I examined the fibers under the microscope. "Looks like carpet fibers. Maybe the body was wrapped in a rug and moved. I'll have more for you after I run them through the spectrometer."

Kiera glared, arms folded across her chest while tapping her foot.

"What have I done this time?"

"Abby, when is the last time you've left this lab?"

Was she serious? I was up to my neck in cases, and she picked this moment to get on me about my lack of recreation? My job was literally life or death. My work mattered. I didn't have time to waste with foolishness. "Um… I went out yesterday."

Kiera's gaze moved to the ceiling for a moment before she came back with, "Are you talking about when we went out for sandwiches?"

I shrugged. "I left the lab to have lunch with you. It's not like they don't deliver."

She grabbed my arm. "That's it. We're going clubbing."

Oh God, no, anything but that. I was more or less a good person and I did nothing to deserve Kiera's constant attempts to add meaning to my life, meaning that I was perfectly happy without. "But what about the case? I still have some more tests I need to run."

"You can work during work hours. Like a normal person."

I tried to dig in my heels. But Kiera had some sort of kung fu grip action going on that she must have learn in secret agent school because there was no way I was breaking free of her. My options were limited. Fake my own death or spend the night clubbing. I seriously contemplated the former.

Kiera drove us home to get ready. We had lived together since college and she had helped me get through some of the worst stages of my life. I loved her like a sister, but at times like this, I wished we didn’t live in such close proximity. I prayed I could wear something that I was actually comfortable going out in—meaning my own clothes.

I opened my closet and scanned over my wardrobe. Everything was in its own place, just how I liked it. My blouses—all the same satin, button-up long-sleeves—were color coordinated, steam pressed, and separated from my line of black slacks.

As I reached to grab one of the blouses, a hand gripped my wrist.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Kiera seethed and began to drag me toward her room.

“Why not? They’re classy and casual all at the same time! They’re comfortable.”

“Exactly my point. They’re boring and you wear them every day. For the love of God, they’re all exactly the same!”

“They are not!” I tried to protest. “They’re different colors.”

“I’m dressing you tonight.” Her statement was final and made my heart sink. I was going to end up looking like some low-end hooker.

Unfortunately for me, we were the same size, so I couldn’t use that as an excuse. I sat on her bed, looking at anything other than the mountain of fabric she was tossing down in front of me. Her auburn hair swung as she twirled around, holding one slutty cocktail dress to her chest after another. "How about this one?"

"No," I said flatly, studying the sports mag that was lying on her bedside table. I could barely tell a football from a basketball, but at least it wasn't women's fashion.

"Why not? Blue looks great on you!"

I glanced up once more at the sequined studded slip parading as a dress to be sure. "Fabric looks great on me."

She dived back into her closet. "Ugh, you're impossible. You know that?"

"You could have always left me in my lab, with my work. Then you wouldn't have to worry about finding me something I'm willing to be seen wearing in public."

Finally, she gave in and found a nice, semi-modest black pantsuit that I was willing to wear. "I bought this for interviews, but I'm guessing it's the sexiest thing I'll be able to get you in."

I gave the garment a reluctant nod. Like all of Kiera's clothes, it was sexy, but not overly so. And it wouldn't make me too self-conscious to wear it.

After I changed, I came out the bathroom to find Kiera in a tiny red number that threatened to slip down and expose her breasts at any moment, along with a pair of matching heels that made me want to stumble just looking at them. She was putting on bright red lipstick to match when she saw me and exclaimed, "You aren't going to wear your hair like that, are you?"

I touched the side of my bun. With naturally wavy hair, I had to battle with all the demons of hell every morning just to get it like this. "What's wrong with my hair?"

She walked over and grabbed my shoulders, turning me around like a mother tending to her child. She pulled out my hair clips one by one letting my hair fall over my shoulders in a chestnut mane.

She turned me around again, fluffing my bangs and smiling. "There, that's much better."

I stood in front of the mirror and examined my reflection. "I look like the star of an 80s rock band." I already missed my bun. Like the universe wasn't chaotic enough without my hair adding to the mess.

"One day, we're really going to have to work on your confidence."

On the way out of the apartment, I stuffed my e-reader into my purse and slung it over my shoulder, sure that I would spend a fair portion of the night bored and alone. "Yeah, when I'm confident enough, I'll be able to refuse you when you attempt to make me do stuff like this."

