Chapter One

The sultry beat coming from the interior of After Dark competed with the staccato of Erica Talbot’s heart as she approached the side door of the nightclub. The white stucco wall, along which the line of hopefuls waited, vibrated from the new age acid rock playing within. The bone-deep pulse made the other young women in the line loose-limbed and excited. They swayed to the beat even though whatever melody the song might have had was inaudible in the alley behind the club.

Erica wanted to act just like the others. She tried to adopt the distant, dreamy expression so many of them wore but she just didn’t have it in her. She’d long ago resigned herself to having no rhythm, no sexy sway and no desire to hide the sharp intelligence that shone from her hazel eyes.

Tonight she’d traded her usual style, conservative pinstriped slacks and tailored button-down blouse, for a short leather skirt and a low-cut satin T that did little to hide the black push-up bra she wore underneath. Glitter-dusted stockings and ankle-breaking black stilettos completed her outfit, and her golden blonde hair swirled in a wild updo that left her neck suggestively bare. She’d accented her lips with a shade of red that should have been illegal, and applied an extra layer of mascara to her already long lashes.

At least she looked like she fit in. Only her stiff posture gave her away. Anyone looking long enough would have figured out that she had nothing but disdain for the whole affair. This was not her world, and it never would be.

It disgusted her that Elena might be found in a place like this. Might be--if she wasn’t at one of the dozen other bars like After Dark that had sprung up over the past few years when the vampire population in Illinois began a disconcerting upswing. This was just the type of place in which her sister would feel right at home.

“You. You. Not you.” The muscle-bound bouncer who held court at the metal fire door gestured one of the waiting girls out of line with a tilt of his bald head. The redhead in a black sheath dress, cloggy heels and black lipstick couldn’t have been more than sixteen. The layers of kohl that ringed her eyes did nothing to hide the lack of wrinkles, or the hardened edge of lost innocence in her expression.

The vicious curse she hurled at the man--in a voice that spoke of a two-pack a day habit--shattered any illusion of gothic sophistication. She flipped him the bird and sauntered off, mumbling threats under her breath.

The last two women he’d let in lingered at the door watching the girl retreat with smug satisfaction. They thought they were better than her. Luckier. If only they knew.

Erica was next in line, and the bouncer eyed her as though he were appraising a cut of beef. She smiled and lowered her thick lashes in what she hoped was a demure, come-hither look. “Do you smoke?” he asked.

The question surprised her. She wondered if he meant tobacco or if the question was some type of code she didn’t understand. “No.”

He looked her over again and then grasped her wrists with his enormous hands. Her first instinct was to jerk away from his grip, but she held her disgust in check. She had to get inside the club, even if only for a few minutes. When he turned her hands palm up revealing the unblemished undersides of her forearms, relief eased the adrenaline rush to her head. “No needle marks,” he said. “Do you snort?”

“No!”

He looked at her face, and she held his bloodshot gaze for a tense moment. “You’re in,” he said finally, then turned to the others. “That’s all for tonight.”

A wave of recriminations traveled through the dozen or so women left in the alley. “Come back tomorrow.” He sounded apologetic just for an instant. But when the women didn’t immediately scatter, he cursed at them in a gravelly voice that made the skin on the back of Erica’s neck tighten in fear.

He pushed her inside and shut the fire door with a clang that rocked the gritty plaster walls. At the end of the narrow hallway where the chosen ones waited, two other men stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking most of the view into the club. Behind them, blue lights pulsed in time to the music that seemed to have grown ten times louder. While the fifteen women jockeyed for position in the hallway, the bouncer and his two friends did a head count and started on the body searches.

Erica fought to disengage her gag reflex when the men squatted behind each of the women and ran their hands up under each girl’s skirt from ankle to thigh. The others didn’t seem to mind the frisking, but the thought of some stranger shoving his fingers between her thighs made Erica lightheaded. She bit her lip and sidled through the line, letting other women go ahead of her and shuffling around until she stood with the ones that had already undergone the search.

When the two door guards parted and motioned the girls into the club, Erica’s dignity remained blessedly intact. She kept her head down as she passed the men and in seconds lost herself in the river of bodies that filled the dance floor.

Now she had her work cut out for her. In the pulsating light, the scene before her looked like an old-time nickel-movie, everyone jerking around in stop motion. In each flash of neon blue, Erica scanned the faces around her hoping to catch a glimpse of her sister.

The last time she’d seen Elena her twin had sported short black hair, and blue contact lenses hid the natural hazel green of her eyes. To a stranger, the Talbot sisters wouldn’t have appeared related at all. It still amazed Erica sometimes to think they’d come from the same womb. Even if she were in disguise, though, Erica would know her sister by the way she moved, her voice, and the intensity of her gaze, which even contact lenses couldn’t hide. If Elena were here, Erica would find her.

She decided to make one complete circuit of the place, checking the bar, the restroom and even the waitresses who carried trays of drinks and plates of food. Who could eat in a place like this? The noise alone made Erica sick to her stomach. Maybe you had to be drunk to enjoy it. She figured a person certainly had to be drunk to want to party with vampires.

The only good thing about After Dark was the lack of smoke. The lighting was nauseating but the atmosphere inside was crystal clear. She wondered why. Certainly vampires had no fear of lung cancer. Maybe it was the flare of a match that made them nervous. Either way, Erica was grateful that she didn’t have to squint through the acrid haze that polluted most of the human clubs.

