For years, Isabella had only known to slaughter immortal beasts. Her greatest specialty was hunting werewolves. For her, killing werewolves was an outlet for her inner emptiness. Every time she took their lives, the world became safer for humans, at least that was what she believed. Every day more werewolf covens were discovered, and the hunters had to develop new weapons to attain their goal of hunting them down. The old methods are no longer enough. Instead, they risked their lives on every mission to kill the targeted beast. Isabella had never minded skating on thin ice to keep a roof over her head and silence the growling of her empty stomach. Her worst fears were being homeless and dying in a filthy alley as her mother had.
The only good thing that her mother left her was a clean history profile with successful missions. It was a life-saving miracle when she asked to join The Hunters Lodge. Her mother was a skilled hunter, but she hadn't got gifted with the enhanced senses that her daughter had. For Isabella, that was a bonus that helped her advance her career. After receiving tough training from hunters, she spent the last five years of her life killing target after target. She distinguished herself better than her mother, and soon she was promoted to one of the instructors and worked close to the head of the lodge.
One thing led to another. All the shocks Bella suffered in her childhood caused her to be haunted every night by nightmares of demons murdering her in the most horrible ways. She developed this habit of staying up until sunrise to sleep. The night was her only free time to do what she wanted. Bella used it very well to distract herself from thoughts of her miserable life. She would never be the girl who went to college and got a job like everyone else. She had to engrave these thoughts if she wanted to keep her head on her neck.
Alcohol had been her comforter. Every night she went to the same club to get tipsy and dance, and if she got lucky, she would find a company to pay for her drink and keep her busy till the dawn. The hunters were not allowed to have relationships outside the lodge. Any leaked information could endanger the lives of six hundred people.
This night was no different from the one she usually had. She wore a red dress that fell amply to mid-thigh and bared half her scarred back. The Black Era had a classy, comfortable atmosphere. The lights were dim, giving the patrons privacy and a sense of anonymity.
She climbed onto one of the chairs and sat at the bar in direct view of the bartender, Simon. He flashed her a charming grin, "What can I get you, miss?"
"Vodka martini. Make it a double, please." She tried to sound as cheerful as she could. The last thing she wanted was to talk about her day.
"Right away." He set to work and peered over his shoulder at her, "You good, Elz?"
"Yeah, work is never fun, that's all." It wasn't a lie.
A smirk lifted Simon's lips, amused by the theory he had in mind, "Are you sure it wasn't a guy?" He wanted to start the conversation she'd been avoiding for too long. Aw, crap. Maybe she should cut this short before it gets too complicated. She shook her head inwardly. She couldn't risk falling asleep this night. Simon sensed her discomfort with the subject, "Let me know if you need anything else."
"Thanks, Simon."
He grinned, and she knew he was about to start another topic. She can see it in the ease in his eyes. The way his body leaned toward her. Learning body language is a given in the world that she lived in all her life. It comes naturally. She may be insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but She recognize these things.
Simon opens his mouth to say something, but he got interrupted when an intruder slides into the chair next to Isabella, even though the other chairs are empty.
Oh, she thanked him in her mind for getting her out of that awkward moment. She doesn't talk much when people are around. They had eyes, and most of them were judgmental and critical and always have it in for her. "Macallan, neat," the stranger next to her said.
Her fingers tighten around the martini. She emptied it halfway in one gulp. That deep, low voice with the calm undertone was why she felt the watchful eyes. She could feel it deep in her heart, which had never led her astray. Using her hair as a curtain, she tilted her head to the side to get a better look. The man sitting beside her had a presence as deep as his voice. Something was unsettling about him, even though he was merely sitting there.
His physical appearance has something to do with it. He's handsome, shockingly so. Unfairly so. Probably the most beautiful man she'd ever seen includes actors and supermodels. He has the type of physical perfection that makes you stop and stare. As if that's not enough, he's tall, his legs look long even when sitting, and his shoulders are so broad that the jacket of his Armani suit molds to his developed muscles.
But she got confronted with something worse, his face. It's a force that hits you out of nowhere. It's a harshness, an electric spark that will electrocute anyone near. It's a volcano that's about to erupt. She'd never found male beauty to be dangerous, considering who she is and who she encountered daily. Though, it is different with that man. She realized he's not supposed to be a danger. His beauty wasn't to teach someone a lesson or bash their head. For God's sake, he wears a designer suit and drinks Macallan, which means he's a businessman. The thick Swiss watch strapped around his wrist must've cost a small fortune. It's luxurious.
His hair was dark, nothing like her almost white platinum blonde. His is somewhat deep jet, somewhat dark night black, and it was styled, which showcases his forehead and killer cheekbones. He has a straight nose and an angular jaw with a well-groomed light beard, giving him a sharp type of masculinity.
