The Lady is a Vamp (The Paranormal Investigations Series Book 1) by Michelle Kelly

Chapter One
    Nick pulled up his mental shields before stepping into the smoky room. Talk about sensory overload. A swirl of smoke hung around the room, shot through with shades of purple and red from the spotlights dotted at seemingly random intervals on the lurid red walls. Purple and black rugs covered a dark red vinyl floor and a cloying, musky smell made the air even more oppressive. Gothic music pounded through the room, the bass so low it seemed to be coming up through his feet. It certainly wasn’t helping his headache.
    Even with his shields up to prevent him catching the chatter of surface thoughts from every person in the club Nick sensed the atmosphere change as the clubs inhabitants began to notice him, and the murmur of suspicion that rippled through the room. It would be pretty obvious from first sight that he didn’t fit in here. Even dressed casually in slacks and a shirt, his bearing and demeanour screamed ‘cop’. And his tanned and chiselled physique marked him out among the pale, made-up men, some of them complete with specially made fangs and contact lenses.
    Crimson Shade was a vampire club, or as it stated on its website ‘a fetish and lifestyle club for those who consider themselves modern-day vampires, be they sanguinarians, energy-feeders, or lifestylers.’ The club site was very quick to point out that ‘real’ vampires, as opposed to ‘mythical’ ones, were neither immortal nor a danger to non-vampires. That part had made Nick laugh.
    He strode to the bar, pausing for a second as he sensed a warm, pulsing energy that did not belong in this place. Were . Not a wolf, one of the big cats; tiger perhaps . Nick turned his head in the direction of the thrumming energy and spotted a young man slinking out of the back door. Nick dropped his shields just enough to home in on the guy and felt his fear of discovery. Nothing immediately suspicious. Weres were notoriously easy for a telepath like Nick to read. He gave the young man a slight nod that he meant to be reassuring, but the were’s eyes widened in horror and he hurried out of the door. Nick wondered what on earth a weretiger was doing in a vampire lifestyle club, dressed in fangs and a cape. Perhaps the poor guy was having a serious identity crisis. More likely the clan leaders at the shadowy Paranormal Alliance of New York had heard about the murder and were doing a little investigation of their own. That was all he needed.
    Nick reached the bar – a twisted piece of black metal that he personally thought was an eyesore – and eyed the barman, who gulped under his scrutiny; a tall, lean young man, still in his late teens with far too much white make-up on a naturally olive skin, he looked at Nick as if he were the one that was dressed oddly.
    ‘Can I help you?’ he asked, his voice high and tremulous. Nick flashed him a smile, and then his badge.
    ‘Nick Carter. NYPD. I’d like to speak to the manager please.’
    The barman went genuinely white under his make-up and reached for a phone at the end of the bar.
    ‘Lord Azriel? There’s a man from the NYPD here to see you.’ He said ‘NYPD’ in the same hushed tones that some people might say ‘vampire’. He listened for a minute, then put the phone down and faced Nick again.
    ‘He’s in the office. Over there,’ he pointed towards a far corner of the club. Nick nodded and turned to make his way in the direction the barman showed him, saying casually over his shoulder;
    ‘I may have a few questions for you afterwards.’ The bartender looked as though he was about to faint.
    Nick crossed over the room, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him. He allowed his shields to drop enough so that he could filter through the main emotions in the room that his presence had invoked; there was curiosity and wariness, even hostility, but not the fear of a cornered murderer. Though in this particular case Nick knew he had very little chance of picking up any emotions from this