She tugged on Wanda’s sleeve. “All right, I’m ready to go.”
“Are you kidding me? We just got here. We haven’t even had a drink yet. Any chance I can talk you into something stronger than a virgin piña colada tonight?”
Kay shook her head. She’d gotten drunk only once, on a single martini, and once was enough. She didn’t know if it was her werewolf blood, her Lakota blood, or a combination of the two, but she had no tolerance for liquor.
“I’ll see if I can find us a table,” she said, thinking that what she really needed to find was another friend, someone who liked country music and old movies. Wanda was always into the next new thing, no matter what it was.
Trevor stood at the bar, his gaze drifting over the crowd. He didn’t know what he was doing here tonight. Friday night was date night, even at The Roan Horse, a bad time for what he had in mind. He was thinking of calling it a lost cause and going home when two females entered the club. The blonde with the spiked hair had a worldly air about her that would likely make her hard to charm. But the black-haired one … she looked perfect. Innocent. Gullible.
When the blonde headed for the bar, Trevor made his move. Pasting a benign smile on his face, he walked past the dark-haired one, accidentally bumping her arm. “Excuse me,” he said, flashing an easy grin.
“No problem,” she said with a friendly smile. “There’s quite a crowd here tonight.”
He nodded. “My name’s Trevor Clark.”
“Kay Alissano.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to dance?”
“Of course she would,” the blonde said, coming up behind them, a drink in each hand. “Go on, girlfriend, have a little fun for a change.”
The girl, Kay, glared at her friend, but allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.
All too easy, he thought. He asked her about herself, her family, and when the dance was over, he urged her to have a drink with him.
Kay glanced at Wanda, who was out on the dance floor, practically glued to her partner. No help there. She regarded Trevor thoughtfully. He was tall and good-looking, with a winning smile, short brown hair and brown eyes.
“One drink,” she agreed, taking a place at an empty table. After all, what could it hurt? “A virgin piña colada, please.”
Trevor smiled as he made his way to the bar. One drink was all it would take.
Returning to the table, he handed a glass to Kay, then lifted his own. “A toast,” he said. “To new beginnings.”
It was the last thing Kay remembered until she woke up in hell.
Hell smelled like urine. And even though Kay knew it was only her imagination running wild, it also smelled like blood. And death.
She didn’t open her eyes. If she kept them closed, she could pretend she was trapped in a remarkably vivid nightmare. She could pretend she was sleeping in her own bed even though she knew she was lying on something hard and cold and damp, like cement.
She could pretend that she was alone, when she knew she wasn’t.
Warily, she opened her eyelids a crack. And found herself staring at a man with shaggy black hair, skin so pale it was almost translucent, and dark gray eyes that burned into hers like hot coals.
Kay shuddered. Maybe she really was in hell. Because the creature hunkered down across from her was either the devil incarnate. Or a vampire.
Either way, she was as good as dead.
Gideon’s nostrils twitched as he inhaled the female’s scent. She smelled of perfume and fear and something he knew instinctively was a drug of some kind, which explained how she had come to be here. But it was another scent that lay beneath the rest that had him frowning. She smelled … feral.
The enticing scent of her blood, the rapid beating of her heart, overshadowed everything else. It had been over a month since his last kill. The woman’s nearness freshened his hunger and he reached for her, his gaze drawn to the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat.
She scrabbled backward, but there was nowhere for her to go. In a move too swift for human eyes to follow, he grabbed her ankle and drew her slowly, inexorably, toward him.
She lashed out at him, her eyes wild with fear, her nails leaving long, bloody furrows down his arm and across his cheek.
His hand tightened on her ankle, his predatory instincts sharpened by her struggles.
As though realizing that, she went suddenly still.
“There’s no escape for you.” His voice was deep, quiet, and edged with regret. “I can kill you now, quickly, or drain you a little at a time.”
“You won’t like the way I taste,” she warned. “I can promise you that.”
“I’m past caring.”