Her stomach rumbled and she fell back onto the bed. She was starving. Her hunger had obviously morphed her thoughts. Normally she only had bad dreams when she’d eaten spicy food, but since she’d had grilled chicken for dinner last night before her fateful stroll that option was out. Her subconscious was obviously working overtime on what she’d witnessed.
She recalled the dream. It had been so real, so graphic. She could almost taste the coppery blood in her mouth. Another wave of desire scorched her. It was just as uncomfortable as the first. Her stomach cramped and her mouth filled with bile. Rachel swallowed hard and tossed the covers off, then sprinted to the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before she threw up.
When nothing else would come up, Rachel gripped the sink and pulled herself to her feet. She stared at her pale complexion in the mirror. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Rachel ran her tongue across her gritty teeth, then opened her mouth. No fangs. No blood. Nothing but blunt teeth and pink gums. The thought of blood made her stomach growl.
How could she feel anything but revulsion at the thought of drinking someone’s blood? It had to be from the bizarre facts surrounding the assault. It wasn’t everyday that one went up against someone who thought they were a vampire. She was simply reliving the trauma of last night. Seemed like the most plausible answer. There was only one thing wrong with her hypothesis. The woman in her dream wasn’t wearing a long black skirt and a purple shirt like the first victim.
“That’s what happens in dreams. The facts get turned around and mixed up,” she murmured.
Rachel turned on the tap and splashed cool water on her face. It did little to remove the haze her mind seemed shrouded in. She needed a shower, then maybe she’d be able to face the day. Rachel carefully unwound the dressing on her arm. The stench of rotting flesh greeted her and she gagged. Holy shit! She forced herself to look at the bite. Thick green pus oozed out from between the stitches. The doctor had warned her that might happen, but he hadn’t mentioned that it would reek.
Rachel dropped the dirty bandages into the trash and turned on the shower. She quickly stripped out of her clothes and stepped under the spray. The water pelted her body. She could feel every drop pierce her flesh. Instead of relief, bathing turned into an exercise of pain. She looked down half expecting to see blood. There wasn’t any, but her skin was abnormally red where the water had touched and it wasn’t due to the lukewarm temperature.
“You’re just bruised from the fight,” Rachel told herself as she made her way back under the spray, but it didn’t get any better. If anything, the sensation grew worse.
She stayed in the shower just long enough to wash her hair and rinse off. She’d never been hypersensitive before. Hell, maybe it was the water pressure in Paris, Rachel thought as she turned off the tap. She wrapped a towel around her hair and placed one around her body, then ran a hand over the fogged mirror.
At first glance, she didn’t see herself. Rachel swiped her hand again, then caught a glimpse of her face. It was faint, but she could at least make out her features. Parisian steam was obviously tougher than New York bathroom steam. She looked up at the ceiling. They really should put vents in these places.
Rachel put on her makeup the best she could, then bound her wound and got dressed. She wanted to revisit the side street where she’d been attacked. Maybe the killer had dropped something she could use to locate him. She had a far better chance of finding proof in the daylight than she did at night. He wouldn’t be the first perp stupid enough to leave a cell phone or a business card behind.
The thought that she might be stepping on Parisian law enforcement toes crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed the concern. She was more invested in finding the culprit than they’d ever be.
She glanced at the clock to see if there was enough time to grab breakfast before she started her investigation. How could it be only six? She’d gone to bed at four in the morning, which meant she’d only managed to get in an hour of sleep. Other than the brain fog, which had now lifted—thanks to the painful shower, Rachel had never felt this rested after so little sleep.
She turned the volume up on the television and flipped it to the English language channel. The BBC anchorman announced the beginning of the evening news. That can’t be right. Rachel looked at the clock again. It was still claiming to be a.m. She walked over to the phone, picked it up, and called the front desk.
“Hello, could you please tell me what time it is?” she asked.
“But of course, madam. It is six o’ clock,” the woman said politely.
