I scanned the sparse crowd, surprised I hadn't seen him yet. Colin always had some girl on the line by 11:30. The pickings were really slim, though. A score of people, myself included, had braved the heavy rain to come out. We all had to be crazy.
What else would make me, Becca MacReady, intrepid author, come to Club Elysium on a Tuesday night when I should have been at home doing line edits? Madness and curiosity.
But that madness was tempered by frustration. Two weeks of observation and digging thwarted by a downpour in Las Vegas. Why were people so scared of a little rain? Wet streets weren't that bad.
I sighed, setting my drink aside. As much as I loved Goth night, clove cigarettes and ominous music weren't doing it for me. I loved the people, with their elaborate outfits and hair. Sometimes I was tempted to participate. I wore only a black poet shirt with my black jeans. My long hair was brown, and I wore no makeup. I didn't belong, and hoped I didn't look too desperate.
I was obsessed with Colin, though, and I wouldn't be soothed until I watched him hunt again. Two more songs, and I'd leave.
They were an edgy couple of songs. Not the music, but my behavior. I started at every movement, seeking the familiar figure. At 6'4", Colin stood above most patrons, even in their massive hair and platform shoes. No one entered the club, and the few dancers were lost in their world. Everyone else loitered near tables and boots. But nowhere was my Colin.
My
Colin, hah! From what I'd observed, he belonged to no one. Since I'd first seen him, he'd had two or three girls a night at his table, flirting and touching all of them. Feeding on all of them. Making them feel good and special, then sending them on their way.
He wasn't going to be here tonight. Grinding my teeth, I turned to go, and met the stare of the suspected vampire. My heart stumbled, heat rose to my cheeks, and my limbs went numb. I couldn't move, even as he stepped away from the wall and approached.
Colin had me mesmerized, and I waited breathlessly. He was only taller than me by six inches, but he seemed to tower over me. He looked like an undertaker from the 1800s in his double-breasted long coat, even with his long hair. Not like one of the pretty Goth boys, and that's why he'd immediately stood out to me. All he was missing was a top hat, and a horse-drawn carriage.
"You've been stalking me." He was barely louder than the music, but I caught a soft Irish accent. Slightly gravelly, at the middle of baritone, his voice made my skin crawl pleasantly.
I couldn't tell what color his eyes were in the club lighting, even though I couldn't look away from them. I swallowed and stammered, unable to think straight. "What do you mean?" Sure sign of guilt. I blushed harder, and struggled to calm my mind. It had to be some vampire power; I couldn't be reacting like this to just a guy. No matter how attractive or striking he was.
He smiled, a mere softening of his lips. It was getting hard to breathe. "Have a drink with me, Rebecca."
I stiffened, eyes wide and face draining. He knew my name. I hadn't made friends with any of the regulars, hadn't been that outgoing during my discreet questions. Even when I'd introduced myself, I'd never used my full name.
Unless he got it from the bartender or the waitress. But I'd only had been carded once in all the nights I'd visited. Swallowing hard, I nodded, allowing Colin to lead me to his regular booth.
I
was following Colin to his booth. My insides were clenched, and heat flushed to my extremities. I knew what happened in his corner, how the girls always came away dazed and rapturous. Fear clawed at me; was I willing to research Colin this deeply?
His booth was far in the back, with a slim view of the dance floor. Surrounded by shadows, lit by candles, anyone sitting there was in a shroud of privacy. It had been hard to watch him, and I thought I'd been subtle. Not subtle enough, it seemed.
Avoiding his hand as he gestured to his corner, I sat on the outer edge of the bench, hands in my lap, staring at the candles. My skin tingled, like I was under the summer sun. Colin slid into the booth, moving a third of the way around; he wasn't directly across from me, but he wasn't exactly in the middle. Did he know how uncomfortable he was making me? He usually moved immediately into the necking phase with his target.
The music was much quieter over here. We could have had a conversation, if I wasn't shaking and tensing. Colin laid a hand on the table, getting comfortable, and I flinched. "Scared?"
"Nervous," I corrected, finally looking up at him. My lips were so dry, I was amazed I said anything at all. Meeting his gaze, the world froze again.
I understood why
I
found Colin attractive: he was somewhere in his early fifties, with only a few marks of age; his nose was long, and had been broken but set well; his mouth was a perfect line, with just enough fullness to look kissable; almond-shaped eyes were narrow beneath straight brows. But not every girl at this club had a thing for older men. Yet he had them falling all over him, even the underage ravers who snuck in on techno night.
The distinguished look wasn't all of it. It was his presence, the surety with which he walked. It was the suit straight out of a Western movie. It was the piercing gaze, and the fierceness even in his smiles. He was a hawk, staring at a rabbit.
Me.
"Why should my stalker be nervous?" The waitress approached, and Colin nodded and smiled. She flushed, bending over to lay out the drinks, giving him a long view of her deep cleavage. I clutched at the tumbler of soda, biting my lip as Colin winked at the woman. She left with an extra sway to her hips.
"I'm sitting with a womanizer." I took a sip of Coke to keep from looking at him.
"It's more than that." The confidence in his rugged tone made my insides all warm and liquid. It
