* * *
Bonnie stared at the man, tongue-tied, and watched as his pale green eyes peered back at her with an expression she couldn't understand. Was he surprised, modified, or angry? His thick, dark, wavy hair looked tousled. His strong set of square jaw was set in a tight clench. And his sexy lips... Damn! Those lips looked like they were made for bad, bad things. He wore an expensive suit, complete with a tie. Bonnie knew his suit was freaking expensive because she was very much her father's daughter. What she couldn't fathom though, was why he was looking at her so darkly. If she was to guess, he had probably caught her gawking at Joan's panties and now thought she was some kind of pervert.
Shit! Why did she always have bad luck with good-looking men?
Bonnie cleared her throat. "Hmm... Err, what you saw back there... What you saw me looking at... Shit! What I mean to say is it's not how it looks." Lord! She was stammering. How convenient.
"And what, pray to tell, do you think I think?" he finally asked after what seemed like ages. Bonnie glanced away for a second in an attempt to control her beating heart. His voice felt like a hot coal on her clitoris and as hard as she was trying to control her emotions, it seemed to get worse with every breath she took. She glanced back at him and bit her bottom lips.
"Are you trying to gauge me?" she asked in response. With the way her cheeks were inflamed, anyone from a two-mile radius could see just how embarrassed she was. Talk more of him. He was trying to get a rise out of her.
"You tell me," he said and picked up a bottle from somewhere beneath the counter. "You were the one assuming my thoughts a few moments ago. So it's safe to assume you are some kind of mind reader or something."
Bonnie's eyes widened. "Are you trying to insinuate that I am a supernatural?" she blurted. "Do you know how absurd that is?"
A slow smile began to creep along his handsome face. "And why would that be absurd? You look very much like a witch if you ask me."
Bonnie stared at the handsome man in front of her for a minute then she suddenly burst out laughing. Now she knew he was playing with her. "We both know that supernaturals no longer exist in our world, the war made sure of that."
"It sure did, didn't it?" he said, his voice fading into a whisper. There was an edge to his voice that made it seem like he was sad about the knowledge.
"I don't know what would make you think I was a witch but-" Bonnie's words were cut short by the cry of a familiar voice. She immediately turned around and the sight before her turned her blood to ice.
Joan was in the middle of the dance floor wrapped in the arms of a lanky-looking guy who looked like trouble. She was struggling to get out of his grip but the more she tried, the harder the bastard held on to her.
"Get your hands off me," Bonnie faintly heard Joan cry and immediately, she was jerked into action. She slipped off the bar stool and began running toward her friend. The hot bartender - completely forgotten.
"Get away from her," Bonnie yelled as she reached them. She made a move to grab Joan's arm so she could pull her away, but then she came to a complete halt, her body instantly freezing to the spot as the stench of something vile and familiar hit her. She immediately stopped breathing in an attempt to push away the stench, even if it was for a moment because she couldn't believe what she just perceived.
The last time Bonnie perceived this stench was over twenty years ago, during the war. Bonnie had discovered quite early as a kid that she could smell a supernatural whenever she was near one. An ability she had considered a curse until her father discovered it. She had thought all supernaturals were gone forever. How was it possible that she could smell one now, out in the open and amid humans?
Bonnie stumbled away from the man and Joan, her heart beating so loudly she couldn't hear anything else. This was bad. This was bad. If this man was supernatural then the council needed to hear about it.
"I thought the lady said to let her go." It was as if a warm puddle began brewing within her at the sound of his voice. Bonnie turned around to see her bartender. Her bartender? She shook her head and tried to forget she ever thought that. He was standing next to her with his hands in his pant pocket, all suited up like he was on his way to a conference meeting or something. Bonnie realized she had forgotten to ask him about it earlier, about his dressing. He couldn't be the bartender dressed like that. Or could he? Bonnie didn't know anymore. She hadn't been able to think straight from a few seconds ago, until now. It was as if his being close to her was calming her down somehow.
"Or what?" Bonnie heard the supernatural say.
"I don't think you'd like the answer to that question. You have one second to let the lady go or so help me God." The supernatural flinched and so did Bonnie at the power of his voice. Bonnie couldn't understand what was happening but one minute she was scared shitless and the next she felt as calm as a dove.
"Whatever," the man grunted and let go of Joan who then stumbled into Bonnie's arms. Bonnie turned around to thank her savior only to discover he was nowhere in sight. The little crowd that had gathered around them had dispatched and the dance floor was filled with swaying bodies again.
