In almost nineteen years, she had never had cause to be this close to either werewolves or vampires, and here, in one night, she had somehow drawn the attention of both. Her grandmother would have told her to leave, right away, and not to come back. But her grandmother had also hidden in her house with almost paranoid agoraphobia for the majority of her adult life.
Lia felt a flutter of fear that the vampire intended to fire her for the disruption to the club. She needed the work. She needed to supplement her trust fund with an income. Unlike her grandmother she had neither the means, nor the inclination, to stay inside her house like a prisoner.
“Yes. Fine, thank you.”
“They will be escorted out,” he nodded to someone over her shoulder, and she saw another Vampire lean over the table of men and say something quietly. The men rose with shame-faced meekness and filed out, leaving a generous tip on the table. “And will not be permitted entry again. We do not tolerate that sort of behavior.”
He smelled wonderful, of rosewood and patchouli. For the second time that night, she felt her body betray her. What was wrong with me? She scolded herself. Nineteen years and no interest in men, and in one night, she was getting turned on by werewolves and vampires, the latter of which was her boss.
“Oh,” she was flustered by her reaction to him. “Well… That is good. Thank you.”
He turned back to the booth, and she clutched her tray to her chest as she made her way back to the bar. Her heart was a frantic rhythm in her chest, and she knew that the werewolves and vampires would be able to hear it, as well as smell the fear and desire on her. She also knew that the betraying body signals were appealing to both groups of others, stimulating their predator response.
She was not surprised to find the entire table of werewolves watching her, the Other flashing golden in multiple eyes. Raiden’s expression was tense – he knew what Elior was, Lia thought, and was alert in response. Was the werewolf protective of her? Because Paris was dating Brock, perhaps? Or because… Lia hardly dared to finish the thought. Her grandmother would scold her for where her thoughts had turned. It would be unwise to get involved in the Other world.
“Are you alright?” Paris murmured as she joined her at the bar.
“Yes, a little…” She held her hand out and showed that she shook. “I will be alright,” she sighed it out. Predators all around, Lia, she told herself, human and Other both.
“Elior likes you.”
“Oh, good.” She was not sure if that was a good thing. She liked Elior too, she thought wryly, at least, how he looked and smelt – a little too much. What did the book say about Vampires, again? Nothing about animal magnetism. Hypnotic appeal rang a bell and blood addiction. She would have to look it up when she got home…
“And Raiden has not taken his eyes off you all evening,” she added. “He is looking at you right now.”
She knew that. She could feel his eyes like the touch of a lover. “I had better keep moving.” There was no clock in the room, and she had left her mobile in her bag. “How long do we have?” She asked as she collected another tray.
Being in a closed space with two groups of Other was distorting her sense of reality, she thought. And playing on her hormones.
“Feet hurting?” Paris smiled with sympathy. “Half-way through.”
Only half-way, Lia dug deep for her strength of will. She began to get a rhythm as the time passed however, and her confidence improved, until she landed a tray for table four again. She met Raiden’s eyes as she made her way over with their order.
“Brock is taking Paris out for a ride after your shift finishes,” Raiden told her, his voice toned low, as she slid the beers onto the table. His voice made her knees want to give way and brought to mind decadent images of skin against skin. “I will give you a lift home.” It was not an offer – it was an order.
“Oh,” she struggled against the alpha command. “That is not necessary.”
“It would be unsafe for you to go home alone,” he replied. “I will take you home.”
“Okay,” she sighed it. He had a point – traveling home at that time of the morning by public transport wasn’t the safest thing to do. But neither was accepting lifts from strangers. “Thank you,” she added for the sake of politeness.
“Hey,” Paris caught her at the bar. Her makeup was beginning to sink into her skin, the eyeliner around her eyes fuzzing slightly into the eyeshadow, and her lips stained in the creases with lipstick rather than wearing any. “I am catching a lift home with Brock. Raiden says he will take you.”
“Paris,” Lia protested. That would be very dangerous, she thought, considering her reaction to the werewolf. Cars and sex had been connected since the first teenagers decided to get inventive in the back seat. If the werewolf used his alpha command on her, she would not be able to resist. Hell, if the man so much as looked at her suggestively, she suspected she’d make like Paris and drop her panties. “I do not know them. It is not exactly safe to get into a car with strangers.”
“That is fine,” Paris laughed. “As it will be a motorbike.”
“Paris!” Could you have sex on a motorbike, Lia wondered immediately, and then felt like burying her face into her hands. What was her obsession with sex all of a sudden?
The rest of the shift seemed to fly by, perhaps because Lia was now torn between dread and anticipation of the end of it.
The two werewolves lingered at the bar talking with Elior in lowered voices long after the club closed and the other guests were shown out, and Paris and Lia wiped down the tables and stacked the chairs on top of them aware that all three men watched them discretely.
Lia met Raiden’s eyes as she and Paris slipped through the door into the dark hallway. He smiled in a reassuring way, his eyes warm and friendly. Trust me, his smile seemed to say, I’ll look after you.
