Part 6 (1/2)

The club music s.h.i.+fted, and the sensual strains of Enigma flowed over her, stirring something within her. Violins and a heavy backbeat floated around in her head. The sound of young male voices chanting threaded through the music.

”Hey! Heather, where have you been?” called a slender, dark-haired girl as she came out of the crowd on the dance-floor. ”I've been looking all over for you! Did you hear? We missed the side-show going on upstairs!”

The loud music and press of people closed between the werewolf and the spent blonde.

He slid away in the confusion.So, he thought as he headed for the door,her name is Heather. He slipped out of the club and took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. Cautiously he made his way to a dark corner of the parking lot where he'd parked his bike.Perhaps Heather will still be around next month, he thought and pulled the sc.r.a.p of satin that had been her panties from his pocket.I have her scent now, so I can find her again.Maybe he would seek her out before the next full moon. Perhaps he would even take her as his mate.

Was he gone? That son of a b.i.t.c.h!Heather thought as she ignored Lisa and ran out of the club. She looked about the parking lot, and heard the thunder of a motorcycle revving up.That sounds like my Dad's old bike, she thought vaguely.

Looking toward the street, she spotted him, his long dark hair flying as he sped away on a cla.s.sic Indian motorcycle. He was smiling as he looked back seeing her. He waved a sc.r.a.p of white fabric that used to be her panties.

She never even knew his name.

Night Waitress.

A Victim and His Unwilling Succubus.

For Jazmin & Blue.

It was four hours until dawn. The tiny diner I work in sits cheek-to-jowl with some old brick high-rises in the heart of the oldest part of the city. This used to be considered a decent part of town.

The diner was full to the brim with drunks that had spent last four hours drowning in over-loud dance music. The smell of ripe, sweaty bodies and sour beer-breath floated just above every Formica table. The noise level was appallingly loud as the club flunkies yelled back and forth across the tables to their equally deaf companions and shouted their late-night breakfast orders to the waitstaff.

With a damp rag in one hand and a coffeepot in the other, I swiped tables and refilled cups as I went. My black sneakers made tiny squeaks that I felt more than heard as I hurried across the linoleum tile. Light gleamed on the silver frames of my pink-tinted gla.s.ses, reflected in the plate gla.s.s mirrors that lined the walls. My long red hair, pulled back in a severe ponytail, poured straight down my back like blood.

”Hey baby, what's a pretty girl like you doing here waiting tables?”

I stopped abruptly, slos.h.i.+ng coffee in the pot. Calling me pretty was like saying Fred Astaire could dance a little. It was not my fault-I had been made that way. Unfortunately for me, I had been designed beautiful in the Victorian ideal, a delicate face, long harlot-red hair, full b.r.e.a.s.t.s, rounded thighs, a tiny waist, a p.r.o.nounced a.s.s and I was short. Very short, as in less than five feet tall.

Turning slowly, I looked at the long slim fingers that gripped my black polyester uniform. My eyes traced the fingers up a muscular arm onto a body that looked as though it had been pumped lean and hard by years of athletic machines. I stopped at crystalline blue eyes framed in black lashes. His face was lean and well-made with a full, kissable mouth. His soot-black hair was pulled into a neat tail held by a silver clip that curled to his shoulders. He was dressed in a snug, short-sleeved silky pullover that showed off every bulge and curve of his sculpted torso. He had one knee out of the booth, so I could see the black dress-slacks he wore and how they showed his tiny waist to perfection.Yummy. My infernal appet.i.te for handsome young men kicked in, making me salivate and moistening my panties.

”Hi.” he said, leaning over to read my nametag. ”Hi, Lili, I'm Bruce.” He continued smiling, turning up the electric charm, all one hundred watts worth of perfect teeth. ”You busy later on tonight?”

To use the modern vernacular, he was a hottie and I could tell by the smug way he was looking at me that he knew it. Guys that hunky always seemed to feel that they were ent.i.tled to hara.s.s any vaguely attractive girl in range. There was no way this cute idiot was going to let me go without attempting to charm me into having s.e.x with him. How did I know? His hand was inching the hem of my skirt up my thighs, exposing the top of my nude stockings and the pins that held them to my garter belt. Terrific, just what I needed.

”I need to go back to work, sir.” With a mostly-clean hand I pushed my red bangs out of my eyes. Tipping my head forward, I glared into his eyes over the rim of my pink-tinted gla.s.ses. Apparently, Bruce was too drunk to notice the flame-red glints that my eyes tended to reflect under fluorescent lighting. That's what the tinted gla.s.ses were for, to hide that uncanny flicker of h.e.l.lfire in their depths. I accidentally scare people all the time.

