Damek's Redemption

Chapter One

It’s good to be King.

Damek stood in a dark corner of his club, Inhibitions, and watched the patrons gyrating on the dance floor to the heavy bass thumping out of the speakers. Bodies rubbed together, hands groped and clothing was being pushed away to find the warmer flesh beneath it.

Blood pumped through their veins, a siren’s call to him, and he licked his lips as hunger rushed through him. It would be so easy to wend his way through the crowd and cull one or two for his own use. His fangs punched downward and his vision started to turn red. He could practically taste the warm blood in his mouth, sliding down his throat. It would be delicious. Powerful.

And it would be wrong. Damek turned away from the dance floor, making certain to keep his mouth closed and his eyes downcast until he had control of himself once again.

Business was booming tonight, as it always was. Inhibitions was one of the favorite hot spots of the rich and famous and wannabes in Chicago, and Damek intended to keep it that way. At any given moment patrons might find politicians, musicians, actors and millionaires rubbing shoulders with one another. Its very exclusive nature kept the lineup outside the door long and never-ending.

He glanced toward the chrome-and-glass bar where people were standing two deep while all three of his bartenders worked as fast as they could to fill orders. Waitresses moved among the tables, watched carefully by the large contingent of security that Damek employed. People could do whatever they wanted as long as it was consensual. But his staff was off-limits, and anyone who harassed the waitresses or bartenders soon found themselves barred from the premises.

Alcohol, pulse-pounding music, dark shadows and the promise of sex—was there anything that could make a person lose all their inhibitions faster? If there was, he hadn’t found it yet. And he’d been alive for a very, very long time.

He was king of all he surveyed and much more. Quite a change from the small village where he’d grown up so long ago in an ancient kingdom no one remembered. But those days were centuries past, and he’d made peace with his existence.

Vampire.

The mere word made some laugh in jest, while others cringed in fear. The latter ones were the smarter. Many of his brethren were an undisciplined bunch, treating humans as though they were nothing but game to be hunted and devoured, which was why many of those vampires were dead. It never paid to underestimate the determination of the human race. Having been human once, Damek was always surprised when newly made vampires forgot such a basic lesson in survival.

Damek had lived more than a thousand years precisely because he never forgot what he’d been like as a human—ruthless, determined and dangerous. Those characteristics had only been deepened after his conversion.

“Boss, there’s a woman asking about you.” Byron, his head bouncer stood beside him, his gaze wandering over the crowd. “There, by the far end of the bar. She doesn’t belong here.”

Damek often wondered what the man’s parents had been thinking to name the man beside him George Gordon, after the infamous poet, Lord Byron. Damek had met the poet in England several hundred years ago and spent a glorious weekend in debauchery, lost in women and wine. No, this man was nothing like the poet.

This Byron, who much preferred that nickname to being called George, stood about eight inches over six feet, shaved his head and wore leather pants and a vest, which showcased his impressive physique. He was intimidating, to say the least. That was why Damek had hired him, but not why he’d risen to be Damek’s right hand here at the club. No, Byron was loyal to his core, and Damek valued that trait above all others.

Not that Byron or any other of Damek’s staff knew what he was. No, he wasn’t that trusting or stupid. They all believed him to be a powerful businessman, which he was, but he was simply much more.

He followed Byron’s gaze to the end of the bar. Alison, one of his best bartenders, had her head bent and she was talking to another woman. Byron’s assessment was right on target, as usual, the woman certainly didn’t look as though she belonged here.

His preternatural vision allowed him to see easily in the darkness, cutting through the flashing lights on the dance floor to the woman in question. She had her head turned away as she spoke, so his eyes drifted down her body and he examined her clothing. No high heels or short dress for her. No, she was wearing sensible shoes, pants and a tailored jacket.

Damek’s curiosity was aroused. “Did she say who she was?”

Byron shook his head. “Nope. Just that she was hoping to talk to you.”

He looked back and all his senses tingled. Her hair was caught at her nape in some kind of decorative clip. It was curly and wild and the color of the night. He wondered what it would look like released from captivity.

