The Last True Vampire(7)

But beyond that, he felt alive. Truly alive, as he had been before he’d been made into a vampire. Before he’d made the decision to trade his soul for an existence as one of the untethered. If he didn’t find the source of that delicious scent, the sweet blood that entranced him like a siren’s song, he’d go mad.

Through the hordes of humans he swathed a path with one long arm, brushing them aside as though they were nothing more than blades of grass and his arm a broadsword. The dhampirs watched with curious yet fearful expressions, their irises reflecting silver in the low light, giving him a wide berth as they bowed their heads, afraid to meet his feral gaze. He had finally come alive this night, and though his heart beat anew, it wasn’t the whore’s blood that had brought him from his soulless stupor. No, as Michael’s eyes lit on a female not twenty feet away he knew without a doubt that it was her blood that called to him and her scent that had awakened him.

This female had tethered his soul and returned it to him.

As though she sensed him, too, her eyes met his. She looked nothing like the overdone, overused, and utterly underwhelming human females who seemed to frequent these sorts of clubs. Rather, she stood out among them. A breath of fresh air in a stale environment.

Her lips curled into a flirtatious smile. A sly, seductive expression that caused his cock to grow hard and the blood coursing through his veins to warm. She turned from him, winding a path through the VIP lounge toward the less populated area at the back of the club. Didn’t she realize that running only made him want to give chase? Or was that what she wanted, to be captured in a shadowy corner where no one would hear her moans of pleasure as he took her vein?

Michael’s step faltered. Of course, she couldn’t possibly know what he wanted from her, how her scent drove him to the frenzy that made his earlier thirst a mere annoyance in comparison. If she thought to find an exit in this part of the club she was about to be disappointed. In a matter of moments she’d be trapped, and a thrill of excitement coursed through Michael’s veins at the prospect.

* * *

Claire found herself facing a black wall with Diablo painted in giant red script above her. She put her back to it, palms bracing her as though she’d made a fatal error. Oops! she had nowhere left to go. Rule of the hustle number four: Let the mark think he’s running the show.

He was high as a freaking kite; of that she was positive. Too bad, too. He was much too hot to waste his looks—and probably his wealth—on the life of a burnout. Claire took a moment to observe him as he stalked toward her. Any woman would be tempted to fall to her knees and thank the lord for his creation when she got a look at the one-two punch this guy was bringing. Tall and sculpted without looking like one of those muscle-beach meatheads. She was willing to bet he pretended to be some sort of fitness junkie when he wasn’t high. She saw it sometimes in addicts. They looked fit and portrayed a healthy lifestyle to cover up for their illegal extracurricular activities. He probably worked in the film industry. Not on-screen talent, but she figured he was a lawyer or producer. Maybe a moneyman. Or, more likely, private security. An aura of importance surrounded him as if he knew he was the shit and everyone else should, too.#p#分页标题#e#

Full, dark hair brushed his brow in a casual style that was meant to look like he’d hopped out of bed and into his clothes. A straight nose, sharp cheekbones, and the most amazing dimple in his chin only lent to his aura of strength. And his eyes … holy shit, were they beautiful. A bright turquoise blue that reminded her of a picture she’d seen of the waters off the coast of Cozumel. She felt an instant connection with him. Something deep and obsessive that stole her breath. She’d never felt such an intense spark of interest before. Shame, too, since she was about to rob the poor sucker blind.

Good looks or not, she wasn’t here to flirt. Besides, she didn’t waste her time on addicts and users. He was mere feet from her now, each step he took a predatory swagger that sent a thrill through her body. Claire’s breath returned, quickening in her chest as she sized him up: much bigger up close. For a moment she had the feeling that she might be in way over her head with this one, but then her gaze landed on the gorgeous Patek watch on his left wrist. With the right fence that watch could cover six months or more’s worth of rent. Not to mention cupboards full of groceries. She’d hit pay dirt with this guy. Ka-ching!

Claire fixed a flirtatious smile on her face, which, considering the guy was a superhottie, wasn’t too tough. He closed the remaining feet between them in a couple of long strides and braced himself against the wall with one strong arm, leaning down as he buried his face in her hair. Was he smelling her? Okay, that was sort of weird.