Oct 8 2011
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Why didn’t the Fomhoire ever just walk up to him and tap him on the shoulder? They would be so much easier to kill that way. Duncan tossed back his fourth Macallan and signaled for another. The bartender gave him a calculated look before grabbing a clean glass for a refill. Duncan glared back and shoved the empty shot glass into the collection before him on the bar and glanced around at the gyrating bodies and clusters of drunken men trying to pick up equally drunk women. He had no doubt a few would manage to complete negotiations before the night was through. The teeming bodies surrounding him gyrated to the heart-pounding music with a bass so loud and strong it hammered through his chest. He hated this. The people, the noise, the overwhelming desire to refuse Dagda and his future be damned.
Five more minutes. Then he’d leave, try again tomorrow. The sentinel system rarely delivered false information so he knew that sooner or later, his prey would be here.
The bartender gave him a questionable look. “Think you’ve had enough, buddy?” When Duncan only stared, the man shook his head and set the glass before him.
If the man only knew how close he was to the truth. He was lifting the glass to his lips when the hairs rose on the back of his neck. Turning slowly to face the door, he watched the woman enter the place. He felt her as she made her way through the crowd to the other end of the bar. She took a seat and signaled the bartender, ordered something then swiveled toward the dance floor.
Duncan studied the petite woman. Dark hair that fell down her back, he couldn’t tell the color of her eyes from where he sat, but he saw by the way she took everything in that she was very aware of where she was. He hadn’t been told when he talked to his contact that the demon was a woman, but no, he didn’t sense that from her. The Fomhoire had a certain something Duncan could sense and this woman didn’t have it. What she did have was much more profound and for a brief moment, it touched something deep within him he thought had died centuries ago.
She must have been drinking something similar to his. Same color, same initial amount in the glass, but she didn’t take it all at once like he did. She sipped it slowly. And he watched the muscles in her throat work as the liquid slid down it. Seeing the way her skin slid over her throat. A throat his lips could follow down to her shoulder and lower still…
He shook his head to clear it. He didn’t need any complications and she had the option to be a huge one. He needed to find the demon, kill it and get back to his solitary life.
Away from humanity.
Away from the complication at the other end of the bar.