UNLEASHED - a Valentine's Anthology

Vampire Story

written by Jane Peden

I probably shouldn't have gone out tonight. The Manhattan club scene used to be exciting, but lately it bores me - I'd rather have stayed home and worked on my painting.

But it is Saturday night, so.... The plan is to hit a couple of different clubs, and since there are three of us I can leave anytime and not feel like I'm abandoning a friend.

"Come on, Lena!" Morgan and Natalie tug me out onto the dance floor. "It's time to par-tay!" Morgan says, as her drink sloshes in her glass and narrowly misses splattering me. It's bright red - the drink and my silky jumpsuit - so it probably wouldn't show. I'd still prefer not to be bathed in grenadine.

"Get rid of the drink, Morgs," Natalie says, reaching for it, but Morgan is quicker and simply downs it in one large gulp.

"There," she says, "happy?"

Natalie laughs, the glass disappears somewhere, and the three of us are absorbed into the throng of pulsing bodies.

For a moment I'm glad to be here. Then my senses go on alert with the certainty that someone is watching me.

I spin around and try to spot whoever is giving me this feeling, but no luck there.

"I feel like someone is watching me," I say, leaning in toward Natalie.

"Of course someone is watching you," Natalie says, her gaze traveling up and down over my body. "Everyone is watching you."

She's probably right. The vintage pendant once owned by my grandmother is nestling in the deep v that barely conceals my breasts, the diamonds reflecting the lights in the club. The pants of my jumpsuit end snugly just above my ankles, and I'm wearing strappy gold heels. The blood-red polish on my nails matches my lips, and my naturally red hair is cascading in waves down my back. It's a look that screams for attention, and it got us past the doorman without a VIP pass.

"You look like a model," Morgan says, and rolls her eyes. "Who wouldn't notice you?"

I'm 5'9" and with the heels I'm wearing, 6 feet at least. So yeah, guys tend to notice me in clubs.

But this is different.

I feel a sudden chill, even in the overheated milieu.

I shrug it off, but the feeling persists.

The music gets faster and the club gets hotter. I have the beginnings of a headache. So when Natalie snags a table, I'm more than happy to take a break and order something cold to drink.

We crowd around the small table and look for our server, just as another one comes over with a magnum of champagne and three glasses.

"Come this way - I have a booth for you."

I look up at her, perplexed. "Sorry, we didn't order bottle service."

"Courtesy of the gentleman at the bar." She gestures across the crowded dance floor, and I glance over and feel his gaze - confident and a touch arrogant - lock on mine.

"Who?" Natalie asks, straining her neck to check out our benefactor. "I hope he's not 50 years old and butt-ugly."

"He's not," I say as we stand up to follow the server. "It's the one in the black suit. Third from the end." I knew it the moment our eyes connected. And now I can't seem to look away. I've got a prickly feeling on the back of my neck, and my entire body just flashed from a cold chill into intense heat all over again.

"Banging!" says Morgan. "He's hot. Come on, girl."

"You know him?" Natalie asks.

"Not yet." But I expect I will very soon.