Before The Edge

BEFORE THE EDGE

Kallysten

For Lisa, The Cliff was just one more bar to visit, one more competitor to gauge on her way to opening her own club. The verbal abuse unleashed on her by a patron is unexpected, but not entirely unusual: as a vampire, she has been called worse than ‘killer’ or ‘thing’ before. What is new, on the other hand, is the intervention of the bar’s owner. Lisa isn’t used to humans trying to protect her, and she finds Brett strangely endearing.

For his part, Brett isn’t all that comfortable being around a vampire, but now that he has thrown out the lout who was insulting Lisa, he can hardly ask her to leave. After getting to know her a little, however, he starts seeing the woman beyond the fangs, and when she returns the next night he’s ready to share a dance with her… or even a little more…

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Before The Edge

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Excerpt from On The Edge

A closer look at the On The Edge series

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About the author

Copyright © 2012 Kallysten

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First Published 2012

Second Edition

All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Edited by Donna M.

BEFORE THE EDGE

Glass shattered. A hush fell over the bar. Brett’s head jerked up.

The sound of breaking glass was not all that uncommon. In a bar as busy as The Cliff was, accidents happened often enough, and Brett had a line in his budget specifically for broken glass. It was rare for said breakage to be the fault of Wallace, the bartender, or Chloe and Kelly, the two waitresses. The three of them were good at what they did, and their promptness and smiles earned them generous tips from most patrons. Usually, an accident was a sign that someone had had a drink too many, although Wallace was also pretty good at cutting people off when he thought they had had enough. If the sound was more ominous, John, the bouncer, had a knack for calming potential problems before they could escalate.

Tonight was John’s night off, however, and while Brett was supposed to have kept an eye on the mood of the place, he had been too caught up in his accounting spreadsheets to realize trouble was brewing. Now, he could only curse his own inattention under his breath and hurry to the bar. Wallace was nowhere in sight; a glance to the back, where the staff room door stood open, answered the question of where he was, though it did not explain why he hadn’t asked Brett or one of the waitresses to cover for him rather than leave the bar unattended.

About halfway down the counter, a man was towering over a woman seated on a high stool. The broken glass was at their feet, and even as Brett approached the man grabbed a glass from the bar and threw it to the floor, presumably the same way he had thrown the first.

You bitch! Answer me! How many people have you killed?

The woman uncrossed her legs, setting her high heels on the foot rest as though ready to step down and stand, but she said nothing in reply to the odd question. She merely stared at the man, one dainty eyebrow arched in a silent accusation of the man’s rudeness.

What seems to be the problem? Brett asked in his best ‘I am in charge here’ voice.

A couple of patrons on either side of the argument shifted back, probably glad that they wouldn’t have to get involved. The woman’s face remained blank save for that raised eyebrow, the relief Brett would have expected conspicuously absent from her expression.

The man whirled toward Brett, his mouth twisted on a grimace of rage. His eyes weren’t bloodshot as Brett had expected, nor did he slur his speech or waver on his feet.

You work here? the man demanded, his finger pointing toward the bar’s logo embroidered on Brett’s polo shirt.

Actually, I own the place, Brett replied coolly. And like the sign on the wall says, the management reserves the right to remove disruptive patrons.

Movement at Brett’s side drew his attention, and he glanced at Wallace, catching a brief look of apology. Later, Brett would ask where Wallace had been, but for now he was grateful for the backup.

"Why don’t you remove that thing, then? the man said with a jerk of his head toward the still silent woman. Let her know that her kind isn’t welcome here, or in Haventown for that matter."

Brett’s frown was one of pure confusion. What on earth was this guy rambling about? Brett looked at the woman again, intending to ask her if she knew the man and if he had some mental issues, maybe. For the first time, however, he caught a glimpse of the mirror affixed high on the wall behind the bar. He could see himself there, and the angry man. He could see Wallace and the other patrons observing the scene. But the woman was nowhere to be seen. She was still sitting on the high stool, now with her back to the counter as she watched Brett with that same cool look, but she cast no reflection in the mirror.

The man’s ramblings, suddenly, were starting to make sense. He had asked the woman about killing people. He had called her a thing, talked of ‘her kind.’ She was a vampire; that was what the guy meant.

For a split second, Brett hesitated. He had been to a blood bar, once, one of those places that not only served blood to vampires but also allowed vampires to meet—and feed from—humans who had a biting fetish. He’d left again before talking to anyone, his fear getting the best of his curiosity. The Cliff wasn’t a blood bar, but neither did it have a policy against the presence of vampires. Discrimination against vampires wasn’t technically legal, but there were loopholes that allowed anyone to refuse to serve vampires if they so chose. Brett felt a little uncomfortable at being so close to a vampire, but until she actually threatened someone he couldn’t in good conscience throw her out.

Turning his attention back to the man, Brett met his eyes and asked, loud enough that other patrons would hear, Did she bite you without your consent?

The man scowled. "My consent? Like I’d let her get close enough to even try!"

Brett nodded once. All right. Did she threaten you, then? In words or in actions?

Don’t you fucking understand? She’s a vampire! She’s a killer!

"I am a vampire, the woman said, speaking for the first time. Her voice remained calm, but there was an edge to it, like a sheathed blade waiting to be drawn. I am also a paying customer of this establishment. A tax-paying citizen of this town. A legal resident of this country. But I am not a killer."

Brett had heard enough. Squaring up his shoulders, he indicated the way to the exit.

Sir, I’m going to ask you to leave the premises.

The man stared at Brett in shock, his mouth working soundlessly for a few seconds before he found his words again.

Me? He sputtered. Don’t you get it? She’s the one—

"She’s not the one making a scene