I was working on getting to my feet so that I could shake the detective’s hand properly, but she waved me off. “No no, please. Stay put.” When Alexa pulled over her desk chair, Foster thanked her and sat. “How are you feeling, Valentine?”
Alexa curled herself into my side and reached for my hand. Foster’s gaze flickered between us, and an unfamiliar wave of possessiveness crashed over me. I momentarily tightened my grip on Alexa’s fingers. Mine. What was it about the detective that pushed my buttons?
“I’m improving, but slowly,” I said, working to keep my voice even. “Apparently my memory is improving, too.”
“So I hear.” Foster withdrew a pen and a small notebook from one pocket. “Did you have a flashback?”
“Sort of. As soon as I set foot in the apartment, I could remember what I’d done on Tuesday, up until a certain point.” I told her everything then, except for the part about picking up the ring at Tiffany’s. “Errands uptown,” I said instead. She was particularly interested by the end of my narrative.
“The last thing you remember is leaving the apartment,” she double-checked. I nodded. “Where would you have gone to get the champagne?”
“Not sure. There are several stores around here that sell alcohol.”
My palms had begun to sweat, and I knew Alexa could feel it. She stroked my knuckles with her thumb.
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Foster frowned. “So you wouldn’t have gone to the intersection where you were found? Canal Street, near the Manhattan Bridge?”
“I was in a hurry,” I said, reliving the moment when I had realized that I’d forgotten to buy a suitable dinner drink. “I wouldn’t have gone all the way down there.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.” I shifted nervously. The ache in my leg and shoulder was getting sharper. Time for more pain meds. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Possibly that your assailant moved you—either before or after the attack.”
“Why would he do that?” Alexa asked. Her voice trembled a little. “I don’t know.” She put away her notebook and got to her feet.
“I appreciate the phone call,” she said, looking me squarely in the eye.
“I know this must be difficult, but every piece that you remember—no matter how minor—could be important.”
“Thanks for coming so quickly, Detective,” Alexa said, also rising.
Foster smiled. She looked several years younger when she smiled—less an experienced warrior and more an eager cadet. And she had nice teeth. “Please, call me Devon. Both of you.”
Something inside me snarled. I wanted to reach for Alexa, but she was too far away. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t a jealous person by nature. Foster hadn’t even done anything provocative, and I was still reacting like a Neanderthal. And God, I was thirsty. Maybe that was it—being constantly parched had frayed my nerves. That, and being mugged. And now apparently kidnapped.
“Good night,” I managed to say as Alexa opened the door to show her out.
She locked and chained the door as soon as Foster had stepped over the threshold. “How are you doing?” she asked, returning to her spot on the couch. I ignored the question, still grappling with the unfamiliar rage churning deep within my chest.
“She has the hots for you. I can see it in her face.”
Alexa snorted. “Bull.”
“Not so. She gets this hungry expression whenever she looks at you. I recognize it from my reflection.”
Alexa shifted, half kneeling over me. She cupped my face in her
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hands and kissed me tenderly, soothing away my tension. “You are the only one I want. Now, let’s go to bed.”
“How about a shower first?” I countered. I hadn’t had a real shower in over a week. I felt disgusting.
“Okay.”
She kissed me again before heading for the bathroom. I limped back into the kitchen, refilled my glass, and gulped down more water along with two pain pills before slowly making my way to the bedroom. Alexa was waiting by the bed, naked. I froze, drinking her in. Deep red curls swirled around the contours of her tan shoulders. Her breasts were high and small, in perfect proportion to her slender torso. Nestled between her slender, shapely runner’s legs, her neatly trimmed patch of hair beckoned to me, calling up my blood. Making me ache. I wanted to devour her.
“Let me help you with your clothes,” she said.
I took a few faltering steps forward. “I need to make love to you.”
When she laughed, I realized that I had surprised her. Had she truly expected me to be so distracted by my own ordeal that I wouldn’t want her? Nothing was more important, more necessary, than us. Nothing.
“Please.”
“Val,” she said, lifting the hem of my shirt and working it gently over my injured arm. “I love how you want me. And I need you, too. But it’s too soon.”
Desperate to touch her, to hear her call my name as she came for me, I shook my head. “It’s not. You can sit on my face. I won’t move anything except my tongue, I swear.”
It was her turn to freeze. The color rose in her cheeks, and her eyes darkened. “Jesus Christ, Valentine.”
“Let me.” A whisper.
“No.” She threw back her shoulders and reached for the hem of my pants, her touch brisk and efficient. Not the touch of a lover, but a nurse. “Not tonight.”
Defeated, I let her finish undressing me. Disappointment sapped me of what little energy I had left. Silently, I shuffled toward the bathroom. How, how could she deny us this? Never was I more alive than when we were together, skin to skin. I needed to feel alive again. I needed to take her—and in taking her, to find myself.
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In that moment, the ache of my need eclipsed every other pain. Even the thirst.
Alexa paused to adjust the water temperature before beckoning me into the shower. I hissed as the spray touched my stitches. It stung. But after that initial twinge, the drumming of the hot water against my dry skin vastly outweighed any lingering discomfort.