“In the evening?”
“Oui, madam.”
“Thank you.” Rachel’s legs trembled as she slowly hung up the phone. She ran a hand through her wet hair. “Pull yourself together,” she muttered.
She walked over to the window and threw back the curtain. So much for finding proof in the daylight. The sun was fading fast over the horizon. She stared at the Jardin du Luxembourg across the street. The park’s gates would soon be closing for the night. She was about to shut the drapes, when she noticed movement near the sidewalk.
The shadows surrounding the park shifted and a man appeared. At first, she didn’t recognize him, then Rachel watched in horror as he grinned. Even from this distance, she could see his glaring white fangs.
“Son-of-a-bitch!”
He held up his hand and let something drop. Light from the streetlight caught the silver chain dangling from his fingertips. It swayed gently back and forth like a pendulum. Rachel’s heart clenched. It was her St. Michael medal—Paul’s St. Michael medal. Anger quickly replaced her pain. The bastard was taunting her with the necklace, daring her to come and get it. How had he found her? The thought chilled her blood, but no answer came.
It didn’t matter. Rachel grabbed her coat and headed out the door. A mixture of excitement and trepidation raced through her. She got the same feeling every time a black and white flipped on its siren and roared through the streets of New York.
This time Gabriel wouldn’t be waiting in the dark to help her. She quickly pushed aside the pang of disappointment that thought brought and continued on. Rachel reached the front of the hotel within a minute and glanced up and down the street. No one was around. Where had he gone?
She picked a direction and ran up the road. He had to be here somewhere. He wouldn’t go to all this trouble, only to hide. He wanted her to follow. Disturbing yes, but it wouldn’t stop her. She’d be ready for him this time.
Rachel scanned the cafes and bus stops, but didn’t spot him. He couldn’t have gone far. At the most, he’d be a block ahead of her. She was glancing down a side street, trying to decide whether to head in another direction, when she collided with something hard and unyielding.
Strong arms enveloped her.
Rachel took a deep breath to scream and caught a familiar scent. She didn’t know how, but she recognized that aroma. She looked up and all thoughts of fleeing disappeared as she tumbled into Gabriel Dumont’s blue eyes.
*
FOUR
Gabriel continued to hold her, enjoying the feel of soft womanly curves in his hands. He ran his thumb along her spine and Rachel arched her back, bringing her even closer. Her modest breasts pressed into his chest, setting his body on fire.
His gaze drank in her delicate face and locked onto her mouth. He longed to taste her full lips and answer the burning need blazing in her whiskey-colored eyes. Gabriel wondered if she knew how much she was revealing. Rachel recovered before he could act on any of his impulses.
She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked. “Did you see him?”
Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “See who?” He looked around, but didn’t immediately spot anyone.
“The man,” she growled.
“What man?” He inhaled, catching the familiar fragrance of her floral shampoo. Gabriel forced his senses to move on. There were Sanguis about, but none nearby.
“The killer. He was here.” She craned her neck to scan
the street.
“Are you certain it was him?” he asked. It was quite possible she’d imagined seeing him. The trauma of the attack still lingered.
Her lips thinned. “I’m a cop. Of course I’m certain.”
Something fluttered dangerously in Gabriel’s chest. He needed more information. “What do you mean he was here?” The calm in his voice belied the building rage scorching his veins.
Rachel released him. “I just saw him outside my hotel. He was standing across the street. He had my necklace. Held it up so I could see it. The son-of-a bitch all but dared me to come and get it.”
Her skin tone faded to milk emphasizing the dark circles under her eyes. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Don’t change the subject,” Rachel snapped. “I can tell by your expression that you don’t believe me.”
There was no deception that Gabriel could sense. Rachel believed every word coming out of her mouth. She’d obviously seen something that shook her up, but could it really be her attacker? Would he be that arrogant to taunt her? He thought about the crime scenes. Of course he would. Rachel was the only person who’d witnessed his handiwork firsthand and lived to tell about it.
