Fiery Nights

Lisa
Carlisle

Second in the Underground Encounters series.

He may own a Goth nightclub, but
Tristan Stone avoids people—the darkness that surrounds them drains him. When
he sees Maya for the first time, alone on the dance floor, a light surrounds
her. He must discover who she is and what gives her power. He wants her, must
have her.

Maya sees a man with haunting eyes
watching her from the back of the club. She feels their connection, but thinks
it’s merely physical attraction. Their passion ignites, overpowering them, and
they must work together to understand their connection. The heat of their
passion could send their world up in flames.

A Romantica®
paranormal erotic
romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Maya

I hadn’t been back since the fire.

Whoever had bought the club had kept the black brick
exterior with the painted black windows, ensconcing the club in mystery.
Passersby down this hidden alley might think it an abandoned warehouse, unless
they got close enough to look up into the recessed doorway to see it flanked by
two watchful gargoyle statues.

I felt a moment of hesitation before I walked down the
alley. When I used to come with Nike, I never felt threatened. We’d come after
long shifts at the firehouse to unwind and dance off some steam. I’d
practically bounce down the alleyway so I could get inside sooner.

But now, on my own, the creepiness of the alleyway set in. I
wrapped my long black leather trench coat tightly around my body to shield my
fishnet-covered legs as if protecting myself. It could be dangerous walking
alone through warehouse alleys near the waterfront. No wonder Vamps was hidden
back here. You wouldn’t want an underground club on the main drag, would you?

My Mary Jane heels clicked loudly on the cement. The further
I walked, the closer the clicks were.

Easy, Maya
, I chastised myself.
You’re going to
break into a trot in a second.

Finally I made it to the front entrance and pulled on the
heavy wooden doors with steel bars intersecting in the middle and was rewarded
by a familiar figure.

“Byron, you’re still here!” I said to the extra-large
bouncer who had an extra-large heart.

“Maya, where have ya been?” He threw his enormous arms wide
and I rushed in, aware that I was grabbing him tighter than warranted, probably
due to relief after my misgivings walking here alone.

“Whoa, girl, you must have really missed me,” he said before
he let me go.

“Of course I did. It’s been forever. How have you been?”

“Been survivin’. Taking odd jobs here and there while they
rebuilt this place. You saw the damage from the explosion.”

“Yes, I remember.” It wasn’t something I could forget any
time soon.

“Why you here alone tonight?” he asked. “Where’s your
partner in crime?”

“Nike? I haven’t seen her since the fire.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s been what—a year?”After I nodded,
he asked, “What happened with her then? One of the bartenders told me how she
saw her go upstairs with the former owner that night. What do you think—they
hooked up?”

I didn’t know how much to tell about Nike and Michel, even
though I was still hurt that I hadn’t seen heard from her in months. Sure, she
sent postcards from time to time, but it wasn’t the same. We were like this—if
you could see me, you’d know I was wrapping my index and middle fingers
together. I know Byron was concerned about her, but I also didn’t want to
perpetuate any rumors.

“Word spreads quickly around here, doesn’t it?” I chose to
avoid the juicy part of the question and answered, “Last I heard she was
traveling around Europe.” I left out the part that she was with Michel.

We were interrupted by a couple who opened the door. He was
wearing a red velvet smoking jacket a la Gomez Addams, but didn’t pull off the
look completely with his dirty-blond hair. While they showed their IDs to Byron
and paid the cover charge, I looked at her outfit to see if she was sporting a
Morticia-like dress. To my surprise, she was wearing a cowgirl outfit—hat,
tassels, boots and a very short khaki shirt. Not a usual costume for a goth
club, but she pulled it off.

Note to self: see if you can pull off a sexy cowgirl
outfit.

After they passed through the next set of doors, Byron
asked, “So you’re solo tonight?”

“Hopefully not all night,” I lifted an eyebrow. “How’s the
eye candy in there?”

“You know, the usual. Lots of weirdos.”

“Just my type.”

“Who you kiddin’? I’ve never seen you leave with anyone
besides your girl Nike.”

