Chapter One

 

Jerik looked over the pulsing and twisting bodies in the X-Club. Men and women, transgender, bisexual, gay and lesbian, the hottest of the hot, and waited for the stirring from his cock that signaled the right one. The one who would sate his desires, at least for a day. Or a night. Or an hour.

The music thumped and the pungent aroma of sweat and sex filtered through the air, along with fruitier scents and musky perfumes. As a Krinar, Jerik’s sense of smell was unparalleled. He could smell the arousal of a woman from feet away.

Except in a place like this, the air reeked of arousal from every direction.

Flashing strobe lights, glowing DJ enhancements, LEDs in ropes around the ceiling, pinpricks of light in the ceiling mimicking the night sky—all led to an ambience of night, stars, and discovery.

There was a lot of discovery going on, he couldn’t help but notice. Velvety alcoves with soft couches or chaise longues welcomed the nude bodies of heated lovers. Krinar and humans seemed to get along just fine, at least in the X-Clubs. Resistance uprisings, political maneuverings, those things faded into the distance within the confines of a sex club.

It’s why Jerik was here. He needed a distraction. Preferably a woman, but he wasn’t picky. Human men had satisfied him before. When one was in the thousands of years old, life had a tendency to get boring. Jerik’s ennui stemmed from millennia of seeing the same relationships form and fade over and over again. The truth was, nothing really surprised him anymore.

Sex was a high point, no doubt, especially when as a Krinar he could use his thirst for blood to enhance the experience for him and his partner. However, with its addictive nature, blood sex needed to be rationed out and savored. He would become a shell of himself if he allowed the addiction to take over his reason. Once or twice a century seemed to be the right amount of balance for him. Other Krinar mocked his self-control, but he merely shrugged it off. He knew his own mind and his own desires.

He was thinking platinum blonde tonight. Or blond. He couldn’t quite decide if he was leaning toward female or male. Scouring the dance floor, he pinpointed a likely potential partner. She had voluminous white-blonde hair. When she threw her head back in the passion of the dance, he saw red-painted lips and gleaming white teeth.

The familiar zing in his pants didn’t come. Frowning, Jerik turned away from the balcony overlooking the dance floor. He stalked around the catwalk, glancing into the private rooms. Normally he wouldn’t dare steal another Krinar’s entertainment, but he was growing desperate for company. Memories haunted his mind’s eye that a night’s sexual fling would erase.

The music in the club grated in his ears. The laughing and gyrating dancers irritated his mood. The smells became a stench instead of enticing.

For the first time in years, he had to flee from the promise of wanton sexuality.

As he left the club, grasping human fingers with painted nails pulled at his shirt sleeves. A bold one with heavily painted eyeliner and lips grabbed his tie. “Come with me big boy! You won’t be sorry, I promise.” The human was going for a sultry look but only managed to pull off clingy and demanding.

He dipped his head in apology and made his escape, feeling the chill night air of Chicago like a much-needed slap in the face.

The X-Club’s exterior was non-descript. They tended to do better in human cities when they weren’t quite so obvious.

He exited onto an alley where more smells penetrated his nose. A dumpster, a stray cat, a homeless man.

Jerik’s leather shoes splashed in an iridescent-slicked puddle, and another icy wind blew his dark hair out of his stubbled face. Soon the puddles of muddy water would ice over tonight making foot travel treacherous, not to mention the roads. He thought of Costa Rica for a moment. Perhaps he should fly back. His Armani suit jacket didn’t keep out the wind, nor did his brushed cotton dress shirt.

Cursing the weather of this Krina-forsaken city, he wondered again why he was living here. Then he recalled the woman he’d followed from Lendarka and sighed. That’s why. He strode through Chicago’s mean streets, oblivious to the neon lights and the cat-calls of questionable people of the night.

He approached his building, already looking forward to the warmth of the lobby and the swift rise of the elevator to his penthouse suite. In his single-mindedness, he didn’t see the small form right under him until he’d run into her. The woman fell forward smashing both knees onto the wet pavement and a cab plowed through a deep puddle at the curb right next to her. A huge wave of black water sprayed up and over the girl who screeched in dismay.

Jerik, owner of several X-clubs throughout North America, GQ poster child, thousands of years old, refined, dignified and nearly perfect in every way, felt embarrassed.

He grasped her elbow and helped her rise, chastising himself for not seeing her. She wore a dove white wool winter coat, white scarf, white knit hat, gray leggings and dark gray winter boots. Well, he amended his thoughts. It all used to be white.

“My sincerest apologies, Miss…?” He guided her, so she faced him.

Under her white hat, gleaming platinum blonde hair spilled around her pale face and dark lashes, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Medora,” she said without smiling. She wasn’t looking at him. No, she was staring down at her beautiful clothes, now swamped with oily water.

Jerik’s expert eye could see there was no salvaging her outfit. Her knees, however, could be saved. Bloody patches bloomed on each one. That was going to hurt.

“Medora, I’m Jerik. Please allow me to help you,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “This is all my fault.”

