Inescapable (Eternelles: The Beginning, Book 1) (16 page)

“Oh, I see you knew what you were doing when you were about to step into traffic and almost got yourself killed. Luckily, I saw you first.” Sera frowned. “And you even forgot to wear your teeth.”

Suddenly flustered, the old man lowered his light blue gaze to the ground, a hurt look rearranging the wrinkles on his face.

Sera’s heart broke. She tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. “Say, how about we go over there and have some coffee so I can call Nancy?” she suggested in a placating tone. “While we’re waiting for her, you can tell me a few stories.” The man loved telling stories of his younger days, as if that would bring all the excitement back. All the virility and energy of a life long past.

His eyes brightened as he looked at her with hope. “You mean about my time in the war?” He was a veteran of World War II.

Sera smiled and steered him gently towards the coffee shop behind them. “I wouldn’t want to impose on you, but I would so love to know.”

Peasle’s chit-chat got so animated, Sera could barely hear herself calling Fiona over.

“If we’re longer than a half-hour, you’re going to have to go to the club with those boots on, and I’ll die with embarrassment,” Fiona whispered in her ear after sliding in the chair next to hers at a table by the big picture window.

Sera’s laugh mingled with Mr. Peasle’s river of words about the time he and a bunch of drunk Navy friends got stuck in the cellar of a bar in the
Florida Keys during a hurricane. Good times before returning to base and being shipped to Omaha Beach to witness untold horrors and devastation.

“Fi, where’s your sense of adventure? Let’s make an old man happy tonight, shall we? Then, I promise to let you get the better of me all evening.”

“Oh, okay, Miss Grumpy Florence Nightingale. Let’s hope we get lucky tonight.”

“I met a man there, you know, during the war. Something about him—I knew he was one of
us.
Then one night he saw me in my natural form, and didn’t kick a fuss. My reckless ass would have deserved to be shot. Then, cool as a cucumber, he told me over a round of beers that he’d keep my secret because he had one, too. He was immortal.” Peasle gave out a raspy laugh. “Immortal. Can you believe that? Like you and your Ma,” he said, waving a finger at her. “Wonder what he’s doing now.”

Curiosity bit at Sera. “Was he American?” Many of the allies from different countries fought together during the Second World War.

“Nah. He had an accent, but he called himself a Brit. Max was his name. He left soon after with his friends to look for one of the field hospitals in France. Never saw him again. Who knows how many of them exist?”

Sera wondered if Adri knew of any immortals who lived outside
Shadow Bridge, or at least, ones who were unaccounted for.  

An animated Peasle kept chatting, his good mood restored. A harried-looking
Nancy arrived a quarter hour later and thanked them profusely. Peasle looked downright pleased with himself after downing two cups of coffee and gumming an enormous slice of chocolate cheesecake. Nancy sat with him a bit longer while Sera settled the bill and paid for coffee and cake for the woman.

Soon, they were back out in the crisp night air and in the car, where Fiona started the engine and hightailed it to
Shoeholic
. As luck would have it, Milly was getting ready to close up the shop but allowed them in long enough for Sera to select a pair of black patent leather pumps with three-inch wedge heels and ankle straps, despite Fiona’s incessant urging that stripper-style platform stilettos would be more the thing. A pair of black semi-sheers was the perfect compromise between Sera’s preference for opaque and Fiona’s for flesh-colored, barely-there tights.

Within ten minutes of leaving the store, they were stepping under the dizzying strobe lights and booming speakers of Vibiza. Sera let the thumping techno beats filter through her pleasure center. In moments, she was at the bar and feeling the rhythm, getting in the moment.

Perhaps this hadn’t been such a bad idea, after all. This could be a night for miracles.

Fiona handed her a martini glass filled with a reddish liquid. “Strawberry. So it tastes good
and
it’s healthy.”

“Makes sense.” Sera chuckled at that comment and sipped the drink while checking out her surroundings.

The club was already loading with patrons but past midnight, they’d probably be packed like sardines until people started to move to the three other dance floors in the building—one for R&B, dance hall and hip-hop fans, the second for pop and dance music lovers, and the other for the grunge and rock horde. Sebastian Rampling had even set up a separate, intimate lounge for an older crowd where vintage top of the pops favorites played all night and a small selection of snack food could be ordered with drinks. She hadn’t been here in ages, preferring to attend private parties organized by friends at their homes, and since her last visit, Sebastian had made big changes to the place. The man had great business sense, and she liked his charm and friendly nature. Her mother adored him, and Sera could see why.

“Hey there.”

Sera turned in the direction of the heavily accented male voice. A darkly handsome face looked down at her, smiling from ear to ear. Clearly, a vampyre.
Must be one from Sebastian’s circle.

“Look what the wind brought in,” Fiona butted in with a clipped tone. “This is my
best friend,
Sera. Sera, this is Thiago. He’s originally from Argentina.”