"Complain all you want. I know deep down you love it."

As much as I wanted my best friend to be happy, she didn't get me. I really didn't love going out. But I did it for her. I knew how much she worried about me, and I figured if the occasional night of humiliating torture called the dating scene put her mind at ease, then it was worth the suffering.

We got to Club Nightshade around eleven. Kiera walked right up to the bouncer, who let her through without hesitation. When he laid eyes on me, though, there was hesitation.

Kiera grabbed my blouse and yanked it down, exposing more cleavage, then gave the bouncer a look daring him not to let me in.

He took a step back and allowed us to enter.

The place was so dark that I could barely see a thing. The neon strobe lights didn't help with that problem and the music was so loud it almost rattled my teeth out of my mouth. I knew it made me seem like a big geek and maybe I was, but for the life of me, I could never understand the appeal of clubs. Even if the man of my dreams was in that room, how would I ever find him while being half-blinded by lights and deafened by the music? Or whatever that was that they were calling music.

We got to the middle of the dance floor and Kiera started swaying to the beat. I tried to mimic her movements, but I felt like an earthworm doing an upright mating ritual in front of a room full of onlookers. Soon enough, Kiera's energy and grace drew the attention of men. It was like she put out some sort of "sex me" pheromones. One guy after another began to dance with her until she was surrounded by a circle of men and I was pushed to the side.

I gave a heavy sigh and headed to the bar. "Sex on the Beach," I said to the bartender. The first time I'd ever gone to a club that was the only drink name I could recall, so I ordered it. I ended up liking it, so it became my go-to drink whenever I was forced to attend these things.

I slumped in my seat and had polished off my third drink by the time Kiera realized I had left.

She walked up to the bar and draped her arms over my shoulder. Breathing heavy, she asked, "You left. What, you get tired of dancing?"

I put on a big fake smile and nodded.

She turned to the bartender. "Beer." She sat on the barstool next to me and examined the crowd. "So, any prospects?"

"For what?"

"You know. To take home. To help relieve the tension."

"Uh... no."

"Come on. You never pick up a guy when we go out. Do you even have a sex life?"

Not much of one. "Just because I don't want to pick up some slimy guy that I have nothing in common with doesn't mean that I don't have a sex life."

"Okay, fine. You sit here and do your thing. I'm going to head back to the dance floor. Let me know when you're ready to go."

I nodded and turned back to my drink. This was stupid. I knew exactly what would happen. Kiera would find some guy to hook up with and I'd finally have permission to go home and try to forget this night ever happened. Why did I have to sit at the bar and wait for this process? She'd be just as capable of deciding which guy she wanted to go home with if I was doing something I enjoyed instead.

The music drummed on and I nursed one drink after another, pretending to have tons of fun as I sat alone at the bar. I was on my third drink and completely engrossed with the novel on my e-reader when a dainty martini glass filled with a vibrant green liquid was slid in front of me, pulling my attention from the steamy scene. I followed the hand that held its stem to find an acceptably handsome man grinning smugly at me, displaying brilliantly white teeth.

“Apple martini, right?” he asked confidently, his voice barely resonating over the thumbing of the music.

My gaze flickered between my sex on the beach and his apple martini. If I wasn’t confused before, I certainly was now. The two drinks weren’t even the same color. His observation skills were seriously lacking.

He descended onto the stool beside me and leaned close, a cloud of strong musky aroma attacking my sinuses.

“Uh… sex on the beach, actually,” I stated flatly, still skeptical of the stranger.

“Oh, I apologize.” No trace of empathy in his voice. “I would have pegged you for a martini girl for sure.” He flashed a smoldering grin as his eyes raked over my body, sending a chill down my spine.

Was this man trying to seduce me? Was offering me the wrong drink some sort of wooing tactic?

While I was distracted by my contemplations, he had moved closer and managed to slide his hand across the bar top and rest it atop of my own, gripping it in attempted reassurance.

“You are so beautiful,” he stated point blank. His eagerness threw me and I felt the need to return the compliment. My eyes quickly scanned over his features for anything to comment on.

“I like your…” I started, but couldn’t get myself to find anything accommodating to say. He was a regular Joe; there was nothing about him that was distinctive from other males his age.

