Bring On The Night

Only a vampire can own the night.

If there’s one thing Jessie hates, it’s going after her own kind. She may be used to taking a bite out of human killers, but she leaves her fellow immortals alone. It’s only after a series of gruesome murders have her suspecting vampires and werewolves are going after innocents does she set out to put a stop to it.

It’s not long that Jessie finds herself racing against the waxing moon to stop an ambitious gang of monsters with a sinister agenda.

“Or are you one of those guys who want to take what you want, but you don’t want to put the hurt on? Huh? You too tender-hearted to listen to some poor girl scream and cry and beg for mercy?”

“But that’s not how I roll.” She laced the fingers of one hand in his hair and pulled his head back sharply, black eyes boring into his. “I
like
to put the hurt on, and I want you to remember every second of it when you wake up.” She leaned closer, close enough he should have been able to feel her breath on his face. “If you wake up and you go looking for more girls to drug, you might want to think of tonight as a cautionary tale.”

She opened her mouth. He watched in horror as two teeth began to elongate into sharp, curved fangs. He began to scream as she lowered her mouth to his neck, struggling in vain to free himself. Her fangs sank into his flesh like hot knives, ripping and tearing as she jerked her head. The blood began to flow, followed by the echo of his screams.

Bring on the Night
978-1-61650-176-1
Copyright © 2010, Sonya Clark
Edited by Nerine Dorman
Book design by Brian Hunter
Cover Art by Renee Rocco
First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: May, 2010

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PUBLISHER'S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

To Joey, the best husband, friend, and beta reader a woman could have.

Thanks to my editor, Nerine. Thanks to all my friends and family who have been so supportive. Thanks to my husband for every time he’s read a work in progress and said, “What happens next?” That’s the best motivation of all.

He’d been in the club not half an hour when he picked out tonight’s girl, a tiny blond sitting at the bar. He’d seen her walk in alone and order a drink. Now some guy he’d noticed around the clubs who sometimes forgot to take his wedding ring off sat next to her trying to chat her up. It didn’t look like he was having too much luck. He watched their reflections in the mirror above the bar. A heart-shaped face, full lips and wide eyes, she was pretty in a perky, upbeat way. He could imagine her in a cheerleader outfit. It looked like she was trying to give the guy the brush-off in a nice way, but the dude was too dumb and too drunk to get the message. He decided to play the charming hero just as the guy started getting handsy, draping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him. She came right off her bar stool, giving him the perfect opportunity.

He stepped up to the bar and grabbed her before she fell, careful not to keep his hands on her longer than necessary. He’d learned not to seem too eager. “Hi, Lisa. Didn’t think you’d make it.” Pointing behind him, he added, “The gang’s all at the table. Let’s go.” He gave her an expectant look.

She looked confused. “Uh...”

“Unless you’d like to stay here with your new friend.” He looked meaningfully at the drunk, hoping the girl wasn’t too dumb. If she didn’t catch on, he’d blown it, a risky approach, but one that had worked in the past.

The drunk helped him out by smacking her on the butt and leering at her. “Yeah, babe, stay with me. You, ah, wanna ’nother?” Trying to gesture at her drink, he knocked it over. “Whatever that was?”

“No! Thanks, but I’m going to go see my friends.” She looked up at him with such gratitude, he knew he’d scored.

He smiled. “Everyone’s waiting, let’s go.” He led her away from the bar to the other side of the club. He found a small round table for two, pulling out a chair for her like a perfect gentleman.

She leaned forward to talk to him over the din of the music. “Thank you for getting me away from that guy. What a sleaze.” She smiled, brushing her hair back off her shoulders.

“Oh, hey, you’re welcome.” He offered his hand and she shook it. He mentally skimmed through his list of aliases. “I’m Ray.”
Yeah
,
I’ll be Ray tonight
. “What’s your name?”

“Chloe,” she said brightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Ray.”

It didn’t take long before she was willing to let him buy her a drink. All he had to do was sit there and listen to her talk, pretending to listen, anyway. He used to try to pay attention and remember the details—where they worked, went to school, whatever...their favorite drink. Did they have some fluffy pet they talked about incessantly, or some loser ex-boyfriend? He’d stopped caring. This was not the part he wanted to remember, the part he wanted to savor and linger over. That would come later. For now, he gave the impression of listening to her prattle on, smiling, nodding and making the occasional appropriate comment. By the time she’d finished their first drink together, she was willing to dance with him. Halfway through the next drink, he could tell she was past the tipsy point, laughing louder, leaning over further, heedless of her dress slipping to reveal creamy white cleavage. He didn’t even have to work for an opportunity. She excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, leaving him alone with her drink.

Looking around carefully to make sure no one saw, he took the small vial from his pocket and dumped the contents in her drink, giving it a swirl.

