The Night Club

	CHAPTER ONE The hair on the back of her neck prickled in warning. Danger neared. Isabella Maresca felt its chilled tendrils beneath the pounding drums of the band on the club's stage. It neared, the cold growing stronger, mingling with the heat generated by hundreds of dancing bodies. It morphed into an icy, crackling energy, sapping some of the brightness from the stage lights. Only she noticed. This was the first time she experienced the sensation for herself, but she recognized it immediately. Her training had given her enough to know what that coldness meant. But what could she do now? Here? Shouting to the crowd was useless. Even if anyone heard her, yelling "vampire" wouldn't do any good. Another rush passed along her spine, cold mixed with heat, evolving into a confusing force that sparked with power, leaving her reeling. Just as she'd been taught. First the cold, then the heat. The intensity indicated there was more than one vampire. Maybe many more. She searched the crowd. Nothing. How could she warn the innocents who risked being consumed? She couldn't separate them from the undead. If she didn't do something, the whole place would be the scene of a frenzied bloodletting. The energy increased, thumping in time to the beat of the music. Heat now seared her, and though she'd never actually faced a vampire, she knew she was about to. Her heart raced, and she shut out the presence of those nearby, tuning in to the surges of warmth that passed along her spine. She stiffened, turning toward the gaze she knew rested upon her. A brief ray of hope rose. Lucien LaCorte, the club's owner. Thanks to the presence of the creatures, she would finally get her chance to meet him, but it was nothing at like she'd planned. He was her reason for staying behind tonight, to try and get his attention. She had it now, judging from the way he looked at her. No man had ever looked at her with such intensity. She flushed, hating the way her knees wobbled. If he could do that with only a look, what could he do if he actually kissed her? She tossed the thought aside. She now had to convince him she wasn't insane when she told him his club crawled with vampires. So much for trying to impress him. She'd be lucky if he didn't think her a lunatic. He strode toward her and she couldn't tear her eyes away as he neared. His gaze devoured her. A knot formed in her stomach as she recognized the tinge of gold in his dark eyes before he concealed it. The searing heat came from him. She stifled a gasp. He was the danger she sensed, and the realization was closely followed by a stomach rolling disappointment as her fantasy shattered. Her heart pounded as he drew closer still, a hint of a smile hovering on his lips. She held her ground, one hand slipping into a pocket to caress the crucifix she always carried. At the very least, she could discreetly flash it to keep him at bay. His smile broadened, and she realized he knew her intentions. Before she could pull the cross free, he had gripped her arm, his hold gentle, yet firm. "You must be a novice. Or you would know this weapon has no effect on me. Especially in here." The sensuous silk of his voice, laced with a French accent, sharpened the spurts of warmth. She tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with the feel of his hand on her arm. "Let go." "I think not." He tugged, compelling her to follow. His grip wasn't tight, yet she knew struggling against his superhuman strength would get her nowhere. She opened her mouth to scream. He turned and silenced her with a fierce glare. "No one can help you." She remained quiet, desperately searching for some way to free herself. They reached a back door. Before she could give a thought to resisting, he pulled her through. LaCorte's lair. The sudden silence overpowered, her ears still ringing from the music. She took a moment to glance around the dark room, luxuriously appointed with elegant mahogany furnishings. She committed the layout to memory, for the future. Because if she survived this, she would be back. He released his grip. She made a dash for the door, only to find it blocked by his body. He towered above her, forcing her to tilt her head to look at him. Too late. Caught in the hunger and promise in his dark gaze, she could do nothing as his desire held her motionless. "What brings a novice hunter to my club?" The husky timbre of his voice broke the spell holding her immobile. She shook her head and backed away. She forced her voice to remain steady. "What makes you think I'm a novice?" "I know. You haven't destroyed your first yet." How the hell did he know that? He chuckled, following as she backed away. She came up against a desk. He leaned forward, trapping her between his arms. "I know many things about you, cherie. But for someone who hunts my kind, you are ignorant." He brought a finger up and stroked it slowly down her cheek, and along her throat. She shivered under the caress. Was it a threat? Or something else? "Be careful, LaCorte. I can destroy you." He threw back his head and laughed. The sound vibrated through her. An unruly lock of dark hair tumbled across his forehead. She resisted the ridiculous urge to brush it aside. His piercing eyes locked on hers and she swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. "Many have tried and failed. Once we're through here, you won't even try." She slipped a hand into her pocket, fingers closing around the short stake she carried. But before she could remove it, his hand followed, slipping into her pocket, brushing against her skin with lightning speed. He pulled it free. Long slender fingers crushed the wood into powder. The former weapon dusted the floor beside them. His eyes grew cold now, angry. "My fledglings would enjoy you." "Please." But what did