BloodlustandMetal (2 page)

I hope that jerk at the bar heard her, because as she wailed
the lyrics, she left no doubt that she could sing. How a tough-ass voice came
out of a petite body like that was a mystery. Even in her red stiletto heels
and teased-up hair, I gauged her to be 5’3” at the most. The illusion of the
heels and hair made her appear much bigger and tougher than she was.

For some reason, I imagined her coming out of the shower
wearing nothing but a towel. No hair done up or makeup on, no heels. All
natural. She was probably a wee little thing that you’d just want to pull on
top of your lap and hold. And touch…

Wait, why was I thinking stuff like this? I had a job to
do—capture her. Not fantasize about her coming out of the shower.

I studied Layla as she played, watching how she moved.
Although my eyes scanned every visible inch of her, I convinced myself I was
focused on her the same way I would with any other acquisition I’d been hired
to bring in. I had to be aware of anything I needed to know to capture her.

She was a vampire so she’d be fast, her reflexes even faster
than mine. She’d be strong, but that’s where I had the advantage. I had more
strength than most men in human form, and once I transformed, I had the
strength of whatever animal I shifted into.

She would be tougher to capture than a human, but I loved challenges.
Capturing humans was almost too easy. Throw a supernatural into the mix and
that’s when things really got exciting.

When the band finished the song, I went to the bar to order
a beer.

The jerk was still complaining at the bar. “Oh great. A girl
covering Whitesnake. Just shoot me now.”

I ignored him, even though I agreed with him about covers.
Most bands who played covers killed them. They either tried too hard to copy
the original and failed or went the other way and tried so hard to make it their
own they lost the essence of the song. That’s not to say some bands didn’t kill
it in a good way. Every now and then a band would play a cover that blew the
original away.

When I heard Layla wail out the first two lines of
Still
of the Night
, I turned back toward the stage, compelled to see her again.
Her voice stirred something inside me. She threw off her heavy black trench
coat. When I saw her up against the microphone stand in such an erotic stance,
I tried to ignore the sensations surging through my body. Her skintight black
pants showed off finely toned legs, making me wonder what her ass looked like.
Her black tank top was torn at the top, revealing some cleavage. Her pale arms
showed definition as she clutched the microphone.

She belted out the sexiest rendition of the song since David
Coverdale sang it. Her voice alternated between a purr and a seductive wail.
Whenever I heard this song from now on, it wouldn’t be Tawny Kitaen writhing on
a Jaguar that I fantasized about. It would have to be this vixen on the stage
compelling me and every other guy in the bar to watch her, listen to her, be
her slave.

By the end of the song, I had completely forgotten that I
had come to Boston for one specific purpose.

Focus, Devon. Snap out of it. You have a job to do. Don’t
let your dick get in the way.

Layla

Our guitarist, Joey Bangs, went backstage for a quick change
while the rest of us played. When he came back onstage, he’d added a
button-down white shirt and tie to go over his black leather pants. Then he donned
a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses and the ladies screamed their approval of
the sexy, intelligent persona.

While Joey distracted the crowd with a guitar solo, I
escaped backstage to quickly take off the heels and spandex and throw on a tiny
schoolgirl outfit. Plaid skirt, fitted white tank top and chunky Mary Jane
shoes.

When I came back onstage, I took the mic. “Call it heavy
metal, call it hair metal, call it rock. We don’t give a fuck. We’re here to
play music and have an awesome time. If you’re with us, let me hear you!”

The crowd responded with shouts and hollers.

“That’s what I like to hear. Now Rocco is going to start
with a little drum solo I think you might recognize.” I turned. “Rocco.”

He launched into the familiar intro to Van Halen’s
Hot for
Teacher
and the crowd cheered upon recognizing the song. I strutted over to
the drum set, moving as sexy as I could to the beat.

Joey joined in with the guitar and I moved over to him,
dancing in a suggestive way as I admired his talents. I mussed up his shirt a
little and loosened his tie.

