by Laura Kaye
The patient had woken up and gripped her arm. She’d jumped from the unexpected touch and beautiful vivid blue eyes had met hers.
Her gaze left the arm of the man beside her now and shifted to his face. Same tattoo, same beautiful blue irises, and the same scar that had graced the face of her handsome John Doe.
This isn’t possible.
The patient on that gurney had had life-threatening stab wounds. She glanced to the right of Kenric’s neck and saw a raised jagged pink scar. With her lungs tight and her heart in her throat, she scanned his bare chest and side.
Same story.
Impossible.
No one healed that fast.
“Who are you?” Shit, that sounded weak and shaky. Emily wanted to cringe but refrained. She hated to let anyone know she was afraid, especially a man.
“Kenric St. James, remember?”
“I know that’s what you said, but you look just like my patient from the ER last night. A John Doe. A man I found stabbed and near death down at The Docks. But that’s not possible, right?”
No answer.
Air sawed in and out of her chest, and with each passing moment, she inched farther across the bed and away from the man.
More memories from the previous night unreeled.
He’d asked her name, and then she’d been like a puppet on a string. She had detached the John Doe from his heart monitor and IV. Her mind had rebelled, but her arms and legs had worked against her. She had had to help him. He needed to leave. The words cycled on repeat in her head.
Next, she had sat on the gurney beside him. Per his command, she’d leaned closer. Her heart raced as the memories continued to unfold. What had he done? He had gripped her upper arms, urging her even closer, until his whiskers scraped her cheek. His words had whispered in her ear. He was sorry. He wasn’t going to hurt her. The warmth of his breath had heated and caressed her skin.
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted and stood on end, ushering the last missing piece of the puzzle into place. Chills ran down her back, causing her to shiver.
“Oh my God!” Emily launched herself to the other side of the bed. Water sloshed in her wake from the forgotten glass, now overturned and pooling on the sheets. Sitting up on her knees with her hand at her throat, she gawked at Kenric St. James from the other side of the bed. Her fingertips brushed over two raised and tender bumps on the side of her neck.
“What did you do to me?”
He sat there, unmoving, watching her with those piercing blue eyes.
“Answer me!”
Kenric watched as Emily’s hazel eyes ignited in frustration. Her reaction to what he’d done played out exactly how he’d imagined it would. He’d run this scenario a dozen times or more in his mind before she had woken up. The problem was, he wasn’t any closer to knowing what to say to her at this moment than he’d been hours ago.
He’d fed on her. How does one downplay that reality? Somehow, when all was said and done, he hoped she wouldn’t hate him. She could hate the vampire. He could live with that. But for some reason, it mattered that she didn’t hate the man behind the monster.
Kenric backed away from the bed. He raised his hands in a nonthreatening manner. “Emily, please, I realize this sounds absurd after what you remember, and I know it must seem like these are the only words I know, but I’m not going to hurt you.”
“What did you do to me? I remember you at my neck. You… It felt like… You bit me! Why would I sit there and let you do that? Why on earth would you do that?”
Emily slid from the bed, trying to get as far away from him as the room allowed. Holding on to the curtains for balance, she stood before a wall of covered windows. With her eyes clenched shut, she gave herself a hard pinch.
“Ouch!” She opened her eyes and grimaced when their eyes met. He couldn’t resent her disappointment in his continued presence.
“You’re not dreaming,” he softly responded. She straightened, stood a little taller. A woman with dignity. Pride. He respected that, and her bravery in the face of what must feel like a nightmare. Most women would be sobbing by now and begging for mercy. This fiery redhead just got pissed. And damn if she didn’t heat his blood with all that fire.
“There’s a lot I need to explain. Do you think we can talk? Can you just sit for a moment? You’ll have your space. I’ll sit over there.” He indicated the overstuffed leather furniture in the sitting area on the other side of his bedroom. She glanced in the direction he pointed, then quickly back to him. Her guarded stance and the small clenched fist she held at her side said it all: she thought he was crazy. No doubt a part of him was, for what he was about to ask her. He had a whole lot of shit to dig out from underneath, and he had to make it smell sweet if he wanted any chance in hell of gaining her trust.
“Let me explain what happened last tonight,” he said. “I give you my word. I will never touch you again without your consent.”
Chapter Five
Marguerite breathed deep and pressed the combination sequence into the small square of buttons on the jeweled box sitting on her dresser. The lock released with a click. She opened the lid, and then pulled the deep drawer out. Inside lay a velvet sleeve covering an object the size of a large orange. Marguerite lifted it from its resting spot and slid it into her palm. She stared down at her newly procured source of power, her lips curling in a satisfied grin. This would ensure her success with Kenric.
