Still nothing, in the scale of Sevan’s life. But it’s major in the scope of being Logan.
The night stretches late, but the energy doesn’t fade. The crowds are still thick. The scents of alcohol and drugs and sex grow thicker.
It starts as a little tickle in the back of my throat. I raise my hands to it as I walk down the sidewalk. I swallow once. The heat ignites.
I swallow again. But the temperature rises.
I look around. Thousands of people surround me.
Just one.
I just need one body.
A man walks by himself, stumbling slightly. He looks up, his eyes meeting mine and he looks sheepish, slightly embarrassed at his near fall. But I see the hunger that lights in them. He looks me up and down.
I smile at him. I step to the side, eyeing him as I work my way to a dark alcove.
It’s not even hard. I lure him over without a single word.
“And how are you, this very spectacular evening?” he says, cocky and seductive. He steps forward, his hands instantly going to my hips.
One second of the presumptuous pig is all I can take. I smile as I reach forward, lacing my fingers behind his head. I guide him to me, and before he can think this is leading anywhere but to him dropping his pants around his ankles, I sink my fangs into his neck.
I pull. One deep suck.
Another.
Four.
Five draws.
On six, I release him, a satisfied sigh rushing over my lips as I lick his blood from them. As soon as I let him go, he collapses to the ground.
He gives a little groan, rolling his head from one side to the other, as if trying to figure out why his neck hurts.
I wipe at my mouth one last time. I glance back at him over my shoulder before walking away, leaving him in the dark.
He’ll be fine. He was drunk enough before he ran into me that he won’t remember a thing.
I walk another block, and head into another casino. I just wander this time. No destination in mind. Just traveling among the people.
After ascending a grand flight of stairs, a flashing sign points the way to a club. I follow it, and push open the doors to find loud, thumping music.
Maybe it’s the confidence I’m portraying tonight, maybe they can sense just how old my soul really is, but not a person has asked for I.D. all night. I walk right in without anyone even giving a questioning glance my way.
Through the crowd of dancing bodies I make my way. Past intimate couples in booths. Beyond the women and men dressed in little to nothing, serving drinks. At the far side of the club, I find an empty table, and I sit.
Not five seconds later, a woman wearing only a leather bra and a thong comes to take my order.
I may be over two thousand years old in one way, but the other part of me is only twenty, and honestly, alcohol has never been that appealing.
I order a Coke with lime. Not two minutes later she returns with my drink.
“Either you’re one of the few law-abiding underage people in this city, or you’re smarter than the rest of us and know alcohol almost never leads to anything good.”
I look up and see a man standing at a table just a few feet from me. He’s alone. He holds a glass in his hand, though I’d guess he hasn’t taken more than a sip from it.
“I’m sure I can’t be the only one not drinking in this city,” I say, crossing my legs and lifting my chin slightly.
He doubtfully cocks his head just a little to the right. “It’s one of the few reasons people flock from all over the world to this city. They can lower their inhibitions and not be judged.”
“I don’t know,” I say, swirling my drink. “I feel a little judged right now.”
He laughs and takes a step in my direction, his drink still in hand. His other slips into the pocket of his slacks. “It wasn’t my intent. Merely an observation.”
He’s average height, in good physical shape. His hair is a dirty blonde, maybe needing a cut. Green eyes and a chin that I’m guessing was shaved this morning, from the barely-there hint of five o’clock shadow.
He’s overall attractive, in a simple way.
“Are you here by yourself?” I ask, looking around the room. But there are hundreds of people here, he could be attached to any of them.
He stops beside my table and turns, scanning the crowd. He points to a group of four guys, all dancing and generally looking like fools. “It’s my buddy’s bachelor party. He’s getting married in four days.”
“That’s exciting,” I say, feigning interest.
“Not really,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “She’s kind of a nasty person. We’re all pretty sure she’s marrying him for his money.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Why aren’t you out there looking like an idiot with them?”
He shrugs. “I spent too many years looking like an idiot. Been there, done with that.”
He offers a small smile, and something about how normal it is tugs at me.
“Would you like to sit?” I offer. Only because he’s being friendly, but not overly flirtatious in a way that makes me instantly recoil.
He smiles again and sinks into the chair beside me.
“I’m Trevor,” he says, extending a hand. I shake it.
“Logan,” I offer.
“You asked me, so don’t think I’m just creeping on you when I ask,” he says with a hesitant little chuckle. “But are you here by yourself?”
My eyes go to the crowd. I think about it. About the most familiar people around me in this town, even this state. Who? Edmond? Who I met when he recognized my mother’s face and ratted me out to Cyrus? Or Rath—who pretended to be someone he wasn’t for my whole life?
“Yes,” I answer. Because it’s true. And I try to pretend the answer doesn’t make my chest hurt.
“I only say this because I’m a junior defense attorney,” he says. “And I’ve seen a lot of bad, bad things. The Strip really isn’t a very good place to go by yourself.”
I smile into my glass as I take a sip. “I’m tougher than I look.”
He laughs and shakes his head as he takes another drink, finishing it off. He’s about to say something when I cut him off.
“Do you want to dance?”
He looks over at me, and I can see it; he’s surprised.
I am, too.
He smiles again, stands, and holds a hand out for mine. I take it, and follow him out to the floor.
The music is so loud that it’s more noise than actual music. But it pulses, wild and electric. Trevor sets his drink on a table and turns me to face him.
He holds my gaze as he puts one hand on my hip and moves to the music. He’s hesitant, going off of my cues. But right now I’m just lonely and so detached from anything real.
I place my hand over his, drawing myself closer.
There’s something hypnotic about the environment. The heat in the air. The fact that there’s very little room to move around. Our bodies have no choice but to press close together.
He’s not your husband, I think to myself.
I turn, my back to his front, letting my eyes slide closed as Trevor’s hands once more cling to my hips, pulling them toward his own. I reach up, looping a hand behind his neck.
Louder and louder the music pounds.
It reaches down through my blood. It pours into my heart. It saturates through my pores.
Less and less space exists between our two bodies. I try to eliminate it, one beat at a time, so I don’t feel so alone. So I don’t feel so lost.
The feel of his lips soft on my shoulder makes my eyes slide closed. Makes my lips part just slightly.
His fingers tighten on my hips and I pray he never lets go.
One hundred bodies moved in perfect synchronization. A stomp. A slide forward. A twirl. A dramatic drop.
My hair brushed the sparkling stone floor, and slowly, he raised me up. My eyes met his as I stood upright. They hide behind his glittering gold mask, but I knew those eyes. Had stared into them for decades and centuries.
He twirled me under his arm once more as the other couples slowly worked to form a circle around us.
But I didn’t see them.
I saw the heat in those dark green eyes. And for a moment, I was grateful. That despite our separation, over and over, I had worn four other faces, but his was always the same.