Mark started with the bass and I sang the beginning lyrics.
Joey and I acted out our new stage personas with him as a tempted professor and
me as a naughty school girl. At one point I bent over in front of him so he could
catch a glimpse of my white cotton panties and he smacked me playfully on the
ass. Mark donned a classic brown wool blazer and a pair of glasses to play the
part of the principal. He stood between us as an authority figure, pushing his
hands out to the sides to keep Joey and me apart while I reached past him to
loosen Joey’s tie and unbutton the top buttons of his shirt.

When Bloodlust Metal hired me to replace the previous
singer, I decided not to copy his stage presence. Instead I invented my own. Joey
was onboard with the concept of his skirting around a forbidden attraction
onstage, flirting with the idea of becoming lovers. The act added a fun, sexy
element to our shows. Mark often acted as an opposing force, throwing obstacles
in our way or even pulling one of us away from the other.

So far, our act was working well. It helped get the crowd
into the shows as we continued the forbidden lust-addled love story, rather
than having four musicians simply play a string of songs.

By the end of
Hot for Teacher
, I’d managed to get the
shirt, tie and glasses off Joey, so he was now donning a torn Bloodlust Diamond
shirt. The ladies loved this part, hooting as I stripped off his good-boy image
to reveal the bad boy hiding inside the upright and proper professor. Rock star
Joey with his wild brown hair and lean physique then took over the role of
seducing me with the sultry stances and bedroom looks he’d perfected; I thought
a few women might rush the stage and knock me over to get a piece of him.

Devon

As I watched Layla play, the sexy way she ran her hand over
the mic stand, I pictured her tiny hand running over my body. Down the front of
my chest, over the muscles in my legs, in between my legs, increasing the
mounting excitement.

It’s just adrenaline building. Your body preparing for
the capture.

The hard press of my erection in my jeans told me I was full
of shit.

The music ended, jolting me back to reality. I wasn’t here
to ogle her and fantasize about what she’d be like in my arms or in my bed. I
was here to capture her.

I forced myself out of the mindset of a male attracted to a
female and back into one of a predator on the prowl. She was prey.

I watched her say good night to the crowd, thanking them for
coming, and then leaving the stage. Swarms of fans surrounded the band members
to talk to them. While the females jostled to get closer to the guys in the
band, males vied for Layla’s attention. Unfamiliar jealousy stabbed me square
in the gut and I forced it away.

I could wait for her fans to subside. I’d wait for her to be
alone or lure her someplace alone if I had to. No rush. Besides, I liked to
take my time. Like a cat playing with a mouse. The thrill of the hunt.

I smiled at that thought.
Like a cat.

The woman who’d introduced them came back onto the stage.
“How about a hand for Bloodlust Diamond?”

The crowd applauded with a bunch of hooting and hollering.

“I knew they could play, but I had no idea how visually
appealing they would be. A feast for the senses, don’t you think? Did you hear
the way she sang? And the guitarist? Yummy.”

More hollering and whistling from the crowd.

“Lucky for you they’re coming back for another set tomorrow
night. So how many of you will we see again tomorrow?”

More cheering. “Great. We’ll see you again. And now our
awesome DJ is coming back to get all your hot bodies on the dance floor. Give
it up for DJ Stark.”

The DJ started up again with The Clash’s
Rock the Casbah
.People were already back on the floor dancing. I scoured the crowd for
signs of Layla, but she’d disappeared. I figured I’d check outside in case she
was a smoker. The bouncer stamped my hand when I said I’d be right back. I
opened the large wooden door and stepped out into the cool New England night.

A few people who were smoking had congregated near each
other. I wondered if it was a camaraderie thing. With fewer people smoking
these days than ten years ago, did they stick together? Complain about being
ostracized from the clubs?

I walked down the alley to the main road, which was devoid
of people. I saw a black van, which was nondescript except for a few Bloodlust
Diamond stickers on the back portion. It must be the band’s van, or some
hardcore fans. I hoped for the former, as it meant Layla Costa had not escaped
me.

