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"Evil lives in the dark. We instinctively know this as children."
Nestled high in the mountains...
The quiet community of Jackson Station is where everyone knows your name and...species?
Vampires have existed since almost the beginning of time, but not in the way we have been led to believe. These were not men cursed by the devil but warriors blessed by God to have great strength, agility, and eternal life.
Eternal life came at a price, the price of human blood. Some chose to live within their own society; The Society of Sinners.
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Wiping down a bar with a questionably clean towel was not how Cherish Tyrone pictured her life turning out when she was a little girl, but at twenty-four, her future plans took a downhill slide. She was an Other, not a Vampire. She was turned, not born, into immortality; in other words, she was walking home from class one night when some asshole came along and ruined her life, or death, depending upon how one looked at it. Being an Other meant she lived outside the sanctuary of The Society, so she tended to keep her head down and her nose clean. This led back to her ending up here, working in this bar. There weren’t too many jobs out there that accommodated her new life schedule since being banished from the sun, which by the way, she really thought that was bullshit since she didn’t do anything to deserve it. Once upon a time, she dreamed of becoming a social worker, or a therapist. Now she was relegated to being a people watcher, and tonight one of her favorite subjects sat perched at the end of the bar. His name was Jazz Anderson. She knew that because he was here every Friday night. He was quite possibly the largest man she had ever seen; with his height landing somewhere around six foot six. His skin held a golden hue that made him look as if he were of some sort of Asian descent, but his eyes were a shocking violet, and he spoke with a flat American accent that meant he could’ve been from anywhere. He sported muscles in places she didn’t know that people had muscles, but it wasn’t the bulked-up muscle of a body builder; instead, it was more like he was a finely honed machine, as if God carved out perfection. His hair was jet black, and he kept it close cropped to his head and half his face was covered with a tattoo that held the most incredible designs running through it. Occasionally, he would lock eyes with her and every time, she would be floored by the heat projected from his look. Even for someone Immortal like her, he was a bit scary, and she was always more turned on than she’d admit, even under the threat of torture.

Slamming back his fifth shot of whiskey, Jazz watched the little redhead who worked behind the bar. Every Friday night he came here, and every Friday night he left stone cold sober no matter how many drinks he tossed back. He tapped the bar, indicating that he was ready to settle up, and she sauntered over, reminding him of something out of a dream. Her skin was pale and flawless, and her eyes were so dark it was almost impossible to tell where the pupils ended and the irises began. Her stature was so small he feared she might break if he ever touched her.
“You all finished up for the night, Jazz?” Her voice sounded husky, snaking its way down his spine.
“I think you’re watering the stuff down back there,” he growled, but she didn’t seem to be offended. Instead, she laughed, causing his cock to harden, and he shifted his position to ease the restriction of his clothes.
“It’s your inhuman size. The shit metabolizes so quick you’re not getting anything out of it, except the pleasure of my company, of course.”
“Well, then it was worth it,” he told her, throwing down the money and leaving her a sizable tip. Another customer called her name and when she looked away, he slipped off the stool.