Thiago’s eyes sparkled but never left Sera’s face. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

He took her proffered hand and held it, rather than shook it. Blood rushed to Sera’s cheeks as though she were a Catholic school girl dumped in an inner city high school. What was wrong with her?

Thiago planted a mocking look on Fiona. “Why so antsy? Haven’t got laid in a while?”

“What I meant is, no funny business, please. Sera’s not your usual kind of girl,” she said, no doubt holding back on a string of expletives, knowing her.

“And what kind of girl would that be, Fiona Borgatti? You?” he said sarcastically.

Sera snapped out of her shyness and turned to Fiona, whose eyes now shot fire. Was there history there? No, couldn’t be. She’d never mentioned this Thiago guy before.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about, Thiago Martinez. You’re no different from your brother.”

Venom laced the last word. So that’s what all this was about. Fiona and the brother.

“Axel doesn’t always have good taste, but I do.”

Thiago’s comeback—clearly a personal jab—stung and Sera didn’t miss the hurt on Fiona’s face. She found herself disliking this cool playboy who stood before her, and completely lost interest in conversation with him. Suddenly, all bashfulness grew wings and flew out through the thick club walls.

Putting her glass on the counter, she pulled Fiona toward the dance floor. “Thank you for the chat, Thiago, but Fiona and I came here to dance. See ya later!” she shouted above the music, and let the moving crowd swallow them past his line of vision.

Fiona threw her a look of gratitude and they both abandoned themselves to the music. After some light flirting with a couple of weres back at the bar, they finished their second round of drinks and decided to check out the other dance floors. Sebastian greeted them warmly as they made their way to the pop and dance music section of the club. He regarded Sera, eyes grave and assessing.

“Your mother is worried about you.”

“I’ll see her later,” Sera responded noncommittally, reluctant to drag him in their family dynamics even though Adri had probably complained about their rocky relationship to him.

Sebastian nodded and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Enjoy yourself, baby girl. I’ll watch out for you.”

“Now I see why some consider older brothers to be so annoying,” she said with an eye roll.

“True that.” Sebastian’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he playfully flicked her nose with his forefinger. “But I like that you’d consider me an older brother.” With a wink, he left to attend to some business.

“That guy is seriously dreamy.” Fiona sighed.

“Yeah, well, he’s also not one to be trifled with. Sebastian is a huge flirt but something tells me he’s as different from a guy like Thiago as Heaven is from Hell.”

At their destination, they enjoyed some pleasing dance tunes—some cool classics as well as new hits—and decided to hang out for a while. Fiona ordered another martini and Sera downed half a glass of ice water with lemon in one gulp. The non-stop dancing had left her feeling hot and full of adrenaline, and the cool liquid invigorated her.

“Let’s sit down for a while,” Sera suggested.

They picked up their glasses and sat on a semi-circular couch upholstered in rich red brocade.

“Good, I needed to get off these heels for a minute.” Fiona winced and eyed her five-inch stilettos like they were the devil.

“Don’t know how you can even stand straight in them. Something to be admired from afar, at least by me,” Sera admitted.

They sat in companionable silence, sipping on their drinks, until the infamous Thiago showed up once more and parked himself near Sera without waiting for an invitation.

“Wanna dance?” he asked her, ignoring Fiona’s dagger stares.

“Not right now, thank you.” Sera stirred the ice with the straw in her glass and avoided his hungry gaze. By then, she’d reached a point past dislike on the way to outright hate, even though she wasn’t keen on entertaining such negative vibes.

“Where are your friends, anyway? Haven’t seen them tonight,” Fiona said disinterestedly.

“They fancied some heavy metal but I…” he raked Sera with lustful eyes like a basting brush on a roast turkey, “…I fancied something more casual, more
intimate.
”

“Uh-huh,” Fiona grunted.

Thiago lounged back and continued to drink from his bottle of beer but fortunately, didn’t force any kind of conversation. Sera scanned the room. There were less people in here but the area was smaller than the club’s main dance hall, so it looked almost as congested. Then, her gaze fell to the entrance adjacent to them and her blood froze, her heart ticked faster, and her iron will scrambled to circumvent the psychic bonds that, with surprising speed, traveled the air between her and the person whose chiseled face and whiskey eyes were now trained on her.

Only on her, as if she were the only person in the room.

Yes, there
is
such a thing as hate. But hate can become addictive, and turn to something else.

God help her.

Rafe didn’t so much as budge. He simply stood there, declaring his presence. Telling her wordlessly he was watching her, and she had nowhere to go without him knowing. Saying to her, unequivocally, “Notice me,” like Britney’s opening words with the slow song that had just come on the air.

Every time…

They, too, were strangers, although in twisted ways, they needed one another. Love it or hate it, she was bound to him, despite how she did everything to carry on without the thought of him. At least, she did... because her love was not for him, but for another man, she told herself.

With Rafe, what she felt wasn’t love, but something she couldn’t name. Something that didn’t fill her with joy, but pushed her into a prison of doubt and self-recrimination.

