Bitter Black Kiss
Authors: Michelle Clay
This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Bitter Black Kiss
Copyright © 2015 by Michelle Clay
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are
either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Artist: Rue Volley
Edited by: Elizabeth A. Lance
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by
any means without written permission of the author.
Chapter One
Some jerk parked their beat up, blue hatchback in Nicole’s usual slot at the back of the building. She had to circle customer parking twice before she found an empty spot. The nightclub opened an hour ago and already a queue of people crowded the entrance. Some patiently waited while others demanded or begged to be allowed inside. It would do no good. The club's doormen were notorious snobs. If you were one of the beautiful people or spent boat loads of money in the VIP lounge, you were assured an invite inside. If not, you waited like everyone else.
She bullied her way to the front door and ignored the phone shrilling inside her purse. She was late and didn’t have time to deal with it. It didn’t matter if it was a desperate entertainer looking for a stage or a rich party girl who wanted to rent it out just to impress her lame ass friends. They could leave a message like everyone else.
A rough hand gripped her arm. "Wait your turn!"
The doorman dropped her arm and gripped the door handle instead. Humiliation crawled up his neck and settled on his cheeks, staining them a bright pink. He wrenched the door open, but only enough for her to squeeze through. “Sorry, Ms. Riley.”
“Don’t be so rough with the clientele,” she warned as she slipped inside.
Everything was drowned out by hidden speakers that pumped a hard, sexual rhythm. The multi-colored lights slashed across the crowd and highlighted their faces in shades of purple and blue. Both the VIP areas and the dance floor looked packed with gyrating bodies. The perfume of sweat, excitement and alcohol enveloped her as she moved through the crowd.
She sighed with satisfaction. All of this was all her creation.
Bitter Black had seldom been full when she'd first come to work here. Its accounts were deep in the red, and the building was nearly in foreclosure. Most of the patrons had been aging barflies who occupied the bar from open to close. It took an extensive renovation, a new playlist and months of PR work, but she had singlehandedly turned it around. Now, it was packed every night and rated as one of the top ten hot spots in San Diego.
Her gaze drifted over the heads of the diverse crowd on the floor and in the semi-private VIP areas. They were full of energy and ready to dance and drink into the wee hours of the morning. The club oozed sexuality from its boudoir-inspired décor to its pink and black paint.
Her attention strayed to the club’s newest DJ. He was absolute perfection when he worked his magic on the dance floor. And he was sexy as hell. Every time he bounced to the music or broke into a dance move, it sent waves of excitement through the mass of bodies. It sent something more furtive through her. She took perverse, voyeuristic joy in watching his body move.
Sometimes she caught his gaze on her too. A thrill of excitement would rock her senses and fill her with hope. Then he’d look away and spoil the fantasy. At times, she wanted to believe those glances said he was interested, but it was just wishful thinking on her part. It had to be. Not that she thought she was bad looking — she was happy being a blue-eyed blonde. But aside from a passing glance or a quick hello, they had very little real interaction. Brody was the hired help, not a hot, hard body to explore in the VIP area with the curtains drawn tight. Her heartbeat sped up a little at the thought.
His honey-brown hair was in need of a trim, but stylish. Headphones covered only one ear. Tonight he wore a t-shirt with a forgotten eighties band on the front. Baggy jeans with more holes than fabric hung off his slender hips. She could just make out the top of his boxers underneath the destructed waistband.
A sea of bodies moved all around her, lost in the beat flowing from the speakers. They bounced against her. Their bodies became a living tidal wave, sweeping her toward the lighted, elevated booth. Not that she needed one, but now she had an excuse to talk to him. He was busy entertaining a group of women on the other side and didn’t notice her approach.
The women giggled and played with their hair in response to Brody’s flirting. Jealousy zinged through her.
Aim some of that charm my way, damn it!
She yanked the ankle of his jeans to get his attention. The material moved down about an inch and the skanks cheered.
Brody turned and rewarded her with a devilish smile. He hauled her onto the platform with just one arm and his strength elicited primal approval from within her. The space they shared wasn’t quite big enough for two people to move around comfortably, and they had to stand very close. He leaned close, reaching around her then flipped a switch. She wasn’t sure which because her hand just grazed his butt. Even the smallest contact demanded all of her focus.
“I like the way you move.”
Good god, what was she saying?
She was in deep trouble if the slightest touch shorted out the filter between her mouth and brain. “I mean, everyone likes what you do up here.”
He hung the headphones around his neck. An easy smile found its way onto his face. “I aim to please.”
She just bet he could do everything just right to please her over and over again. Damn, he smelled good. It was a mix of outdoors, ocean and a delicious masculine scent that was all his own. And just below that, she detected – oh no. No, it couldn't be. She fought to get the errant notions under control.
Brody bumped her hip with his. “C’mon, you have to dance if you’re up here.”
“I have two left feet.” Embarrassment heated her cheeks.
"There aren’t any right or wrong moves." He moved his hips to engage her. “Just move to the beat.”
Laughing, she clapped him on the shoulder. Her fingers brushed against something solid beneath the shirt. He winced and lifted his sleeve to check the taped gauze patch. Bright dots of crimson decorated the bandage.
Her gaze met his. “Are you okay?”
His smile seemed forced. Either he didn’t want to tell her or he was embarrassed. “I'm alright.”
