Moonlight

scent

Chapter II

It really isn't a surprise that he'd been left alone at the bar. In fact, he encouraged Lizzie and James to go have fun together, and is absolutely certain that they're hooking up in some dingy bathroom. Those two can't keep their hands to themselves for more than a few minutes.

The club is much larger and more crowded than William would have expected on a Thursday night, but it is just as elite as anywhere the trio went. James could be a bit snobbish, while Lizzie liked nice things; William could've been happy at a dingy dive bar. He sips on his whiskey, something expensive James had ordered that was ten times better than William's first choice of Jack Daniels– chosen more for the price than the taste.

He'd notices a few men and women giving him lustful gazes, but the scowl on his face keeps them from approaching. He downs the remainder of his whiskey, motioning towards the bartender for another glass. It's on James' tab, but William had stopped feeling guilty about living off of the alpha's money. It isn't as if William needed much, and James' accounts easily surpassed seven figures; it helps that the werewolf had decades to accumulate the wealth.

"I'm surprised you haven't keeled over, drinking that much," a deep voice speaks, clearly enough to be heard over the pounding music filtering throughout the club even without his enhanced hearing, "then again, I don't know much about how werewolves process liquor."

William smells him first– the scent of burnt cedar, whisky, rainfall. He breaths in deep, letting the scent wash over him and the pleasant rumble of the man's voice settle deep into his bones. He turns his head, meeting crimson eyes peeking from behind black sunglasses. The world shakes, everything blurring to nothing around him as he stares into the vampire's eyes. He feels his mouth slowly salivating, and canines sharpening from behind his pink lips. He clenches his hands into fists, slowly protruding claws digging into his palms. The vampire's scent consumes him, the tightness of his leather pants becoming embarrassingly uncomfortable. He holds his breath, trying to clear himself from the tantalizing aroma, willing himself to calm until his canines and claws recede. Though he is sure his eyes shine amber.

William craves him. If this is how it felt to find his mate, he doesn't understand why he always said he didn't want one. This man is his new purpose; they existed to find one another. He has found his one.

"What's a little werewolf like you doing here?" the vampire continues– shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes. William must have been silent for too long.

"What's a vampire like you doing here?" he teases back, "You don't seem like the type to be in this kind of place."

The vampire really doesn't seem like he fits in with the other patrons in the club. It's likely his vampire beauty had gotten him into the club when he was dressed so casually. The vampire wears a brown coat that has seen better days over a simple t-shirt, and ratty jeans held up by a leather belt with a large silver buckle; his shoes are scuffed. And he's decorated with silver chains and rings, and William wants his touch regardless if the silver will burn.

"What's your name, pretty boy?"

William blushes at the name, "It's William, or Will. Whatever you prefer."

"I'd prefer you and me, on that dance floor," the vampire gestures towards the middle of the room, where bodies are plastered against each other. In William's opinion, the way the people are grinding on one another looks more like a precursor to fucking than dancing.

William doesn't enjoy dancing, but he has to admit that the idea of being pressed up against the vampire is enticing.

"If you tell me your name," William steps closer to the vampire, running a hand down his chest– mindful of the jewelry, "And you'll have to take off that silver if you want to touch me. That is, if you want to?"