“Byron. I haven’t been out in months. I went on some crappy
dates this past year and realized I’m happier just being on my own. So all I’ve
done lately is work. Which means the only males I’ve encountered are coworkers
and they smell pretty rank after a twenty-four-hour shift. Since Halloween is
on a Saturday this year, and Halloween was always the best night of the year
here, I decided to climb out of my self-imposed isolation and make an
appearance.”

“Well then, get in there and be a naughty girl.” Byron
smacked me playfully on the ass to push me on. Then he said, “Wait.” He took my
hands and extended them out to the side. “Let me get a good look at you. See
what outfit you’re sporting tonight. Are you wearing a costume under there?”

I cocked my head as I took my hands back to open my leather
trench coat shawl, which could fit in just perfectly at a gothic club or a
Renaissance fair, but not too many other places. Tonight I was wearing a sexy
little pirate wench costume, with a laced-up corset top and short leather
miniskirt. “Does this warrant your approval?”

He put his hand on his chin as he sized me up. “Not bad.
I’ve seen you in worse. Still trying to forget the blue velvet gown, black
combat boots debacle.”

“That was hot,” I protested.

He raised an eyebrow before his gaze moved up to my hair.
“And you’ve gone back to black hair, I see?”

“Technically blue-black. There’s only so much color I can
get away with at work, being a professional and all.” I winked. Lately, I’d
been alternating between blue-black and a magenta tint, which was about as much
as I could manage without the chief giving me the look. If I was feeling spunky
and wanted to sport a hot pink or blue, I had to wear a wig. Could you imagine
a firefighter with pink hair coming to your aid to deal with your distress
call? I didn’t think so.

“All right, you get my seal of approval. And you know that’s
not so easy, princess. Go on in.”

I kissed him on the cheek and walked down the dark tunnel
lit by candelabras attached to the stone walls. A new sign adorned the door
leading to the main club area. Dante’s quote was carved into the wood:
Abandon
Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.

“But Maya,” he called after me. “Leave some of the pretty
boys for me.”

“Obviously,” I said, rolling my eyes. “So not my style.”

* * * * *

Much of Vamps looked the same, yet much of it had changed.
Gargoyles still guarded from their perches around the club. The three smaller
dance platforms were replaced by one larger stage. They now had live bands
perform up there as indicated by posters adorning the walls. Or when the stage
was free as it was now, it was covered with uninhibited dancers who wanted to
be watched.

I was worried that the vibe of the club wouldn’t survive the
transition. Some clubs try too hard and end up seeming phony. Vamps always had
its own style. Some called it goth for the prevalence of goth-inspired dress
and music. But they played other music as well. Others called it a fetish club
for the freaky revealing outfits many chose to wear. Black duct tape pasted
over nipples has been seen more than once. And the sexy futuristic outfits with
hulking boots were a common choice. But to me a fetish club alluded to kinky
sex out in the open, which wasn’t the case here. I’d never caught anyone doing
it—but I have seen some couples get pretty close on the dance floor or in a
corner.

I’d call it more of an underground club. One that was
frequented by people who didn’t stick to conventional dress and music and
followed their own path, rather than worrying what other people thought.
Whatever the club was, it was where I fit in.

But I wouldn’t want my fellow firefighters to see me in my
sexy pirate outfit tonight.

Continuing to look around and assess the club, I thought it
still had an authentic feel. The red marble bar hadn’t survived the fire, I
noted. But it was still manned—or womanned—by the hot bartender with pink hair
and a nice rack. I looked over the drink menu posted above the draft beer.

“What’s in a Tempting Fate?” I asked her.

“Southern Comfort, Amaretto, vodka, pomegranate juice,
pineapple juice, grenadine,” she rolled out in a velvety voice that was as sexy
as she was.

“Sold,” I said, banging an imaginary gavel.

“You won’t regret it,” she said.

After she gave me my drink, I toasted nobody in particular,
well, I guess myself, thinking
here’s to tempting fate.
Then I watched
the crowd as I tasted the drink. It was exquisite and I took another large sip.
Maybe I’d pay for it tomorrow, but it was
gooood
.

When I heard a remix of Type O Negative’s
Cinnamon Girl
,
I left my drink at the bar to slink my way amid the gyrating bodies. My
favorite band, one of my favorite songs. Tragic that the super-hot singer died
so young.