I felt like groaning in annoyance even as I a.s.sessed what I thought he'd be like in bed. I really was not in the mood to fend off another silly foolish man with a death wish he didn't know he had. He was probably convinced that I had been made with him in mind. Technically, my first master had hoped to create the perfect s.e.x toy, and technically, he had succeeded. Unfortunately, and to his everlasting and rather fatal dismay, he gave me a h.e.l.lish s.e.xual appet.i.te.

Bruce began pulling in earnest, probably attempting to get me to sit down next to him. I braced my feet and watched the muscles bunch in his arm. ”Do you mind?” A deep growl rumbled low in my chest. He kept pulling and smiling. I guess he hadn't heard my warning growl. I don't think he realized that he was using as much strength as he was. I felt a few st.i.tches pop in my dress. If we kept this little tug of war up much longer, my cheap uniform was going to rip.

Hmmm.I had two choices here. I could spill coffee on my a.s.sailant's head, or put the pot down and backhand the idiot. Sighing, I did neither. He was just too cute to slap.

”What's the matter, sweetheart? I just want to talk to you.”

I rolled my eyes as I put the coffeepot down. Smiling nastily, I took hold of his wrist. Applying a little pressure in just the right spot, his hand numbed and I was able to free my skirt from his white-knuckled grip.I swear, didn't this idiot have any survival instincts whatsoever?

”Hey!” he yelped. ”What the h.e.l.l was that? Some kind of martial arts or something?”

”Nope.” I smiled wider, flas.h.i.+ng the white tips of my overlong canines. ”Merely superior physical force, Bruce,” I stated blandly. I skipped out of range of his hands and fled to the far side of the diner.

He stood up at his table and yelled. ”Hey! I was talking to you!”

I blew him a kiss, then gave him a little wave from the far end of the diner. Sheesh, this guy really wanted to get himself in trouble.

Sam, a night cop and my occasional dinner date, was attempting to eat his ham and eggs in peace. After a few more shouts, Sam finally had to get up from his breakfast to explain to the cute idiot that he was disturbing the other diners.

Bruce settled down into sullen silence, ate his ultra-rare steak and scrambled eggs, then drank cup after cup of coffee. He stared at me the whole time while I pointedly ignored him. I suppose that as Bruce saw it, he was not done with me.

It was a full hour before dawn. My s.h.i.+ft at the diner ended without any incidents other than the drunken cutie-pie hitting hard on me. Pulling my black sweater on over my cheap polyester uniform, I snuck out the back door.

Silent in my sneakers, I walked toward the pa.s.senger side of my battered car where it waited in a patch of oily darkness. My keys rattled as I pulled them out from my sweater pocket, then I caught the aroma of expensive cologne and male l.u.s.t. I recognized the scent; it was the drunk that had hit on me earlier. I couldn't see him, but I could smell him. Apparently he was not ready to give up any time soon.

”Hi, Bruce,” I said as I walked around to the driver side of the car. He was crouched low and leaning against the driver-side door. His legs were braced with his muscular arms loose and folded over his bent knees.

I pocketed my pink-tinted gla.s.ses. The night leaped into a gray twilight as my eyes adjusted. I swept a loose tendril of my blood-red hair behind my ear, peering at him through my red bangs.

”Hey, Lili. Let's go for a ride.” He wasn't smiling.

I shook my head. ”Nope, I have better things to do, Bruce.” Like not killing someone because they were too stupid to realize the danger they were in.

”It wasn't a request, Lili.” His voice was soft with a warning note in it.

It seemed that Bruce was not nearly as drunk as he had been earlier. ”You gonna make me, Bruce?”

”Your pet cop isn't here to save you.” He stood up in a single fluid motion, rather like a big jungle cat as opposed to the clumsy way most weight-lifters moved.

Perhaps all those bulging muscles had not been made in a gym. He towered over me head and shoulders. Then again, at my height-or lack of it-everyone towered over me. You get used to it after a while. My guess was that he was somewhere well over six feet tall. ”I don't need anyone to save me, Bruce, I've been saving myself for a long time now.” Bruce responded to my little comment with a smile so cold that it should have brought on an early frost. He took a step toward me.

”I'd rather not do this the hard way, Lili. I don't want to hurt you.”

It was briefly there in his face. He really didn't want to hurt me. As if he could. I was made of sterner

stuff, literally. I think I still have the recipe from my Master's old house somewhere, too.

”What exactly do you want, Bruce?” My smile never wavered as I raised a brow.