Immortal Chocolate (a vampire novel)

Part 6

Chapter 3

I was holding a microphone, staring out over a half-drunk crowd, a smile forming on my face. Some of my human best friends were cheering me on, drinks in their hands, dishes of junk food on the table. This was what I loved about ‘pretending’ to be human—being a complete idiot, just because you can be. I lifted the microphone to my lips, my voice enticed humans, so everyone in here whether I sounded like Beyonce or like a dying cat, would think I was amazing.

At times I wondered, what was the real deal with my looks or singing voice? Before I died, I used to sing to my dad, he’d pull out his old fiddle, and we’d go to town. Thinking about my dad still brought a very dull sadness, but it had been so long now, it had almost vanished.

“Iva! Iva!” my friends chanted, bringing me back into the present time. I began to sing, the tune was something completely stupid, that I messed up on three times, but that only made my friends laugh and the crowd cheer louder. Like I said, I could sound like a dying cat, and people would go nuts.

A soft voice waved through the crowd, of course me being me, picked it up. It was what they said, not the whisper that caught my attention. I know what you are, Iva.

I stopped mid-song, and that only made everyone cheer more. I half stumbled off the stage, just for dramatic effect, and kinda tossed the microphone to the next karaoke victim. My eyesight shifted and I saw someone glowing with inferred heat, good lord, why was a werewolf here?

Werewolves were completely unsocial, and honestly, in my hundred or whatever years of being the undead, I’d seen one only twice. They were easy to pick out in a crowd though, just look for the one glowing like a volcano.

A lot of vampires despised these guys, some ancient beef, that I never cared about, but I was intrigued. Why was he here? If it was a he—the figure was cloaked in some freaky bear rug. I cleared my throat, running my fingers through my red hair, who was I trying to impress here? Smelly-bear-rug dog boy? I scoffed at myself as I came within a few feet of the beast. His face tipped up, just enough for me to make out some features.

His face was lined with age old worry, his brow rippled with wrinkles, lines around his mouth made him look like he was permanently in a bad mood. What had happened to old bear rug anyways? He looked pretty annoyed.

“I need to talk to you, Iva.”