Although I wanted to hurry to get back inside the club, I
resisted the urge to walk quicker. Part of the thrill was hunting her down and
I didn’t want the excitement to end just yet.

Back inside, I searched the crowd for her, a petite woman
with distinctive hair. One side so blonde it was almost white while the other
as black as midnight. On each side were strips of the other color. She’d be
easy to spot in a crowd.

There she was standing near the bar.

Bingo.

She was talking to a few people, taking a sip of her drink
from time to time.

I walked closer while staying behind the crowd so she
wouldn’t see me approach. When I was in earshot, I tried to listen to their
conversation. Even with my extraordinary senses, I couldn’t hear what they were
saying over the sounds of a Siouxie and the Bansheessong,
Kiss Them
for Me
.

How would I get her alone?

As I pondered this question, she looked up and noticed me.
When her eyes found mine, I froze. Not only did I feel as if I was caught doing
something wrong, but something else made my chest tighten. Her dark, inquisitive
eyes searched mine as if trying to figure out my secrets. Beyond making me
aware that she might be more difficult to capture than a typical human, I was
also now aware of parts of my body responding to her inquisitive gaze. My lips
felt parched and I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs.

She was a vampire and vampires had that special ability to
mesmerize humans, but I’m not human so she shouldn’t have any effect on me. So
what exactly was going on?

Another part of me, the one that was former military and
current bounty hunter, kicked in.
Take control of the situation and seize
any opportunity. Use whatever options you have to your advantage.

Now that she’d seen me staring, I’d play the part of a fan
idolizing a band. I walked directly up to her and ignored the people around
her. I didn’t recognize them as the band members onstage so this might work.

“Hi!” I said in an excited voice. “I just wanted to say how
great you were tonight.” As her eyes focused on mine, I was drawn in to them.
They weren’t black as I thought from a distance, but a rich brown the color of
hot chocolate on the outer edge fading to a honey-brown toward the pupil. I’d
never seen eyes like that. Could humans even perceive how Layla’s eyes appeared
different from theirs? Utterly spectacular. Her eyes flashed excitement and
hinted at mystery all at the same time. I looked away briefly to break the eye
contact.

Vampire eyes, vampire eyes
, I chanted in my head in
an effort to avoid them.

If she was trying to mesmerize me with her vampire charms,
it was working. No, I was a shapeshifter, I reminded myself. Vampire tricks
that worked on ordinary humans wouldn’t work on my kind. I focused on a bottle
of whiskey behind the bar, took a deep breath to refocus and looked at her
again.

“Thanks,” she said, flashing me a megawatt smile that
disarmed me once again. Her teeth were perfectly white, even and gleaming,
showing no signs of fangs. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Whether she was sincere or could see right through me and
was playing along, I had no idea so I kept going with my act.

“I’d never seen you guys play before and I’m so glad I came
tonight. I had a smashing time.”

“What’s your name?”

“Devon.”

“I’m Angelica.”

No, you’re not. You’re Layla Costa. I know who you are
and why you’re on the run. You’re nothing more than a common thief.
I
nodded like a devoted fan. “I know.”

“Devon, you’re British?”

“Yes. I live in London.”

When she laughed, the sound was almost musical.

Vampire trait
, I told myself.
Don’t be taken in.

“I hope you didn’t fly all the way to the US just to see us
play.”

“Not exactly.”
I didn’t come to see the band, but I did
come especially for you.

“So what brings you over to this side of the pond?”

“Oh, you know, I like to travel. You ever go to England?”

“Not yet. I’d like to.”

Liar. You lived there for years.

She glanced at my arms. “Sick tattoos.”

“Thanks.”

“You get all those in England?”

“Most. I travel a lot.”

“For business or pleasure?”

“A bit of both.”

“Interesting. What do you do for a living?”

Hunt down criminals like you.

A question I would avoid answering directly. “I’m
self-employed.”

She nodded slowly as if assessing my evasive reply. I still
couldn’t figure out if my shtick was working. Was she humoring me as a fan? Or
on to my ruse and playing with me? Time to turn the focus back to her.