Pain, regrets, a Pandora’s Box full of questions. What would she have thought of Rafe had he never caused her such devastation and turned her? What if William had lived and shared a life with her—would she eventually have betrayed him for this vampyre who played havoc with her senses? Would he still have had a hold on her she couldn’t explain?

She’d met Rafe once before that fateful night, at a social event in
London, and the lurid thoughts she’d entertained while dancing with him had caused her shame for weeks afterward. All he’d had to do was settle his gaze on her and speak to her in that sexy voice and she was melting in his arms…. If things had gone on as planned and she’d seen him again, as a married woman—Sera shuddered at the thought of what she could have stooped to.
Faithful, loyal Sera.

That
was the real problem. What if things had been different? Would she have had the spine and mettle to say “no” to Rafe? The invisible bonds that tied them would not have existed if he hadn’t turned her—but what about the irresistible attraction?

Perhaps she wasn’t the good, upstanding person she always thought herself to be.

Perhaps she wasn’t so clean deep down, because she just may have given herself to Rafe eventually, even in much different circumstances.

The thought upset her to the point of no return.

The familiar rage sparked within her and goaded her until all good logic left her. She was all emotion now, like when she stood in front of a canvas and let her right brain guide her. But while unrestrained artistic expression benefited her in many ways, this feeling she got when Rafe Harcourt appeared in her life could never amount to any good.

My maker, my bane, what is it you want now? Can’t I have a moment of peace anymore? Must I show you that I don’t want you? Must I even convince myself? Fine, then. Let’s get this over with.

Another vampyre will do....

She leaned toward Fiona. “Don’t mind what I’m about to do. I’ll explain later.”

Turning to Thiago, she put on a wide smile, amazed at her capacity to deceive. “I think I’ll have that dance now.”

Without waiting for a response, she stood and reached her hand out. Thiago took it and followed her into the thin melee of swaying couples. Thanking God for her considerable height and the heels that granted her a few extra inches, she pulled him close and pressed her cheek to his, with her lips parted close to his ear as though she were whispering endearments. His body stiffened with surprise but only for a second or two. Soon, his hands were around her, sneaking from a safe spot on her waist down toward her ass. Predictable, for the man didn’t come across as one to refrain from exhibiting his lustful intentions.

Biting back a retort and a slap on the face, she submitted and sneaked a look at the entryway.

Rafe wasn’t there anymore.

Had he given up? He didn’t seem like the sort—not from what recent events showed. Not even from the way they’d met, so long ago. Rafe was nothing if not determined to get his way.

A lightning thrill crept up her spine and it had less to do with the fact that Thiago’s palms were now planted confidently on her ass cheeks, and more to do with the fingers that lightly grazed her back.

Starting, she turned around to find the devil within inches of her.

“I’d like to dance with the lady.”

His eyes never left hers. Her current partner was of no importance and didn’t deserve acknowledgement.

“She’s with me,” Thiago protested, while Sera said, “No, thanks, I’m with this gentleman. Perhaps later.”

“I’d prefer now,” Rafe insisted, politely threatening. His face hardened, its lines straighter, more dangerous. Subtly, he thrust his chest out. From the opened collar of his shirt winked the pendant that proclaimed his status as an overlord. The tough bands of leather disappeared on either side of his neck, the thick hide merging into the skin of his collarbones to grant his power and control over his whole race and dominion.

No one could miss the statement he was in charge, and certainly not another lowly vampyre.

Sera sighed. Although she wasn’t a big fan of Thiago and his cheesy ways, she didn’t want responsibility for him being beaten to a pulp.

“I think—”

She disengaged from Thiago’s embrace. “I’m fine. I know this man.”

He slunk back to the sofa near Fiona, who, from a cursory glance, seemed highly interested in Sera’s new companion.

“Let’s get this over—” she started, but the wind got knocked out of her sails when he crushed her to him and started to sway his body with hers. He let her feel all of him just like that last time in the dream.

All of him—and left her no doubt that he wanted her just as much now. But there was something more in his stiff posture. Anger…jealousy. An immense heaping of it, so much the tension felt like fireworks raining on them.

“You are mine,” he growled, and bent his head to hers. As they danced cheek to cheek, he nibbled on her earlobe. “I wasn’t fooled by that pathetic show of yours.” A lick. “You want me.”

“No.” If they had been alone right now, she’d tear both their clothes off and climb on top of him, beg him to fill her to the hilt….

Sure, if her God-given mind had any say in this whatsoever, it would scoff at her.

“Yes.”

This was just wrong—him messing with her head. Again.

He lifted his head and looked straight into her eyes. “Yes,” he repeated.

The psychic bonds swirled around them—like mist but very real—and only they could see them, feel the tentacles brush against them. At least, she could, unable as she was to deny that presence that made her so weak and helpless. She didn’t have to wonder how long and hard she could fight him, how fast her actions would betray her verbal rejections of him. This was something they’d been through before.