Annie Nicholas: Bait

Live bait made all the difference, pretty much a no-brainer. If the prey hungered, it was best to use someone like me.

I needed to attract my quarry’s attention so I dressed outside the Budapest nightlife norm. The beautiful, exotic eastern European women filled the place with their form fitting, dark clothes and smoky make-up. This fashion did not complement my five foot, two inch, olive skinned, ‘holy cow she’s got curves’ frame.

Instead, I tousled my shoulder-length, dark-blond curls and applied a little lip gloss. The high-waisted, filmy white dress, which possessed a neckline low enough I had better not sneeze, with the silver stiletto heels, made me a beacon. Time I hooked me a monster and reeled him in.

The popular nightclub jammed, and on any other night I’d be having a great time, but the crush of people made it difficult to spot anyone. Even with heels I’d have trouble seeing Rurik. I twisted and swung my hips to the pounding music as I grooved across the sunken dance floor. Tables stood around the edges so the patrons could watch.

I should have shimmied instead of turned when someone’s elbow made contact with my forehead. Flailing, I tottered on my heels, tripped over someone’s foot, and landed on the empty staircase.

Legs sprawled, white dress twisted too high and pulled too low, I gripped my throbbing head in surprise as the world spun. I was the picture of American class abroad.

A shadow blocked out the colored lights reflecting off the mirrored walls. It distracted me from my revealing predicament. Large, strong hands grasped my shoulders. I gazed up and my heart raced.

Rurik. The target I had hunted for in every ruin-club, open-air party, and disco in Budapest. A delicious, hunky, make-me-swoon vampire.

He lifted me to my stiletto-laden feet.

Most people don’t believe in vampires, thinking them myth or legend. I know otherwise. My job comprised of luring these monsters to their executioner.

I was bait.

Rurik said something in Hungarian.

Tourists had a better grasp on the language than I did. I shook my head. “English?” My heart hammered faster than the music’s beat. I’d searched weeks for him and he found me, I couldn’t have planned a better scenario.

His cold, arctic, eyes bore into mine. Even with me wearing heels he towered over me. I couldn’t help but admire his dark, slicked back hair, exposing fine sculpted cheekbones, a narrow face, and a set of full lush lips—all male and very tasty.

Once assured I could stand on my own, he released m e, and brought my hand to his mouth to brush those lush lips against my knuckles. “You’re an unexpected treasure, my angel,” he translated over the loud music.

“Thanks.” I’d lost hope of ‘bumping ’ into him and just complied with Colby’s—my employer’s—routine orders. Seduce him into following me to the hotel room close by where they waited.

Vampire or not, he provoked a forbidden lust. I was still a woman, after all.

Rurik belonged on the cover of GQ. His black Italian suit contrasted nicely with his white dress shirt and pale skin, tailored to fit his athletic build. Everything about him was simple and elegant.

Everything except the ring on his left pinky finger. A gold antique, with a rock set in it big enough to choke on. Only the Overlord of a city could wear such a ring. It symbolized his power—like a king’s crown.

His hand trailed up my arm, to touch the thin, white fabric of my dress. He said something but the music drowned him out. I didn’t really need to hear him. The hunger in his eyes told me everything. He liked me.

“Do you still want to dance?” He shouted and gestured to the packed floor.

“No, I think I should quit while I’m ahead.” I pointed to my forehead, where a welt throbbed with my racing heart.

He chuckled. “Then let me buy you a drink. My name is Rurik.” His grasp tightened on my arm as he led me away from the dance floor. The corners of his mouth lifted into a small pleasant smile as he turned from me. It wouldn’t do to flash fang and scare dinner away.

It irked me he just assumed I’d say ‘yes ’ to his invitation. I stuffed my annoyance to the back of my mind, I didn’t have the luxury for personal preferences, and I had a role to play.

We made our way through the throng of Saturday night cruisers to a table in a secluded corner. Some men sat there, then stood upon our arrival, and moved to join others who hovered within eyesight of the table. Rurik’s guards. Things were quieter here; we could talk instead of yell.

He assisted me to a chair, then slid his closer to mine. Close enough to touch. “Are you American?”

A server walked up and set a bottle of Popov vodka in front of us with two shot glasses.

“Last time I checked.” The smell of his mild, spiced cologne drifted around me.

He laughed at my wiseass remark and filled the shot glasses, placing one in my hand.

“I don’t drink,” I confessed. “It goes straight to my head,” I lied.

“Then bottoms up.” He leaned forward, slipped his arm around mine, and tossed his vodka down.

Playing along, I faked taking a small sip, but he moved his arm up quick, and tipped my glass to a steeper angle. The contents emptied down my throat and burned as it cascaded to my stomach. I coughed and grimaced at the awful taste. Vodka never was my drink of choice.

My annoyance grew to outrage. I bit the inside of my cheeks; worried the verbal lashing on the tip of my tongue would slip out. Forced to flirt with this obnoxious creep wasn’t worth my pay, but not all my job satisfaction came from the bank. I would enjoy watching Colby stake this jerk.

Rurik smiled tight-lipped. “Forgive me. I couldn’t resist the temptation.” He brushed a wayward curl from my face.

I leaned into his touch—even though I wanted to pour the vodka over his head—and forced a smile. Talented enough to put laughter into my eyes while thinking violent thoughts made me good at my job.

He filled the glasses again, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

I glared at the repulsive drink instead of at him, and tried to pull the reins on my mounting temper. His phenomenal packaging must only be skin deep.

Rurik gave a gentle laugh. “You’re angry with me.”

Perceptive. “I told you, I don’t want to drink.” He was a real detective, this one. I smiled at him, putting an extra quirk to my lips. “Angry is a strong word, though. Life’s too short to be angry.”

Waving the waiter over, he ordered something I couldn’t understand, then returned his attention to me. “You haven’t told me your name.”

I stopped giving my shot glass the evil eye. The vodka stirred my stomach something fierce, yet called to my old vices. “I’m Connie Bence.” I offered him my hand. Damn, his arrogance distracted me and I gave him my real name. Just call me competent.

“Nice to meet you, Connie.” He took my hand and traced lazy circles in my palm. “Such a sweet morsel should have a name like...” His gaze lifted from my hand and pinned me to the chair . “Rabbit.”

My already angry stomach rebelled. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and focused by visualizing myself not being sick on my target. That would be two weeks of hard work down the drain, literally.

“That’s lovely, Rurik, but I prefer Connie.” I peeked and saw Rurik had moved in closer.

His eyes followed the shape of my face, down the lines of my neck, to the curves of my breasts. “I’ve noticed you before tonight, Rabbit, at other clubs.”

I blinked. He’d noticed me before tonight? Why had he waited until now to introduce himself? A chill crept up my spine. I learned to listen to those instincts. It was time to bail out.