Pale faces and half-clad bodies swam by in rapid succession until the details of their features began to blur. Erica finally reached the bar and clung to the leather pad that cushioned its edge. On either side of her, patrons leaned in comfort while they sipped drinks and attempted to talk over the pounding music.

Elena’s wasn’t among the faces that turned to appraise her, so Erica did her best to avoid eye contact until the barmaid slapped a red cocktail napkin down in front of her.

“What can I get you?” The woman was six feet of blond, Nordic perfection. The only thing marring her appearance was the brilliant white tip of an elongated incisor that peeked out beneath her upper lip. Erica swallowed. Female vampires were known to be vicious, carnal creatures, much less likely to maintain a semblance of their human existence than their male counterparts. Erica formed her answer carefully.

“I’ll have a martini.”

“Dry?”

“Sure.”

The bartender whirled away, her sleeveless sequined T-shirt glittering.

Erica clutched the edge of the bar tighter and stared at her featureless reflection in the polished laminate of the bar top.

I’m out of my mind, she thought. This had to be the last time she came to her sister’s rescue. She’d peeled Elena off of too many filthy bar stools and sat in the police station too many times, waiting for her sister to come teetering out of a holding cell reeking of smoke and sex.

The fact that this time was different just added to the hopelessness of the situation. This time the static-broken message on Erica’s answering machine had sounded truly desperate, not just momentarily needy. “I’ve been hanging out at ... you know ... the vampire bar. Come get me, Ricki, I need you to help me figure out a way out of this one....”

Erica had listened to the message at least two dozen times and still couldn’t make out the name of the bar, so she’d started with the letter A.

By the time the bartender returned with her drink, she’d decided it was time to move on to the next letter, which meant a place called Danger--Danger on the far side of town. As far as Erica was concerned, it might as well have been called Stupid--Stupid. That’s how she felt.

At least she was reasonably sure no one would recognize her. She didn’t know any vampires personally ... at least she hoped she didn’t.

“What do I owe you?” she asked.

The vampiress laughed. “You don’t have to buy your own drinks, babe.”

“I--”

“I’ll keep a tab for you and when someone picks you up, he’ll pay the bill. Sorry, he or she--we don’t discriminate here.”

“No one’s going to pick me up. In fact, I’m leaving. I’ve got ... to be somewhere else.” Erica rummaged in her tiny purse and pulled out a rumpled ten-dollar bill. She flattened it out with shaky fingers and pushed it across the shiny surface of the bar.

Before she let go of the bill, a hairy-knuckled hand closed over her arm. “You!”

Erica jerked her hand away this time, and the force of the movement sent the top-heavy martini glass skittering down the bar showering patrons with vodka and vermouth.

“What’s the problem, Frank?” The barmaid grabbed the glass before it rolled off the bar and swiped at the clear puddle with a rag. She looked mildly annoyed at the intrusion but not as angry as ‘Frank.’

“This one didn’t get searched.” The bouncer from the alley yanked Erica around to face him. While those nearby watched in detached amusement, he shoved Erica backward against the bar and spread her legs with one of his massive thighs. With her back arched and her breasts practically even with his nose, there was little she could do but submit. She held her breath against the overpowering aroma of cheap cologne and turned her head. A sick feeling crept up from her belly when his meaty hand slithered down her side and he yanked up the hem of her skirt and rummaged underneath.

“I should throw you right out,” he said. His face was so close to hers that she was able to make out the gold plated initial F inscribed on his front tooth. At least his breath smelled of a recently chewed Altoid.

Erica looked away again when one of his fingers dipped under the garter that held her stockings in place. “What are you looking for?” She didn’t want to sound breathless and terrified, but that’s how the words came out.

“Stakes. Bitches always hide ‘em up their skirts.”

The crowd at the bar backed up a little at that. When Frank finally brought his hand up, empty, they shuffled back to their places.

“You’re clean,” he said with a leer. Erica felt anything but clean. Her flesh tingled unpleasantly where he’d explored. “Who’s buyin’ for you?”

“What?”

“You don’t have a buyer yet?”

“She said she’s leavin’, Frank. Why don’t you just escort the lady to the door?” The bartender gave Erica a snide look as she tucked the ten-spot into her apron.

Frank obliged by yanking Erica toward him. “Let’s go.”

“I’m buying for her.”

The voice sent a chill down Erica’s spine. Deep and sexy with a hint of British accent, it was a voice that could melt a woman or freeze her. Frank let her go instantly as if contact with her skin suddenly burned him.

Erica looked up at her dubious savior and did her best not to react. She’d never thought of a man as beautiful, but she couldn’t think of another word to describe him. His hair was midnight black, and his eyes were the bottomless blue of a tropical ocean. His white shirt lay open to the second button, and a dark tie hung askew as though he’d just loosened it. A gold pinky ring gleamed on his right hand as he held it out to her.

Frank and the barmaid exchanged a glance before they both went back to their duties, leaving Erica on her own. The man’s scrutiny left her feeling naked and much too warm, and she found herself wishing she’d brought a stake just so Frank would have a reason to throw her out.

“I was just leaving.” What a cliché. True, but nevertheless. She might as well have told him she had to go home and wash her hair. He studied her for a moment and his eyes darkened, not with anger, but with something else that made Erica just as uncomfortable. When he spoke, his words left no room for argument.

“The management here doesn’t like drop-ins. If a human comes in, it’s understood what they’re here for. If you want to leave without someone feeding on you, you’ll come with me.”