Free Forsaken by the Others by Jess Haines Page B

to the right. I squinted into the shadows, and nearly fainted at the sight of one
     of my favorite actors lounging on the couch, talking with a girl who was probably
     also famous, but it didn’t matter because oh, my God, that was really him.
    The security guard was more than a little annoyed that he had to backtrack and find
     us. Even more so when he had to resort to a firm hand on our shoulders to get us moving
     again. This was probably a good thing, because it reminded me to close my mouth and
     not look like the ragingly obvious tourist I was.
    Some of Hollywood’s finest were looking beautiful and carefree and having a great
     time dancing and drinking and rubbing elbows with vampires. It was difficult to tell
     which were the monsters and which were the real people, but if you looked hard enough,
     you could always spot the Others. It seemed that everyone here had a touch of that
     predatory mien, but only the vampires had that special glitter to their eyes.
    Then again, that glitter could have been drugs. Not that it mattered. Everyone here
     was dangerous in his or her own way.
    Sara and I were led deep into the house. We eventually reached a door where the guard
     had to punch some numbers into a security pad before he could open it. He motioned
     us into the stairwell, not following us down the rabbit hole.
    Though the stairwell was well lit, and the walls here were a much more appropriate
     off-white, hung with the occasional framed photograph, being starstruck was replaced
     by that sense of dread and intimidation all over again.
    For her part, Sara didn’t seem concerned. She moved on the stairs like she was heading
     down to meet a business acquaintance. Taking a cue from her, I schooled my features
     into what I hoped was a pleasantly blank expression instead of one that said “dear-God-get-me-out-of-here.
     ”
    At the bottom of the stairwell was a hallway that branched off into other rooms to
     our left, and a wide-open space directly ahead with floor-to-ceiling windows that
     overlooked the beach from the heights of a cliff. Or maybe we were on a mountainside.
     We’d gone through so many twisting, winding roads, I wasn’t sure anymore.
    “Ah, ladies, you made it,” said a pleasantly deep male voice from our right.
    I had seen pictures of Clyde Seabreeze before, and even a couple of video interviews
     online. However, they lacked the impact of the real thing, who was currently—and very
     deliberately, I was sure—standing under a small spotlight a few feet away from a small
     group of men. One was lounging on some more artsy than comfortable looking couches,
     and the rest were hanging back in the shadows; probably bodyguards.
    Of course, the first thing I noticed was the hair. It was dark—black—obviously dyed.
     It wasn’t a good color for him, but that was like saying it wasn’t a good color for
     Brad Pitt in his prime.
    His gaze drew me in next. Clyde’s eyes were . . . well, cliché as it sounds, a smoldering,
     dark blue. Come-hither eyes. Eyes deep enough to drown in. I remembered at the last
     second to look away, and, much like whenever David Bowie came on screen in Labyrinth, soon found myself staring at what was obviously framed by his too-tight pants and
     the tails of the shirt he hadn’t bothered to button.
    “Mr. Seabreeze,” Sara said, and with far more grace than I could possibly have mustered,
     “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
    “Oh no, the pleasure is all mine.”
    The two of them were very cool and polite with each other considering he looked like
     he’d walked off the set of some romance novel photo shoot. I debated opening my mouth,
     but the words package and balls were dangerously close to the tip of my tongue. Instead, I mutely offered my hand
     when he approached to give us both a polite, welcoming handshake. I imagine my vow
     of silence was probably for the best—for all of us.
    “Ms. Waynest,” he said, smiling in a way that told me he