I go by the name of Lili Tu, and I amuse myself owning Club C, a BDSM club for vampires and werewolves. I'm an elemental, a force of nature, and Detective Michael Munroe won my jaded heart the moment I met him.
Problem is he suspects me of murdering shape shifters. I could force him to love me, I have the power, but what is the value of that?
Problem is he's a shifter himself, and a demon is out to kill him. Can he see past his suspicions, see me as someone he can love, someone he can trust?
Problem is I have what is euphemistically called a checkered past... I've done some very dark and terrible things. Mortals inhabit a realm of night, blind to the true beauty of reality. Can Michael love me when he sees me in the light?
Note: Although this story can be read as a standalone, it is joined by the characters from Endless Night on their journey and is best when read sequentially.
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Realm of Night (Protect and Serve)
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 Mikala Ash
I go by the name Lili Tu. My real name is almost unpronounceable to modern tongues, but that's not the only reason I go by this easier version. I'm a willing victim of my own ego, and have a deliciously perverse wish to pay homage to a dark and misunderstood past. If you wish to drool over the lurid depths of my supposed depravity, then join the two words together and look me up on the internet; however the truth, as usual, is far, far stranger.
For the moment I'm the owner of Club C, a rather unique club catering to the manifold needs of vampires and werewolves, the occasional shape shifter and fairy, as well as members of some not so well known species who take squatter rights in this crazy and, as the poet William Blake would have it, malevolent Realm of Night.
I'm impossibly old, though you'd never guess from my appearance. Lately I've been told that I seem to be barely out of my twenties, but I think twenty-five is closer to the mark. I like my current manifestation with its slim athletic build, long black hair, and a matching sultry countenance. Being prone to a touch of narcissism, I have fallen in love with my feline eyes the color of India ink, the prominent cheekbones with a slightly haughty nose between and the lusciously full lips below.
This skin suits me well. After many millennia I finally feel at home.
I could tell the man sitting opposite appreciated the view as well. Detective Michael Munroe gazed at me with unmistakable lust. I'm sure he believed he was hiding it well. To his credit he was behaving very professionally. It's just that I've seen desire before, a million times in fact, and no one can hide it from me.
For instance, he wasn't gawping at my generous cleavage, or my crimson lips while imagining what they could do to his manhood, though imagine it he did. Instead, his gaze alternated between my eyes, my slightly open lips and his leather bound notebook.
With an ornate gold pen, he carefully wrote down my last response.
"That's spelt T-U," I said, with only a slightly mocking tone.
He cleared his throat. "Ms. Tu," he began, but I interrupted him with a playful tilt of the head. His gaze lingered on my lips.
"Miss Tu is acceptable," I emphasized my single status, "but my friends call me Lili. That's spelt with two Is, no Ys."
He made the corrections in his notebook.
"Miss Tu," he began again.
He shifted in his chair. His inevitable erection was clearly bothering him. I considered a bold move to suggest I help him relieve the pressure, but reluctantly put my own lust aside. He was here on an important matter. I should respect that. But the scent of his lust in my nostrils made that difficult, even for one as experienced and jaded as me.
"Miss Tu," he doggedly continued. He had willpower. I liked that. Undoubtedly Detective Michael Munroe was a true professional, and he wouldn't be swayed from his duty. His assertiveness faltered, however, just for a moment. His gaze fixed on my tongue as I moistened my bottom lip.
He was good looking; there was no doubt of that, but he was not handsome in the book jacket sense. His tanned face was rugged and well worn, though he could only be in his early thirties. His hazel eyes, which held a tint of professional coldness, still suggested an innate compassion, and at this realization my heart gave a whimper of regret. Compassion was one of the things I seemed to have lost along the way.
"I'm investigating a series of disappearances. Three local businessmen have gone missing over the last two weeks. This is the fourth. Have you seen this man?"
He extracted a small photograph from his notebook and held it up for me.
I shifted my gaze to consider the image of one Sheldon Hicks.
"May I have a closer look?" I asked and reached out for the photograph. I purposefully grazed his fingertips with mine, an obvious move, but it had the desired effect. I sensed his lust go up a notch -- as did mine, for the touch was electric.
I studied the photograph for a moment before shaking my head with a lie. "I'm sorry. I don't recognize this man at all. Who is he?"