His body stirred for the first time in a long while. Months, years, he wasn’t sure. Time lost all meaning when one lived as long as he had.

But it was her face that captivated him. It was heart-shaped, with a pert nose and full, inviting lips. Without seeing them up close, he knew her eyes would be gray.

He’d watched that face from afar many, many years ago, seen it grow wrinkled with age as youth gave way to old age. But that woman had died four hundred years ago. He shook his head, certain he was seeing a ghost.

“You okay, boss?” Byron’s question brought him back to the present, but he was unsettled. And not much unsettled him these days.

“Tell her I’m not available and escort her out of here. You were right. She doesn’t belong.” And if another man made a move on her, Damek would be tempted to rip his head from his shoulders. Literally.

He felt Byron’s gaze on him, but the bouncer did as he was instructed. Not that Damek had any doubt that he would. Byron could be counted on to carry out his orders. He watched as Byron wound through the crowd and stood beside the mystery woman. He hadn’t even asked her name. Probably better that way.

Elizabetta. He still remembered her name from long ago. She’d been no more than a peasant, living with her family in the remote countryside of Transylvania but, to him, she’d been more beautiful than a queen with her bright laughter and quick smile. He’d tarried for years there, leaving but always returning to watch her.

It had almost killed him when she’d married and had children. She’d aged fast, as people had back in those days, and been dead by the time she was in her early forties. She’d left a husband, seven children and six grandchildren to mourn her passing.

Damek swallowed back the pain and rage threatening to undo his ironclad control. He’d wanted to kill her husband for not taking better care of her. Oddly enough, it had been the sight of that man dangling one of his grandchildren on his lap that had stopped Damek. The child had looked so much like her grandmother that Damek hadn’t been able to move. Frozen outside the window to the cottage where Elizabetta had lived and died, he’d watched and known a part of her still lived on.

That had been enough.

Was this woman a descendant of hers? Or was the resemblance nothing more than coincidence?

He wished he were close enough to hear her voice above the heavy music and drunken laughter. Was it softly accented or was it clipped and precise, more American than European. He leaned forward before he realized what he was doing.

Cursing himself, he cloaked his presence and glided along the shadows, moving ever closer to his goal. He stopped just beyond the bar, only feet away from the woman. She was fairly tall, about five-seven and slender. But it was hard to tell much else about her physical attributes without stripping her out of the unflattering suit she wore.

“When will he be in?” Her low, sultry voice sank into the very cells of his body and he closed his eyes and simply basked in it.

“Don’t know.” Byron’s answer was short and concise. “You should leave.”

He went to put his hand on her arm and Damek hissed with displeasure. A wave of pure menace shot out of him before he could control it. Bryon froze, his hand hovering in the air about four inches from her arm. The woman sucked in a breath and glanced around, her gaze falling briefly on Damek before sliding away and continuing around the rest of the room. All the patrons of the club froze on the dance floor, as though some unknown force had control of their motor functions.

Damek silently cursed himself and reined in his emotions. A woman laughed and a glass hit the bar, making the ice inside it tinkle. The music played on and the club gradually returned to normal, but there was an edge to the atmosphere that hadn’t existed before, and Damek knew the club would probably clear out early tonight unless he left the premises. His mood was permeating the place, making everyone here nervous and restless. The woman’s presence here had unsettled him, a dangerous proposition for a vampire.

The woman fumbled in her rather large purse, drew out a card and handed it to Byron. “Please ask him to call me.”

Byron slid the card into his vest pocket but promised nothing. The woman sighed and turned to leave with the bouncer right behind her. Byron kept his hands to himself, for which Damek was extremely grateful. He was on edge and would hate to do something he’d regret tomorrow. Damek followed at a discreet pace, confident no one could see him. He was one with the night, a mere shadow to those around him.

The iron gate that acted as the first door to the club closed with a metallic bang behind the woman, the finality of it sending a shiver of dread down his spine. He frowned and eased from the shadows to stand beside Byron. He didn’t speak, but simply held out his hand.

Byron slid the card out of his vest pocket and put it in Damek’s hand. It was made of heavy vellum and etched in black lettering. Sonia Agostino, PhD in folklore and anthropology. Now what did some academic want with him and his club? He noted she taught at NYU and wondered what she was doing in Chicago.