The crimson glass vessel, formed in the size and weight of a human heart, warmed her flesh as if it still contained the live, beating essence of its former owner, Goran Madunic, not the thick sludge drained from the vampire’s heart more than six-hundred-years ago. She held it up to the lamp beside her. The light shimmered off the colored glass and highlighted the dark shadow of the level remaining in the relic. Not much left—a blunt reminder of the ticking clock that hovered over her plans.
The door to Marguerite’s chamber opened.
“Mistress, please excuse the interruption, but I thought you would want to…” The male’s words stopped short as Marguerite jerked her head in his direction. Swinging her arm out with her palm upright, she hurled a merciless blast of energy at her intruder. It slammed into him, knocking him off his feet and into the wall behind him. A gasp of air left his lungs as he crashed into the wall and slid dazed onto the floor.
“You fool!” she shrieked. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you where you lie for such ignorance. The next time you will be dead, and I shall find a new leader for my colony.”
They annoyed her at times, but she found it necessary to keep a few loyal vampires—minions—around whose minds were still intact, addicted to her and not DE. They served her sexually and were happy to handle whatever else she needed them to do, for just another sip at her vein. But that didn’t make them irreplaceable.
Shaking her head, Marguerite thrust the orb back into the security of her lockbox and brought her attention back to the current matter at hand: the vamp who lay sweating on her floor.
“Forgive me, Mistress.” Enrique pulled himself up off the hardwood and onto his knees. He crawled over in front of Marguerite. “I bring news of Kenric.”
“What have you learned?” He remained bowed before her, his straight brown hair partially covering his face. Marguerite savored the way the candlelight glowed on the chocolate color of his naked torso, his sides flaring with each rapid breath.
“Kenric was on patrol last night. Alone, he attacked and killed three of your DEAD recruits, Mistress.”
“Excellent,” Marguerite replied. She could care less whether the insane bastards lived or died. All of her recruits were dispensable. What mattered most was if they’d served her purpose. And they had. “With my visit and the increase in addicts he’s hunting now—Kenric knows I’m here.” She stood, allowed her robe to fall from her shoulders and drape over her chair, leaving her naked as she moved to her bed. She stretched out across her mattress and sighed. “I do love to agitate him. He could never tole
rate killing feeble humans.” Rolling onto her side, she asked, “Who told you about Kenric?”
Enrique shuffled around on his knees in the direction of her voice.
“One of your addicts, present during part of the battle, gave a description of the Enclave warrior who had attacked them. It matched your Kenric St. James, Mistress.”
“This vampire was not killed with the others?”
“No, Mistress. It appears he ran as the others were attacked. He went back when the fighting was over and found nothing but ashes.”
“He ran?” She lunged upright onto her knees and yanked Enrique to her by the back of his neck, digging her nails into his flesh. “Does he still live?” she hissed, her face inches from his.
“Yes, Mistress. I’ve questioned him but kept him alive for you. I thought you may have further need of him.”
“I have no use for cowards. Kill him.” She jerked her palm away, and Enrique stumbled back.
He turned to leave. “Where are you going? You haven’t been dismissed, Enrique. You have a job to finish here first.” Marguerite lowered herself onto her bed. With the crook of her finger, she beckoned her minion leader forth. He obeyed, crawling onto the bed and between her legs.
Twenty minutes later, Marguerite rose from her bed and glided back to her gilded Louis XIV vanity, leaving her trembling minion on the bed. She lifted her robe off the chair and slipped it on, enjoying how the cool, ivory-colored silk hardened her nipples and brought chills to her overheated flesh. The matching gilded chair, covered in her favorite ruby red velvet, sat before her mirrored dresser. She perched on the seat and selected her heavy gold hairbrush.
Her complexion glowed, thanks to the hearty meal she’d just partaken in. She brushed her hair in long, sweeping strokes and stared at the image of the sweat-drenched body of her painfully unfinished lover. Enrique moaned but lay very still. He knew better than to budge until she had dismissed him. His raging hard-on was the only thing brazen enough to move on his taut, muscled body. The wet shaft glistened and pulsed in the lamplight, as if begging its owner for relief.
She loved the power. Such a rush. After having endured seventeen years under her father’s brutal hand, even though it was centuries ago, she always made sure she got what she wanted.
