“Stop!” shouted the man with the beard. Isabel ignored him and kept walking. “Save your soul! Don’t give in to the dark ones!”
But it was a man from the other group who approached her this time. He was very tall, blond with a gaunt face. He held out a flyer, and with a sudden jolt of adrenaline, Isabel saw that his nails were long and pointed.
“Save the bite,” he chanted, shoving the flyer at her. “Turn back and leave this place.”
Dark Beard was coming toward her as well, and Isabel was growing more nervous by the moment. “Come with us and we’ll protect you,” Dark Beard said, holding out a cross toward the blond one.
The blond one shook his head. “Jonathan, Jonathan,” he said. “How many times do I have to tell you? It does nothing to us.”
Jonathan held out the cross even more tightly. “Get back, Drew,” he snarled.
Drew reached out and wrapped his fingers around the cross. Isabel stared at his long nails, almost claw-like around the small wooden cross.
Jonathan jerked the cross away, and Drew opened his hand. There was no mark.
“Demon,” Jonathan breathed, and Drew’s light smile faded, hiding the small points on his teeth.
“That’s enough, break it up,” said a deep voice from behind her, and Isabel turned to see the vampire bouncer, much too close to her. “You boys know the rules. Stay on the sidewalk, don’t harass the customers.”
“Of course, Brent, my apologies,” Drew said, and drifted back toward his crowd on the east side of the street.
Brent?
Isabel thought, staring at the muscled bouncer.
The Vampire Brent? You’ve got to be kidding.
“You too, Mr. Osborne,” Brent said, and Jonathan nodded, fading back toward his sidewalk. “My apologies, miss. May I escort you to Nocturnal Urges?”
“Uh, sure,” Isabel said, following Brent the Vampire Bouncer up to the front door. She fumbled in her jacket pockets for cash.
Brent held up a hand, and she stared at his pointed, claw-like nails. “No cover for ladies who have to walk the gauntlet,” he said, tilting his head toward the protesters, who were now trying to out-shout each other from opposite sides of the street. “Miss Fiona’s orders.”
“Oh,” Isabel said. “Thanks.”
She passed Brent and stepped through the anteroom into Nocturnal Urges. Immediately, she sensed that strange urgency, through the music pounding from the stage. The Creatures of the Night were in full force, and there seemed to be even more bodies writhing on the dance floor than the night she had come with Duane.
For a moment, Isabel felt awkward, as though there was a neon sign over her head shouting LOSER HERE ALONE. She slipped along the side wall, trying to be invisible. She sat at a table as far into the shadows as she could go and slipped off her jacket in the warmth of the club.
Looking down, she saw she still had Drew’s flyer in her hand. Grateful for something that would make her look occupied, she read it.
SAVE THE BITE
The need is overwhelming, isn’t it? You want it again and again.
There is a reason.
Do NOT be fooled by those who would trivialize the bite of a vampire!
It is a deep and spiritual moment, more than sexual, the bonding of human and vampire souls in mutual passion.
To sell the bite is prostitution, nothing more—and worse for a human, who is paying to be used and cast aside like nothing more than unwanted food.
It is never too late to stop. Contact Vampires Against Mortal Perversion and ask how we can help you stop.
Andrew Sanford, VAMP president
Isabel frowned, a little uncertain. The tone made it sound as though the bite was a drug.
Of course it’s not
, she thought.
I don’t have to be here. I could walk out anytime.
Isabel quickly folded the flyer into her jacket pocket as a young woman with musky dark skin came up to her table. “What can I bring you?” the woman asked.
Isabel looked up at her. “Uh…bourbon and diet soda,” she stammered.
The young woman looked at her with knowing eyes, and Isabel flushed. “I’ll get that right out to you,” she said, and laid a slip of paper and a pencil on the table. She walked away and Isabel hesitantly turned over the paper. Sure enough, it was an order form.
She filled out the form, checking all the right boxes and her credit card number. When it came to preference, she hesitated again. She began to check “male”, and at the last moment, scratched it out and added, “Ryan”.
The word just sat there, staring at her, as though accusing her of some grave misdeed.
It’s not too late
, she thought.
I could still walk out of here, leave a few dollars for the drink and go.
The young waitress was on her way back, weaving through the dancers and the crowds and the pulsing, pounding music coming from the Creatures of the Night.
I could go. There’s nothing to stop me.
The waitress was there, and she laid the drink down carefully. She reached for the paper, and Isabel made a move to stop her.
The waitress’ hand froze in midair. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“Yes,” she said, not sure why. She didn’t feel ready for anything, except maybe ducking out through a side door.
The waitress scooped up the paper and gave her a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but revealed her small, sharp white teeth. She vanished into the crowd, and Isabel’s heart resumed its pounding.
Too late, too late, can’t stop it now
, she thought. The vibrations of the music pounded through the floor beneath her table, thrumming into her chair and vibrating against her lower body.
Of course I can stop it. I’ll just tell Fiona when she comes. I’ll say I’ve changed my mind. They can charge me for it if they want, but I’ll just leave.
Fiona was coming, her lush, ripe body wrapped in red silk that accentuated her green eyes and red hair. The dress was meant to show off the vampire’s ample cleavage, and even Isabel couldn’t help but notice the smooth curves bared to the air.
“Follow me, dear,” Fiona said.
Isabel opened her mouth to protest, but instead her legs seemed to lift her up of their own volition. Again, she felt as though people were watching her, as if anyone looking at her would know what she was here to do.
