THE FIRST TIME I SAW him, I stood in a dark corner of the lower galley of the paranormal club known as Hazard.
The dance floor overflowed with every kind of supernatural that resided in New Orleans. The pulse was erotic. Everyone seemed bent on letting loose and having a good time.
And then, he stepped out of a black cloud.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away as I watched him walk up to the massive bar, with a swagger all his own. He surveyed the surroundings of the infamous club. His glance went wide, and then high to the upper galley where all the tables and chairs were taken.
Besides freezing me in my tracks with his holy good gosh, good looks, I noticed he didn’t smile. His expression seemed…confident, maybe even arrogant. He behaved as though he owned the world jazzing all around him.
He actually did. He owned Hazard, and maybe, some of the patrons as well.
I had heard a great deal about him. His name was Grail Wilder, though the supernaturals called him, “The Dark Lord”. The talk was that he was the most dangerous supernatural in all of Louisiana, but especially here in his home base of New Orleans.
I had heard very few paranormals ever tried to cross him and those that did…if they lived, regretted that decision.
I looked him over again. I was intrigued by the height and breadth of the man, by the black layered waves of hair that fell to his shoulders, by his mannerisms. Something about the way he moved sent shivers through me.
I had come to this place—this club that catered to any and all paranormals out of sheer boredom.
I wasn’t bored anymore.