She returned from the bathroom, swaying slightly. As she plunked down into her chair, she picked up her drink, downing the last of it. Grinning, she said, “I feel like dancing again. Come on!”

He led her back to the dance floor, no longer worrying about keeping his distance. As the music pounded away, he let his hands run lightly over her body, pulling her to him to grind himself against her. She offered no resistance. Her limbs started getting heavy, her eyes growing glassy. When she stumbled, slumping against him, he asked, “Are you okay?”
Right on schedule
.

“I’m not feeling so good. Maybe that second drink wasn’t such a good idea.”

“How about some fresh air?” He led her through the maze of people, out the door and to the parking lot. As they reached his car she passed out, falling right into his waiting arms.

He got her in the passenger seat fairly easily. One reason he picked small girls was they were much easier to move around, but even a small girl felt heavy when doped up and unconscious. Glancing at his watch, he walked around to the driver’s side.
A
nother thirty, forty minutes
.

Driving home, he hummed along happily with the radio.

He carried her inside, through the house to the bedroom, where he placed her on the bed, carefully arranging her limbs. He sat beside her for a moment, stroking her soft blond hair. She had a real sweetness about her. Would it still be there, later, or would she somehow sense what had been done to her? He didn’t really care, he was just curious. He’d stopped caring about the girls a long time ago.

All these thoughts were a waste of time. Looking down at her inert form, with nothing protecting her from his touch but a thin silk dress, he felt the familiar thrill of desire course through him. Standing, he stripped off his shirt and kneeled over her to remove her dress then remembered the camera still on the living room coffee table. He tamped down his eagerness, knowing he’d regret it later if he didn’t take pictures. It took seconds to jog to the living room, grab the camera, and run back.

She was gone.

He stopped short, nearly dropping the camera.
There’s no way she could be conscious so soon
. Looking around the room, he found no sign of her. He set the camera on the dresser and stepped just outside the bedroom door to peer into the bathroom. The door was pulled most of the way to, so he pushed it open and flipped on the light to see clearly. Empty.
What the hell?
He stepped back inside the bedroom, glancing around again nervously. His gaze fell on the closet door, slightly ajar. Was she hiding in there?
Say she woke up
,
s
he’s in a strange bedroom, no idea how she got here, she’s probably hiding in the closet
. His mind turned to thoughts of how to salvage the situation and keep himself out of jail. As much as he hated to, it looked like he was going to have to do without this one.

“Hey, Zoe,” he said. “Are you feeling better? If you think you’re up to it now.” He crossed the room to the closet. “I can drive you home.” He put his hand on the doorknob. “Or call you a cab.” He flung the door open, finding nothing but his clothes.
This is beginning to freak me out
. “Come on, Zoe, where are you?”

“Up here,” called a cheery voice. He snapped his head up to find her holding herself in the corner of the wall, high above him, smiling. He gasped, frozen in shock. She dove at him, knocking him to the floor and pinning him down effortlessly. “And the name I gave you was Chloe, not Zoe, you idiot, but I’m guessing Ray isn’t your name either, huh?”

“Wha-what?” She straddled his chest, leaning over to hold his arms down with her hands, her golden hair falling around her like a curtain. He should have been able to throw her off easily, even as unconscious dead weight. Now she felt solid as a slab of marble on top of him, her small hands securing his arms like steel shackles. And her eyes...he didn’t know what color they were before, he hadn’t looked or cared. They were black now, a deep, flat fathomless black.

“So what’s your story?” she whispered, her mouth inches from his. “You guys who like to roofie your dates always have some story after I wake up.
Someone else put that stuff in your drink
.
I was just trying to help
. Trying to help yourself, that is. Is that what you were doing, Ray? Helping yourself to some tender...vulnerable...flesh?”

She sat up, releasing his arms while still keeping him trapped beneath her. “You know what I don’t get? Do you?” He stared at her in fear and disbelief, unable to move. She snapped her fingers in his face. “Hello?” she said. “Waiting for a response.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Panic began to boil up a storm in him.

“I don’t get why guys like you prefer to have your victims unconscious when you take them. Are you afraid they’ll fight back?” She took his face in one hand, squeezing. “Afraid you might not be strong enough? Is that it?” She released his face, back-handing him so hard he couldn’t see for several seconds. “Again, waiting for a response.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.” Panic clawed at him, threatening to smother him.

“Or are you one of those guys who want to take what you want, but you don’t want to put the hurt on? Huh? You too tender-hearted to listen to some poor girl scream and cry and beg for mercy?”

She put her hands on his shoulders, her steel fingers kneading his flesh. Pain shot through him, white-hot and piercing. He cried out, the cry turning into a scream as he felt his collar bone snap.