“How did he find me?” she asked quietly. If it weren’t for the fine tension thrumming through her body, he would’ve believed the calm she projected.
It was the same question he’d been asking himself. He wasn’t surprised that the Sang had sought her out, but he was surprised by how quickly he’d located her. That shouldn’t have been possible.
“No idea,” Gabriel said. “Are you sure it was him? A lot of people look similar.”
“Positive! There aren’t two men running around in Paris taunting me with a St. Michael medal.” The muscle in Rachel’s jaw ticced and her beautiful eyes narrowed. “You were the only one who knew where I was staying.”
Gabriel flinched. Her insinuation pricked his temper. “Are you accusing me of being an accomplice to murder?”
Rachel stepped closer. Waves of heat emanated from her tiny body as she peered up at him. “No one else knew where I was staying.”
He lowered his head until they were standing nose to nose. “So you think I moved the body, took you to the police, and then to the hospital so that I could turn around and tell your attacker where to find you? Are you listening to yourself? You haven’t even considered any other possibilities.”
“I know how it sounds, but that scenario is far more likely than my attacker tailing us all night,” Rachel said. “He’s not an idiot. He isn’t going to sit outside a police station and wait for me to come out.”
Gabriel kept his temper in check. “I can assure you that I’ve told no one where you’re staying,” he lied easily. He’d had to list her whereabouts in the report he’d given to the Sanguis High Council. All random vampyre attacks had to be reported. It was Sang law. The thought that his actions had somehow endangered her made him ill.
Rachel touched her head and swayed.
Gabriel moved quickly, catching her arm. “When was the last time you ate?”
*
She shrugged, ignoring the revulsion she felt at the thought of ingesting anything solid. What was wrong with her? Blood made her hungry and the idea of food made her sick. She should’ve never come to Paris. Rachel’s lack of an answer was all the encouragement Gabriel needed.
“You’re coming with me. We have to get some food in you before you pass out on the street.” He led her down the sidewalk toward Rue de Seine.
Cafes, galleries, patisseries, and used bookstores lined the quaint French street that bordered St. Germain-des-Prés and the Latin Quarter. Gabriel found a cafe he liked, then quickly deposited her in a seat.
“This isn’t necessary.” Rachel shook her head to ease the dizziness. Her arm ached and her body trembled. If she’d been throwing up this whole time, she would’ve thought she’d caught the flu. But she’d only thrown up once. She rubbed her arm.
Maybe she was experiencing side effects from the tetanus shot she’d been given. It had happened before. Or it could be the bite. But what kind of bite makes you this ill? Sure the human mouth was teeming with bacteria, but the doctor assured her that she was fine. They’d done all the important tests at the hospital. The guy didn’t have HIV, according to the doctor. What if he was wrong?
Gabriel shot her an entirely too male condescending look. “Obviously it was necessary if you haven’t bothered to eat today.”
“Give me a break,” she said. “I just got up.”
His long lashes shuttered his eyes. “What?”
“Up until,” she glanced at her watch, “an hour ago I thought it was morning. I slept all day. Getting mugged takes it out of me, I guess.”
His frown deepened.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she assured him. “Probably just coming down with something. Should’ve had the hospital check for rabies.”
Gabriel’s lips twitched. “It’s doubtful he had rabies.”
Rachel smiled, happy that she’d been able to relieve the worry she’d seen on his face moments ago. “I’m sure once I eat I’ll be all right.”
Gabriel sat forward. “You’re absolutely certain it was him?”
Her grin faded. “Asking me repeatedly isn’t going to change my answer. I’ve been a cop for fifteen years. My job has made me good at remembering details. It was him.”
His expression turned pensive once more.
Rachel squeezed his hand. His skin was cool to the touch, but warmed quickly. “I’m sorry I accused you of selling me out.”
