Meet Me When the Sun Goes Down (Forged Bloodlines #2), Page 2

  “Time to focus, class. You can all congratulate Melissa later,” the teacher called us to order. Again I had to wonder, why all the focus on Melissa? There were three other students given solo spots, why single her out? It was like they both had an axe to grind with me.

  “Matthews has flipped his lid, you should’ve gotten it,” Leona whispered as we started through the scales.

  “It’s fine, you know how I get singing by myself anyway,” I shrugged it off, trying to focus on warm ups.

  “I know, but you’re way better than her.”

  “Totally better,” Ivy nodded.

  “I don’t have the spare time for the extra rehearsals anyway.” Matthews glared at us then, and I tried to pretend like I’d been singing the whole time. The rest of the rehearsal dragged on for an eternity and I took no joy in the music. Do you ever have those nights where you just feel… off? For a singer it translates into a lackluster performance, and after delivering a real clunker of a note, I decided to throw in the towel for the night, doing little more than moving my lips for the duration of the practice. Neither of my friends seemed to notice my withdrawal, though I did catch Melissa giving me dirty looks more than once. Instead of being annoyed with her change in attitude, I decided to ignore her. After the high drama I’d been through with the vampire crowd, it all seemed so… petty.

  Begging off hanging out with them after rehearsal, I didn’t feel like going home either. Checking my phone, I saw there wasn’t a message from Bridget, and my fingers hovered over the screen, wondering if it would seem too needy if I called Bishop. So far he hadn’t called, but it was early by vampire standards, and I didn’t want to bug him if he was caught up in Order business.

  I decided to pop down to The Bleeding Hart and see if I could manage to run into Bishop casually without looking like a stalker. Once again my thoughts turned to Bridget, wanting a little company to cheer me up, but considering her behavior the last time I’d taken her to the Hart, I decided to go it alone.

  The Bleeding Hart was San Francisco’s premiere vampire bar. Well okay, it was the only vampire bar I’d been to, so my view was a little biased. I loved the old school woodwork and leather booths, and they actually played music I recognized half the time, unlike some of the crazy bars Bridget tried to drag me to. The favorite watering hole of vampires and humans alike, they sold regular drinks, not blood on tap or anything silly like that. I’d struck up a friendship of sorts with the owners Leander and Jarrod, twins with outrageous personalities and even more remarkable fashion sense. So it was no surprise when they immediately burst into radiant smiles the moment I arrived.

  I didn’t expect the total silence the bar slipped into the moment I stepped over the threshold. I’d been the shiny new toy for the gregarious vamps to fawn over since my very first visit to the bar, but people actually backed away from me as I crossed the room. Not like I had leprosy and needed to be avoided, but like… the way one never turns their back on royalty as a gesture of respect. The room parted like the red sea, allowing me to pass unmolested to the bar.

  I nodded and smiled nervously, staring as Charisse, the waitress, actually genuflected to me in passing. What the hell was going on? “Hey Scotty,” I greeted the bartender, who gave me a dopey grin as though too tongue tied to respond (a little disconcerting coming from a guy with multiple facial piercings and neck tattoos). “Can I get a zombie, please?”

  All at once he snapped out of it, but his dopey smile remained. “Yeah, coming right up. No charge.”

  “No charge?” Sure I’d been comped with free drinks my first night in the bar, but the novelty had worn off and I quickly became accustomed to paying my way. What had changed?

  “Naw, not for you…” Scotty seemed to be searching for some mode of address to call me, coming up short.

  “Anja?” I prompted, laying stress on the pronunciation, Ahn-yah. He couldn’t have forgotten my name, could he?

  “Anja,” he beamed, as if I’d done him a huge favor.

  “You honor our humble establishment,” a voice at my elbow sounded, and I turned to see one of the brothers in the middle of an elaborate bow.

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” I nudged him on the arm playfully, wondering who approached me, Jarrod or Leander? “Don’t be silly. You know I love hanging out here. Is there a special occasion or something? Blondes get the first round free?” I quipped, and his brother appeared on silent feet to offer me his arm.

