Soulbound

1. Ashe

The music was almost deafening. The rhythmic cadence, laden with heavy bass drops and sharp technotic upswings, vibrated over the walls and floor until it was pulsing throughout my entire body. Beads of sweat dot my brow and several strands of auburn hair that had since wiggled loose from a messy bun cling to my slicked skin. I resist the urge to swipe them away and instead bury my fingers into the long brown hair of the eager-eyed stranger grinding against me.

The woman's piercing amber eyes, slightly glazed over from the euphoric mix of music and alcohol, roam over my body and I see the hint of a devilish grin dance on her lips. Her desire assaults me in waves and I return her smile in kind.

For a brief moment, I entertain the idea of taking her home for a bit of fun. As it were, tonight I was in the mood for a different flavor. But there was no harm in enjoying the feel of her lithe body pressed against mine, even if only for the moment. The suffocating aroma of leather, sweat, and booze fills the air but it only serves to fuel the raging mob of clubgoers around me and soon I become lost in the strobe-lit revelry.

I needed this. It might have taken a little more self-convincing than I was normally used to, and clubs and crowds are most definitely not my scene, but I needed this tonight. I feel another smile tug at the corners of my lips and I give in, allowing the feeling to wash over me. It has been a while since I've smiled.

When the stifling heat finally overcomes the rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins, I brush the hair from my face and shove my way off the dance floor. The beautiful brunette stays behind, her arms latching on to the next available body as the tempo changes, and I briefly imagine the sort of fun we could have had later. It makes my head spin.

My head is still reeling as I stumble in search of refreshment, nearly losing my footing as I crash into the only empty stool at the bar. "Goddamn heels," I mutter under my breath. I hate heels, they made walking such a chore. But tonight, they were a necessary evil. Snapping my fingers at the bartender, I fight for his attention over the crowd gathered at the dark-lit watering hole, yelling out my order over the music when he finally glances in my direction.

"I'm gonna have to cut you off, sugar plum," the burly bartender says as he pops the cap off a beer bottle. He was a mountain of a man with a stocky build, full beard, and chestnut locks pulled back into a loose bun that somehow made him appear younger than he probably was. "You've hit your limit tonight."

I glower at him, a look that could kill, as I squeeze a hand forcibly into the pocket of my too-tight jeans and whip out a crisp five-dollar bill. "Jack. And. Coke." I enunciate every word as I slap the slip of paper onto the counter. The night was still young and I was not nearly drunk enough. "Consider it my nightcap."

"Sugar plum—"

"Christ, man, just get the lady her drink."

I turn to the man next to me, watching as he lifts the beer bottle to his lips. The thick scruff of black hair around his jaw and neckline gives him a roguish appearance, and his dark eyes regard me with a curious—dare I say predatory—interest.

A shiver runs up my spine as his eyes glance me over again and I know that I've found tonight's flavor. A sense of unadulterated excitement comes over me, but before I can stop myself my defenses kick in and I snap. "What, you don't think I can get my own damn drink?"

The man shrugs indifferently, taking another swig. "Never mind," he says, turning away as he nods to the bartender. "It sounds like you've got it covered, then."