“That doesn’t look
alright
to me. What happened?”
Brody’s breath tickled her ear. “I was bitten.”
So it was true. She hadn't mistaken the pheromones. Just so she wouldn’t have to yell, she gripped his upper arms and pulled him closer. Her lower lip bumped against the three thin, silver hoops in his ear. “Bitten? By who?”
“I don’t know, some girl.”
“Christ.” She looked out at the crowd, and half expected the guilty party to stand out amongst the sea of faces.
“I’m gonna go furry.”
She couldn’t look at him. “You don’t know that for sure.”
The previous disc jockey quit two weeks ago and she hired Brody Dunn out of necessity. He showed up just in the nick of time. Half of his references were unreachable. The other half gave exemplary reviews of his employment record. Even so, she had to admit he was easy to look at and one hell of a disc-slinger.
Now this?
Would he stick around — could he?
"I do know. I'm already noticing changes."
“She broke the skin?” Her fingers traced the edge of the gauze. God damn it, she didn’t want to care. She didn’t have time or energy for this.
“Yeah.”
Nicole squeezed his fingers and smiled with as much reassurance as she could gather. She didn’t want to know the how or why. It didn’t matter at this point. “Why are you telling me, Brody?”
His grip on her hand tightened. "Because you know what I’m going through. You’re Lycan."
"No." She stepped backward and her heel caught the edge of the platform. She would have fallen had he not jerked her against him.
"You are. I can smell it on you like a fine perfume." To prove his point, he buried his nose in her hair.
Lust rocketed through her entire body. What she longed to do was run fingers through his hair and taste his lips. Would he allow her to take it further? Or would he make the move himself?
Suddenly aware that they were on display, Nicole pushed against his chest. Brody stepped back, and immediate regret consumed her.
He grimaced. “Sorry."
"So am I." And not just about him being a Lycanthrope. Nicole gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “We’ve got a couple weeks until the next full moon."
Brody looked skeptical.
“I’ll schedule a blood test.”
“No.” His expression darkened. “I don’t want anyone else to know.”
“It might not be too late.”
“It happened last weekend.”
All of the argument leaked out of her. He was right. You only had a matter of hours before it took hold. The Lycan virus was tricky and resistant to the current antidote. Some scientists compared it to HIV. The virus was a blood borne, transferable via saliva, blood, semen, etc. Even children born to mothers who carried it were sometimes affected. If it didn’t flat-out kill the unfortunate, it altered them. Sometimes it was unnoticeable to ordinary people, like increased sight or hearing. Others who were more affected by the virus transformed entirely. They grew fur and became animalistic. Brody wasn’t dead. Therefore, only time would tell what kind of effect it would have on him.
Over a decade ago, the government had the virus pretty well contained. At that time, only a few were infected, and their methods of management were to sweep it under the rug. But another outbreak rocked the nation a few years later, and it was harder to write off or ignore. Current stats averaged up to three new infections a day. It was almost impossible to tell how many died or how many were carriers. They might appear unaffected, but could pass it on to another. And these numbers were just the ones who came forward or were discovered. Who knew how many lived with the secret?
“You’ll need someone to help you through this. You should talk to the girl who bit you.” He looked healthy and strong—maybe he would survive the first change. Hopefully, anyone around him would too.
He thumbed through a stack of music. “I didn’t catch her name.”
It would be a waste of breath to comment. Guys like him never learned.
"It's not like that. She was stumbling around the parking lot like she was drunk. I tried to help and got bitten in return."
More relieved than she wanted to admit, she dug a business card out of her purse. She pressed it into his hand after scribbling her cell number on the back.
Brody took the card from her and slipped it into his back pocket. Suspended lights on the ceiling flashed across his face and lit his honey colored eyes. He leaned in close, their faces inches apart. “What exactly are you offering, Miss Riley?”
There was a predatory look in his eyes. Lurid fantasies danced within her mind and tempted her to show him what she could offer. Instead, she said, “Let me know if anything weird happens. Or if you need to talk.” Then she stepped off the platform. She knew what it was like to face uncertainty and fear. Part of her was pleased that he might need her. She just wished it were for more intimate reasons.
Nicole merged into the crowd, aware of Brody’s gaze on her back. She headed for the bar and the door that led to the kitchen. Beyond that was the break area and stairs that would take her up to Mr. Stone’s office. She skirted the bar then smiled at her best friend, Molly, who deftly filled drink orders.
She stepped into the relative quiet of the hallway. The quick moment of peace ruined by the shrill of her cell phone. She glanced at the readout. Aaron James. She released her breath in a slow, steady stream. He’d found her new number in record time.
The phone rang again and again. Because she knew he’d keep calling, she finally answered.
Aaron's voice contained just the right amount of surprise and contempt. “Do you know how hard it is to chase you down?”
Of course she knew. She had avoided him for the better part of a year. Her fingers traced the two misshapen crescents on her shoulder. “What do you want? No, wait, I don’t care.”
He lowered his voice. “I just needed to hear your voice. I’ve missed you, baby.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t miss you, so quit calling me. Bye, Aaron.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up.”
Why did she let him use her emotions this way?
“I’ve got some good news, but I want to tell you in person.” His voice was hopeful. “Could we meet somewhere?”
“Not a chance in hell, Aaron.”
He didn’t allow her an opportunity to hang up. “I got another band together.”