Chapter Ten: Ginger
In Abigail's apartment, Damien glanced at the different photos in funky frames along her bookcase. Normally he didn't really waste his time on humans, they came with too many complications. He liked those who knew the score, of course; donors who would haunt covens in the hopes of snaring immortality, but he preferred those who already had the taste of death.
It was just easier that way.
But Abi was hard to resist. He had saved her life, and in a way felt responsible for her.
And she was determined to pursue her story on vampires whether he was there or not.
So he figured, he might as well be there for her.
"Ready to go?" she asked as she emerged from the bedroom, dressed in black -- dressed to kill.
If not him, he thought with a smile, then whom?
The lights of the club were dim, the music silenced. Sebastian was overwrought by what had happened to Sonja he shut the doors and sent everyone away. He wanted to mourn in silence; the severity of what had happened left no occasion for frivolity.
He sat in his quarters, dazed on wine and pain, totally unaware that in the darkness of the building below someone was on the hunt for clues to what had truly taken place.
This stealth investigator made no noise. Things were lifted and replaced as quietly as possible. Tiny clues were pocketed and no stone was left unturned.
Lives -- both human and reanimated -- were on the line.
So that was why, in the dark shadows of the silent club, this hunter was determined to get to the bottom of things; no matter the cost.
When a hand fell on her shoulder, she flung around ready for a fight.
Constantine La Rouge stood before her, dressed all in white as he was known to do. "Who are you?"
Ginger Mandrake straightened her spine and allowed her fists to fall to her side. She had long ago learned to trust her instincts, and she knew in an instant this vampire meant her no immediate harm. "Who wants to know?"
"You shouldn't be here," he advised in a low tone, keeping an eye out for Sebastian.
Was that concern she saw on his face? "Neither should you," she pointed out.
He nodded, but didn't look in any particular hurry to leave, especially as he inspected her head to foot. Her two toned hair was tied up in a ponytail, her clothes were dark and hid her curves well, and dark glasses covered her eyes. "You a cop?" he finally asked.
She had to chuckle to herself. "Not officially," she conceded at last. "Just... curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat," he said as he sat up on a barstool. "Or so they say."
"Funny, I thought the only thing being killed around here were vampires."
His intense brown eyes met hers. "Why should that matter to you? You're not a vampire."
She wrenched her eyes away from his stare. "Minor detail," she said as she continued her investigation, no longer concerned he might impede her progress.
He watched her rifle through papers, quickly and efficiently. Like she'd done this sort of thing before. He stared into her familiar face wondering why she seemed so familiar.
"You don't know me," she said finally, without turning to look his directly.
"What?"
"You're wondering if we have ever met," she told him. "We haven't."
She was shrewd, he decided. A little too shrewd. "What kind of human reads the thoughts of a vampire?" he openly mused.
She glanced back up at him with an unreadable expression. "The dangerous kind," was her curt reply.
"Sounds interesting," he responded as he hopped down from the stool. She felt him approach her. "Perhaps we can go somewhere a little more private and I can learn more."
He reached out for her but she slid easily out of reach. "What's more private than an isolated club?"
"My room," he said, his voice dripping over her like silk.
"I'm not that kind of human," she assured him before she ducked behind the bar.