“Don’t be angry with me,” she said as she began to touch me, washing my body gently with a bar of soap. “I almost lost you, Val. I almost lost you.”
The tremor in her voice broke my heart, and I reached out one hand to stroke the curve of her hip.
“You’re in bad shape right now,” she continued, her voice low and intense. “All I want is for you to get well. And I’m afraid that if we make love right now, I’ll hurt you. That’s how crazy I feel inside.”
This I could understand. I had felt it myself sometimes—a need so powerful it was almost frightening. I’d never realized that it was something we shared. The surge of relief made me feel a little dizzy, and I threw out my good arm to brace myself against the tile wall.
“Being apart from you is the only thing that can really hurt me,” I whispered over her head as she bent to wash my legs. Her hands on me felt so damn good. “But I understand. And you’re right—I am a mess. I can wait a while, if that will make you feel better.”
Alexa gently spun me to face the spray, her kneading hands moving slowly up my calves. “I love you. Don’t ever doubt that I—what the hell is this?”
“What?” She had paused her ministrations near the top of my rib cage. I could feel her quick breaths against my damp skin. When she pressed in gently with her fingertips, I winced. “That’s tender. Is it a bruise?”
She didn’t answer. I twisted my head around to try to catch a look—either at the spot, or at her. “Baby? What is it?”
“It looks like…like a bite, actually.”
My stomach fishtailed and my pulse sped up. “A bite? He fucking bit me?”
Alexa rose and pulled me close. “I hate him,” she whispered.
“Yeah. Yeah, me, too.” I was trembling again, and I couldn’t stop. T
his was insane. A violent mugging I could at least understand. It was awful, but comprehensible. But what kind of psychopath bit someone?
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My balance wavered as a sickening wave of dread punched me in the gut. “You’re sure…the doctors were sure he didn’t…rape me?”
“Oh God, Val.” Alexa’s grip tightened. Her hands were shaking, too. “They said he didn’t, sweetheart. They sounded really certain.”
“Okay.” I tried to get my breathing under control. “I want to go to bed now.”
She toweled me off as gently as she had washed me, then turned down the covers. I slid beneath the sheet and pulled the blanket tightly around me. If I thought about him sinking his teeth into me, I was going to fall apart. My own teeth were chattering.
Alexa reached for me immediately, wrapping one arm carefully around my waist and pressing her face to my good shoulder. “Are you cold?”
“Don’t think so,” I stuttered. “Just don’t feel so good.” I didn’t want to be this weak, but I had no idea how to stop panicking. As always, Alexa had my cure. She rubbed my stomach lightly while pressing tender kisses to my jawline, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. She didn’t speak—she didn’t have to. Her touch calmed me, easing the tightness of my muscles and settling my stomach. I needed her. I needed her so much.
“Close your eyes, sweetheart. Don’t be afraid. I’m going to hold you all night.”
“’Kay.” Fatigue pressed in on me, dark and heavy. There was no reason to resist—not with Alexa wrapped around me. She pillowed her head on my shoulder and sighed into my neck.
The sound of her pulse followed me into sleep.
• 39 •
• 40 •
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Chapter FOur
The thirst consumed me.
It was a bottomless abyss, the eternity of deep space. Essence of need.
In the dead of night, it demanded that I fill myself with Alexa. It compelled me to reach for her—to claim her, to hurt her if I had to. To make her mine. She was soft and yielding, yet the craving remained. I am become Thirst, that great emptiness.
The need was a goad, bright and hot. It crawled down my spine, making me desperate to possess her. Wild in the throes of urgency, I thrust into her, forcing her back into a perfect arch. When I twisted my hand, she called out my name. Sweat beaded up along my hairline and dripped into my eyes as I fucked her mercilessly. Her head thrashed against the pillow, snarling the elegant fan of her crimson hair. I gave her everything I had. It should have been enough. It wasn’t.
I needed to take. The impulse was undeniable, irresistible. Inevitable. It rode me hard, forcing my mouth against her neck. She smelled sweet, like the memory of sunlight. Beneath my tongue, her pulse raced. It sang to me, a Siren.
My teeth sank through the layers of her skin, cutting through the vessels below. She screamed, flowing around my hand as her blood burst across my lips and dribbled down my chin. I raised my head, spattering droplets in a fine shower across the crisp, white sheets, finally at peace.
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I woke suddenly, the horror of the dream jerking me into a sitting position, and hissed in pain when my shoulder and ribs protested the movement. Swallowing was agony—my throat felt dry and cracked. I reached for the glass on the nightstand, only to find it empty.
“Val?” Alexa’s voice was gritty with sleep. “Sweetheart? What’s wrong?”
I faced her. When she mimicked my position, sitting up with her back to the headboard, the sheet slid down to pool against the slight swell of her stomach. Her skin glowed in the predawn light. The remembered sensation of my teeth ripping into her—of how right it had felt—warred with my terror and disgust at the impulse. I leaned in toward the pulsing artery in her perfect neck before I knew what I was doing, only to jerk away when she reached for me.
“No!” I scrambled out of the bed as quickly as I could, ignoring the spasms in my leg. “Stay away from me.”
