Dark Angel 💀 {Erotic Vampire Adventure}

Chapter 24 - 1994, Twenty-One Years Ago

This bar is gross. The floor is sticky, the cramped room smells like stale beer and sweaty men, the lights are so low no human would be able to see clearly, and the patrons are aggressive gutter-punks with enormous chips on their studded shoulders.

I love it here.

This is only my second time really exploring the East Village, which has an unusual amount of coffee shops and college students who want to wine about everything they heard about in a Nirvana song. Posers. But this bar is dark, grimy, and right up my alley.

I've been in Washington D.C. for the past six years training with Gavriel. He wanted to keep me close because I'm one of the youngest recruits in the Dark Angel program. I've been the example of lethality that Gavriel has pointed to when training other Angels; I'm young so marks don't assume I'm a threat, I'm smart so there's never been a witness to my hits, and I don't ask stupid questions that get in the way of doing my job. However, after a lot of begging and some light berating, Gavriel finally agreed that I was ready to branch out on my own.

Gavriel has always been oddly protective of me, something that I valued in the past, but lately it felt like he was smothering me. So this move to New York was a big fucking deal for me. This is the first time I've ever lived by myself, and it's both exhilarating and liberating.

While walking these dirty streets last night looking for I don't even know what, I saw him. The most attractive man I'd ever seen. He was leaning up against the brick wall of a dirty bar looking like a brooding model thinking deep thoughts.

The man was tall with a masculine frame and a remarkable face that cryptically stares into nothing through transpicuous eyes. His alabaster skin reflected the orange glow of the streetlight above, highlighting his austere cheek bones that could slice through a person's heart. He's dressed in a fitted black t-shirt and strategically ripped jeans with a black leather jacket that looks far too expensive to be rebellious. In other words, he was the kind of unobtainable beauty that people see as intimidating (myself included).

But what really set him apart from any other figure on this street, is that he's a vampire. Up until now I hadn't seen any of my kind just casually hanging out in the open. He blended effortlessly with the throng of bodies on the sidewalk, and yet he was so singular it was impossible to look away. I was captivated, and staring like a complete idiot.

When he finished the last drag of his cigarette he flicked the glowing butt into the street and turned to retreat back into the bar behind him.

Bloodsucker. Clever name, must be a vamp bar.

Like any good stalker, I waited for a few minutes before making my way across the street. I had no opening line ready, in fact I'm pretty sure if I tried to talk to him I'd get my own name wrong. Once inside I discovered that it's everything I never knew I was looking for. The only people there were punkers and the music was loud enough to drown out any kind of conversation. I could be anonymous there.

A quick scan of the place left me with the sinking feeling that I'd lost the glorious man I was chasing, but that's probably for the best. I was just checking the place out anyway (yeah, right). I stuck around long enough to find out that a live band with a cheesy name is going to be playing tomorrow.

Perfect.

So now I'm back and mixing in with a crowd full of mohawks, precarious piercings, and leather that makes me feel right at home. I purposefully arrived after the band was scheduled to start because I didn't want to give people the opportunity to talk to me. I merely wanted to absorb the energy of the one hundred or so bodies pressed together and thrashing around like a bunch of hyperactive five-year-olds.

Even though I'm the only chick in this place wearing a skirt, I totally fit in. Of course, I only own one skirt and it's the knee-length atrocity that I was forced to wear at Hardwick, but I've dressed it up with a shredded Ramones t-shirt, a beat-up leather jacket and my favorite pair of Doc Martin boots. My hair is freshly died an electric red color that in no way looks like it occurs in nature, and I've made sure to rim my eyes with enough eyeliner to make a drag queen jealous.