This bar is gross. The floor is sticky, the cramped room smells like stale beer and sweaty men, the lights are so low no human would be able to see clearly, and the patrons are aggressive gutter-punks with enormous chips on their studded shoulders.
I love it here.
This is only my second time really exploring the East Village, which has an unusual amount of coffee shops and college students who want to wine about everything they heard about in a Nirvana song. Posers. But this bar is dark, grimy, and right up my alley.
I've been in Washington D.C. for the past six years training with Gavriel. He wanted to keep me close because I'm one of the youngest recruits in the Dark Angel program. I've been the example of lethality that Gavriel has pointed to when training other Angels; I'm young so marks don't assume I'm a threat, I'm smart so there's never been a witness to my hits, and I don't ask stupid questions that get in the way of doing my job. However, after a lot of begging and some light berating, Gavriel finally agreed that I was ready to branch out on my own.
Gavriel has always been oddly protective of me, something that I valued in the past, but lately it felt like he was smothering me. So this move to New York was a big fucking deal for me. This is the first time I've ever lived by myself, and it's both exhilarating and liberating.
While walking these dirty streets last night looking for I don't even know what, I saw him. The most attractive man I'd ever seen. He was leaning up against the brick wall of a dirty bar looking like a brooding model thinking deep thoughts.
The man was tall with a masculine frame and a remarkable face that cryptically stares into nothing through transpicuous eyes. His alabaster skin reflected the orange glow of the streetlight above, highlighting his austere cheek bones that could slice through a person's heart. He's dressed in a fitted black t-shirt and strategically ripped jeans with a black leather jacket that looks far too expensive to be rebellious. In other words, he was the kind of unobtainable beauty that people see as intimidating (myself included).
But what really set him apart from any other figure on this street, is that he's a vampire. Up until now I hadn't seen any of my kind just casually hanging out in the open. He blended effortlessly with the throng of bodies on the sidewalk, and yet he was so singular it was impossible to look away. I was captivated, and staring like a complete idiot.
When he finished the last drag of his cigarette he flicked the glowing butt into the street and turned to retreat back into the bar behind him.
Bloodsucker. Clever name, must be a vamp bar.
Like any good stalker, I waited for a few minutes before making my way across the street. I had no opening line ready, in fact I'm pretty sure if I tried to talk to him I'd get my own name wrong. Once inside I discovered that it's everything I never knew I was looking for. The only people there were punkers and the music was loud enough to drown out any kind of conversation. I could be anonymous there.
A quick scan of the place left me with the sinking feeling that I'd lost the glorious man I was chasing, but that's probably for the best. I was just checking the place out anyway (yeah, right). I stuck around long enough to find out that a live band with a cheesy name is going to be playing tomorrow.
Perfect.
So now I'm back and mixing in with a crowd full of mohawks, precarious piercings, and leather that makes me feel right at home. I purposefully arrived after the band was scheduled to start because I didn't want to give people the opportunity to talk to me. I merely wanted to absorb the energy of the one hundred or so bodies pressed together and thrashing around like a bunch of hyperactive five-year-olds.
Even though I'm the only chick in this place wearing a skirt, I totally fit in. Of course, I only own one skirt and it's the knee-length atrocity that I was forced to wear at Hardwick, but I've dressed it up with a shredded Ramones t-shirt, a beat-up leather jacket and my favorite pair of Doc Martin boots. My hair is freshly died an electric red color that in no way looks like it occurs in nature, and I've made sure to rim my eyes with enough eyeliner to make a drag queen jealous.
I'm hunting tonight, but not for a mark.
I'm barely jostled as I weave my way through the tight-knit crowd (vampire strength comes in handy when wading through moshing humans). There are a few other vampires here, but they are mostly hanging back from the mayhem, choosing to bob their heads to the music and smirk at the scene in front of them. Humans think they're so rebellious and brave, until faced with one of us.
Without trying to look like I'm searching for the devastatingly handsome stranger, I scan the room and my eyes eventually come to rest on the lead singer of the band. It's him. He's flogging along to the music, encouraged by the volume of the instruments and the roar of the room, but even in his state of anarchistic rage, he's stunning.
I easily push my way towards the front of the stage to see a row of women, all of them completely out of place in this bar, and all of them staring upwards at the object of their affection. Suddenly I feel utterly ridiculous. Of course this man has a bevy of women both vampire and human to choose from, so why did I ever think he was going to pay any type of attention to me?
I decide that I'll watch the show for about five minutes and then retreat back out into the night. That's when he looks up as if he heard my thoughts.
Gawd, he's got the bluest eyes I've ever seen.
His stare is so intense that it pulls you in, like a tractor beam. But the weird thing is, I could swear he's staring at me.
I look to my right and left to make sure that there isn't some other woman next to me that he's trying to make eyes at. On my right is a guy that stands at least two heads taller than me with enough metal in his face to be declared a construction site, and to my right is a mountain of a man standing stark still.
This exquisite vampire has fixed his eyes on mine and I am helpless. All I can do is stare back because I'm spellbound by the way he moves. His mouth twitches up at the side and he gives me a lopsided smile before turning his attention back on the crowd briefly, but then his eyes come back to mine.
For the next hour I continue to mix with the crowd and low and behold the lead singer's eyes follow me! When the set is done and everyone is cheering loudly, he thanks the crowd in a British accent that sounds like a cross between a Beatle and Keith Richards.
As if he couldn't get more attractive.
He reaches over and stops the guitarist of the band before he can walk off stage and whispers something in his ear. The guitarist, who I'm honestly seeing for the first time all night, pulls away with a funny look and hands the singer his guitar.
The gorgeous vamp comes back to the mic slinging the instrument over his shoulder with a boyish grin out to the crowd. Everyone around me roars in response (well, it's probably most of the women in the bar letting out a collective orgasm, the dudes could care less at this point).
"Right." He says to the room, his eyes darting over to mine once again. "I'm gonna play something that will probably shock the lot of you. But I couldn't give a fuck if you like it or not. This, is for a very special lady."
Again a shared squeal erupts from the females in the front and he flashes them a cheeky grin to melt their panties.
When he begins strumming the bar falls completely silent, because the men have no idea what is going on, and the women are quietly praying the singer meant them. He's playing a song that could earn him a beating from the more angry guys in this crowd. It's a soft sweet melody that even I have to admit I like (though I don't think I would say it publicly). His voice almost perfectly matches the songwriter's doleful tone as he begins the lyrics to Wicked Games.
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you,
No, I wanna fall in love (this girl is only gonna break your heart)
No, I wanna fall in love (this girl is only gonna break your heart)
With you (this girl is only gonna break your heart)
With you (this girl is only gonna break your heart)
No, I... (this girl is only gonna break your heart)
(this girl is only gonna break your heart)
Nobody loves no one.
Then, his eyes find mine once more and we're deadlocked. Most of the men in the bar have abandoned the floor in search of alcohol while the women have crowded the front of the stage, but we could be completely alone for all he seems to care. When the final chords fade out, the singer hops down from the stage.
Oh shit, is he coming over here?
His confident gate is hypnotic. His crooked smile should be illegal. I feel as though my body and brain are being assaulted by hormones I didn't even know I had, but I can't look away.
Be cool. Just be cool.
Fuck, who am I kidding? I've never been cool.
This is going to be a disaster.
"I'm Christian." He says in a low, husky voice that scrambles my brain as he points towards the door. "Will you have a talk?"
Author's Note
If you'd like to hear the song and singer who inspired this chapter, I highly encourage you to watch this video:
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