The Temptress - Chapter two

I just had to post this chapter. This story is different from my other ones. Very fun to write and experience through Morgans eyes. 

(Kismet Encounters and Ill-Fated Circumstances)


Giselle smiles prettily. Her straight white teeth stand out against her caramel colored skin. "Of course. Please follow me."

She moves a velvety red curtain to the side and motions for me to follow her.

         I’ve never been inside the restaurant during open hours. Whenever Little Tony and I had our secret rendezvous it would be on the other side of the restaurant in the steel appliance chef’s kitchen where I would shameingly gorge myself on bowls of pasta.

         It's too bad I'm not here for pleasure because I could really go for their Spaghetti alla Carbonara. It may be a simple dish based on egg, cheese, and bacon but surprisingly not many people get it right.

        Here at Little Tony's everything is home-made and 100% authentically Italian as opposed to other restaurants that serve store-bought spaghetti. I should know. One of my perps was a chef who worked in a family style restaurant similar to this one. He told me the secret to their In-House Spaghetti was Ragu. Needless to say I have not visited that particular establishment ever since. 
  
       Little Tony sure has expensive taste. The place looks regale; with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, long stemmed red roses posted every few feet, and expertly hand-crafted marble statues. If you don’t pay attention to where you’re walking you could easily break something and end up paying for damages that would cost more than a hefty tab of twelve people. 

I look around making sure one of Darius's goons isn't lurking somewhere around the corner.

         To the left is an open brick oven. The pizza maker is flipping dough in the air and twirling his hands expertly creating a large circle. Families seated next to the oven clap and whistle as the pizza maker does one final toss before placing the perfectly round dough on a wooden paddle.

         On the right side of the expansive restaurant groups of people laugh and talk animatedly as they stuff their mouths with carbs and creamy sauce. I don't recognize any faces in the mass of bodies, but I still have my guard up in case someone decides to surprise attack me. 

         We walk past a young shifter couple who are feeding each other samples off their plates. I try, and shameingly fail, to not stare at their intimate gesture of affection as the man positions a forkful of Veal Scaloppine Bolognese in front of his date. I know firsthand how it tastes. It’s just one of the many dishes that I have tried before passing inspection and becoming a regular item on the menu.

         The woman's mouth opens, revealing a double row of sharp razor-like teeth. She catches me staring and hisses in my direction, her long red tongue moving from side to side. Yuck. 

I roll my eyes at the pregnant shifter.

         I would feel bad for my rude behavior if it weren't for the fact that she is close to showing her true hideous form. My instincts kicking in, I stand legs apart and ready just in case they decide to attack. We may be in a room full of paying customers but that doesn't matter. It's kill or be killed. And, sure, I may be a 'dead woman walking' but over the years I have become quite attached to my body thank you very much.

The man glances towards me with a twisted look of fear and then back to the now half-lizard/ half-serpent woman.

         By the look in his eyes, it seems that he knows what I am. Great. I was really hoping to avoid a confrontation. Unfortunately, this sort of thing happens more often than I would care to admit. Once people find out what I am they either do one of two things. 1. Run away in fear or 2. Try to overcome me with brute strength and on occasion by street smarts. Neither of which work in their favor.

         Sure, I could easily kill the woman along with her unborn child and the boyfriend sitting across from her. But I really don't want to make a scene. Which is funny considering my kind gets a sick thrill from ripping people’s throats out.

         Calculating, I watch as the man rubs small circles on her now claw-like hand with his long thumb. Slowly her green scales turn back into human flesh and in place of yellow claws are perfectly manicured nails.

The woman picks up her fork and stuffs her mouth with her bowl of Sweet Potato Ravioli as if the whole incident never happened.

         Female shifters are known to be overly defensive when it comes to their young. Even though I did not psychically threaten the woman my strong aura must have set her off.

         Normally Shifters are not very aggressive creatures. They are pacifists and counselors. Even though they are less dominant than most, not many Underworlds’ pay much attention to them. I believe it is because of their dominantly blue aura. They are known to be calm under any stressful circumstance. That's what makes them such great mediators. And why they choose to live in the mortal world posing as human cops.
For now it seems the woman is controlled but who knows when something will trigger her protective instincts.

I take one last glance at the couple just in case they decide to surprise attack me.

         They are looking into each other’s eyes lovingly. After some time the woman rubs her belly affectionately and smiles up at him past her long eyelashes. Having seen enough of their intimate moment I flick my hair behind my back and continue following the hostess, Giselle, who is now speaking to some guy positioned in front of a closed off room.