she ask for? She didn't know. He pressed more tightly against her. He shook his head. "No, cherie, I would much rather enjoy you myself." Those fingers were once again on her throat, stroking, caressing, making her senseless with longing. She couldn't fight, didn't want to resist as he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. He suddenly crushed her against him, his arms wrapping tightly about her. His mouth devoured hers, stirring her senses to fever pitch. Unable to stop herself, her arms crept around his neck, as if she tried to draw him still closer. Her fingers tangled in the shoulder-length dark hair and she marveled at its velvety softness. His tongue brushed her mouth, urging her to open and she did, knees buckling as he swept inside, tasting deeply. He left her mouth then, to trail along her jaw and finally her throat. As his fangs brushed against her pulse point, she stiffened. Reality cut through the haze he wove about her, alerting her to the danger. She released her hold on him, shoving at his shoulders, panic rising to choke her as she tried to push him away. A whimper escaped, it was all she could manage, and suddenly, he drew away, that dark gaze questioning. "You are afraid?" She nodded, her voice elusive when she tried to answer. "Don't be. Just a taste, to show you what is between us." The promise in his gaze shredded her fear. There was no threat, only reassurance. And desire. He kissed her again, lightly, and she relaxed in his arms as his hands cupped her head and gently tilted it back. She didn't protest as he laved her neck with his lips and tongue, softening her in his embrace. A growl from low in his throat heightened the desire he stoked within her. His fingers lightly caressed her arm, and all resistance fled. Once more, she pressed against him, urgency cascading through her, eradicating rational thought. A warning voice sounded, but her chaotic senses disregarded it. She wanted him to continue kissing and caressing. She wanted more. As if in response to her silent plea, his mouth once again returned to hers, and her stomach tightened at the contact. She moaned, desire like thick fog, obscuring everything but the invigorating taste and scent of the lover who could bring her to such heights with just a kiss. His mouth moved along her cheek, his lips finding the sensitive shell of her ear. His warm breath and hot tongue brought shudders of delight. The voice in her head faded, the faint whisper warning this was wrong, but it felt so right. She never wanted it to end. The magic he stirred was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. When his mouth returned to her throat, she sensed what was coming. Instead of fighting, she tilted her head further back in welcome, granting him access. His faint chuckle swelled through her, but she ignored the warning it brought. She knew she should fight, resist him, but she didn't have the will. His fangs pierced the flesh of her throat, and the first twinge of pain briefly muted the pleasure. She stiffened and tried to cry out. Suddenly, his voice was in her head, soothing her. Relax, cherie, and feel the pleasure in my kiss. You are sweet, like nectar for the gods. Like nothing I have tasted before. Incredible. It seemed to go on forever, and yet it lasted only moments. She floated in a sea of bliss and he continued to offer endearments and comfort, leaving her relaxed and floating in a sea of ecstasy. She closed her eyes, as waves of delight swept her away. This was better than her fantasies of kissing him when she thought him a mortal man. Lucien lifted the redhead into his arms. He hadn't lied. Incredible, the sweet flavor of innocence rich in her blood. He drew her tightly against him and teleported to his penthouse above the club. He laid her gently on his bed and stepped back to study her. Deep auburn hair fanned across the black satin pillows. He wanted to kiss those full lips again, but didn't dare, afraid he might be tempted to feed once again. Her pale face and thready breathing told him he'd already taken too much. Her presence in the club tonight had almost undone his careful control, and he'd forced himself to resist the urge to confront her the moment she stepped inside. The excitement at his first glimpse still coursed through him. He knew she'd eventually come, her training determined she would seek him out. He'd anticipated tonight for more years than he could remember. Now his chance to finally reveal himself had come. One of the main reasons he'd opened this club was to lure her to him. From afar, he'd watched her grow from childhood, and he knew everything about her, all of her favorites, all of her dislikes. How she loved music and dance. He'd fended off several generations of her family of hunters. Waiting for the day he faced her. She'd never take him. Her lack of ability was not the reason. She was his. His woman, his mate. His destiny. Just as foretold centuries ago. Their future was entwined, in ways she couldn't possibly imagine. When she awakened, he would explain. He wanted her. Nothing stood in the way of what he wanted. He recalled the fleeting thought he'd heard as he drank from her, daring to briefly touch her mind. She had dreamed of him as well. He smiled. She desired him. It didn't matter that she wanted what she believed to be a mortal man. Soon, what he was wouldn't matter. None had come before him, not even that fool boy. No, she desired only him. Delight, absent for more decades than he could count, surged within him. It dimmed as he recalled the one thing that could destroy all of that. He forced the idea aside. She belonged to him, body and soul, and someday, he would make her one of his kind. She stirred, and moaned. He sat beside her and took one of her hands between his. Green eyes, dark