“I’m going out. You can call me if there’s trouble.” Damek was out the door before he even realized he was going. It was sheer instinct that had him following her. No, not her. Sonia. Her name rolled around in his brain and he smiled. It suited her somehow, a bit old-fashioned and old world.

He had her in his sights now. Her shoes were clicking against the sidewalk as she made her way quickly down the street, her oversized purse slapping against her hip with each long stride. Damek shoved his hands in his pants pocket and strolled after her.

Sonia muttered to herself as she walked. “Well, you knew it wouldn’t be easy.” Yet, she’d expected to walk into a nightclub and talk to the owner. Damek, no last name, at least not one she could find, and she’d done her research.

She sighed, wishing she’d taken the time to change into flats or sneakers. But no, she’d been in such a rush she’d dumped her suitcase at the hotel and hurried straight to the club. Now her feet hurt, she was disappointed and her stomach was growling in protest to the fact she hadn’t eaten since early this morning. She’d been too busy teaching all day before racing to the airport to catch an early evening flight. She’d had plenty of coffee, but not much else.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to slow down and pay attention to her surroundings. Chicago was a city, and like any city, it wasn’t smart to be unaware. The Fulton River District was bustling. Empty warehouses sat alongside new condominiums, which cost more than she could ever hope to afford. Not that she’d ever leave New York and her family. They all lived in a building her grandparents owned in Astoria and she loved it there, loved being a part of a loud, opinionated, boisterous Greek family.

And speaking of family, she needed to call hers before they started worrying about her. She plucked her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and dialed. It was answered on the first ring.

“How was your flight? Have you eaten yet?” All of them might be adults, but Celia Agostino treated them all as though they were still children.

“Hi, Mom.” Sonia smiled as her mother continued to pepper her with questions, interrupting her to answer some of them. “The flight was great and I’m going to get something to eat now.” All she’d told her parents was that she was coming to Chicago to do some research. If they’d known her real reason, they would have stopped her, or all come along with her. She wasn’t quite certain which.

“Are you being careful? Your father worries.”

Her smile grew. It was a family joke that her mother never admitted to being worried about any of her three children. It was always her father who worried. Of course, if his wife wasn’t happy then Vincenzo Agostino wasn’t happy either, so she supposed her mother was telling the truth. “I’m always careful.” She shifted her purse so she had a better hold on it.

“Why are you really there, Sonia? I know it is not simply for research. I sense something more. Something darker.”

That was the problem with having a mother who was part gypsy and part, well, something else altogether. She always knew when Sonia wasn’t telling her everything. “I’m fine.”

“Be careful, my darling. Promise me.”

Her stomach lurched and she slowed, finally coming to a halt outside a small, bustling Italian restaurant. “Do you know something I don’t?” Some people might laugh, but Sonia believed in her mother’s premonitions. They’d been right far too often for her to discount them.

“No. It is all dark. Hidden. Maybe you should come home. Or one of your brothers could fly out to be with you.”

That was exactly what she didn’t need. She loved both Stefano and Milo with all her heart, but they were overbearing know-it-alls, as only older brothers could be. “I’ll be careful, Mom. I promise. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Please be careful, Sonia,” her mother pleaded.

“I will. Love you.” She ended the call but was left feeling anxious and unsettled. “Great. I should have waited until I was back at the hotel to call her.” She started walking fast again, aware of the rush of humanity on the streets as people headed to clubs and restaurants to meet friends and lovers. Roving packs of females and males all looking for some action and some up to more nefarious deeds that she’d rather not know about.

“Get a grip,” she muttered and picked up her pace. She was fine. She was faster and stronger than she looked, and her father had made sure she knew how to handle herself in less-than-desirable situations.

No one knew why she was truly here in Chicago, not even her family. There was nothing in her computer that would point to her real reason either. She was smart and had been trained from birth not to talk about the others.

Most people didn’t believe in the paranormal. Sonia knew better. Her family was a member of The Keepers, a part of a worldwide network of people who helped protect those who weren’t human. Werewolves, witches and other shapeshifters filled the world, but the most elusive supernatural creature of all was the vampire.