In a sea of black-clad bodies, I blended right in. It had
been months since I danced, but I quickly found my rhythm and lost myself in the
music, dancing with the crowd. I didn’t feel the least bit self-conscious that
I was alone.

That is—until I felt his eyes on me.

You know the feeling when someone is watching you and you’re
suddenly aware of it? I felt that and looked up. A tall guy dressed all in
black—naturally—stood alone at the right side of the bar.

Something about that gaze arrested me and I stopped dancing.
Dark eyes, almost black, on a face that looked as angelic as a young Jim
Morrison. The black hair was a devil-may-care length, past his chin but not
quite to his shoulders. Instead of the rock star’s signature black leather
pants, this guy was wearing a cape over dark clothing.

His eyes defied the angelic appearance. Dark, penetrating
eyes. The eyes of someone who was troubled—maybe haunted.

Why was he staring at me like that? Didn’t he know my
weakness was a dark, brooding bad boy?

My lips parted as if they wanted to say something. But what
did I want to say? And he couldn’t hear me anyway.

And then with a swoop of his cape, he was gone.

I stood there for a few more moments trying to process what
just happened. Was some hot guy in the corner watching me? Who then took off
with a flourish of his cape?

It seemed very Bela Lugosi-ish—another dark, brooding bad
boy. I tried to shake off my confusion as
Cinnamon Girl
ended.

The DJ mixed in a version of David Bowie and Trent Reznor’s
I’m
Afraid of Americans
. It took me another moment or two to brush off the
effect that dark stranger had on me. I thought
to hell with that guy
and
then got back into my groove.

Tristan

Although I usually worked in the lab while the club was
open, an industrial remix of
Strange Days
by the Doors snapped me out of
my project. I couldn’t hide out down here all night; time to make sure business
was running smoothly upstairs.

I braced myself for the onslaught on my psyche before I
walked into the main club area. I glanced around the perimeter of the club,
scanning the bar area and the dance floor.

The usual darkness surrounded people, the sadness, the
isolation, which I could see so vividly while others couldn’t. Their souls
crying out to me, draining me. I tried to ignore their pull as I glanced
around. The bartenders looked busy. The bouncers looked alert for any drunken
jerks acting out of control. Nothing seemed amiss.

Good, I could make my rounds and get out of there and back
to the lab.

But then one figure on the dance floor caught my eye. She
glowed with a light around her unlike anything I’d ever encountered before. Her
bright spirit overwhelmed the darkness that surrounded the others. I watched as
she danced, oblivious to those around her. Her light mesmerized me. For the
first time I’d been around people other than my family, I wasn’t overwhelmed by
darkness.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. What was it she had?

Then she stopped and looked at me. Even though the club was
dark, her light revealed her eyes were a brilliant blue.

When our eyes met, I saw her more clearly. A sadness buried
deep within this bright spirit. Whereas others’ pain usually repelled me, her
pain filled me with compassion. What was hiding there so deeply within this
light? What hurt her? Suddenly I wanted to protect her from any pain.

Her light was magnetic; it drew me in. Now that her
captivating eyes were staring back at me as well, I became unnerved.

I turned away and disappeared down the back stairwell.
Safely in my lab, I sat in my leather chair in the corner I dubbed the library
and thought.

What was she?

What would explain the light?

I scanned the books in the library, on the bookshelves built
into a rounded wall modeled after one I admired in nearby Hammond Castle. I had
books and books on the supernatural, so I flipped through them trying to find
more information on why I saw what I did and what that meant.

I flipped through one book after another, reading by the
light from the candelabra, which I found much more preferable than artificial
light.

What would explain what I just saw upstairs with that woman?
Finding nothing, I closed the book and stared into the flames. Then I closed my
eyes.

A vision of her dancing quickly shaped itself in my mind’s
eye. Getting past the initial shock of her light, I remembered the way she
moved, the way she danced unabashed to
Cinnamon Girl
. I saw her hips
sway, her arms unfurl into the air as if conjuring up the elements, her black
hair wave out behind her as she tossed her head back. I visualized her long
legs extend up from those chunky black heels, up, up to the tiniest of skirts
in her pirate wench costume. Who wouldn’t want a peek?

My curiosity about her was now piqued by my arousal. I felt
consumed with a need to see her again. What was she like? I had to get up there
and meet her.