  “Every visit from you is a special occasion, madam. What my fool of a brother tried to say is, what’s ours is yours. Your continued presence is the only payment we need.”

  “Um, thank you… Leander,” I guessed (he always did tend to dress in shades of purple and that night proved no different, down to the lavender suede shoes on his feet). “That’s sweet of you, but I don’t want to impose.”

  “Oh, it’s no imposition,” Jarrod insisted, offering his arm as well. “Your money’s no good here,” he winked playfully and I took their arms, trusting Scotty to bring my drink when ready. The pair led me back to their table, reminding me of the first night I’d come to the bar, all nervous and unsure what to expect. Just when I thought I had a handle on the vampire scene, they went all crazy and I was back to square one.

  I was glad to see Rob at the table, relieved when he gave me a simple nod then turned his attention back to his beer, like always. I’d gotten to see a lot of Rob lately since he’d started dating Bridget. He looked like he always did, more stubble on his jaw than on his closely shaven head, in blue jeans and a tight t-shirt. His muscular form leaned back casually, but there was nothing casual in the way his eyes took in the bar. Alert, they missed nothing.

  Despite the air of menace that surrounded him (and drew Bridget like a bee to honey), I found his presence calming, feeling instinctively that he had my back. Clinging to that rock of normalcy, I slid into the circular booth beside him, giving him an apologetic smile when I joggled his arm and the beer sloshed over the side of the glass. “Sorry.”

  “S’alright,” he replied in his gravely voice with the lilt of a British accent roughened by the streets. “No use crying over spilt beer, especially when they keep ‘em coming.”

  I barely had time to murmur a reply when my attention was seized by the twins, chattering my ears off. They seemed bent on outdoing each other with entertaining stories, trying to steal my interest away from each other. A small crowd gathered around the booth, at first just listening, and then joining in on the friendly competition, each trying to catch my eye.

  It was exhausting.

  I smiled and nodded enthusiastically at first, but had to pace myself, my cheeks already growing tired from the effort. Whatever the reason, everyone in the room seemed hell-bent on currying my favor.

  All except for one.

  Serena sat in the corner of the room staring daggers at me, Cole in the seat beside her, looking with longing at the crowd gathered around me. Every time my court of admirers laughed at something I said, I saw her shoulders hunch as if I’d lobbed a shuriken between them. Finally, she got up and stalked out of the room, dragging Cole along by the arm and I breathed a sigh of relief, not looking for any more confrontation for the night.

  Not that I was afraid of Serena, but I wanted to be on my best behavior just in case Bishop put in an appearance. Though, could I stand it if we had an actual conversation without him scolding me for anything? So far it hadn’t happened, so it was hard to tell.

  I was distracted by the umpteenth surreptitious check to see if Bishop had arrived by a body blocking my view of pretty much everything. Looking up, I was startled to see a bright smile coming from a pretty, if slightly vacuous, brunette. Definitely human, she smelled like cotton candy.

  “Mr. Vaughn sends his regards. He’d like you to enjoy a drink.”

  “Oh. Well, thank Mr. Vaughn, but I’m good.” I raised my glass in his direction. I’d already been through two zombies and my head was a little spinny anyway.

  “Mr. Vaughn
thought you might like a sip of the good stuff,” she kept right on smiling, reaching up to pull off a band-aid from her neck, a dangerous thing to do in a bar full of vampires. Mr. Vaughn must not have cared too much about his companion’s need to keep breathing.

  Fangs snicked out all around me at the sight of the twin puncture wounds on her neck, thankfully scabbed over, or I might have been the first one to lunge for the poor girl. I hadn’t seen any open feeding in the bar, though I did catch the occasional tang of blood in the air, was such a thing even allowed? Jarrod and Leander didn’t seem to mind the offering, gazing at her enviously.

  “Um, thanks all the same, but I already ate before I left home,” I smiled back, the image of myself feeding in public plenty disturbing enough to counter any craving for fresh blood. “I sure do appreciate the offer though.” Not sure what else to say, I resolved to ask Bishop later about the etiquette surrounding an offer like that. The girl took my answer in stride, bobbing a half curtsey before returning to her man. The fangs got put away, reluctantly by some, and many pairs of eyes followed her back to her table.

