Scott wasn’t sure what time it was, but the night seemed to have taken on a different feel. It was darker—not in the literal sense, but as if there was an undercurrent of something mysterious and a little scary in the air. Three o’clock in the morning often felt like that. After all, it wasn’t called “the witching hour” for nothing.
Or it could just be that he was somewhat drunk—Roger having thrust a second extra Bloody Mary on him when he went back downstairs—and he was dancing on the back patio under the black lights and randomly oscillating strobe light, surrounded by people who were bizarrely-shaped, with strange ghoulish faces which looked all the weirder because of the lights and the low-level fog that swirled around their knees. It was very surreal.
Or he was very drunk. Come to think of it, that might have a lot to do with it. Although he felt he had to give credit to Michael and Ariel’s party-planning skills. They knew how to set the mood.
Josie had ditched her accident paraphernalia—and Scott had lost his tie and jacket… somewhere—he thought maybe on the couch in the rec room—and she was dancing with him. Her skin was a dark tan under the black lights, but every few seconds, a white light would flash across her face, making her skin look ghostly-white and making the scratches and bruise-makeup on her face stand out in sharp contrast.
Scott thought there was a hard look in Josie’s eyes as she danced with him. It could have just been that she was drunk, too—or else, she took her bumping and grinding seriously—but coupled with her makeup, it made her look like a tough-as-nails woman. A survivor.
Was it strange he found that a turn-on?
His ex had always been so straight-laced and boring. Of course, he had always been a boring stiff, too, but he didn’t want to be.
Now he had a woman with some fire to her and it was exciting. His whole damn life was exciting. How ironic: he had to become undead to truly come alive.
He found himself holding Josie tight against his body, his face buried in her neck. He shouldn’t have been hungry—he had had enough blood between his two drinks to last him nearly two days—but he felt himself craving Josie. He wanted to bite her more than anything. He didn’t really want the drink—just the bite—just the feel of his teeth sliding into her skin.
After a few minutes of his necking, she pulled away. But there was something mischievous glittering in her eyes as she took his hand and pulled him away from the dance floor.
“Where are we going?” he asked, as she led him up the stairs. Away from the loud, techno music and mass of pulsing people, he felt as if he was in a fog. There weren’t many people left in the house and it seemed darker and strangely quiet.
“Upstairs,” she replied mysteriously.
She chuckled, but didn’t reply.
She led him away from the dining room—which looked pretty picked-clean—and up another flight of stairs. The upper floor was dark and silent. There was only one door in the hallway which was slightly ajar and had a dim light coming from it; it appeared to be a bathroom. The rest of the doors, though, were closed.
“Michael said they locked the rooms they didn’t want people in,” Scott whispered to Josie, when she stopped outside the last door.
“Yeah, I know.” She reached up, standing on her tip-toes, and felt along the trim framing the top of the door.
“What are you doing?” he asked, totally confused.
“Ha!” she said triumphantly, pulling something down. It was so small, Scott couldn’t see what it was, but it must have been some sort of key, because Josie used it on the knob and opened the door a few seconds later.
“I don’t think we should go in there,” Scott said, continuing to whisper. “They locked it for a reason.”
Josie put the key back over the door. “And we’re going to lock it back,” she said, pulling Scott into the bedroom with her.
True to her word, she locked the door behind them.
“Josie…” Scott started to argue again.
She put her hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him back until he ran into the side of the bed and was forced to sit down. “Scott, this isn’t my first party at Michael and Ariel’s. How do you think I know where they keep the key?”
She pulled her sweater off over her head. The sight of her breasts in a black satin bra almost shut him up. Almost.
“So… I’m not the first man you’ve seduced at your brother’s house?” he tried to ask casually, but his eyes were riveted on her as she kicked off her shoes and began to unfasten her slacks.
Let the panties match the bra. Let the panties match the bra, he prayed.
“Oh, you’re definitely the first,” she smiled, sliding her pants down over her hips.
Thank you, God!
“I normally just stay the night if I’m too drunk to drive,” she continued, stepping closer to him. He reached around her, feeling the smooth satin of her panties over her ass. “I didn’t expect you to be too drunk to drive us home tonight,” she added.
He grinned up at her. “Yeah, well… things happen.”
“I kind of like it.”
“I kind of like it, too.”
She began to unbutton his shirt. “So… does it bother you? Staying the night at my brother’s?”
“I don’t mind.” She pushed his shirt back, over his shoulders, and he pulled it off for her. “Do you think they’ll mind?”
“No. My brother loves me and he’d never want me to drive home drunk—or ride with anyone who is drunk. He’d much rather I stayed the night.” She began to unbutton his pants.
“I meant… this,” Scott said, standing up, so his pants could slide from his waist. “Do you think they’ll mind this?”
“If we’re quiet, they’ll never know,” she whispered conspiratorially.
He kicked off his shoes and pants, grinning back at her. Suddenly, she shoved him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him. In the dim light light coming through the sheer curtains, he could see her reach behind her back to unhook her bra.
Thank God, indeed.
Read the entire series–The Bloodsuckers: Vampire Lawyers of Middle Tennessee