Nora Walker, a psychic vampire, is conscripted into a task-force of supernatural legends that care more for themselves than the cataclysmic threat they face...
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Sound hit me like a truck the second my boots hit the dance floor. What's the fastest way to dampen everyones spirits? I wondered, rubbing my hands together as I faced the busiest area of the club.
I contemplated turning off the music, but I didn't want everyone turning on me. Taking them on all at once would be an exercise in futility, as I'd lose energy as fast as I was gathering it.
I supposed I could hit someone, but most of the patrons had superhuman strength and regenerative abilities. A punch from me wouldn't even make them twitch, let alone rile them up.
Unless they do all the hitting for me, I thought, the idea gaining traction in my mind. And they can start by hitting on me...
A good light source was imperative to the success of my plan, so I forced my way through the crowd to the fish tank that made up the far wall. Blue refractions spilled into the room, but the brilliant schools of fish and leisurely stingray seemed unaffected by the strobing lights and blaring music on this side of the glass. Some kind of technical magic, no doubt.
The first ingredient in my recipe for chaos was a stereotypical alpha male. They were in bountiful supply; I even recognised one of them from the stairs. Men and women vied for his attention, indicating he was a man of status; perhaps a district alpha? That would serve my plan nicely.
I started dancing, turning my hips in rhythmic circles that lured his attention as the moon lures the tide. I knew what he saw: a petite but womanly beauty, with a modest waist but distinct curves, and a ponytail of darkest brown swinging in time with the beat. It didn't matter that it wasn't my natural colour; it was too dark to note the discolouration at the roots.
I was only seventeen, technically two weeks too young to be allowed on the premises, but my confidence was misleading. He sidled up behind me, wrapping an arm around my middle. In spite of his impressive physique, I felt rather underwhelmed when I turned around in the circle of his arms. His features were squashed and brutish, and I was shallow as a kiddie pool, a sucker for pretty things.
I suffered his lack of rhythm until his slobbering mouth tried to find mine. Gotcha, I thought smugly, slipping from his clutches into the arms of another man. This one had the cold, marble skin of an immortal vampire. He welcomed my advances with a different kind of hunger, teeth nipping gently at my throat in a silent question.
The vampire's reaction was to be expected, given the addictive nature of witch blood. I'd been counting on it. As I was counting on the werewolf to react with the jealousy and rage typical of his kind.
Come on, I coached silently, hoping the brute would hurry up and notice where I'd gone. I didn't actually want this vampire feeding off me. If he did, he would merely drain the energy I already had stored, and the whole point of this exercise was to stock up my reserves, not deplete them!
To my relief and utter delight, conflict ignited. It was sudden, brutal and blazingly glorious, like a lit match thrown on kerosine. The werewolf tackled the vampire to the ground, knocking over waves of people in the process. I was reduced to a mere afterthought as punches were swung in retaliation and fangs of all shapes and sizes found purchase.