Her face crumpled. “But—what happened, love? Did you have a nightmare?” She threw back the blankets and easily covered the distance between us. Desperate to keep her at arm’s length, I thrust my empty glass toward her.
“Please.”
She frowned, but went into the bathroom to grant my request. I sat on the side of the bed, trembling. I felt so weak, but that passed for normal now. The disturbing thing was the pulse of arousal that beat between my thighs. And I was wet. Jesus. Just how fucked up was I?
What kind of person got aroused by a dream of tearing out her lover’s throat? Hell, what kind of person had those dreams to begin with?
I rested my chin on my sternum and took slow breaths until she returned. When she handed me the full glass, I unclenched one of my fists from the tangle of sheets and gulped the water down. Still, my throat burned.
“More?”
I forced myself to drink the second glass slowly, but it too did nothing to appease the thirst. What was happening to me? Yes, it made perfect biological sense for my body chemistry to be out of whack, since I’d lost so many fluids. But this…how could this kind of craving be normal? Was this part of the PTSD? Was I going insane?
“Please, Val.” Alexa’s voice was higher than usual. She was on the edge of panic. “Tell me what’s wrong. Do I need to call the hospital?”
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I shook my head, still afraid to touch her. She had sensed my uncharacteristic need for distance and was awkwardly perched on the windowsill. Beyond, dawn was spreading over the city. The light should have been comforting.
“It was a nightmare.”
Alexa took a step forward before stopping herself. “About the—”
I shook my head once. My brain was still imprinted with the delicious, horrifying memory of my teeth slicing through her skin.
“No.” “Tell me?”
“I can’t,” I whispered, battered by confusion and exhaustion. She didn’t—or couldn’t—resist the impulse any longer. When her arms came gently around my waist, I stiffened. But when, after a few moments, the only urge I felt was to rest my head on her shoulder, I relaxed in her embrace.
“Let’s go back to bed,” she murmured.
I let her guide me under the covers, lying quiescent as she tucked the blankets under my chin. When she snuggled in close, I didn’t try to stop her. But I did turn my head away from the delectable expanse of her neck.
She fell into sleep immediately, her even breaths puffing against my shoulder. But I stayed awake for a long time, watching the daylight creep closer, until fatigue trumped the sharp ache in my throat. v
The distant sounds of Avenue C filtered through the windows as I sat on the couch, cradling my Neuroanatomy textbook in my lap. A full glass of water sat on the coffee table, untouched despite the fact that my thirst had not abated. It was of no use—drinking liquids nonstop all day hadn’t done anything except make me have to get up every fifteen minutes to visit the bathroom.
I was alone for the first time since waking up in the hospital. I alternated between enjoying the peace and jumping at every harmless noise. The dream had haunted me all day, making me wary around Alexa. She had debated not going to her evening seminar, but I had urged her to go. Being afraid to touch her made my stomach ache. I was obviously being silly. Then again, maybe I was just acting
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like a trauma victim. Was I expecting too much of myself? Creepy dreams were probably par for the course. I had been through hell, after all. My psyche was going to have to deal somehow. I cringed at the thought that any minute now, I might start remembering exactly what had happened to me. Part of me—a very big part of me—wanted to live in ignorance. But the rest of me knew that until I remembered, I would be afraid. I made a mental note to call Dr. Clavier tomorrow to get his therapist recommendations. Clearly, I needed to talk to a professional
.
A few seconds later, the buzzer rang. My heart began to pound and a thin layer of sweat broke out across my palms. I forced myself to get up and walk to the intercom next to the door, silently berating my autonomic nervous system. If my attacker wanted to find me in order to finish the job, he wouldn’t ring the damn doorbell. Would he?
“Hello?”
“Valentine, it’s Harold Clavier. May I come up?”
I frowned at the coincidence. Think of the devil and he shall appear. “Of course.” I buzzed him in, but when he knocked on the door, I didn’t take the chain off before opening it. When I peeked through the crack, my anxiety faded into a background murmur. It really was him, in a long, black wool coat. I undid the chain.
“This is a surprise, Doctor,” I said. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.” He sat in our threadbare armchair, and I took my place on the love seat. “I was on my way to the hospital and thought I’d make a house call to see how you’re recovering.”
On his way to the hospital? I didn’t envy him the night shift. “This is above and beyond, really. Thank you for dropping by.”
It had only been a day and a half since I’d last seen him, but I had forgotten just how unnerving his stare was. Did the man ever blink?
“So?” he prompted.
I grimaced. “The headache is pretty much gone, but I’m still very weak. I expected to feel at least a little stronger by now.”
“And the incisions?”
“Fine. No signs of infection.”
“How is your appetite?”
At that moment, my throat throbbed painfully. Out of instinct, I reached for my water. “I’m eating fine. The strange thing is that I can’t
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stop feeling thirsty, no matter how much I drink. I’ve probably had over a gallon of water today, and I still feel parched.”
He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Interesting.”
“Do you have any idea what might be causing that?” I asked, hearing the note of desperation in my voice. “Any idea about what I can do to fix it? It’s really uncomfortable—painful, even.”
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