Free Zauran by Poppet Page B

eyes.
    When you know they're supernatural it makes sense. Until then you're simply mesmerized while they tap into the reptilian brain and course hormones to riot through your body.
    Walking lust.
    God made them in such a way that women cannot resist. Any normal woman would be deeply flattered by their attention.
    Heck, I'm one of them.
    Nodding to Darise, I sit back down on the stool I claimed at the crescent bar. “Yes, I'm fine. This place sure has changed.”
    He leans over, running a hand down my cheek with a big smile, “It's so good to see you.”
    Darise glides a thumb over my bottom lip as if recalling the kisses we shared earlier. It's a demanding touch, expecting more from my mouth as if kisses are promises of allegiance.
    Supplication.
    It's automatic to smile back even though my insides recoil. He's always going to be the Snow White of the vampyre world. Black hair, alabaster pale skin, and sinful ruby-red lips. “I'm glad you got to keep your fangs when you became mortal. They fit you.”
    He pushes another dirty martini to me and lingers, leaning his weight onto the bar with elbows, bunching his impressive muscles. “I still bite.”
    He says it with a wink, but it's sweet. He's always been sweet, I just forgot how saccharine he is. There's no danger in his eyes, in his movement, in his smile. He lost the rebel when he chose redemption.
    But he still looks devilishly hot in coaled tones. I'm pleased he's still wearing black. It's a hooded threat when a man of muscle dresses in the color of night. It rivets attention and causes fantasies to go to places the mind seldom wanders.
    He looks like he should have leather bands on his wrists that he can unwind to restrain you, tying you down, the wider ones to blindfold, hiding chains or cuffs in his back pocket, possibly with a tablet or two to ease the pain he'll deliver.
    Shutting my thoughts up, looking guiltily into a gaze piercing me from a table mostly shrouded in shade a little way off, I pick up the swizzle-stick the olive is impaled on.
    “ So who gave you your mortality?” I ask, taking a sip and wanding the olive across the glass.
    “ Zaria.”
    “ Oh.” Licking my lips, I look away, phasing him out as I stare back at that dark table. The body builder type guy is watching me with mysterious eyes and complete intensity.
    It's as if my wicked wishes are ribboning across the room and he's receiving them loud and clear.
    Uncomfortable, I skip my focus beyond him to another loner sitting slumped in his chair at a table, a shot glass in his hand and a bottle of vodka standing sentry on his table. He flicks auburn hair out of his eyes and looks around as if moody and contemplative, meeting my gaze in his perusal. He holds it for a moment and then keeps sweeping the room as if looking for someone.
    “ Where are you staying?” Darise says, pulling my attention back to him.
    “ My cousin's place for now. I'm checking out a couple of rentals tomorrow. I'm looking forward to living alone.”
    “ I'm looking forward to getting you alone,” he smirks, dropping his voice conspiratorially.
    “ Oh yeah, and what will you do with me then?”
    “ Bite you.”
    Ugh, I dunno why but that just sounds so lame.
    I laugh to hide my disdain, flicking the hair off my shoulder to coat my back, looking through the strobed redness again at the other inky wall.
    Jowendrhan's metallic eyes glow briefly and his long leathered legs step out from the shielding shadows. I'm given the stare of dangerous promise. His mouth curves sardonically and I watch him walk down the steps to the dance floor, to some woman dancing alone.
    Without warning he stands behind her, placing his hand around her neck and tilting her head to rest against his chest, smiling down at her while strong fingers stroke up and down her throat suggestively.
    Keeping her there, he lowers his head and kisses her so hard she looks like she's having an orgasm right there on the dance floor.
    It has a ripple effect