The Vampire's Protector by Michele Hauf

could become grand if only velvets and gilt and decadent frescos were laid over the black, black and more black. Nicolo supposed it represented a certain paranormal theme. Gothic, indeed.
    It should disturb him, but fascination shimmied within him.
    Summer leaned onto the chrome railing, and her hair brushed his cheek. He inhaled, taking her into his senses. Mmm, he missed sex. Could a man have sex with a vampire and survive without being bitten? It was a disturbing thought, but one he should not disregard. Of course, what fear had he of a vampire bite now that he was undead? Was he invincible? Hmm...
    She gestured toward the stage. “That’s my brother playing lead guitar,” she said in a shout.
    Drawn out of his speculation, Nicolo eyed the stage. The man Summer pointed out was tall, lean and wore no shirt, which exposed a well-defined abdomen melded from the palest flesh. Jet-black hair, quite opposite of Summer’s ethereal blond, swung over his dark eyes as he attacked what looked like a guitar. The instrument had six strings, a long neck, and he fingered it as if a guitar, but it was quite different than the ones Nicolo had once played. Streamlined, glossy and so loud.
    â€œJohnny also sings,” Summer added, “but right now the chick singing is his wife, Kambriel.”
    Nicolo liked that name. Sounded angelic. But the woman singing was the furthest from any idea of Heaven he’d ever imagined. She had some vocal chords, that was for sure. The song thumped in his body, and her voice growled along his veins, yet it was oddly seductive. Add to that the black, body-tight shiny fabric she wore and the horns at her skull that popped out from thick, coiling black hair. Her breasts were gorgeous, exposed nicely by the bodysuit, and her lips were so red, Nicolo wondered if she had not just drunk blood.
    â€œShe’s not a demon?” he asked.
    â€œThe horns aren’t real,” Summer said. “Just a prop. She’s vampire. The bass player is also vamp. The guy on the cello is Domingos LaRoque, yet another vamp.” She indicated the brass goggles he wore with a tip to the side of her head. “That dude is terribly allergic to sunlight.”
    â€œThe cello he’s playing is remarkable,” Nicolo said, raising his voice and leaning close to Summer. “How is it so loud? I can hear the instrument over the shouts from the people below, which are deafening.”
    â€œAmps,” she said. “The instruments are electric.”
    â€œLike the lighting? I don’t understand that.”
    â€œElectricity powers pretty much everything nowadays.” She waved to her brother, who waved at her and winked. “I should head backstage. Gotta check Domingos’s violin. He might want to use it in the next set. This way.”
    Nicolo resisted her tug when she started off. Much as the music promised a sensory overload, he felt as if he were in his element. “Could I watch from up here? I’m fascinated with all this, Summer. Those guitars. I have never seen the like.”
    â€œOf course. Just don’t wander off. I’ll get you a drink, yes?”
    â€œYes, please. A nice absinthe, perhaps.”
    â€œI’ll have the bartender send one your way. When the set is done, come backstage. The door is down there.” She pointed to a door outlined with a red glowing light. “I’ll let the bouncer know about you.”
    She leaned in closer to his ear, and her hand slid across his shirt. Nicolo tensed at that touch. To seek her intimate companionship or not? Her touch did not warrant his caution. “Don’t tell anyone who you are. Just try to blend in. Observe. Don’t ask anyone questions. Save them for me, yes?”
    He nodded and placed a hand over hers to keep the connection that felt so seductive to him. “Don’t worry. I’ll take things slowly and with caution.”
    And before she could slip away, he curled his