“Okay,” she sniffled, but still didn’t look at him. She held her hand out for him to take, surprising him.

He held her gray gloved hand in his own and led the way to his lobby, greeting the doorman with a nod. The doorman didn’t think twice about him bringing a guest. It was a near nightly occurrence.

Jerik pressed his code and gently urged Medora into the elevator. He wanted her to look at him, but she stared at the floor. How odd she would accept his offer of help. He had found human women to be most coy, especially the ones he met outside of his sex clubs. Coy wasn’t even the right word. Suspicious, reluctant.

Medora had acquiesced, but otherwise shown no emotion.

Jerik’s curiosity burned brighter than his ever-present lust. That was new.

At the suite, the elevator doors slid open, and his rooms welcomed him with soft music, dim interior lights, and a fire shot to life in the gas fireplace. He preened, imagining Medora’s reaction to his modern chic open concept apartment with a high-end gourmet kitchen to the left and a subdued but inviting set of couches and throw pillows to the right. Straight ahead, wall to wall glass windows revealed Chicago’s impressive skyline, in front of which he had a large dining table. Lit up at night, he could almost imagine a galaxy of stars, and two faces. Pressing that thought deep into the recesses of his heart, he watched for Medora’s reaction.

She stood demurely with her hands clasped in front of her, eyes cast down to his less impressive black marbled floor.

“Please,” Jerik said in a soft voice. “Make yourself at home, and I’ll have a nano-device create suitable clothing for you.”

“I’m dripping everywhere,” she said. “I don’t want to mess up your lovely things.”

Jerik tried to place her accent. It wasn’t quite North American, nor was it European. “My name is Jerik, and please,” he said while gesturing to the nearby couch. “Sit. Don’t trouble yourself about the mess. What’s Krinar technology for but to make life easier?” He chuckled, hoping to draw out a little laugh or a smile or something. It didn’t.

Taking matters into his own hands, he guided her over the lush white rug, heedless of the black and gray water stains tracking off her boots. “Sit.” He nudged her to sit, and she did, knees together, hands still clasped in her lap. She looked biddable, and he wondered just how old she was. Perhaps she was a human child separated from her parents. His brows furrowed. “How old are you, child?”

Finally, she shot him a look, and her mouth curved up in a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not a child.”

Taken aback, Jerik nodded. “Very well.”

He walked to a closet in the hall near the master suite and pulled out a nano-device. He had it manufacture a simple set of clothes. He chose gray and white for obvious reasons. As much as he wanted to stare at the young woman, he denied himself.

Curiosity was such a rare emotion for him, he reveled in it. Who was she? Where was she from? Why did she not speak freely? Why was she not impressed with his apartment…with him?

How did she have almost black eyes and almost white hair? It was an unusual combination he found beguiling. Ah, there was that familiar stirring in his cock. He smiled inside, appreciating his desire like a long-lost friend. It had been nearly twenty-four hours, after all.

Perhaps Medora would stay the night with a proper seduction. He hadn’t set out to do that when he invited her up, but she was here now, and his cock was willing.

The clothes were finished, so he brought them to her. The blood soaking through her leggings brought him up short.

“Ah, I forgot.” He murmured to himself and pulled a thin card from his pocket. “Do you mind if I heal your knees?”

“Please don’t, Jerik.”

Once again, she surprised him. “It will only take seconds,” he said and brought the card forward as he knelt on the floor beside her.

“No thank you,” she said cocking her head. “I don’t wish to be tracked by your nanobots.”

Jerik felt a flash of anger. Medora was mild, and then infuriatingly resolved.

“I see.”

He resisted the urge to storm off and slam things around. Instead he walked to his kitchen and pulled out a white washcloth, running it under warm water. He brought it to her; she gratefully accepted it and dabbed it on her knees.

“Do you have bandages ready or do you need to manufacture some?”

Her question irritated him, though her voice continued to be mild. Was she trying to provoke him? She avoided eye contact at every turn.

“Uh, I have bandages,” he said. “Just a moment.”

When was the last time he’d stammered around a woman? Three thousand years ago? Four? Medora had him twisted six ways from Sunday, as the Earth saying went. He pulled two large flexible adhesive bandages out of his kitchen drawer. His housekeeper kept some things around.

“Here you are, Medora.” He hoped her fingers would brush against his, but she deftly avoided accidental touch.

“Would you kindly remove yourself from the room, so I may change?”

Jerik’s mouth dropped open. He snapped it shut, bobbed his head and stalked to his master suite. Closing the door soundly, he walked to the bank of windows and watched the twinkling lights of the city blink in yellow, red, green and blue shades. He slid his hands into his pockets and tried not to obsess about the woman in the next room who showed zero interest in him as a man or a Krinar.

When fifteen minutes had passed, he resolved to invite her out for a late coffee. Perhaps being in his penthouse had her unsettled. He could court her the old-fashioned way. Feeling a lightness in his heart he almost didn’t recognize, he left his room and settled a pleasant mild interest on his face. The expression fled when he saw she was gone.