Shee-it.
That was the thought that went through Roman Godfrey's mind as he scanned the club. Young, beautiful women and hip men danced with abandon to the thrumming music. The walls practically shook with the bass line, and the scent of pot and cigarettes, alcohol and sex wafted through the air, mixed in with the pheromones and sweat that emanated from the tuned-in and turned-on couples on the dance floor.
His dark pea coat and tight pants gave him a commanding silhouette. He looked like a catwalk model, long tapers of his boots stylish in the way that only the filthy rich could look. His hair was casually messy; stylish and long enough to be sensual without making him look too feminine. There was a kind of classic James Dean look to him that night; a result of the immortal Upir blood that flowed in his veins, despite his short years on earth. He was going to live forever. He just had to find someone to satiate the physical hunger his body craved that night.
Oh, it wasn't hunger so much as lust. He had drank enough nutrient to keep him satiated deep into the morning. No...what he needed was a beautiful girl with a hot, tight body who would match the angst and sensual need for sex and violence, repeatedly. He was looking for that spark of intelligence and kink that would keep him turned on most of the night; someone who had a high appetite for the physical that went beyond mere grinding. He slid up to the bar and ordered two fingers of Scotch, neat, and scanned the dance floor once again. His eyes slid over most of the patrons as being 'not her'. Not her, not her, not her...maybe her, not her...he sipped the fiery drink and took his time. Once he found 'her' he'd make his move, but until then it was simply enjoyable to see all the pitiful humans bumping and grinding in the hopes of getting their rocks off later that night.
Roman smiled to himself. Worse case scenario he'd simply compel some sweet-mouthed piece of booty to suck him off in the alley. It wouldn't be the first time he simply got off and went home, finding no one in the club worth fucking anywhere but in their pie hole.<|im_end|>
Lacey didn't come here often, in fact, she despised nightclubs and the type of over-cocky assholes that came with them. But what was a hungry predator to do when the place was full of unsuspecting men that she could drain the life from? Nothing was inevitable in Hemlock Grove. She hadn't sensed any other creatures like her; there was one Vargulf that had gone around eating the crotches of women. Pathetic really if you were going to kill someone at least have some creativity to it. Herself had grown tired of the same throat-ripping style that she had kept.
Her amber eyes flickered over the mob of mundanes and something set her senses off. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, someone was disturbing her hunt. Anger twisted her insides, Lacey spotted where the pheromones were coming from. Fuck me, he's good looking, she cursed under her breath. Should she watch from a distance or pull him outside and rip him open? What a waste that would be.
No, it was better to cautiously approach and see what would happen. Slipping closer to where he had stationed himself, she motioned for the bartender to give her a gin and tonic. It would give her enough confidence to challenge her fellow predator.<|im_end|>