She’d come here in search of one.

Some people would call her crazy, but that was fine by her. She’d been ridiculed for her choice of study within the academic world anyway. She’d studied anthropology and folklore, making her field of study the myths and legends of the worlds, specifically those that pertained to otherworldly creatures.

She knew a lot about werewolves, but not nearly as much about vampires. It was only by sheer luck she’d stumbled across a newspaper clipping about the killings in a Chicago park last year. It had all the trademarks of a battle between a group of werewolves and bounty hunters. The bounty hunters were a nasty lot, wanting to kill every supernatural creature, no matter if they were good or bad. That made the hunters evil in her books.

Whether there were werewolves living in the city or not, she didn’t know. They weren’t in The Keepers database. But it had started her looking at Chicago, and in her research she’d come across a mention of a very exclusive club—Inhibitions. For some instinctive reason she’d been compelled to keep digging for information about the club and its mysterious owner.

She might not have the sight like her mother did, but Sonia always listened to her intuition. It had never been wrong. Her curiosity, and a gut feeling that she needed to pursue this further, had led her here.

“Probably all for nothing.” She was grateful for the advent of technology. Now when she talked to herself, people assumed she was talking on her cell phone and didn’t stare quite as much as they had when she was a kid.

A frisson of fear snaked down her spine and Sonia glanced over her shoulder, studying the sidewalk. It was filled with people and there didn’t seem to be anyone watching her. But everyone in her family was big on intuition and she knew there was someone out there following her.

The hotel was still a few blocks away. She was from New York and used to walking, but what had seemed like nothing more than a brisk evening stroll now seemed far too long a distance. Sonia yanked her phone back out of her purse and held her finger above speed dial. If something happened, she wanted her family to know. They were the only ones she could count on to help her if this was something out of the ordinary.

Beneath her tailored jacket, she was sweating and her heart was racing. She walked as fast as she could without running. A breeze hit her as she passed by an open alleyway. It was dark, but something moved down at the far end.

To hell with it. Sonia began to run, weaving in and out around the other people, calling out “excuse me” when she hit someone. She didn’t stop until she was at her hotel. Slightly winded, she paused in the safety of the lobby and peered back behind her, but saw nothing.

“Nerves. Nothing but nerves and lack of food.” She slid her cell phone back into her pocket and made quick time across the lobby to the bank of elevators. She checked to make certain the elevator was empty before she stepped inside and breathed a sigh of relief when the door whooshed shut.

Her fingers had a death grip on her purse strap and she forced herself to release it. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, willing her heart rate back to normal. A bead of sweat rolled down her back and she couldn’t wait to get out of this godforsaken suit and into something more comfortable.

She dug into her oversized purse and found her keycard, having it ready before the elevator door opened on her floor. The hall was well lit, but Sonia still felt exposed and hurried to her room, her shoes making no sound on the carpet.

It took her two tries to get the card inserted into the slot, but the red light finally turned green and she shoved the handle down and pushed the door open. She shut it behind her and set the security lock. The lamp she’d left on earlier illuminated the room, her suitcase still sat on the bed and a low hum came from the heater.

Sighing with relief, she tossed her purse onto the bed and stepped out of her shoes. “See, nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.” She padded to the window, pulled back the sheer curtain and looked down six floors to the sidewalk below.

People walked in both directions and cars, trucks and buses flowed up and down the busy street. The “L”—the elevated, rapid transit system—rumbled in the distance, carrying people to work, home or wherever they were headed. There were lights as far as the eye could see. She let the white panel fall back into place.

She needed to eat but knew she couldn’t face going out again. The room service menu that sat alongside the phone looked very enticing. She picked it up and thumbed through her choices. When she’d made her selection, she picked up the phone and ordered her club sandwich and ice tea, along with a brownie for dessert. They told her it would be about forty-five minutes to an hour wait. Long enough to have a shower and change.

Sonia flipped open her suitcase, drew out a pair of comfy sleep pants and a T-shirt and headed to the bathroom.