The Nightlife: London (Urban Fantasy Romance) (The Nightlife Series) by Travis Luedke Page A

looking through him, her
light blue gaze assessing him.  “You haven’t been at it very long, eh?  What, a
couple years?  How long you have been sucking blood?”
    He couldn’t help but laugh.  She seemed to make him laugh
more and more every night.  “Try three months.”
    “Bloody hell.  Ya gotta be shitting me.  You been doing this
three months, and already balls deep in Urvashi with a leech grabbing you like
there’s no tomorrow.  Watcha got?  The world’s largest cock?”
    She had him laughing hard now.  And he had no answers. 
Aaron had often wondered how he ended up in this place, this mess.
    “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.  Michelle and I met
under difficult circumstances.  A couple of dirty cops were shaking her down, I
tried to play hero and ended up shot.  She saved my life by giving me her
blood.”
    “Saved?  Is that what you call it?”
    “Well, I’m still here.  Then we went to Vegas where things
really got out of hand.”
    “Bloody Las Vegas.  Had a boatload of fun there, did ya?”
    Memories surfaced and raked over the painful scars of his
loss.  “Yes, but it got ugly.  The Cartel killed my wife.”
    “You were married?  You can’t be more than twenty!”
    “I don’t expect you to understand.  There’s no way to
explain what Anastasia and I shared.  But she was my wife, if only for a few
hours.  And now she’s gone.”
    He tried not to let that well-spring of pain surface.  Not
here, not with this callous woman.  But damn it, she looked just like Ana.  If
she grew her hair out, maybe dressed a little nicer, gained a few pounds, a
little less of that hard athletic edge, she could almost pass for Anastasia.
    “Nothing to explain.”  Katya snorted.  “No one survives long
with your kind.  Bloody leeches take everything.  You’re too young and dumb to
have learned, but you will.”  She had that look again, like Aaron was the sum
of all evil in the world.
    “No, you’re right.  I am only twenty-two.”  He brought his
eyes to bear on her gaze full of malice.  “So, how old are you Grandma?  Must
be at least eighty, ninety?  You lived through WWII.”  He sunk the jab in deep
with a smirk.
    From leaning back in her chair, she came at him instantly,
right up in his face.  “Don’t you know it’s not polite to ask a girl her age?” 
Her hands balled up into fists.  He caught a whisper of her ferocity leaking
past the block on her thoughts, and her aura had turned black-red.
    “Must be my youth showing again.  We can’t all be wise old wolves.” 
He smiled, waiting for her move.
    She almost clipped him with a solid right hook, but he dodged. 
Matching her preternatural speed, he twisted away as she flowed past him.  With
a helping shove in her back, she headed straight for the wall, barely catching
herself on her hands at the last second.  Aaron was on her, pinning her breasts
hard against the wall, her head pressed sideways, one eye glaring back at him.
    He nipped at her ear as she squirmed, trying to break free. 
“Maybe you’re getting a little slow in your old age.”  He ground his hips in,
pressing the heat of his hard crotch against the crack of her ass.  He licked
her neck, tempted to take a bite while he held the advantage.
    “Get off me, you bastard!”  She screamed and growled like an
animal, a deep, rumbling sound that carried an edge of hysteria.  Her ice-blue
Anastasia eyes showed a jumble of emotions and turmoil.  Her aura streaked through
with orange fear, black-red malice, and purple arousal.  She smelled earthy, a
hint of animal musk, mixed with some kind of perfumed body wash.
    “What was that word you used?  Gamey?  I bet you taste
gamey.”  He licked at her again.  Her struggles and the food scent of fear
ignited a powerful desire to take what he wanted.  He could tear off her pants
right now, fuck and bite her until she became his, permanently bonded to him,
just like Anastasia.
    What would