And then I spotted it. His hair looked different. Even in the poor lighting, I could spot it. Hair plugs.

“Hair! I like your hair.” The awkward comment hung in the air like thick fog around me, but it didn’t faze him in the slightest, and he accepted the comment in full stride, clearly proud of his new modifications.

“You got it done recently, right?” I blurted. “From the looks of it, almost two weeks ago. Did it hurt? I’d imagine it’d be painful, to an extent anyway.” His thick brows pinched together in confusion and his body tensed. My heart froze in panic.

“I can’t say I know what you mean,” he lied.

“I mean, I had just noticed a bit of folliculitis around the procedure area,” I stated, noticing the little inflamed bumps across the top of his skull. My mind screamed at me to shut up, but my mouth didn’t seem to get the message.

“It’s from the transplanted follicles. You just need a cold compress and maybe some antibacterial wash and it should clear up in a few days.” I mustered as much sincerity as possible. “You know, the process is quite fascinating, really. Taking grafts of skin from your own body and surgically placing the existing cells on another part of the body to stimulate natural growth. It’s amazing how far medicine and technology have come to be able to manipulate genetic faults, mutations, if you will.”

Hollow silence followed, and with that, I could tell from his horrified expression that this conversation had gone down the toilet.

“Plenty of men experience premature balding!” I couldn’t seem to wrangle in my lips! They had a mind all their own, running on facts I had accumulated over the years. And it certainly wasn’t the best way to impress the opposite sex.

His hand slowly retracted from mine. My cheeks burned and I knew they had grown crimson with embarrassment. I had to get away from this situation somehow.

“I, uh… need to go to the restroom. Excuse me.” I couldn’t even make eye contact with the man. I forced myself to keep a steady pace and not burst into a hurdle over the gyrating bodies as I found my way to the women’s restroom.

There were only two stalls in the small, dark room. How that catered to all these people was questionable, but luckily one was still open and I quickly slid in and locked the door.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to shake my embarrassment, but it was clinging to me like thick sludge. I needed to sit down.

I took a seat on the toilet against my better judgment, cradled my head in my clammy hands, and took another breath. As repulsive as the thought of sitting on those filthy toilets was, knowing this wasn’t my outfit made my cares fade.

As I attempted to forget about the horrors of my conversation with the random man, muffled moans echoed across the tiled room. I stayed quiet, but curiosity gripped me. Bending down to see under the stall, I found a pair of tall, shiny black stilettos at the end of a set of tan, slender legs, and next to those, a pair of polished loafers and pressed black slacks. Were these two really getting it on in a dirty club bathroom?

My curiosity piqued and I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know what these two were up to.

As quietly as I could manage, I stepped up onto the toilet and peered over the top. But what I found mortified me. The man had his face nestled into the woman’s neck, tousled blonde locks blocking his features. Fear, pain, and panic resonated in her eyes as he clamped his hand over her mouth, her face pale. A single stream of blood fled past his lips and rolled down her bare collarbone.

Was he… feeding on her?!

I clamped a hand over my own mouth in attempt to quell my horror and stay hidden, but my slight movement was enough to draw his attention.

His head snapped up to find me gawking down at the scene. All the blood in my face drained as his eyes met mine. The devilishly handsome man stared into my soul. His square jaw was tainted with a stream of blood that trickled from protruding sharp fangs. His eyes were deep crimson pools full with inhuman hunger like I had never seen.

With a twitch of his wrist, the room was filled with an echoing crack before the woman dropped limp at his feet.

He had just killed this woman.

He killed her right in front of me with no remorse and without ever breaking eye contact. I wanted to scream, but my throat closed tight as a vise.

My heart stopped. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t even seem to fathom what I had just witnessed. My brain couldn’t seem to comprehend what was happening. Was I high? Could the random man have slipped E into my drink? I had never been high before, but hallucinations were supposed to definitely be part of it.

He moved so swiftly that all I saw was a blur before he had ripped my stall door from its hinges and threw it against the wall, leaving only me and him, face to face.

My feet slipped out from under me and I tumbled towards the ground, only to find I never crashed. A strong hand gripped my throat like a viper, preventing my fall, but strangling me as I dangled in the air before him. I clawed and kicked at the inhuman man in attempts to free myself from his grip, but this only seemed to antagonize him more.

