waves to the narrow of her small waist. Her skin looked pore-less, a soft peaches and cream with the tiniest smattering of freckles across her dainty nose. And her eyes.... They were like ice. Like the hidden parts of glaciers, frozen oceans so unfathomably deep, should someone fall in, it was unsure whether he would first freeze or drown.
She was exquisite; impossibly, so.
All he could do was stare at her as she approached a moving van filled with musical equipment, blankets, pads, and dusty tarps. She was accompanied by a woman with shoulder-length dark hair. Behind the girls followed two men. Cole was stunned to find that his immediate and instinctive craving was to rip both of their male throats out.
"Charlie, you worry too much," the angel's black-haired companion was saying. "He's just RFB comping us because the casino is new and he's taking a chance in this economy and he wants us to be comfortable enough to stick around."
The angel seemed to think about that for a moment. She bit her lip and Malcolm found himself growling. Low. Hungry . His gums were aching once more, his fangs yearning to grow and pierce and feed.
"Why us, M.J.? He's obviously loaded. He owns several casinos around town. Why doesn't he really draw a crowd in with someone like... I don't know - Three Days Grace or Rihanna or even the Jonas Brothers?"
The dark haired woman threw back her head and laughed heartily. "Sweetie, you really went all over the place with that one, didn't you?"
The men laughed as well, but it was a friendly laugh.
"You underestimate us, Charlie,” one of the young men told her. He was tall and well-built and wore long dread locks. His eyes were starkly colored, reminding Cole of a werewolf’s eyes, though he smelled human. “And especially yourself. Don't forget that we were booked up for three months' worth of showings when we signed this contract for Mr. Phelan...."
Malcolm's attention deviated for a moment by the growing pain in his wrists. He tried to focus further on their conversation as he glanced down at his arms to see that the cursed markings were beginning to glow. He didn't have much time.
His head snapped back up and his green eyes once more settled on the Dormant. Charlie. Charlie , he thought.
"And the only reason we were at Scott's for so long is because you figured we owed him," the dark haired woman added.
Charlie turned to face her. "You really think we're that good?"
The young man with long reddish-brown dread locks and starkly colored eyes shoved his hands into his pockets and fixed Charlie with a rather exasperated expression. "Girl, you can't be serious."
Charlie shrugged, arms up, expression innocent.
"M.J. how many of Charlie's stalkers have we had to do away with in the last month?” he asked, his eyes still on Charlie.
M.J., the dark haired girl, made a derisive sound. "Three, if you kick it up to a month and a half."
"Okay," the man went on. "Three stalkers in forty days and no fewer than six bands in the Burgh trying to steal our drummer away from us because she's so good." He shook his head. "We're good, Charlie," he reiterated, nodding as he said so. "You know we are, so don't pretend. And don't pretend that you don't know it's mostly because of you."
At that, the other band members fell silent. They were all watching her. Malcolm looked on in rapt fascination as she blushed beneath the scrutiny.
And then the world began to look smudged around him. A sharp pain shot up his spine, arcing like lightning through his tall, strong body. Malcolm doubled over, robbed of breath. Move now! his mind screamed.
With speed that blurred, he spun away from the sidewalk and rounded the corner, entering the adjacent dark alley. He had the tiny fragment of time to notice the stench of rotting garbage and the distant wail of sirens as the world finally melted completely, flared once, and then sent him reeling back into his own territory.
He flashed into the stone corridor with a horrid jolt