Eight the next night saw me dressed up in my second sexiest outfit, a tight-fitting red dress with my black knockoff Louboutins and thigh highs with the seam up the back. As I walked for Sunset café, however, my heavy, black wool coat, and my favorite bright red scarf obscured most of my awesomeness. Then again, it was late January in Hades, everyone dressed like they were traversing the arctic tundra.
The restaurant was an all-weather outdoor eatery. Above there was a glass canopy, and wrought iron cemetery gates sectioned it off from the rest of the street. Littered throughout the impression of whatever building used to be sandwiched between the art gallery and law offices were outdoor heaters that kept everything nice and toasty warm. The only real walls in the entire place were for the kitchen and the bathroom.
Supposedly the food was life-changing, but I’d only been once before and didn’t remember it too well. My mother took me the day she dropped me off at university five years ago. It was one of the many places in the city that existed in duality. By day it was a moderately expensive café. When they served dinner, however, the prices of the dishes doubled, and the who’s who of all Hade’s preternatural scene came out of the woodwork.
Beyond the hostess stand, I noticed a plethora of people I’d seen on magazine covers or featured on Midnight with Mara. Hades, District of Providence might not have been New York or Los Angeles, but it was the preternatural capital of the United States. It was the only place in the whole US where non-humans outnumbered the humans—not to mention the magic users.
As such, it was as glamorous as it was dangerous. Having grown up in Middlebrook, an outlying suburb of Hades, meant images of how many different ways a relationship with a non-human could go wrong were drilled into my head, right alongside the one of diseased riddled genitalia since my first sex-ed class.
When I spied Cillian at the bar, those pictures seemed to disappear, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted a repeat of the night before. Pursing my lips, I let out a slow sigh as I approached him. My stomach twisted in knots as I took a seat on a stool beside him.
“Hey stranger,” I purred.
He wore a suit jacket with a white shirt underneath, the top two buttons were open giving a little peek at that pristine white flesh and the little dip where his neck met his shoulders. I wanted to put my tongue there, to press against the firm skin to see if he’d gasp before or after I made my way to that delightful Adam's apple. I cleared my throat and ordered a glass of red wine.
Cillian remained quiet even as the bartender brought my drink and two menus. The man proceeded to pour a tumbler of whiskey and set it in front of Cillian. I blinked a few times.
“I didn’t know vampires could drink alcohol.”
He nursed his drink for a moment glancing over the menu. “They can’t, and I’m not a vampire.”
“But you…” I dropped my voice low and looked around, “You fed on me.”
“Mhm.”
“That’s what vampires do, and you have fangs.”
He nodded and then took my hand, his warmth was intoxicating like under his flesh were nothing but those hot spa rocks. Singling out my pointer and middle finger he brought them to his neck and pressed them to his pulse. His heartbeat slow and steady, directly opposed to mine which sat at the back of my tongue.
“What are you?” I intended the question to come out with surety and conviction—it didn’t. My words hardly broke above the din of the other patrons around us.
“I’m a werepanther.”
“But you look… you’re deathly pale, have fangs, and drink blood. We’re taught about shifters in school. That’s—”
“Not what you’re told. I know. Shifters are supposed to be the opposite of vampires, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Werepanthers are different, kind of like the link between. All the big cat shifters have distended canines, but ours are the only ones as prominent and as sharp as a vampire’s. The other big cat shifters are also blood drinkers, but we need to feed every month, they don’t. I had a werewolf try to tell me once we were the best of both worlds without any of the weaknesses. It’s bullshit by the way.”
“Do you wear that heavy sunblock like vampires do?”
“Nope. But anyone who tells you that’s the real weakness of vampirism doesn’t understand vampires.”
“What is it then?”
“The hierarchy, and their culture.”
“Are you a part of that?”
“Yes, and no.”
“I’ve heard it’s…” I shook my head. “Extraordinarily brutal.” From what I’d read about vampires, that didn’t quite cover it but those were the only words I could come up with.
He smirked. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Are you immortal?”
“Not even vampires are immortal.”
“Okay, well how long would you live if no one killed you?”
“The oldest one of us I know of is three hundred.”
“Does he look that old?”
“No.”
“How old are you?”
He smiled but kept quiet. “Old enough to know better.”
“That tells me nothing.” I smirked at him.
“Can’t we jus—” He stopped, and those amazing eyes scanned the restaurant frantically. Someone shrieked, and there was a loud gunshot and my wine glass shattered. Before I could react, Cillian tackled me to the ground, pressing his powerful body against mine as the gunfire continued.
Panic erupted around us, but he remained incredibly calm as he drew a gun and shot at the woman who started it all. She turned and fired at him, he jerked and growled before pulling the trigger again. The woman’s head exploded, and I shut my eyes tight. All I could smell was the blood—his blood. “Fuck.” He groaned and moved off me, that guttural sound drew my attention, and I blinked into the light.
Without thinking, I took off my scarf and wrapped it around his bicep where the bullet hit him. Sitting on the concrete floor, we stared deep into each other’s eyes, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe we had the same thought.
“You should stay far, far away from me,” he spoke still staring at me.
Though a similar thought ran through my head, I instantly questioned why.
“But—”
He didn’t let me speak. “This was a bad idea. I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea.” He slowly stood and held out his hand. I let him help me up, but I couldn’t have done anything else. I was shaking, trembling violently enough that my earrings rattled like tiny bells in my ears. “You need to stay away from me.”
I couldn’t do anything but stare, my brain refused to work. After a short amount of time, the little defiant streak I had within me caused me to lift my chin a little.
“Why?”
“Because you just do,” he huffed. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.”
“That I was a great lay.” I beamed at him.
“Excuse me?” He turned and narrowed those all too blue eyes at me.
“That’s what you were thinking.” Despite the carnage behind us, I couldn’t stop myself.
“Getting involved with a man like me is the last thing you want to do, Scarlet.”
“You know what? You’re right!” I reached into my purse and tossed some money on the bar. “Keep the scarf.” I shouldered into him and left—which was kind of like attempting to nudge a brick wall.
The whole way home all I could think about was him. Shock might have been my new best friend as I trembled like I sat on a washing machine as I waited for the bus. My mind couldn’t let go of the warm musky smell of him mixed with his cologne, and the heat of his hard body pressed to mine as he placed himself between me and harms way.
“Pull yourself together, Scarlet. He’s bad news. Not only is he bad news, but he’s bad news with claws and teeth and a fucking gun,” I muttered to myself. “And him being a werepanther only means you’re doubly likely to end up one of those gruesome crime scene photos they showed us in health class.”