Fiona reached the same recessed door as the other night. Isabel started to speak up, but Fiona opened the door and disappeared inside. Isabel followed her with a tiny sense of relief—somehow it seemed different away from the dancing crowds, more private, as though what happened within the chamber would be her secret.
“Ryan will be right with you,” Fiona said, and slipped out the door.
Alone, the room seemed even more anachronistic, like something out of a movie or a quick trip back in time. The four-poster bed was turned down invitingly, the candelabra flickering dancing shadows on the walls. Isabel sat on the edge of the bed, her heart still pounding.
I’ll tell him, then
, she thought.
Tell him I’ve changed my mind, he can keep the money.
Unconsciously she clutched the flyer in her pocket.
“Do not be afraid,” came that soothing, warm-flannel voice from behind her. Somehow, she recognized its timbre, although she had only heard him speak once. His voice wrapped around her, soft and comforting, yet tangibly enticing.
Isabel wanted to say she was sorry she wasted his time, but for some reason she couldn’t speak. She heard him come around the side of the bed, but she was frozen, afraid to look at him.
He hovered just beyond her sight, just beyond arm’s reach. It was as if he was waiting for her to approach him.
Fucking animals.
That’s what Duane thought. What if Ryan became angry? Would he hurt her? Would he be able to stop hurting her?
“I would not hurt you,” came Ryan’s warm voice, deep and soothing.
“Can…can you read my mind?” Isabel asked hesitantly.
A low chuckle tumbled along her nerves, and she smiled in spite of herself.
“I don’t need a sixth sense to see your fear,” he said, and came into view. He stood a respectful distance away, not moving toward her. “I remember you.”
Isabel flushed, as the memory tried to reassert itself. Ryan’s breath on her neck, and Duane’s face contorted in pleasure beneath her… Duane…
She started, and the flyer fell out of her pocket. Ryan glanced down at it, and chuckled again.
“You have been reading about us,” Ryan said. “Drew is quite persistent.”
“Is it true?” Isabel asked, daring to look directly at his fine, chiseled face. She was struck again by that sense of time in his face, as though his eyes belonged to another era, some time long past. “I mean, which of them is right? The humans say you can take over my mind, the…the vampire says the bite is supposed to be an act of, you know, love.”
Ryan sat in the chair opposite her, seeming not at all surprised to be having a conversation with his lunch, she thought. “I absolutely cannot take over your mind, miss,” he said. “Nor would I.”
“Can you bite each other?” Isabel asked.
Ryan shook his head. “No,” he said. “That which gives you pleasure is death to us. If any vampire were to drink my blood, it would offer him no sustenance. But for me, it would mean my death.”
Isabel digested that for a moment. She wanted to ask,
Why have you been all I can think of for weeks?
but she didn’t quite dare.
“What about the other? The bite as intimacy?” she asked.
Ryan shrugged. “Perhaps it is, at its finest,” he said. “There are those who can form such a closeness with only one person that when they feed, it is spiritual and emotional as well as sexual and sustenance.”
“But not all the time,” Isabel pressed.
Ryan laughed, and she saw the fine points of his teeth. But now they did not seem frightening, but only part of his features. “No, of course not,” he said. “Otherwise we could not do what we do here.”
“I don’t understand,” Isabel said.
“Consider,” Ryan said. “If a human makes love to another human, it may be a deep, abiding spiritual and physical encounter, yes?”
Isabel loved listening to his voice. She nodded yes, just so he would keep talking.
“But it is not always so,” Ryan said. “Sometimes—often—a man and a woman may partake of each other’s bodies, but not their souls. There is nothing wrong with it, nothing harmful or shameful. It is a physical release, nothing more or less.”
“So it is kind of like prostitution,” Isabel said.
Ryan’s eyes flickered for a moment, and she was suddenly nervous again. “Not so harsh as Drew would have it,” he said. “He is a moralist, and as such, believes that all should live according to his beliefs.”
Isabel cast her eyes down. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” she said quietly.
Ryan didn’t answer, and the silence grew taut for a moment. She looked up at him, trying to gauge his expression.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Isabel blinked. “For what?”
This time it was Ryan who averted his eyes. “It has been a long time since anyone…since a human asked me a question, or wished to speak with me at all, in this room,” he said, his voice dropping a little in hesitation. “I cannot recall a time when anyone apologized to me. You gave no offense at all, but I thank you just the same.”
She loved his voice, the sudden uncertainty in his tone and even his formal tone seemed perfectly in character.
“But of course you have come for a reason,” Ryan said, beginning to stand.
“But…” Isabel stammered, her heart suddenly beating fast again.
Ryan remained still. “It is your choice, miss,” he said. “I would not press you at all. No one should come to us unwilling. It is our deepest law.”
Marital aids with teeth.
Isabel was suddenly ashamed of herself.
“Isabel,” she said. “Please call me Isabel.”
He nodded, quite somber now. “It is an enchanting name.”
“Is it… Do you enjoy it?” Isabel asked. “The bite, I mean.”
Ryan inclined his head. “It is food, and more,” he said.
“But the… I mean…”
Ryan reached out, and his hand floated in the air near her. She immediately felt electrified, her skin hypersensitive beneath the jacket and thin black dress. “You are not taking advantage of me, Isabel,” he said, lightly accenting her name. “I would not be here if it was not my wish.”
His hand stayed there, without advancing. Slowly, she reached out and touched it. Instantly, a jolt of sensation leaped from his hand to hers, that powerful electricity she remembered from the last time.
“What is that?” she breathed.
“We do not know,” he murmured, pulling her to her feet.
Isabel’s heart was pounding.
Am I really doing this?
she thought, slipping her arms out of her jacket and letting it fall to the floor.