Lost Girl - Elena Trueblood Page 0,1
my back on him and walked back to the bar, the music and chatter started back up, and I get myself another glass of whiskey and shoot it down my throat, savoring the tickling burn as it scorches its way down.
“You should have killed him, Priest.”
I don’t look at Bones as I watch the crowd that is currently side eyeing me like they are all trying to figure me out. Sure, I don’t look like a typical Phoenix, most of our crew are male, and those who are female well, let’s just say that most of them are arm candy for the guys. I tend to stand apart from them with my athletic body while still managing to keep every feminine curve my mother handed down to me. Her curves and her café au lait skin are two of the few things I inherited from her. Whoever my father was had some ridiculously aggressive genes, and I knew for certain he was a white guy, not that my mother had ever talked about it. He was the one subject that was forbidden.
“Bones,” I sigh, “you think I should kill any man who looks at me,” I remind him. It’s true, Bones is more than overprotective.
“He touched you. On our grounds.” Bones voice has gone all gruff, or maybe I should say gruffer that usual.
“Yeah, he did. But he was also ignorant and probably used to getting everything and everyone he’s ever wanted because of a trust fund. It’s much more effective to scare the ever loving shit out of man like him. He’s going to think twice about the females he tries to pick up now, and for a man like that, that’s torture enough.” I knew his type better than I’d like to admit.
Bones just grunts, and I know that if he ever sees the guy again the guy is in for a very rude awakening, but I don’t control Bones. Hell, Cobra doesn’t really control Bones, Bones decided to do what Cobra says out of respect, but not because he blindly follows. No, he has he’s own sense of justice and if it differs from ours, he’s not above going rouge.
“Anyway, Angel and the girls are looking for you on the dance floor.” He tells me as he walks away.
I have the bartender give me another glass of whiskey, because if Angel and the girls are looking for me, I am going to need it.
Angel is Bones girl, and don’t get me wrong the girl is fierce while still remaining very much like her name, sweet and delicate. She’s able to strike fear into Cobra when he’s pissed her off and has threatened more than once to remove a favorite member of Bones’ body when he’s tried bossing her around one to many times, but she also reminds me of a fluffy cat.
The moment my timberlands hit the dance floor I’m surrounded by crew girls, and it doesn’t take Angel long to find me.
“Priest! Dance and party with me!” she nearly whines and it doesn’t take me long to figure out that the rest of the crew girls are boring her. Angel lives for excitement and spontaneity. She’s beautiful, dark raven’s wing hair that’s so straight it looks like a continuous sheet, high cheek bones and the palest skin, she reminds me of a porcelain doll.
She’s holding on to me bouncing in anticipation and finally I roll my eyes. I look up at the DJ booth and like DJ Skelli knows, she starts playing one of Angel’s favorite dance songs. The speakers start blaring “Got Money” and she grabs my hand and starts swiveling her hips, trying to find the beat.
Laughing at her antics I start dancing, loosing myself in the music and the feel of my body. The dance floor is the one place I don’t care who’s touching me, even though most people tend to still give me my space. That’s why I love Misfits, it’s not the drinks, it’s the loud music and the ability to dance.
It’s one of my strongest memories of my mother before she was killed. My mom was from Barbados, so dancing was a very large part of her identity, that and her Catholicism. While we went to every possible mass, and she went to every confession, my mother had been an exotic dancer. I remember the judgement in every priest and nuns face as we would take our places in the pews. I remember my mother’s few good dresses that