Dark Destiny (Dark Sentinel #1) - Lexxie Couper Page 0,21
heat into the pit of his gut.
Hell, he was hungry.
On every level.
He turned from the show, narrowing his senses on the subtle hint of spices drifting to him from somewhere in the darkness of the building. She was back there, waiting for him. He could taste it in her almost-intoxicating scent.
Stepping deeper into the nightclub, he relaxed his hold on his demon a little.
The minute freedom amplified his preternatural instincts tenfold and Death’s distinct scent slipped through his nose, past his lips, and over his tongue like cool, sweet mist. It pulled at his very core and, with a sudden surge of immoral excitement, he saw her sitting in a shadowy booth to the rear of the arena floor, a half-empty margarita glass in her right hand, her pale skin almost luminescent in the booth’s muted light.
He destroyed the distance between them in half a blurring second, dropping onto the padded bench directly opposite her.
“Hello, Steven.” She took a sip from her cocktail, her attention fixed on the couple all but copulating on stage.
He glared at her, struggling to keep his demon—now both excited and agitated—in check. “Stay away from my brother.”
She took another drink, her ice-blue stare riveted on the strippers, her expression nonchalant. “Your brother is not what you think he is.”
He snorted. “You don’t think I know that?”
She raised one dark, exquisitely shaped eyebrow, her gaze following the movement of the strippers. “Not really.”
Ven couldn’t suppress his growl. “I know I’m only young for a vampire, and you’re what…older than God? But stay the fuck away from my brother. If you touch him again I’ll—”
“This is a very good show,” she cut him off, lifting her glass toward the writhing pair before her. “I like the use of the serpent. Nice symbolism, if a touch clichéd. Not sure I appreciate the comment about my age, mind you. It’s not nice to insult a lady like that.”
“Jesus, woman! I’m threatening you with a considerable amount of pain here and you give me a live porn critique and lessons in gender etiquette?”
“Well, it’s a very good show. It makes me horny.” Eyes the color of an ancient glacier turned to him. “And I know it makes you horny too.”
A wave of anger crashed through him, all the more scalding for the disgust her statement brought. She was correct; the strip show did make him horny. But that wasn’t why he was there.
“What are you playing at, Death?” he demanded, ignoring the hungry ache gnawing in him at her observation. “Don’t you have souls to take?”
She turned back to the stage show and took another sip of her margarita. “I rarely get to take in live theater these days, and I had time to kill while waiting for you.” She let out a little chuckle, the sound low and throaty. “To kill. Get it?”
He didn’t react.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun, Steven. Anyway, I thought what better way to pass the hours than to check out one of your favorite haunts.” She chuckled again. “Haunts. That term has so much more relevance when associated with someone as dead as you.”
“I’m not dead. I’m undead. There’s a difference.” He grabbed a bottle of beer from the tray of a passing waitress and took a mouthful before giving Death a narrow-eyed glare. “And how the fuck do you know where I like to ‘haunt’?”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Still insisting you can imbibe human food?”
Ven took another mouthful. “It’s beer, not food.”
“From what I understand, to you Australian men, it’s the same thing, isn’t it?”
“Sure. Insult my gender and nationality.” He drained the bottle and placed it on the table between them. With a tad more force than he’d intended. “So tell me, while you’re camped out here checking out the skin show, the world goes without death? No one dies while you’re getting your thrills?”
She laughed her throaty chuckle again. “God, no. About one-hundred and fifty-three thousand, four-hundred and six people die every day, give or take a few. That’s roughly a little over one hundred a minute. I have a whole staff of underlings to take care of the simple stuff.”
Unable to stop himself, Ven frowned. “So what do you do? I distinctly remember you strutting about over my body as I died. What? Today a religious holiday?”
“I do not strut, thank you very much. And please, call me Fred.” She finished off her margarita and gently placed the empty glass on the table, fixing