Deamhan Read Online Free Page A

sat, what a person touched.
    Though they differed in feeding habits, they all died the same; beheadings, staking, starvation, and sunlight.
     “Hey!” The waitress again appeared in front of Veronica, stopping her in her tracks.
    How does she do that? Veronica glanced toward the bathroom, afraid she’d be followed. Her chest heaved and beads of sweat collected on her forehead. Maybe she’ll think I’ve been dancing. The air around her felt thick and heavy.
    “You okay?” the waitress asked.
    “I need a drink.”
    “Another whiskey?”
    Veronica nodded, and the waitress disappeared into the crowd. Veronica held her breath to calm her rapid breathing in hopes the adrenaline coursing through her body would dissipate. The pulsating bass emanating from the speakers grew louder and more intense, causing her to rub her temples. The dancer from the bathroom had returned to the stage, now even more scantily clad in a short skirt with white electrical tape X’ed over her nipples, dancing in gymnastic gyrations.
    The crowd’s movement grew violent, with patrons pushing and shoving. The throng morphed into a mosh pit, and Veronica wondered how long it would take before someone was crushed. Fog machines released a steady stream of mist from above the crowded dance floor, giving the huge room an ethereal atmosphere. The lights dimmed, and Veronica could hardly make out the waitress as she returned, carrying a shot of whiskey.
    “Here ya go.” She handed Veronica the drink.
    Veronica gulped her drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, this time thankful for the sensation of the amber liquid searing her throat. She preferred vodka, but at this moment, any liquid running down her gullet was good enough.
    “You want another one?” she asked. Veronica nodded, and the waitress left. Veronica dropped her face to her hands, trying to readjust. Damn, this is harder than I thought it’d be. Her mind raced: hide your thoughts, don’t show fear, stick to the plan.
    She felt a tingling sensation deep in her forehead. In seconds, it had increased to the extent of a migraine. She looked up squinting, the pain becoming more intense with each passing moment, and she knew.
    Someone is reading my thoughts.
    The waitress returned with two drinks. She placed them in front of Veronica.
    “Uh, thanks?” Veronica couldn’t recall ordering two whiskeys, but she pulled out a ten.
    “It’s already paid for.” The waitress pointed to a man sitting at the opposite end of the bar, his long brown hair slicked back in a ponytail. He wore black jeans and a long black see-through shirt, revealing pierced nipples and a six-pack. Beautiful.
    He stared at Veronica with deep brown eyes and smiled, his pale skin resembling a Deamhan at its finest. She felt the pain in her forehead ebb and flow, subsiding a bit each time. Veronica turned to the waitress, but she’d again disappeared.
    Muddled, she downed the whiskey and slammed the empty glass on the table in front of her. She shut her eyes and concentrated on emptying her mind. The pain diffused into a mild tingling.
    Veronica snapped her eyes open when a male voice told her to not be afraid. She whipped around, but no one was near.
    The voice came from within her head.
    “It’s okay,” the voice said.
    She looked at the man, who still fixed her in his stare, and he slid from his seat and headed her way.
    She dropped her head and stared at the counter. She fought the urge to fling her glass at him and run. Leaving Dark Sepulcher wouldn’t answer the questions about her mother’s disappearance. Don’t think of Mom. She quickly visualized the brick wall.
    “Your thoughts stick out,” the man said, taking the empty stool next to her.
    His penetrating stare caused Veronica’s head to tingle again, but the tingle stopped as quickly as it started. She’d clouded his attempt to rummage through her mind.
    Veronica cupped the whiskey glass and stared into its glowing liquid.
    “Beautiful