Five
Gracie Jane never slept. She didn’t need to. Instead, she waited. Every day, she sang to herself, or read books, or doodled little pictures in her journal. Bored. Most vampires slept, and as soon as the sun came up, they were down until dusk.
Different vampires had different talents. Some of them could fly. Others could contact each other with their minds. As far as most of her court was concerned, Gracie’s talent of staying awake during the day was useless. The sun still burned her, so it wasn’t as if she could go anywhere.
Vampires like Gracie, who didn’t sleep, were cursed to stay hidden, awake, and while away the hours with other pursuits.
For Gracie, it was song and sketching. If she were to ever leave the court, she’d maybe take up something else. Like painting, or learning languages, or…she had no clue. She only knew that once night finally fell, she’d be able to leave this cabin and hunt once more.
When the sun went down, she didn’t wait for the other vampires to come out. They had boxes in the basement for resting in, and they all woke together. Sometimes Gracie was so bored after staying awake all day that she’d welcome a little conversation, but all she’d been able to think about was that shifter at the bar, the kin of Sheriff Rhees. Right now, she didn’t want to talk to any of her court.
Maybe, she thought, as she sped through the forest, she wanted to talk to him.
The forest surrounding her was crisp with nightfall, the diurnal animals tucked away and the nocturnal animals waking up, ready for foraging and hunting.
Gracie was ready for hunting, too. There were any number of places she could do it, usually in the little town of Belnedge, or sometimes she’d run farther out and sip from someone in Maxon.
Tonight she found herself drawn to Hart’s. The blood of the intoxicated was intoxicating in itself, which was something she’d welcome right now. Also, their minds were easier to wipe after she fed on them.
Her wanting to return to Hart’s had absolutely nothing to do with the little feeling inside of wanting to see that shifter again.
Nothing at all to do with him.
She slowed her run to a walk when she was closer to the tree line near Hart’s, and straightened her dress. Yes, she’d even dressed for this. It felt…maybe wrong, but maybe right, too. She wished she could figure out what she was feeling, but she was so out of touch with her emotions—she’d had to keep them hidden to survive amidst politics of first the Nocturne Court, then the Corona Court, and now again with the Nocturnes taking over.
The whole situation made her glad she kept her feelings buried.
Tonight, Saturday night, the inside of Hart’s was just as rowdy as it had been on Friday. People shouted drunkenly to one another from across tables. The jukebox blared in the corner, something techno that had half the dancers gyrating in a weird trance sort of way, and the other half of them line dancing as if it were a country western song. Some of the patrons played pool.
Gracie ordered a rum and Coke and looked for potential victims. She told herself she was looking for someone to drink from—not the Rhees guy.
But of course she saw the Rhees guy. He came in after her, his beard covering half his face. Gracie used her glass to hide her face as she looked at him. He came up to the bar and asked for a glass of water with a wedge of lime. Odd.
He said something to the bartender, and Gracie strained to hear it over all the other noise of the bar but it was impossible. Supernatural hearing or not, the noise was too much for her to make out their conversation. The bartender rummaged beneath the bar for a second, then held up a phone, which he slid across to the Rhees guy.
“Thanks,” Rhees said.
The bartender nodded, and Rhees turned around to survey the room, just like Gracie had done after she’d gotten her drink.
And this time, he saw her. His eyes locked on hers, as if daring her to look away. She wouldn’t. She was no coward. She could face down the enemy, no sweat.
He set down his glass and stalked over.
The song changed to something jazzy and country, and as Rhees walked, his hips matched the beat. She could picture him baling hay, driving steer, chopping wood. She could picture him doing everything she’d seen strong men doing. And he’d do it all with his leonine balance and poise.
Damn sexy.
The look on his face was a mixture of grouchiness and kindness. He had kind eyes—something that definitely set him apart from Sheriff Rhees. She could remember the sheriff’s face as easily as Clive’s, as easily as her own. The sheriff had been nothing but an evil stain on the frontier, and it had shown in his eyes.
This man had eyes which showed kindness. Acceptance. Trepidation, even.
“I see you,” he said, swaggering up to her with a big old smile on his face. “I saw you yesterday, and I see you today. Wondering if you wanted to dance.”
Gracie felt her mouth open, then she snapped it shut again. She didn’t want him to see her sharper-than-normal incisors and figure out she wasn’t just like the other humans in the bar.
She should say no. She should set her drink down, walk out of here, and run to the trees where she’d blend in like the demon of the night that she was.
But instead, incredibly, she said, “Yes. I’d like to dance. Mighty kind of you.”
It was as if all the decades of life as a vampire had just flown out of her head and she’d become a girl again, going to a country dance in the nearby town while her uncle waited to yell in her face when she came home.
“I’m Fraze,” the guy said.
He took her hand to lead her to the area cleared for a dance floor, and Gracie felt a shiver go up her spine. His contact felt good. It also awakened the thirst. She should have found someone to feed on right away, as soon as she’d come here. She could have sated her thirst and gone on with the rest of her night, stalking the Corona Pride, feeling empty.
He pulled her into his arms, and she felt her hips press against his strong thighs. Despite her being short, and his height, they fit together perfectly. If she leaned forward, she could rest her head against his chest. She shouldn’t, and she wouldn’t let herself. But oh, she wanted to.
He swayed with her, then leaned closer. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“I’m Gracie Jane.”
“Beautiful.” Then the swaying motion stopped, and he held her back a few inches. His nostrils flared. “You’re not…human.”
She let go of him and took a step back of her own. “No, I’m not.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re…shit. You’re one of them. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”
Frowning, he turned on one heel and walked away. Back to the bar where he sat with his drink and ordered something else.
Gracie had never felt so humiliated in her life. It had been just plain rude, abandoning her in the middle of a dance, and not only was she humiliated by it, but she’d liked touching him. And he’d liked touching her—she had felt it in his member, where it throbbed every time it brushed against her lower stomach.
Feeling sick and angry and confused, she turned and walked out of the bar.