He casually brought his bottle of beer to his lips, all the while keeping an eye on the dance floor. Club Smoke was as safe as someplace run by a Were-Dragon could be, but Aidan Gallagher, the club’s owner and Nic’s friend, occasionally asked Nic to provide some muscle and intimidation. Sipping the bitter brew, he winced. After four hundred and fifty years his body tolerated small amounts of foreign liquid, but blood was the only thing that truly satisfied him. He took in the scene around him; scantily clad women crammed the dance floor, grinding on each other and the men brave enough to take them on. A year ago he would have been in the mix of sweat and sleek bodies, seeking out blood and sex from one of the women who regularly offered themselves up to the Vampire. Humans loved being with Vampires, with any of the Night Creatures, really. Nic knew there was nothing quite like the rush one felt the first moment a lover’s fangs pierced tender flesh, nothing like the power of a Were riding over and inside of you like a lightning storm.