like grass covered in morning dew, fluttered open. Fear filled her gaze. She tried to pull away, but his grip prevented her from going more than a few inches. "You...you attacked me!" The hoarseness of her voice brought a stab of guilt. Was it from lack of use, fear, or his kiss? He shook his head. "No, not an attack. You gave me permission." Her free hand came to her throat, her fingers gently pressing against the wounds he'd left. He wanted to reassure her, but said nothing. For now. "You bit me. You...fed from me." She groaned and turned away. "Isabella...." She turned back to face him, eyes wide. "How do you know my name?" "I've known of you for many years. Waited for you. "What? I don't understand." "You are mine." He imagined making love to her, and nudged the thought toward her, gently so she didn't feel his intrusion. Comprehension filled her eyes, and she shrank away. "No, I'm a hunter. Like my family before me. I was brought up to slay you and your kind. Not become...yours." Her lips twisted. In disgust, or fear? He sighed. Perhaps he'd been too hasty. How could he expect her to just accept it, when all she knew was what her father had taught her? He softened his voice. "You will. You can choose not to believe it, but I will prove it to you. When I make you mine." "Never." She jerked her hand free and scrambled to the other side of the bed. Before she made a sprint for the door he stood before her, his arms wrapping tightly around her. She struggled in his embrace, but he stroked her hair, her back, until she quieted. He suspected she merely bided her time, waiting for her first opportunity to break free. Why was he surprised? She was overwhelmed with the way he'd rushed her. He had plenty of time to convince her of the truth, to show her that their kiss had been just the beginning. But he needed to move slower. "Let me go." Her muffled plea, laced with fear, caused another twinge of remorse. Yes, she was the one, for no other had ever brought forth the depth of regret that she did, making him ache with having frightened her. But now that he was so close, he didn't know if he could let her go. "It is your destiny. And soon you will realize how very much you want it." "No. I can't." He sensed her resolve weakening beneath his soothing caresses. He intensified his touch, brushing aside her hair, his lips gently gliding along the side of her neck. She stiffened, but his soft kisses soon had her melting in his arms once more. The fresh scent of her blood, stronger because of the wounds, made it difficult to resist his natural urge, to feed. Where the strength came from, he didn't know. "You will be mine, cherie. And it will do you no good to resist." Isabella wanted to fight, to break free and flee Lucien's control, but his soothing touch and whispered words kept her captive in his embrace. How odd she should feel almost protected, even as she knew he could rip her throat out and leave her dying on the floor. The pleasure he brought with just his hands and mouth left her reeling. What was wrong with her? Her parents would be so disappointed in her weakness. She was a hunter, as they had been, and their parents before them. She was the only one left to carry on. She'd failed. Her dream of being courted by this man, no, this vampire, whom she'd admired from afar, lay in shreds at her feet. How could she have ever let her fantasies rule her common sense? All it had gotten her was here, in the arms of her natural enemy. She had no weapons or protection of any sort. Helpless to his whims. She heard her father's voice in her head, admonishing her for not paying closer attention to her work. For wanting to go out and enjoy herself with friends. She should be practicing, studying, working. It had taken her father's death for her to finally get serious about her training, to work at making a name for herself, so the vampires in this city would fear her. Instead, she'd let LaCorte overpower her with a kiss, feed from her. She choked back a sob. All of her training, wasted. She gathered her resolve. No more. No matter what nonsense he babbled about destiny. She was put on this earth to kill him. Then why did she long to stay with him like this? Why did she yearn for another taste of his passion? And how had she not known that the object of her secret crush was a vampire? Too many questions needed answers and she couldn't begin to sort them out as long as she remained here. She had to get home, to her own sanctuary, where she was safe and could gain some perspective. And formulate her plans. Isabella pushed against his shoulders. "Release me." He surprised her by doing exactly that. Without his arms around her, a chill shivered along her spine. She ignored it. "I have to leave." She stood, placing as much distance between them as possible. She inched toward the door, relieved when he didn't follow her. "You will be back." She nodded. "Yes - to kill you." Lucien smiled, and the sight set her heart to racing again. "No cherie. What we share, what we are meant to be is incomparable to anything else." "The only thing I'll share with you is your death." "Don't you wonder why no one has succeeded before?" Isabella held up one hand to silence him, the other reaching behind her to grasp the doorknob. "Don't start with that nonsense again." The knob turned easily and she stumbled through the door. She ran down the corridor, finding the stairs and practically falling in her haste to get away. She knew he hadn't followed, but his voice was in her head again. Destiny declares you are mine. And I always take what is mine. She flung open the door and rushed into the night, her hands over her ears to silence his mocking words that echoed in her thoughts until she wanted to scream.

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