His greenish eyes with a golden ring, or maybe they're hazel, and the lack of light made her see otherwise. Either way, those eyes are too intense for someone who should be nothing more than just a businessman guy. There's a fire in them.
A lulling element that appears dormant but could combust at any second. A current that's building in the background. A predator watched from the sidelines, waiting for the right moment to strike. And they're staring right back at her. Shit.
She quickly returned her gaze to her martini and drank it down. Seeing Simon nearby, she blurted out, "Vodka, neat. Make it a double. Actually, make it a triple." She whispered the last part as if ashamed of her drinking habits. That was weird. That wasn't good at all. She started the night with sophistication and martinis, but something extraordinary had just happened to her.
Simon flashes her a small smile before he went to get her the drink. When he handed it to her, she finished half of it, then stared intently at the other half. Mainly to stop herself from stealing peeks at the stranger next to her who was leisurely sipping from his drink. His movements were smooth, like a lion lolling on his throne, watching the peasants.
"You can watch. I don't mind." Mexican. The accent spoken near her ear was sinfully Latin. She was about to choke on her spit. No one had ever been this close to her aside from the lodge.
Instead of reminding him of his place like she usually did to men like him, she froze at the sudden attack. Logically, she realized this wasn't an attack, and she was exaggerating, but her brain didn't recognize that. All she could do was slowly lift her head. She wasn't ready for how impossibly close he was, how those eyes were shining, more inwardly than outwardly. And why is he so close, again? Or maybe it was her imagination because her heartbeat was throbbing in her throat. "Excuse me?"
"I said you can watch, Bonita. I'm better to look at than your drink."
Arrogant. One point to deduct from the perfect score. That man shouldn't have called her beautiful with his illegal accent. It added a few more points that she didn't approve of.
"I happen to love my vodka, but thanks for the offer," she sounded confident and in her element as his attractive presence shook her to the bone. The bottom of her belly contracted in short intervals. Bet it was not due to the alcohol.
"Does that mean I have to compete with your drink?" There was something unique about the way he spoke. He seemed amused, a little flirtatious, and so assertive. She hated him a little for that.
Her neck and cheeks heated, and the butterfly pendant felt like lava on her skin. "You want my attention?"
"Amongst other things." He took a sip of whiskey, but his intense eyes hadn't left hers long after Adam's apple bobbed with the swallow. She couldn't help gulping the saliva gathered in her mouth. Either the alcohol was loosening her nerves, or there was something wrong with her since she couldn't stop staring at him.
After he finished, the Mexican stranger placed his elbow on the bar, allowing himself to get closer. So close that She smelled his cologne. A mixture of lime, clean laundry, and male musk. It's not strong, but it's as lulling as his presence, trapping her in the confinements of its walls.
The space between them became nonexistent when he turned sideways, and his breath skimmed the shell of her ear. It took everything in her not to go into flight mode, considering how much of an expert she was at that. "Like making you squirm." The whisper of his words made her shudder. It's a full-body one that she couldn't suppress, despite her attempts.
"Shut up and show me what you got," She whispered impatiently. He licked the shell of her ear, and she bit her tongue to suppress a moan. Holy shit. It's like she was on an aphrodisiac. One-touch, and she melt. She'd be wiggling and clenching her thighs in search of something. What, she had no clue.
"How old are you?" His question is sensual, low-pitched, and makes her shudder again.
"Twenty-three," she said, he looked to be in his early thirties. He kept going as if he was searching for something in her. She jammed her legs shut; afraid he'd see how desperate she was for this. How much she needed it before she disappears from his life within a few hours.
"What about you?" She asked, trying to loosen the amount of intimacy with the conversation. Though, this could hardly be called a conversation.
"Twenty-eight." A shudder zipped down her spine, and it had less to do with his age and more with his touch and his voice. Seriously, no man's voice should be as sinfully attractive as his. It's like the devil's whispering and lulling her to her damnation.
"What's your name?" His hot breaths against her throat and his possessive hold on her back sent sparks through her whole body.
She was tingling, throbbing, and aching for something she'd experienced countlessly. Something she never thought was possible in her life. "No names," she managed to say in an airy voice.
"Why?" He bit down a spot on her neck, and it was hard enough that she winced. It was hard enough that she clenched her soaked thighs.
"Because anonymity is thrilling." She expected him to argue, to demand that he know her name, but he did something entirely different. Something made her toes curl and her heart hammer.
He laughed. The sound was low and sinister and so damn delicious against her neck. When he pulled back, his intense eyes darkened. They were amused, or maybe it's sadism.
She never made eye contact with one-night stands, but she got caught in his eyes. She couldn't take her eyes off him. There were words and phrases in that gaze. A book, perhaps, and though she couldn't read all the pages and decipher the code, she could at least try. Trying is the first phase of everything. But she couldn't understand his reaction, so she asked, "Why are you laughing?"
"Because I just made a decision, Bonita."
"Which is?"
"I'm going to fuck you."