drinking this much. Men had been buying me drinks all evening, and I’d won a whopping three-hundred dollars playing the slot machines.
“You got it, sweetie. This one’s from tall, dark, and handsome at the end of the long bar.” She sauntered away.
A pang of hope made it impossible not to investigate my latest suitor. Maybe Zane had come to claim me. A girl could hope. Because I’d figured out that no matter how much liquor I consumed, I couldn’t get his image out of my mind.
He’d been right about one thing. Anytime I seemed the least bit uncomfortable with an admirer, a security werewolf, in human-form, of course, rushed to my side, removing the cause of my discomfort with discretion. How convenient. I would have welcomed their protective services in high school.
Before I was able to check out my latest cocktail-contributor, he glided into my booth, making himself comfortable at my side rather than taking the traditional place across the table.
“Thanks for the drink,” I said, awed by his alluring presence and striking appearance.
His hair was darker than Zane’s. It was hard to describe the style, but there was something surreal about him that caused me to envision castles and armored warriors wielding gleaming swords.
His eyes were hypnotic, mesmerizing ¯ a dazzling shade of icy blue, framed with thick, inky lashes; they drew me in, soothing me, and complimenting the alcohol’s effects.
“You are very welcome. May I ask your name?” He leaned closer, his mouth brushing my throat.
His intimate actions and dramatic demeanor reminded me of someone whose identity remained just out of reach, hidden behind a haze of booze inspired bliss.
“I’m Chloe Carpenter,” I whispered, allowing my eyes to travel over his lean form. His skin appeared almost translucent in the club’s special lighting. He was breathtaking, different from Zane, more elegant, more refined.
An unfamiliar predatory urge to sink my teeth into him should have warned me away. Instead, I examined his attire, which served to intensify his appeal. He was exceedingly masculine in a black leather coat, matching pants, and deep burgundy shirt. An ancient-looking insignia hung from a chain around his neck. Both of his ears were pierced. Like Zane, danger clung to him tighter than his leather pants, which appeared to be poured on, accentuating his manliness.
The waitress delivered our drinks, giving me a sly look before slipping into the crowd. For some unfathomable reason, my werewolf guards had yet to interfere. I was grateful for their current lack of attention. This was one suitor I wanted by my side.
“Chloe, what a lovely name for a very delectable woman,” his voice caressed my mind, pulling me into a trancelike state.
He was irresistible.
Even so, I understood on some level that something was wrong.
This was no ordinary man. Everything about him screamed supernatural. I was blinded by the booze and his special, mind-swaying talent. I felt powerless to fight. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“My name is Valamir.” Taking my hand he kissed it, his eyes locked on my mine as he looked up through dark lashes. I melted, wanting nothing more than his mouth on mine.
Suddenly unsure of myself, I reached for my cocktail and drank it in two long gulps. Valamir seemed amused by my actions. “I think you may want to slow down,” he chuckled.
Slowing down my drinking, not a problem. What I wanted to taste was this man with the foreign name.
Discerning my desire, he pushed me deeper into the booth. Dropping his head, he kissed me, savoring my mouth like an exquisite dessert. Forgetting where we were, I slid my hands under his jacket, digging into his hard back with my nails. Unlike Zane, who was hot like fire, Valamir’s touch was wintry, yet at the same time scorching.
“You are luscious, Chloe. You are mine.” He gazed at me with hooded eyes, before his mouth claimed me in a most unexpected way.
Sharp pain followed by blissful warmth, tortured, and teased my neck. I pressed closer, purposefully rubbing my breasts against his chest. Compelling and erotic images flooded my mind as he continued to suckle my neck.
Groaning, he released his mouth; his tongue lapped my tender skin.
Something — an inner knowing — told me that stopping had not been easy for him.
Any pain I thought I’d felt subsided beneath the soft stroke of his tongue. When his mouth returned to mine, I tasted something coppery like pennies with a dash of fine wine.
It was in that moment when I realized who Valamir reminded me