Blood Moon – 2

This is an unedited free-write novella. Please do not reproduce.

Red lights washed the NocNoc club with a bloody hue and stone gargoyles glared from the ceiling. There weren’t any vampires under the gothic arches, but there were plenty of black-clad kids pretending to be. They rubbed against each other to the heady beat of the base, silver studs decorating lips and cheeks and chins, black lipstick showing off pointy glue-on canines. It was ironic that none paid attention to the real killers filling the club, the shadowy figures that dealt in death on the edges of the pulsing dance floor.

Conall settled back in the dark booth nursing a pint of Mac & Jack’s and watched the tall blond man gliding through the crowd toward him. Deker’s classic features and honed leather-clad body drew lusty stares from female and male alike, but few noticed the ice in those light blue eyes or knew, as Con did, that they mirrored an even colder heart. Deker smiled as he slid into the booth, but his eyes never changed. “Mutt,” he said by way of greeting.

“Lizard,” Con replied, earning a nostril flare.

Deker slid a manila envelope across the table. “Boss-man says you’re a-fixin to be let out.” The tension rose, blue eyes met mocha ones in challenge. Around them the music throbbed, an electronic jumble of guitar and drum and synthesizer.

Deker looked away first. “What do I care boy-o? The Doc will never let ya go. He owns your flea-bitten ass.”

Con said nothing.

“Fuck this,” Deker swiveled around so he could check out the patrons of the club. His cool gaze swept over the goth kids and slowed at a clique of skinny young women with dyed blond hair, midriffs exposed by halter tops, tall leather boots pulling the eye up to thighs tantalizingly naked under short black skirts.

“Time for a little R-and-R, pup. What say you?”

Con glanced over at the women. They had that hyper-aware, desperate edge, shooting hot looks from under thick mascara eyes at everything in pants. Did their daddies know their little girls were here? Dressed for action and ready to go. Hunting for meat in a sea of sharks. Nice guys – the kind who settled down in the suburbs with a wife and kids – didn’t come to the NocNoc. The men who played here were of a different class, with one motto: fuck ‘em and forget ‘em.

Few were even human.

Deker stood. “Work hard, play hard.”

Con grunted. He knew how the dragon played, and didn’t care to watch.

Through the swirling red lights, he caught sight of another figure just inside the spider-web curtains at the entrance. She was tall and leggy, with real hips and an ass made to fill a man’s hands. He swallowed. Her chocolate hair curled in tight ringlets around her face. Silver hoop earrings hung almost to her shoulders, accentuating her slender neck. He couldn’t see her features well from this distance, but got the impression of wide-set eyes and a prominent mouth. A kiss waited on her pillow-lips. For all that, she had an air of unconscious innocence. Her faded jeans and tight blue tee were out of place in this den of iniquity, too all-American, too girl-next-door.

The woman gave the dance floor an assessing glance, new but not at all awed, and said something to her companion. The petite woman next to her nodded. She had blond, pink-tipped hair and a black leather bustier, fitting with the gothic overtones of the club. She was no rank novice. Even across the room he could smell her excitement, see the hungry look in her eyes, sense the forward thrust of her breast when her eyes landed on Decker. She was sex and candy, and was going to drag her newbie friend to hell with her.

He shouldn’t give a damn. Figured most of the women in this joint knew what they were getting into, or at least craved the danger of the unknown. Anyone with sense would stay the hell away. Those that didn’t, fuck, they were asking for it.

But the new woman, she was a lamb to the slaughter. One night in the NocNoc could change a person. Once you were introduced to the Other side, there was no going back.

Decker took one look at the pair and made a beeline straight for them. Might as well be a bullet with newbie’s name on it.

Con cursed and drained his beer. He had no illusions of goodness. He was a bad SOB, blood on his hands, sin-blackened soul. Maybe there was a whisper of good left in him, as much as he tried to ignore the damned thing. In his business it was bad luck to have a conscious. He sat back in the booth and forced his beast to calm. It was going to be a long night.

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Tags: Blood Moon, free write

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