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Chapter Sixteen
He strode into a seedy club on the outskirts of London, a tangible anger rolling off his massive body. Even veteran bar brawlers cringed away as he passed, the alcoholic haze that comprised their lives momentarily penetrated by an ancient instinct to fear a dangerous predator.
Every man in the place fought the urge to flee while the women struggled with the desire to throw themselves into his arms. None would have hesitated if he crooked a finger their way, such masculinity was not seen in this century of weak men. The blatant dominance exuding from him served as both a warning and a mating call.
An age worn, yet still attractive redhead whispered to the woman sitting next to her. "Even a proper young virgin would throw ‘erself beneath him and spread ‘er legs wide.” Her companion nodded in wide eyed agreement as the bartender shook his head and wondered what made dangerous men so bloody attractive to the fairer sex.
Jared slid into a stool and even seated he dwarfed the men in the room. "Langyard Scotch, just bring the bottle." The low timbre of his voice resonated like the strum of a perfect note on a bass guitar, sending shivers of pleasure through every female present.
The bottle was placed in front of him and he tipped it back, reveling in the slight burn. It was the most potent brand of alcohol made on the planet, and the only one that could calm his temper and settle his nerves. Her face. He growled deep in his throat and startled the barkeep who hastily retreated to the far end of the worn and severely scuffed wooden counter.
Her face haunting him.
Throughout the ages he had seen females who had resembled her and given him pause, but none in the past fifty years since his last "sleep", until the dying human girl in the Godforsaken gaming dungeon. Her eyes had been the same shade of brilliant turquoise, a shade that could never decide between blue and green.
A sharp pain lanced through his psyche and he squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to dispel the images that caused it. His thoughts turned to the males of his acquaintance and his lips curved into a sneer of disgust.
Generally he was unconcerned with the depraved activities they labeled entertainment, but earlier that night he'd learned a vial of his own blood had been used in their deviant practices and the information had turned his vision red. The idea of any part of him being any part of that made his skin crawl. They’d apparently believed it could aid in successful transformation. The fucking fools.
He grabbed the bottle and tipped it straight up, opening his throat, willing himself to blessed intoxication. It had been more than a century since she had been so vivid in his mind. The memory of her voice and laugh, which time had faded and eventually taken from him, had returned and left him feeling desolate. He slammed the bottle down on the bar and half of the patrons jumped.
He glanced around and thought what he always thought. Weak. Pathetic. Unworthy. That last drew out in his mind. Humankind and their proclivities for shallow and meaningless pursuits. Treacherous and petty minds filled with unwarranted pride and hopeless vanity. He'd once devoted his life to the service of protecting them, of saving them from their own ignorance and self-destructive behavior. Until they had repaid him by taking everything that had offered joy in his battle weary life.
For a long time his hatred had been a living thing, as was his resentment for the One who had made him. But time had a way of dulling strong emotions, and centuries later he was mostly indifferent.
He caught a whiff of cheap perfume as a woman slid into the bar stool next to him. She daringly placed her hand on his thigh and wet her lips, the smell of her desire dark rum in his olfactory. He despised her even as he knew he would use her. His need for release had turned his prick to fortified iron and it kicked painfully as she brushed an ample breast across his arm.
Burying himself in a female was the only source of pleasure he had left, the only reprieve he had from the stretching emptiness. With human women it was brief with little intensity, but the females of his own kind came with a price. Those who still lived were little more than demons in corporeal form.
He finished off the bottle and stood, inclining his head towards the door.
She placed a hand on his arm as they exited and spoke in a voice husky from too many cigarettes and long nights of drinking. "My car or yours?"
"Yours." He hadn't brought a car. He rarely used one, preferring his species unique method of travel loosely translated as "blurring". Moving faster than the human eye could see he could cover miles in seconds.
She drove and he avoided conversation by turning the radio up as loud as the cheap stock speakers could manage. Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of a crumbling old apartment building that had once been beautiful, much like the woman it housed.
Once inside he allowed for no small talk, shoving her up against the wall and thrusting his tongue inside her mouth. She attempted to protest and he pulled back, leveling a gaze at her that caused her mouth to clamp shut. He kept eye contact as he stretched her arms over her head and pinned them there with one hand. With the other he ripped off her blouse and bra. She gasped and ground her hips into him.
He palmed her breast, squeezing hard, and she moaned as he ripped off her pants and pressed himself against her entrance. He recaptured her mouth, catching the inevitable cry as he thrust his enormity deep inside her womb. He ground himself against her and she cried out as pleasure consumed her.
Gripping her soft ass in his large palms he moved her to the couch and spun her around, bending her over the arm and driving into her from behind. He thrust into her hard and fast, her inner muscles contracting around him as one orgasm followed another. He finally felt his own release building and shouted in a forgotten language. For the briefest of moments he felt warm again.
When he was finished he pulled his pants back on and without a single word he blurred into the night.
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