* * *Grabbing Joan by the waist, Bonnie guided them both out of the club and into the fresh air of Crossia's North Village. She set Joan down by the wall against the club and went to hail a cab. Outside the lounge club, patrons stood in clumps, smoking and chatting in private tones, unconcerned about the women who were breathing hard beside them. It was Crossing after all. People could be stabbing each other and no one would blink. "Oh, my God! This was supposed to be my night!" Joan moaned and Bonnie couldn't help but roll her eyes. Of course, this was what her friend would be worried about. There was a drunk supernatural on the loose and no one except her knew about it. Although she didn't like the idea, she knew she had to speak to her father as soon as possible. "We should have just stayed home as I suggested," Bonnie stated, her eyes darting from one side of the road to the other in case a cab pulled up. "I'm sure we could have, but I was so horny, Bon, I'm
* * *After what felt like forever, the cab driver finally pulled up in front of Joan's address. Bonnie softly woke Joan and aided her into the building as quickly as their legs could carry them. Using the keys in Joan's purse, Bonnie unlocked Joan's apartment, tucked an already sleeping Joan into bed, and then went into the kitchen to get some aspirin and water for Joan. Bonnie contemplated staying over till morning, but then she remembered she had a client's work she had to deliver first thing tomorrow and knew she couldn't stay. Bonnie locked Joan's apartment with a spare key and took the elevator to the lobby, wondering if she'd get a taxi this late. The taxi driver that had brought her hadn't been an option if not, she would have just asked him to wait. But doing that had been a no-no for her because Bonnie couldn't help but feel like something was very off with him the moment he started asking her personal question. Bonnie walked out of the building and glanced around the dimly
* * *“Nate, is that you?” Nate heard Darrell's casual shout at the sound of the closing front door. The question didn’t get an answer, because Nate's mind was on what he’d just done. He dropped his keys into the hand-carved wooden bowl on the table just inside the Midtown two-bedroom flat he shared with Elliott. Strolling into the well-decorated living room, he nodded to his roommate and their guest, two of his pack members. The balcony door opened and Danny, the fourth and final member, walked in with a look that said he knew things that no one else did. But the truth was, Danny recently became as suspicious as ever since Katherine. As Nate stepped further into the room, he noticed all three werewolves staring at him, their nostrils flaring at his impossible-to-ignore stench. Oh well, there went his plan to lie about where he'd been. From where Elliott sat on their couch, he demanded, “Why do you smell like murder?” Nate exhaled deeply and walked behind the sleek bar to reach fo
* * *Elliott rubbed his head. If he didn't do something to calm Nate quickly, things were going to turn shitty. “Alright. Easy, boy. We’re just a little surprised, and worried about you. About all of us.” Elliott threw a clean, white bar towel to Nate who caught it at the same time Darrell rose from the couch, walked towards him, and held out his hand to Nate who quietly placed the broken glass in his hand. Satisfied, Darrell processed to pick up the remaining pieces of glass from the floor and threw them in the trash next to him. “Give me the towel for a second,” he said to Nate and Nate handed it to him with a grimace as Darrell began wiping the blood off his hand. They were treating him like a child and although he didn't like it, it gave him a weird but comforting feeling. “It's okay, I've got it, buddy," Nate finally said and collected the towel from Darrell. Darrell smiled and picked up the trash can while Nate proceeded to wrap his nasty wound up. Darrell walked away
* * *Nate rose on his elbows and looked at his best friend. “For a minute I thought you wanted to have a sleepover.” Elliott's hard features remained as he grinned, “Who says I don’t?” The smile stopped at his brown eyes, which were now glowing in the darkness. Here he didn’t have to hide his supernatural qualities as they did out in public. “When was the last time you killed someone?” Nate asked. Elliott stared at him. “Never have. I thought you knew that.” They’d been friends for eleven years since they were eighteen, but they’d never talked about this subject. “No.” Nate sat up, his shoulders heavy. “I didn’t.” “Why did you ask?” Elliott inquired. “Never mind.” Elliott nodded, rubbing his closely shaved head as he glanced out the window at the New York skyline before meeting Nate’s waiting gaze. “So, are you gonna make me torture the whole truth out of you?” Nate smiled a little. “I’d like to see that.” “No, you wouldn’t,” smirked Elliott. “Seriously. What’s up with the wo
* * *An hour later, Bonnie walked into the restaurant looking and feeling more like herself. She planned on telling Joan everything, but the words kept getting stuck. It seemed so dark a thing to haunt a beautiful morning with and she didn’t want to bother Joan about it until she had all the information she needed. Putting it behind her, for now, seemed a more positive, proactive approach, so she smiled extra wide and suggested a toast instead. Joan raised her glass, waiting. “To both of us getting home safely,” Bonnie said. Joan paused and clinked the champagne flutes together with a shrug. “We could toast to that every day.” Bonnie took a sip. “Mmm.” “Right?” Joan licked the pulp from her top lip and set the glass down on top of her menu. “What have you got cooked up this week?” Happy for the change of subject, Bonnie took another sip and set her glass down as she answered, “Well, I’ve hired some teens to do a Twitter campaign for Mac Designs.” “That clothing store in the Cros
Bonnie began walking into traffic without thinking and his widening eyes and hand flying into the air made her look at what she was doing. She scrambled back onto the sidewalk and glanced away, embarrassed, then found her gaze drifting back to meet his. Bonnie tried to look casual when she felt anything but. What is he doing here? She bit her lip and glanced around, then back to him. He wasn’t alone, she realized. A good-looking man with shaved short hair and mischief in his eyes stepped forward and said something in his ear. His friend wore jeans and a blue t-shirt with yellow writing that read, “Deal With It.” When other pedestrians walked past her, she realized she’d missed the light’s change. Joining them as though nothing ridiculously peculiar was happening, she kept pace with the crowd, but could not take her eyes off him. She smoothed her hair self-consciously and then realized she was being silly. Hold your head high, girl. That’s how to do it. Arriving in front of him, she
Nate watched her yelling at him. Of course, she was scared; why hadn’t he thought of that before showing up like this? But he couldn’t tell her the truth. She had him in a bad spot and she didn’t even know it. She’d looked at him like he was the problem like she was scared of him. What could he tell her? I’m the one who saved you? That guy will never bother you again, or anyone else–I made sure of that. I know where you live because I brought your things back to you. That bag in your hands, I know what’s in it. I studied everything in the purple wallet you’ve stuffed too many receipts into for it to close. I even know you forgot to take your pill yesterday. When she left, didn’t turn around or look back, he walked to the nearest building and leaned against it, watching her, oblivious to the many, many New Yorkers walking past him enjoying the bright Indian summer day. He pulled out his phone and called Elliott. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “You scare her off or something? Wh