  “If you’d prefer something more robust…” Jarrod offered, snapping his fingers, and a deeply tanned guy pushed through the crowd, dropping to his knees before me.

  What was with all the free stuff? I never needed to hunt again, all I had to do was show up at the Hart and free food and drink showed up at my feet. Looking down into his big, puppydog eyes, I was almost tempted to have a taste. Almost. But the memory of Stan’s sightless eyes still haunted me enough to keep me off the live blood, because I knew I couldn’t stop with just a taste. At least not without Bishop there to keep me on the straight and narrow… Unbidden, a memory of feeding with Bishop slipped in, and my fangs slid out as a wave of longing swept through me. My hand rose to stroke the side of the guy’s neck, feeling the throb of his pulse beneath the thin layer of skin.

  Instead of being afraid at the sight of my fangs, his face took on a light of hope, and I became aware that the entire room had become deathly still, in the way only vampires could truly be, in anticipation of the spilling of blood.

  With great effort, I pulled my hand away, holding my breath (mostly to keep the delicious scent of his skin at bay) until the worst of the craving passed. “Thanks, but like I said, I’ve already eaten tonight.” Not a lie, only the guy smelled way better than the crappy mug of microwaved blood I’d forced down that evening. A general murmur of disappointment sounded at my pronouncement, but Jarrod didn’t look offended or anything. Thankfully, my fangs retracted, and I could breathe through my nose again without the danger of pouncing on anyone.

  A slow song from O + S came on, and I was distracted from the chatter enough to exclaim, “Oh, I love this song!” A big mistake, as I was immediately plied with several offers to dance. I do love to dance, but I imagined a tug of war would ensure if I gave the slightest bit of encouragement to any of them. “No thanks,” I hedged, addressing them as a group. “Why don’t you go ahead though? Don’t let me stop you from having fun, you should all dance.” En masse they headed for the dance floor, leaving me gaping after them. If I’d said “why don’t you all go jump off the roof” would they have leapt without a peep of protest?

  “Did someone sign me up for a game of Simon Says without telling me?” I murmured to Rob, the only one who seemed immune to my charms. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but I was grateful for the normal company at any rate.

  “Something like that,” Rob chuckled, tossing back the last of his beer and signaling for another. “You could have had a taste, you know. I’d see to it you didn’t make a mess of it.”

  My eyes narrowed at Rob as I wondered, not for the first time, how much he knew about me. He always seemed to labor under the idea that I needed his help, which shouldn’t have been the case if he really believed I was a nearly four hundred year old vampire like I claimed. “Thanks, but feeding in public isn’t really my scene. Besides, what if the sight of his blood triggered a frenzy and the rest of the vamps drained him like a sponge?” I couldn’t live with that on my conscience either.

  “Fair enough,” he replied, giving Scotty a nod of thanks when he deposited another beer and a fresh zombie on the table. Instead of disappearing behind the bar after I thanked him, Scotty lingered, swabbing nearby tables with a wet rag.

  “So, how are things with you and Bridget?” I asked, glad to have a normal topic of conversation for once.

  “Alright,” Rob shrugged. Not really a ringing endorsement for my roommate’s charms. He answered the next few questions about her with monosyllabic responses, barely more than a grunt even, and it struck me that he didn’t seem to be all that into her. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who put up with a girl he didn’t like just to get some, but then again, I never claimed to be able to understand men, far from it.

  Scotty nearly tripped over a chair, too busy smiling at me to watch where he was going, offering an apologetic wave when we looked up at him.

  “Everyone’s acting so weird tonight,” I sighed, taking a sip of my fruity drink, even though I knew I should quit.

  Rob leaned forward, his voice dropping. “That’s because they think you killed Kursik.”

  My mouth fell open in surprise. No wonder! Just as quickly, I snapped it shut, studying Rob closely. “But you don’t,” I observed quietly. Once again, he seemed to be in possession of more facts than anyone had a right to.

