The Nightlife: New York ( The Nightlife #1)

The Nightlife: New York ( The Nightlife #1) Page 2

Glancing at the handsome boy, she immediately noticed the severe contrast between the foul detectives and the purity of spirit evidenced in the colors of his aura. By comparison he appeared a saint, worthy of canonization in his child-like innocence.

His overt infatuation and innocence called to her, she found it hard to resist. She wished she’d followed her initial impulse to ignore the detectives when they stopped their car. She should have focused on this adorable young man who was so taken with her. As she watched the colors of his aura shift, she perceived his indignant response to the detectives man-handling her. A window of opportunity opened up.

Aaron burned, outraged at the audacity of the grotesque, bulldog of a man assaulting the blonde goddess. An involuntary cry tore from his throat, “Hey! Leave her alone! Get your hands off her!” He couldn’t believe either of these crude creatures would dare lay hands on the beautiful vision of perfection who spoke in an intoxicating stream of French obscenities.

“T’as une tête à faire soutier les plaques d’égouts!” She blasted the bulldog. Aaron recalled just enough French to know she’d told him his face could blow off manhole covers. “Cessez de me cracher dessus pendant que vous par lez” Wiping her face, she eloquently expressed her disgust that the bulldog was spitting on her as he spoke.

Never ceasing her tirade of lovely French filth, the blonde struck in a blur. In one swift move, she broke the bulldog’s hold on her wrist and clawed his face. A trail of bloody slash marks opened across his left cheek. Without pause she pivoted and punched Barney Fife in the nose with a gratifying crunch. His head snapped backwards and a splat of blood flew through the air. She pivoted in a split-second to face the bulldog, a Taser in hand. She had magically snatched the weapon from Barney Fife after breaking his nose.

The combat unfolded before Aaron’s eyes like a scene from a martial arts film. The woman appeared to move in a blur, with superhuman velocity. By comparison to her whip-like actions, the cops creeped along in slow motion.

Aaron’s jaw dropped in complete awe. He had difficulty accepting these bizarre events for reality. As the shimmery cocktail-dressed wonder woman fired her stolen Taser, Aaron recognized the bulldog wasn’t really as slow as he had seemed. He had a pistol drawn and moving upward in a sweeping arc.

Aaron’s dream state shattered along with his heretofore unremarkable and short life when the Taser struck the bulldog at precisely the moment his gun sights aligned with Aaron. The electric shock of the Taser began a domino effect. All muscles and tendons in the bulldog’s body clenched, including his trigger finger. The sharp crack of the gun blasted a slug straight through Aaron’s chest, knocking him to the ground with the impact.

The pain came seconds later, delayed. It hit in an all-consuming, overpowering rush. Nothing existed beyond the horrible agony of his chest torn to shreds by the wicked projectile. He wasn’t brave or manly or noble like all these scenes of bullet wounds in Hollywood films. He screamed and howled in pain, and promptly blacked out.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. A cool, soft palm hit Aaron’s face three times. He opened his eyes to an angel, a halo of light around her tousled, golden curls like the corona encircling the sun. She had the most succulent puffy lips and a benevolent shine of concern and compassion.

“Are you an angel?” His beautiful seraph began swearing up a storm in melodic French.

“Le réalité’ et toi vous ne vous entendez pas, n’est-ce pas?” She remarked on his disconnect with reality.

He didn’t know what to say. How do you greet the angel of death?

“C’est vraiment des conneries!” The words seeped in slowly, sparking a memory from French class––this is bullshit. Are angels supposed to curse?

The heavy weight of exhaustion settled in with a cold numbness. Is this what it feels like to die? He drifted back into unconsciousness, content in the belief that heavenly hosts carried him off to a better place.

CHAPTER 2

She knew she couldn’t stay on the street. The detectives would not remain incapacitated much longer and the gun shot would probably bring a 911 call from the restaurant down the block. The unfortunate boy who foolishly tried to intervene on her behalf was bleeding to death. A decision had to be made. She felt guilty, responsible for what happened to him. If she had paid closer attention she’d have disarmed the fat, idiot cop before hitting him with the Taser.

“Je suis ici pour toi. I am here for you.” She tried to comfort the young man in his pain and delirium. Living most of her life in Paris, she tended to backslide into her native tongue in moments of high stress.

“Je vais le regretter.” Knowing she would probably regret it, she made the snap decision to take responsibility for him. Without another second’s delay she scooped him up in her arms, cradling him like a child. He weighed about 165 lbs., nothing for her preternaturally strong physique. Though only 110 lbs., she could easily lift several times her own body weight.

