aircannonsinc Chapter 5
Chapter 5
An hour later, we finally leave the police station. By this time I’m starving and decide to grab a burger from Hal’s diner. Situated across the river on the East side, it’s known for serving the best burgers in Paradise Falls. As it’s just around the corner from where I’d seen the vampire last night, I know it probably isn’t the best idea I’ve had in a while, but hunger wins out. Was it really only last night? Damn, a lot has happened in the last, no…not even twenty-four hours!
“Come on, girl, I’m starving,” I say heading toward the University on West Avenue.
Crossing over West Bridge, we bypass the tattoo parlor named Tattoo Parlor, no imagination from the owners, which makes the fact they do the best tattoos I have seen even more surprising.
I dash past the car park. I hate walking past car parks when it’s dark. They give me a serious case of the heebie-jeebies. Just because I can take care of myself, does not mean I like to take careless risks.
Continuing along Brokers Walk, we turn left at the Pawn Shop toward Sterling nightclub, where I hear the first sounds of life since crossing East Bridge. The sounds of dance music flitting through the night, barely penetrates the quiet before fading, startling me.
Glancing down at Jasmine, I notice she seems just as surprised, cautiously I look around. Complete silence. No breeze, nobody jogging or walking. Nothing. It’s like I’ve entered a silent cocoon, where the nightclub’s music can barely be heard.
It feels wrong and confusing. I hadn’t sensed anything, let alone noticed how unnatural it was. But now that I have, I want to be off the streets, fast. Without saying a word, I hurry toward the club and cross to Hal’s Diner.
Entering Hal’s, it’s like someone’s pierced the sound bubble, letting it all in, a sudden excruciatingly painful, sonic boom of full blown volume. The rush of noise wrenches a gasp of pain from my mouth, almost bringing me to my knees.
Sheer determination and willpower alone keep me from collapsing. My poor ears are ringing and the sudden volume brings on the beginnings of a migraine.
Jasmine is having similar problems, judging from her whine of pain. With her sensitive ears, this isn’t too surprising. Grimly we make it to the nearest empty table, situated on the far side of the diner by a window. With a relieved moan, I finally manage to collapse into the booth.
“What can I get you?” asks the waitress who appears five minutes later.
Thankfully, I’ve gotten my breath back, so I order a M50 burger, taco chips, and a large diet soda for myself and a bowl of water and a rare steak for Jasmine. The waitress, whose nametag reads Savannah, gives her a friendly ear scratch before leaving with our order.
Glancing out the window, I see people on the streets looking confused and a little frightened. One pedestrian, on seeing Hal’s makes a dash for the door.
Upon entering, he lets out a scream and promptly passes out. Customers who are closest to the man lift him, bringing him to the nearest booth, which is still occupied by a woman I presumed was sleeping, but in fact is probably also unconscious. Savannah returns to my table carrying a tray of delicious smelling food.
“What is going on out there?” I ask as I stare at the man in the booth in confusion. “Why did he pass out?” I cut up the steak and put it on the table in front of Jasmine.
“I’m not sure; it’s been like this for the last couple of hours.” Glancing at the man passed out in the booth, Savannah continues. “Those of weaker magick are having a rougher time. If you need anything else, let me know.” She smiles before walking off.
I pick up my burger and with a groan of satisfaction bite into it; mushrooms, tomatoes, beef, bacon, Gouda cheese, lettuce, and special sauce all in a sesame bun; pure heaven. With the flavors bursting in my mouth, I feel good for the first time since leaving the police station.
****
Halfway through my meal, the door to Hal’s opens again. The man entering looks vaguely familiar. With a grimace of distaste, he scans the room and heads in my general direction. Not surprising since the only empty booths are near me. I carry on eating until a shadow falls over the table. Assuming it’s the waitress, I look up and am surprised to see the man standing beside me.
“Can I help you?” I ask puzzled.
“You can move over so I can sit down,” he answers with a voice like rich velvet.
“Why?” Blimey, I could listen to his voice forever.
But I don’t recognize it, so where have I seen him before? If I had talked to him, I would definitely remember, so why does he want to sit with me?
“We need to talk you and I.” Then looking toward Jasmine he adds, “And you as well, shifter. Now may I sit?”
Scooting over, I glance at Jasmine, who stops eating long enough to give the man a look of puzzlement, her head tilted sideways as steak juice dribbles from her muzzle. With a quick lick of her chops, she carries on eating, though she continues to watch with interest.
For six months, no one had realized she is a shifter. Now twice in one day it has been noticed in a very matter-of-fact way. So why hasn’t anyone else noticed? “Who are you?” I demand as Mr. Rich Velvet Voice sits down so close to me I move over again just to have some personal space between us.
“I am the one who caught you two spying on a very private conversation last night. Why would you spy on me?” he inquires, lowering his voice.
With a start, I realize as he’s talking I’ve been leaning into him, and am now leaning so close to him I could kiss his jaw line, if I just stretch a little bit. I feel my body stir to life at his close proximity.
My breasts feel heavy and my nipples tighten in anticipation, but it’s the desire shooting to the core of my femininity and pooling in liquid heat that makes me twitch in shock. I’ve never had such an instant reaction to a man before, even if he is gorgeous with a voice like rich dark chocolate.
With this realization I bolt away from him and in the process smack my head against the window.
Concentrate, I mentally chastise myself. God, could you imagine having phone sex with him? Giving another involuntary moan at my last thought, I catch him giving me a knowing look, and I pull myself together. Taking a quick gulp of my soda just to give myself a second more, I turn back to him.
“Who are you?” I ask this time. No point in demanding, as it obviously doesn’t get me anywhere.
“I am Victor Harlow and owner of Vlad’s Bar. Why were you spying on me and for whom?” He demands while tracing a gentle circle on the velvet skin of my wrist.