  “You’re not the type,” he shrugged it off, unconcerned with my scrutiny. It was nice he didn’t think me the killing kind, but I knew otherwise. Somewhere out there was a guy who’d never finish college, never marry and have kids, all because of me and my lack of control.

  “I wish that were true,” I said sadly.

  “And that’s why you’re not the type,” Rob winked, touching his glass to mine. “Head’s up, your boy is here.”

  “My… oh…” I caught sight of Bishop at the entrance, flanked by a pair I didn’t recognize, who clearly worked for the Order as well. I smiled as his gaze met mine, but his eyes didn’t hover long, giving no sign of recognition before they swept on by. He took a table with his two friends, completely ignoring me.

  “I guess he’s not really mine, now is he?” I murmured, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. Had something changed already? The least he could have done was send me a Dear Anja text, giving me a heads up or something.

  The suggestion to dance seemed to have worn off, and my admirers drifted back to the table. Now that I knew the reason for their attention, it became easier to accept it, even if it was based on a lie. After all, I’d been feeding them a steady stream of lies ever since my first appearance at the bar. Still, I didn’t like the sycophantic quality to the crowd, and it was impossible to carry on a regular conversation with Rob with so many people listening in. I made my apologies, excusing myself from the table to go talk to an “old friend”.

  Chapter Three

  The man and woman sitting with Bishop were as different physically as night and day. The guy’s arms were huge, covered in tribal tattoos over his smooth, dark skin. Clean-shaven under his ball cap, a wad of gum tucked between the cheek and gums. Decked out in gear similar to the clothes Mason liked to wear with an automatic strapped to his thigh, he looked ready to step into a riot.

  The Hispanic woman was small and compact, but no less deadly looking. Her long, dark hair gathered back into a French braid, the ends coiled at the nape of her neck. She wore black jeans and a red scoop necked top under a black denim jacket, the bulge of a shoulder holster visible to anyone less than a few feet from her. Black half gloves covered her hands, metal studs on the knuckles and her heavy combat boots were silver tipped. She looked like she could kick ass with the best of them.

  Expecting a friendly reception, even if Bishop was in one of his moods again, I approached the table with a sociable smile, eager to make more friends. “I didn’t know you let girls into the group,” I shot Bishop a sidelong grin
. “Hi, I’m Anja.” I offered my hand to the woman first, but she didn’t take it, instead leveling a flat, unfriendly stare at me through the loose strands of hair that escaped her braid. “O-kay,” I withdrew it, offering it to the guy who gave my hand a single shake.

  “Sup,” he nodded. “I’m Stone, this is Corazon,” he hooked a thumb at the woman, his dark eyes sizing me up.

  “Hi, nice to meet you guys.” My smile stretched wider as nerves got the best of me.

  “You’re the one who took out Kursik,” Corazon spoke, eyes narrowing slightly.

  We were back to that again. Technically I was responsible for his death, it was my Sire who’d killed him on my behalf. “In a roundabout sort of way…” I admitted, looking to Bishop to see if he’d contradict me, but he was scrolling through something on his phone like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

  “I heard you put him down cold, didn’t even sweat that chingado Booth.”

  I didn’t know what that word meant, but from the look on her face, she wasn’t impressed. In fact, she seemed kinda pissed about it. Then again, maybe she always looked like that. “I’m sorry, was he a friend of yours?”

  “What if he was?” Her chin came up and my mouth went dry, eyes dropping to the sight of the gun on the table about an inch away from her hand. When had she drawn that?

  Bishop looked up from his phone. “Corazon,” he said evenly.

  “I really am sorry,” I began, debating whether or not to tell her Kursik had been asking for it by attacking me, when Stone started to laugh.

  “Don’t sweat it, babygirl, she’s just fucking with you. Kursik was an asshole. Ain’t nobody around here will shed a single tear he’s gone.”

  “Oh, right,” I tried to recover my smile when Corazon’s hand moved away from the gun, relaxing back into her chair as she lost some of the predatory vibe. “He kinda was a jerk. All hands, you know?”