Sherrilyn Kenyon: Unleash The Night

Elise leaned over to whisper in her ear, "I think I might have just died and been sent to heaven. Have you ever seen so many gorgeous men in your life?"

It was all Marguerite could do to shake her head. It really was unbelievable. She was stunned that the news media hadn't caught wind of this and sent in a team to investigate what was in the water to make so many hot men in one place.

Even Whitney was gaping and ogling.

"What kind of music is that?" Blaine said, twisting his lips into a sneer as a new song started over the stereo that was piped through the length and breadth of the bar.

"I think it's called metal!" Todd shouted over the loud guitar solo.

"I call it painful myself," Whitney said. "Did Nick really hang out here?"

Marguerite nodded. Nick had loved this place. He'd spent hours telling her about it and the odd people who called this place home. "He said they had the best andouille sausage in the world."

Blaine scoffed. "Highly doubtful."

Todd indicated a table to the back with a tilt of his head. "I think we should sit and have a drink in memory of old Nick. You only live once, you know?"

"Drink out of the glasses here and you probably won't live through the night," Blaine said. He looked less than enthusiastic as they followed Todd to the table and took a seat.

Marguerite shrugged her backpack off, dug her purse out, then placed it under the table. She hung her purse on her chair, then took a seat. The place was very loud and yet she could easily see Nick in here. There was something about it that reminded her of him. Aside from the rather tacky decor, which he'd always preferred. She often suspected that he dressed tacky just to nettle people.

To her it had been one of his more endearing traits. He was the only person she'd ever known who truly hadn't cared what other people thought of him. Nick was Nick and if you didn't like it, you could leave.

"Can I get you guys something?"

She looked up to see an extremely beautiful blond woman around her own age. She was wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans and a small T-shirt with the Sanctuary logo of a motorcycle parked on a hill that was silhouetted by a full moon. Underneath the picture was the tagline Sanctuary: Home of the Howlers .

Blaine gave their waitress a hot once-over that the woman wisely ignored. "Yes, we'll all have the Westvleteren 8."

The waitress frowned at his choice of beer before she cocked her head as if to listen more carefully. "What was that?"

Blaine got that familiar smug look on his face and used his do-I-have-to-talk-to-the-simple? voice. "It's a Belgian beer, sweetie. Please tell me you've at least heard of it."

The waitress gave him a peeved glare. "Boy, I was born in Brussels and the last time I checked, this was my new homeland, America, not my birthplace. So you can either order an American-made beer or I'll bring you water and you can sit there and act all superior until you puke, okay?"

Blaine looked as if he were ready to choke her. "Does your manager know that you talk to your customers like this?"

The waitress gave him a snide, indulgent smirk. "If you'd like to talk to my mother, who owns this bar, my overindulgent brother, who manages it, or my father, who delights in kicking everyone's ass around, about your treatment by me, just let me know and I'll be more than happy to go get one of them for you. I know they'd just love to waste their time dealing with you . They're real understanding that way."

Marguerite stifled a laugh. She didn't know the woman, but she was beginning to like her a lot. "I'll have a Bud Light, please."

The waitress winked conspiratorially at her before she wrote it down on her small pad.

"Here, too," Todd said.

Whitney and Elise joined in with their orders.

Then they all looked at Blaine and waited for his next nasty comment. "Bring mine unopened, with a napkin and an opener."

The waitress cocked her head with a devilish gleam in her eyes. "What? Afraid I'm going to spit in it, big boy?"

Todd laughed.

Before Blaine could respond, the blonde left them.

Marguerite's smile faded as she suddenly felt something odd… The hair on the back of her neck rose. It was like someone was watching her.

Intently.

Menacingly.

Turning her head, she scanned the crowd, looking for the source of her discomfort. But there was nothing there. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them at all.

There were several groups of burly bikers playing pool. Tons of tourists and bikers milling about. There was even a group of seven men playing poker in one corner. Waiters and the waitress walked back and forth to the bar and tables delivering food and drinks while the two bartenders went about their business.

No one was even remotely looking in Marguerite's direction.

I must be imagining it.

At least that's what she thought until she spotted a man in the corner who appeared to be staring straight at her. Dressed in a baggy, untucked white button-down shirt covered by a dirty white apron, and faded, dingy black jeans that had seen much better days, he was a busboy who had paused in cleaning off a table. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled back to the middle of his forearms. His left arm held a bright, colorful tattoo that she couldn't make out at this distance.

She had no idea what he looked like, since his thick dark blond hair obscured most of his face and fell over both of his eyes. The back of it hung just past his shoulders. In fact, given his hairdo she couldn't really tell where he was looking, but every instinct in her body said it was at her.

There was something about him that seemed dark and dangerous. Predatory. Almost sinister.

She rubbed her neck nervously, wishing he would turn his attention back to his job.

"Is something wrong?" Blaine asked.

"No," she said quickly, offering him a smile. If she mentioned it, he would no doubt make a scene and get the poor man fired from a job he probably needed. "I'm fine." But the feeling didn't subside and there was something so animalistic and fierce about it that she was definitely unnerved.

Wren tilted his head as he watched the unknown woman who looked so out of place that he wondered how she'd happened into their bar. Sophistication and money bled from her every pore. She definitely wasn't their usual clientele.

He could also tell that she wasn't comfortable under his close scrutiny. But then, no one was, it was why he seldom made eye contact with anyone. He'd learned a long time ago that no person or beast could stand the intensity of him for very long.

And yet he couldn't take his eyes off her. Her dark chestnut hair that she had tied back into a ponytail held traces of auburn highlights—that and her darker skin tone betrayed a Cajun heritage. She wore a delicate pink sweater set and a long khaki skirt with matching pink espadrilles.

Best of all, she had a lush, curvy body that beckoned a man to hold it close and taste it.

She certainly wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but there was something about her that held his attention. Something about her that seemed lost and hurt.

Sad.

In the wilds of Asia where he'd been born, such a creature as she would have been killed and eaten by something stronger. Fiercer. Vulnerability of any kind was an invitation for death. And yet he didn't feel that familiar swell of adrenaline that made him want to attack the weak.

He felt an inexplicable desire to protect her.

More than that, he wanted to go over to her and offer comfort, but then, what did he know about comforting a human? He was a feral predator in human form. All he knew was how to stalk and to kill.

How to fight.

He knew nothing of comfort. Nothing of women. He was alone in the world by choice, and he liked it that way.