        As if feeling my presence Giselle turns around and smiles. "Armand will take care of you from here.” she says and walks back to her station at the front of the house. 

         Armand is a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair shaved in a short buzz cut that has on a fitted blue dress shirt that hints to a perfectly sculpted chest and some slacks that cup his crotch snugly. He is a skilled warrior and has multiple tattoos along his arms to show for it. 

         You don't see warriors every day. They’re like the night. Deadly and silent. They use their skills working in high intelligence operations doing classified missions or in Armand’s case, personally seeing fit to a wealthy Underworlders well-being.

         One thing is for sure. He's not working for Little Tony. I know everyone that works intimately with Little Tony. I make it a habit to know as much as I can about the people I work with.

        I rest my hand casually on my purse so I don't draw attention to the bag resting on my shoulder. He would need to search it and I'm really hoping to avoid that. But if it comes down to it I might be able to take him. I think.

         I watch him as he checks me out with a calculating stare; starting from my curly hair that is framing around my heart-shaped face, to my c cup that is sitting upright thanks to my push-up bra, and down my leather stretched skinny jeans. His eyes scan my body once more as he glances back up. Once his eyes meet mine I smile in amusement. Well, it seems I did choose the right outfit after all. Either he has a really demanding boss or for some unknown reason he hasn’t gotten any in a while. From what I can tell he’s clearly not gay and he definitely doesn’t have a hard time getting it up. For the moment I pretend not to notice his arousal.

"If I wasn't on duty I would take you to nice restaurant that doesn’t serve Italian." Armand says in his thick and husky voice.

My smile turns flirtatious. "MMM...And I might have let you too."

         He grins widely and holds out a purple card with six pointed stars in front of him. I take a deep breath and channel the energy around me, focusing on the card but still fully aware of my surroundings. I can't risk tapping into my full power when there are people who want me dead. That would be suicide and really stupid on my part. I watch, mildly interested, as my aura moves in a colorful whirl around me; a mixture of blue, red, and pink.

         I grimace as a strip of Armands' turquoise and red aura mingles in with mine. I hate it when that happens. It's like when somebody invades my personal space. Uncomfortable and awkward.

         When a person has a turquoise aura it means that they are highly energized, good organizers and capable of influencing others. These are qualities that are found in great leaders.

         Based on his aura alone I can tell Armand is a strong warrior and a very good one no doubt. And, by the looks of it, great in bed too. The red strip of color that’s slowly coming from him is lust that still has yet to fade away.

         I build an energy wall up and around my entire body which keeps his aura at a safe distance away from me. Now that my aura is not 'tainted' I can comfortably use my clairsentient ability to 'see' what image is on the card. 

         The spot between my eyebrows heats up and slowly a picture forms in my mind as if I were looking right at it. In the greyish background the sun is rising. Death is dressed from head to toe in armor and is sitting on a malevolent white horse. There is a black flag with a white rose on it in his left hand. Lastly, there is a boat steadily floating along the river bank.

         I create the seal of a mental barrier around my body. The invisible energy around me fades away. My aura is now a low hum in the background, no longer visible unless I choose to open my channel once again. Which, for the time being, I will not.

I look at Armand with an easy grin plastered on my face.

          To anyone passing by the whole skit took less than ten seconds. I would have been quicker if I used my full strength but the night is still young and I need to use it sparingly.

"Death.", I answer the silent question.

         He nods and puts the card at the bottom of the pack that way no one else gets the same card twice. With a 78 card deck there's a fat chance of that happening any time soon.

"Right this way Miss Collins.", Armand says. He opens the curtain to the private section of the restaurant.

         I walk passed a fully alert Armand who is now in soldier mode watching for any suspicious activity that may want to cause harm or worse, deadly injury to his subject. Well that makes sense. He’s married to his job. What a pity. He places the curtain back down for privacy measures once I enter the private section of the restaurant.

         The room is full of very important vampires who are throwing back shots of the good stuff and of course, Little Tony, who is seated at a table near the far end of the room casually smoking a cigar. Once he catches sight of me he smiles and dismisses the men at his table.

         I may have somehow gotten past Armand with a loaded gun in my purse but I'm not too sure I'll be as lucky with Little Tony's bodyguard. 

Sirens are compelled to do whatever a vampire tells them. If Little Tony sirened one of them to set themselves on fire and jump off a cliff they would do it even if it meant the end of their existence. That's how powerful the psychic bond is between a vampire and his or her siren.

Thankfully I can't be compelled easily. Just the very thought of being at someone’s every beck and call makes me sick.

A guy in a green suite and way too many gold chains around his hairy chest comes up to me and pats me down.