. Halfway between the two blocks, I stop, leaning against the brick wall and pulling him toward me. As soon as our lips meet, something changes. My own memory kicks in, and I remember the intense connection I felt in that moment, overwhelming attraction and need for this stranger. My hands move to his hair, fingers lace through the longest part, pulling him against my body. His hands are braced on the wall beside my head, but I need them on me, exploring and claiming every inch. The primal desire I felt at that moment was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced for another person. The closest comparison I can make is to my struggle with addiction. The need for more even if it could be too much because, in that moment when you’re chasing that high, there’s no such thing as too much. All that matters is getting enough to settle the craving and calm the demons, everything else takes a back seat.
When he pulls away, breaking the kiss, I’m breathless. I trace my swollen lips with my finger. Everything around me feels hazy, my cheeks are flushed, and the warm air does nothing to clear the fog. He takes a step backward and runs a hand through his hair, his breathing is heavy, uneven as he eyes me with uncertainty. I can tell he’s on the fence about what happens next, but my craving isn’t anywhere close to being sated. I close the distance between us, tugging him toward me by the hem of his shirt when our lips lock again, it feels like heaven. The scent of spiced cologne mixed with the sweet mint on his tongue is better than anything that came before. I slip my hands under his shirt, tracing the lines of his abs as his mouth explores mine. He pulls back slightly, looking into my eyes before he nips at my bottom lip, and his mouth crashes against mine again. The memory fades away, replaced by a completely different scene- this time, I see things through his eyes. I’m lying in the same alley, my neck is bloody, and my top is drenched. He crouches over me, places two fingers against the pulse point of my neck, and exhales heavily. He scrubs a hand over his face, pausing with it over his mouth for a second, then he pulls me up against his chest and bites into my already blood-soaked skin. The memory shifts again. He carries me into my apartment, removes my soiled clothes, and wipes the blood away from my skin before lying in my bed and leaving. My head is spinning as the darkness parts, and my apartment comes back into view. I sit up still clutching the towel around my chest and look down at my wrist, there are two small dark purple bruises and a smudge of dry blood, looking around it’s immediately clear that I’m alone. There’s a sheet of paper on the floor beside me.