Noche y De Día [Invite]

[Jameson]

Jameson had never been much of a club goer before her turning, there had been too much going on in at the time. “All work and no play.” The ghostly voice mocked in her ear, the petite ginger lifting her hand and swatting casually at the invisible apparition. She had never learned if the voice was actually her brother or a figment of her imagination, a manifestation of her loss and her initial distaste of his best friend, Lachlan. Now, even with her business, she had learned they became some of the best hunting grounds.

Although alcohol in the bloodstream did nothing for her, there was an enhanced taste that fear mixed in that sated the unbearable itch in the back of her throat for a time. Granted, the killer couldn’t stand the smell of beer and wine made her want to crinkle her nose even in her presence.

Often, it led to false smiles.

Nodding.

Inhibitions were lowered.

Trust increased, even to a stranger.

For Jameson, those false smiles often brought her back to the hotel room of a traveling individual, occasionally, it brought her to the home. Men, women. It hardly mattered. They all had similar intentions: pleasure was never a difficult objective. She fed, she fucked. It was simple. Lethia, she knew, rolled her eyes at her sire’s antics but as long as she stayed amongst the living, her childe hadn’t given her any issue.

A hand slightly brushed against her back.

Cautious of the wound lingering just beneath the surface of her shoulder, she lifted her arm and brushed her hair out of her way to turn. The yellow heels matching her shirt moved seamlessly, although she heard the slightest click that accompanied the sole connecting with the dance floor. The bright, flashing neon lights did very little to the predatory nature of her eyes after they had adapted. She swayed to the rhythm, the upbeat pop song lost upon her. Green eyes showed arousal, but she closed hazel and turned back around to show her disinterest as she tried to lose herself.

Timing was everything.

Those who hadn’t wanted to fully enjoy the evening had only begun to depart, making way for more surrounding them. The music echoed around them, Jameson listening to the heartbeats that increased and paced around her with a steady ease. “Do you want a drink?” A gruff voice asked from behind her. He shouted it, the proximity of it causing her eyebrow to crease with the enhanced hearing vampirism provided. “I’m good.” Curt. To the point. She had manners, once. They were still there, buried down below miles of sarcasm mixed with the brief concern with her parents and her sister.

They had relocated to Toronto after her disappearance.

“Mom cried for days. You were written off as dead.”

A sigh escaped past her lips as she moved away towards the bar and heard an annoyed huff. A glance over her shoulder revealed the man that had been behind her distancing himself and going to bother a girl in a pink dress. His target smiled, clearly enjoying the attention. The wooden edge felt sturdy against her wrist as she pressed against it and felt the pulling on wounded muscle, Jameson waiting patiently for the bartender. “House special.” She flashed the tips of her fangs before pale lips covered them, feeling the pressure within her jaw as they retracted. Turning her back to the bartender, listening to the clinking of glasses and bottles, of the steady pour of liquor surrounding her.

[Veronica (DELETED 13527)]

Stepping into the club was like taking her first breath of fresh air. If she were the type to do self-analysis as a habit, Verónica might have reflected on why stepping past the threshold where the steady thrum of bass embraced her like a phantom lover made her blood sing. But much like she flitted from bed to bed and ran from childhood memories of warm sun and a little boy’s laughter, she tended to studiously avoid taking too close a look at herself.

With practiced ease, she threaded her way through the crowd towards the bar, trusting Santi to be in her periphery until they had their sights set on suitable prey. The eyes on her fluffed her ego--the black of the bardot corset settling close to bronze skin, offering a tantalizing display of cleavage. Like a peacock unfurling its plumage.

The click of her heels was muffled against the floor by the music, the shift of bodies and the clink of bottles and glasses exchanging hands the closer she came to the bar. The secondhand cigarette smoke settled deep in her lungs. But even as she motioned to the bartender for her usual drink, her attention strayed to the redhead reclining against the pocked and polished wood.

Verónica nudged her elbow gently back into Santi’s side and tipped her head in that direction with a sly smile.

It was a practiced dance at this point, years of friendship and proximity granting them all the nonverbal cues they needed to start the chase. She’d never seen the other woman here before--and, really, she would have remembered the sight of her with her impeccable memory for beautiful girls--which layered additional thrill.

When the cool glass was passed into her open palm, fingers curling delicately around it as she took a sip, hazel eyes never leaving her quarry, she hummed a quiet sound and began her approach.