Gabriel shook his head and dark hair fell over one eye. Without thought, she brushed the hair back, her fingers lingering longer than necessary. Rachel felt his muscles lock, but for some reason she couldn’t stop herself. She’d wanted to feel his hair since he’d taken her to the hospital. It was as soft as it looked and far more tempting than she’d anticipated.
He watched her closely, but didn’t try to pull away.
The tension between them rose. This time it had nothing to do with discussing her attacker. It had been easy to ignore the simmering attraction between them the first time they met given the circumstances, but now there was no denying it.
Gabriel cleared his throat. “You’d better order. I need to get you back to the hotel so you can rest. You’ve been through a lot.”
“Yeah.” Rachel glanced away, then picked up the menu and scanned it like she could understand French.
She couldn’t believe how bold she’d been. She never made moves on men, especially men she didn’t know. Rachel wondered what she would’ve done had Gabriel responded in kind. From the look on his face he’d been tempted, but for some reason he hadn’t acted. Instead, he had remained chivalrous to his core.
A lot of predators seek victims by first gaining their trust. Even as the thought fluttered through her cop brain, Rachel knew that wasn’t the case here. Gabriel had been just as shocked by her attacker’s audacity as she’d been. She’d seen it in his eyes before he’d carefully schooled his expression. Now he was brooding. Or at least he had been until she’d touched him.
Her traitorous gaze once again sought his rough-hewn face. “Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked.
“Later,” he said. “The French don’t dine this early, only tourists.” Gabriel grinned at her, then caught the waiter’s attention.
“I’ll have beef stew. You do have beef stew, right?” she asked.
“Oui, madam,” the waiter said.
“And bring us a bottle of house red,” Gabriel added.
“I don’t think I can drink anything.” Rachel looked at Gabriel. “I’m not even sure I’m going to be able to eat.”
He touched her forehead. “You’re a little warm. How are you feeling?”
“Flu-ish.”
“For how long?” he asked. Gone was the flirtatious man.
Rachel sighed. “Since I left the hospital. Could be the shot, but it’s probably the bite working its way through my sys
tem. It’s not unheard of for people who suffer from a human bite to get sick afterwards. I’ve been through it before. I’ll live.”
The waiter returned with the stew and their wine. He placed the steaming bowl in front of Rachel. “Smells delicious.” She looked at the beads of fat floating on top the broth. Her stomach threatened to rebel as she lifted the spoon and stirred the stew.
“I think you need to tell me exactly what happened last night,” Gabriel said after the waiter retreated into the kitchen. “Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out, including the significance of the necklace.”
“That’s personal.” Rachel put the spoon down. She couldn’t share the pain she’d been through with a stranger. Could she?
“You have my word I will not tell a soul,” Gabriel said.
There was no denying he meant what he said. Rachel could see the sincerity in his eyes. If she were prone to fantasy, she’d say she could see his very soul. It glowed like a soft beacon inside of him, warming her. But it was just that, a fantasy. It couldn’t hurt to relay the facts of the previous night though. She might remember something else about the perp.
“Tell me what brought you to Paris,” he said.
Rachel wasn’t the type of person to discuss her personal life. She’d been brought up in a household where everyone held everything inside. Perhaps it was the look on his face or his tone of voice. Whatever it was she decided to make an exception. Once she opened the floodgates, the words she’d been holding inside since Paul’s death flowed out in a sea of emotions.
She told Gabriel everything, starting with the domestic homicide she and Paul had been called out to investigate. How the woman had confessed to murdering her husband then pulled a gun and aimed it at her. Her partner, Paul had shoved her aside at the last minute and caught the bullet, which had been meant for her.
She explained what had occurred the days after he’d been shot. How Paul had lingered in a coma and had eventually been taken off life support. His family had given her the St. Michael medal he’d been wearing the day of the shooting. The bullet had grazed the edge of the medal leaving a permanent gash in the left side. She’d put the necklace on at the funeral and hadn’t removed it since.
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