Black Miracles by Karen Koehler

Author:Karen Koehler
Format: epub

The End

Slayer:

Immortal

By Karen Koehler

1

All of his life, Brett Edelman had wanted to be immortal. He doubted it was an old wish, or a very unusual one. Didn’t everyone want to live forever, in one state or another? Immortal in memory, immortal in words, immortal in deeds, good or bad. Yes, he was sure everyone, from king to peasant, from rich man to poor, wanted that. Straight or gay, black or white, dreamer or fatalist—everyone wanted that. Why would they not?

Immortal.

He thought about that word and what it mean even as he lay in Heaven, the loft area of Club Bauhaus, and coupled with Nadine. Nadine, a sweet little bitch, was his usual. Oh he would take others on occasion, but seldom with the ferocity he had for Nadine. Nadine was his. Well, not his, really. Nadine belonged to the Master of the Hive, Jean Paul. They all did. If he so much as breathed a word of possession Nadine’s way or suggested in any way that she leave Club Bauhaus, Jean Paul would have a fit and demand he leave and never return. Really, Jean Paul, being what he was, might do worse that that.

He had seen Jean Paul do things that didn’t even deserve imagining. He knew, downstairs, there was a Members Only room that catered to Jean Paul and his thralls’ more eclectic tastes. No human had ever been there. It was reputed to be the most spectacular place in the world by those in the inner circle. A place where pain transcended pleasure and became something altogether different. Paradise. Hell. Brett didn’t care which. At times like this, draped over the raven-haired, emerald-eyed beastly beauty Nadine as he was, the only thought he had was what it would be like to be a Member of Jean Paul’s clan.

To be Immortal.

Holding that thought, Brett nearly swooned in the throes of the bloodletting. That Nadine had deigned to feed on him tonight only elevated the thrill. Nothing he had ever tried with anyone else had ever had the power of Nadine’s bloody kisses. Softly he felt her delicate breath on his neck, felt the astonishing terror of being held captive to a natural predator—the pain and relief of surrender to a power greater than his own, so rare in this city where he was all but king in his own way—and the wet, exquisite demand of her mouth, her endless mouth. Endless hunger.

Endless… immortal.

He had never understood what the word swoon meant until he darkened the doorway of Club Bauhaus. He had done so about a year ago, when he and a small group of businessmen decided to see what went down in the seediest and most popular club in the Lower East Side. They had sat at round tacky-topped tables and watched the human girls dance and throw off the silk handkerchiefs that passed for clothing. The guys he was with had catcalled as they sank an endless stream of greenbacks into bras and g-strings and called themselves daring.

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