Yes, Lia wanted to reply, but they probably had different ideas of what looking after her meant. Her mind slid into the decadent gleam of bronzed skin and muscle moving in sensual ways, and she tried to pull herself together as she followed Paris down the hall.
In the change room, Paris split their tips as Lia steamed their uniforms. Paris was excited about her date with Brock and chattered brightly as she divided the money and fixed her makeup.
“Are you sure?” Lia hesitated as they turned off the lights in the change room and made their way down the dark hallway to the alleyway door.
“Trust me, Lia. I’ve worked here for three months now. They’re good guys. It’s safer than dating a guy off an app.”
“I don’t date guys off apps,” Lia muttered as they stepped out into the cold.
Two motorbikes blew steam out into the darkness, waiting for them. There was something savage and dangerous about these growling mechanical beasts patiently biding their time until the two women mounted them. Something primal and basic, and utterly in character for werewolves.
“That’s because you just don’t date. Relax, have fun for once,” Paris’ said under her breath, before smiling and running up to Brock. She put on the helmet he offered her and swung onto the motorbike behind him without hesitation.
Lia approached Raiden cautiously. “I’ve never been on a motorbike before,” she admitted releasing her hair from its ponytail and sliding the tie around her wrist, feeling as if this lift home had far more significance than the werewolf helping his friend to spend some time with his girl by making sure her friend got home safely.
“Here,” he grinned, flashing strong white teeth, and slid the helmet over her head before doing up the strap. He was being very careful, she thought and wondered if she looked as if she would bolt at the slightest provocation. “You look cute,” he told her, holding the helmet between his palms.
“Sure, I do,” she said dubiously, smiling despite herself. “How do I get on?”
He swung a long leg over the bike easily. “Footrest,” he showed her, “and over just like I did.”
“You’re not wearing heels and a skirt,” she laughed, half in protest.
“No,” he agreed with a grin. “C’mon, you’re a ballerina, right? This is nothing compared to one of those high kicks.”
She put the toe of her shoe onto the footrest and swung herself into the seat behind him.
“Good,” he said with approval. “Hands around my waist.”
She had no choice, she realized, but to move closer to him and wrap her arms around his waist. God, she thought as she gingerly did so, the situation was designed to spike her pulse and drive her body to the edge of its tolerances. The leather of his jacket combined with the smoked scent of lavender and citrus was just like the man himself, an intoxicating mix of safe and dangerous.
She felt his body shake with laughter.
“Don’t be so polite,” he took her wrists and brought her tighter against his back until her palms were against his stomach. The jacket was open, and there was only the thin fabric of his top between her hands and the muscles she could feel tense with his chuckle. “You don’t want to fall off.”
He did something to the bike, and it began to roll down the alleyway at a sedate pace, the bike bumping beneath her as it rolled over the pavement and onto the road. She tightened her grip reflexively and felt him laugh again.
The bike picked up speed, weaving between the cars, and she clung on, before laughing as they burst free of the traffic.
It must be a little like flying, she thought, feeling the wind against her as she hurtled forward at speeds a human body had no way of achieving on its own. She leaned against Raiden’s back and laughed as they raced through the darkness.
He made his way unerringly into the suburbs, slowing as they approached her street until he stopped in the driveway. She was almost certain that he had been the biker who had seemed to stare back at her through her window and flushed remember how he had features in her fantasies before she had even seen his face or known his name.
She slid from the bike and struggled with the release of the helmet. He took his helmet off easily, hanging it off the backrest of the bike, and swung off the bike.
“Here,” he said, laughing. His brunette curls were a mess from the helmet. He untied the helmet from beneath her chin and lifted the helmet from her.
She ran her fingers through her hair. He put the helmet onto the rear seat and reached out, smoothing his hands over her hair, still laughing at her.
“There. Beautiful,” he murmured as the expression in his eyes changed from laughter to desire, and the air was stolen from her lungs as he pulled her against him.
His body was big, hot, and hard, and the scent of citrus and lavender clung, as he kissed her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, the lingering flavor of beer giving way to something that was just him and made her pulse race wildly. He tasted right, she thought, as if she had spent her life waiting for that subtle, undefinable flavor.
She felt her knees give, and he seemed to take that as invitation to draw her closer, tugging her hips against his, so that she could feel his hard on pushing through his jeans. Her pulse raced, and she moaned, her body knowing very well what it wanted and pressing back against his, so that they both groaned. His lips caressed their way to her ear.
“Invite me in,” he breathed, his voice hoarse with desire. There was no alpha command in it. He was not coercing her into it. But he did not need to. She wanted to, very much. Her body craved his skin against it, and her heart pounded hard.
“I can’t,” she whispered reluctantly fighting against herself.
“Why not?” He was working his way down her neck and her head dropped back heavily on her neck, exposing the column of her throat to him. Oh, god, she thought, arching into him, as if lifting her breasts in invitation. “You want me,” he said it with absolute certainty, as he had every right to, she admitted. His keen sense of smell would be telling him exactly how much she wanted him, and she wanted him oh so very much.
“Maybe because she has a guest,” someone said from her front porch, making her jump.