She sped down the street, away from the restaurant and the blood-splattered sidewalk. She opted for the dark alleys, keeping out of sight as she ran flat out with the young man in her arms and her Prada heels hanging by the straps in her teeth. It was damn near impossible to run in high heels.

She reached her fourth floor apartment via the fire escape catwalk and took stock of the situation. He’d lost too much blood already and was losing more every second. She had to stop the bleeding, now. He smelled delicious, wonderful red syrup all over his shirt, and the scent raw meat. She could barely stand to be near him without feeding. Her sharp teeth came out full length, ready to sink into all that juicy flesh. She swallowed down her urges and forced herself to lean in close. Her mouth filled with venom like a dog salivating over a meal held under its nose. Might be helpful. The boy need the healing and pain-killing properties of her venom.

Forcing herself not to bite, she licked away the blood and gore to reveal his lean, well-toned chest. He had long striated musculature from work and everyday use––no iron-pumped, steroid-induced, weightlifter bulges. Not an ounce of fat on his young, sleek torso. His high cheek bones and angular features lent him a sharp, elfin look. He had light skin with dark hair and eyes, reminiscent of a Spaniard or Italian. Il est très bea. Oui, he is very fine. The gaping wound does spoil it.

The boy’s bleeding slowed, but didn’t stop entirely. Somehow he managed to gain consciousness for a few moments. His lazy eyes looked up at her, glazed and drugged. Her venom had worked its chemical magic of pain-killer-endorphin-dump. But it was not enough. A more drastic remedy would be necessary. She noticed the change in his aura, and smelled his impending death from shock and trauma. Her first aid could only delay the inevitable and perhaps make his demise relatively painless.

The only way she could see to reverse his fate was to give him her life blood, making him as she was. She hated to do it, had purposely avoided it for many years. If he survived the change, it would create an unbreakable psychic bond, bending his will to hers. She would be his master, and he enslaved––not a convenient arrangement for either party.

She knew how it felt to be enthralled and enslaved by such a bond to a master. She had hated every single minute of it. The irresistible imprint had forced her to submit to her former master’s every command, her body and mind acting according to his will.

She vowed years ago to never subject another person to the humiliation of enslavement that she had endured. Granted, she didn’t believe herself to be sadistic or intentionally malicious. Until now, she had never been willing to do this with anyone. If she was to try, it shouldn’t be without his consent. That’s how it had been with her, forced, with no knowledge of what was happening at the time. At the very least she should give him a choice before going forward.

“What is your name?” He smiled up at her as she licked his blood from her lips.

“Aaron.” A huge stupid grin slid across his face.

“Aaron, you must listen carefully. I cannot stop the bleeding. Your wound is very serious. Is something I can do for you. But you must understand first. If I do this, you will be bound to me always. If I give you this lifesaving gift you must serve me in all things. Your life will belong to me. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” The strong pain-killer of her venom had obviously done its job. That goofy grin of his just wouldn’t quit. “You must be an angel. Keep talking, I love the sound of your voice.”

“I do this, it cannot be reversed. Is very important you understand.”

He licked his dry lips. “I need a drink. I am so thirsty.”

“Oui, in a moment, but do you comprehend?”

“Yes, it’s okay. Do what you have to, but I’d like a drink now.” His eyes rolled shut. He was slipping away.

A quick flick of her nails across her wrist opened a lifeline for him. With his permission, she gave him a drink. He almost gagged at his first taste as she rubbed her wrist over his lips, but this urge was quickly overcome as he continued to lick at her. Soon his lips sucked from her skin with a will of their own, like an infant’s involuntary reaction to a mother’s nipple placed in his mouth.

Greedy for more, he grabbed her arm and gripped her tight, sucking harder. After a moment, she decided he’d had enough. She couldn’t afford for him to weaken her too much. She pried her arm from his two-handed grip with a yank and a wet sound as she broke his suction from her wrist.

It was done and could not be undone.

Drifting through a hazy blend of pain and drugged happiness, he felt his body begin to tingle all over. The slight tickle-tingling sensation gradually changed intensity to an ache. The ache began to throb, coming on in waves, and then became a constant pain. The pain morphed to a burning sensation, which became an all-consuming inferno raging through his body. He kicked and thrashed. He cried out in agony as flaming trails of molten fire blazed across his flesh.

He fainted repeatedly from the intense scorching pain, only to awake to more agony. He welcomed the periods of unconsciousness, the pain receding as he sank into oblivion. Eventually he reached such a point of exhaustion and fatigue that the pain no longer woke him.