He moved so quickly, I hardly realized we had moved at all until dull pain shot out from the back of my skull as he pinned me against the tiled wall. My feet were on the ground, at least, but it felt as if his grip had tightened. My lungs were burning, aching for oxygen.

I prayed Kiera would burst through the door and come to my rescue from this absurd nightmare.

“If she comes, I will kill her,” he stated as if he’d just heard what I was thinking. How was that possible?!

A curious look cloaked his gaze as his eyes slowly moved down my body. He was studying me like a guinea pig in a lab. A look I knew all too well as I often rendered when studying samples from homicides. Crimson irises locked with mine, his brow twitching in contemplation.

Fear was an emotion I was used to. I was afraid of many things. Socializing, crowds, spiders, even love. But horror was a new feeling. And it filled me to my core as I imagined all the possible ways he could kill me.

His eyes softened in resolve. He slowly slid a hand into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small vial. Popping the cork off, he pressed it to my lips.

“Drink,” he demanded.

My lips suctioned shut; there was no way I was going to let this man poison me. I’d rather him just snap my neck like the poor woman he had been sucking on than suffer a long, drawn-out death. I shook my head as much as I could muster, my bangs trembling against my sweat beaded forehead.

Visibly irritated, he pushed the vial against my lips.

“If I wanted to kill you, you would have been dead by now,” he growled, his voice thick with an accent I couldn’t place. “This will put you to sleep.” His scowl deepened with my hesitation. “I have plenty of less pleasant ways of rendering you unconscious, if you prefer?”

Those words were like a frozen dagger to my heart. This man was clearly capable of unspeakable things—it was evident in his cold hungry eyes. Other options seemed futile, if possible at all.

His crushing hand continued to cut off my airway. The lack of oxygen to my brain was causing a haze to set over me, and I knew I couldn’t hold out for much longer. I caved. My lips parted, and without hesitation, he poured the contents into my mouth, the bitter liquid cloaking my tongue as it slid down my throat.

Finally, he released his grip, leaving me the ground in a trembling heap. My lungs ached as air flooded every pore. How was I going to get out of this? What could he possibly want with me? I shuddered as images of what he would do to me filled my mind.

Grabbing me by the arm, he hoisted me up to my feet. Legs like noodles wobbled beneath me as I tried to stand.

“You will come with me quietly,” he seethed “One peep, and I will not hesitate to snap your neck like I did hers.”

The woman’s face stared up at me in agonizing horror. I had seen my fair share of dead bodies, but none as haunting as this poor woman. All she wanted was a fun night out, possibly with some friends, and in the end, was left lifeless to be found in a dingy club bathroom.

I meekly nodded and he tugged me along by my arm. I had to think of something, some way that Kiera would be able to find me—a clue to leave for her. Knowing Kiera, she wouldn’t stop until she found me. That’s why she was the best at her job.

My purse slapped against my hip as he dragged me towards the door, and it clicked. If I could manage to drop my purse, Kiera would find it and know immediately that something was wrong. I’d never lost my purse, and if she could find this, then she’d know to immediately start looking for me, that I hadn’t left of my own free will.

Hope clutched at my heart. I only had one chance to try and save myself, and this was it.

He swung the door open, allowing loud, pulsing music to blast into the small room, every bass note echoing off the tiles. Now was my chance. With his back turned, I let the straps fall off my shoulder and tumble towards the floor.

I glanced over my shoulder as he pulled me through the doorway to see where I had let it fall, only to find the floor barren.

I turned back to find his piercing red eyes glued to me and my purse clutched in his hand. “I believe you dropped this. Don’t worry. I will carry it for you so you don’t accidentally drop it again.”

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. He knew.

He took me out the back way, and I knew I’d never see Kiera again. I knew how things like this ended. We crossed the parking lot to a black SUV. If not for the headlights being on, I wouldn’t have even noticed it. Opening the door, he shoved me in, forcing me to take the far seat before sitting himself.

Suddenly, my brain started to shut off. Blurred images of passing lights flitted around me. I could hear him, his voice low and mumbling in the background of my mind. “Clean it up.” His voice echoed in my muffled thoughts. My breaths drew shallow as my lungs began to feel as if they were collapsing on themselves and my heart barely thumped in my chest. Sleep overcame me like a heavy black fog.