Always.
Never again would she allow a man to rule her, treat her as if she were less than the mud caked on their boot heels.
Her childhood years had been spent watching her so-called father shower his daughters with attention and fancy gifts. The rest of his hours had been spent taking out his anger, resentment, and disappointment on Marguerite. But her half-sisters hadn’t held a candle to the body and beauty she had possessed. And she’d learned to use it. Marguerite’s looks had never failed to get her what she needed from men. Her allure had even succeeded in capturing the eye of a young male vampire who, after becoming so enamored with her, shared his gift.
A gift she had been more than willing to receive.
The sound of Enrique’s labored breaths filled the room. She glanced over at his trembling body. She’d almost drained him dry—just for the hell of it—before allowing him to take a small sample of her. But it only took a small amount of her ancient blood to have him soaring. She smirked in the mirror, her pulse visibly pounding at her neck at the thought. Marguerite closed her eyes, relishing in the surge of power she’d sampled from the heart-shaped orb only moments before her minion had barged into her chambers.
The small sip Enrique had stolen from her body in bed, before she’d returned the favor, would burn like a raging fire in his veins, making it near-impossible for him to maintain control. A slave to his lust.
To her.
There had been only one vampire whose mind and body she couldn’t control: Kenric. That would soon change with the new source of power she’d found in Goran’s blood.
God, how she wanted Kenric back. Beside her. Joined. An indestructible unit. Exactly how it had been destined.
“You can leave now, Enrique,” she said offhandedly. “I’m done with you. Take care of the matter we discussed. I will not tolerate cowards in my ranks.”
Enrique slid off the bed onto wobbly knees. He quickly braced himself with the nearby bedpost while struggling to fit back into his black leather pants.
“Oh, and Enrique?” He stopped and turned. “Remember, there will be no release until you’ve earned my forgiveness. I don’t care who you fuck. It won’t matter. That aching dick is punishment for your earlier interruption.”
His face gave a visible flinch. She smirked at his obvious discomfort before adding, “Don’t look so worried, dear. It will go down…eventually, when my blood is finished with you. Or when you’ve convinced me you’re truly remorseful.”
Marguerite turned to face the mirror again, giving him her back as her dismissal. The door softly clicked as it closed behind him. Picking up her brush, she continued with her hair.
“It won’t be long now, Kenric,” she said to her reflection. “Your time away is almost over.”
Chapter Six
Emily studied Kenric’s expression for any sign of a hidden agenda.
He was good.
Really good.
Not a twitch.
She should run. Get the hell out of here before he could do whatever the hell he’d done to her again. But her curiosity and fatigue won the fight, and she found herself edging around the bed toward the sitting area. God grant me the nine lives of a cat, because my curiosity could get me killed.
Sinking into one of the large chairs, Emily wrapped herself in the sense of security the huge, soft leather arms provided.
Seconds later, Kenric was at her side.
“Take this,” he said as he neared. She glanced up. He held a navy blanket out to her. “If you’re cold.”
“Thank you.” Emily grasped his offering and draped the soft material across her before pulling a handful up to her neck. Crazy. Good-looking. And nice, too. What was she to do with that combo? Run. Get as far away from the toxic combination as possible. That was what she should do. She’d already done crazy more times than she’d like to admit, and had vowed to make Elizabeth Bay her fresh start. Without some guy messing up her life. She could almost hear the warning bells ringing away inside her head. So what was she doing plopped in the middle of this mad man’s den? She sighed. Listen to his story, Emily. Smile, then get out of here and forget this guy ever existed. He may have gorgeous eyes and a six-pack any woman would give their best pair of shoes to scratch. But he was a big heaping mess of trouble. She could smell it.
He paced before her. He reminded her of a lion crossing his den. Something she might have called a bit egotistical and a turn-off with any other man, but it was different with him. She found his profound confidence…provocative.
He pulled on a snug-fitting black T-shirt before taking a seat. She couldn’t help but notice how the sleeves strained around his upper arms. He massaged his neck with the palm of his large hand as he leaned back against the cushion. His T-shirt rode up, revealing his rippled abs. Her pulse quickened. She licked her lips and swallowed, trying to bring some moisture back to her throat. Why did he have to look so damn edible?
Finding a new position, Kenric released a long sigh, as if he couldn’t get comfortable. Emily glanced at his expression and caught him rubbing his hand across his face. He looked about as nervous as she felt.
“What I’m about to tell you will probably be hard to believe. There’s no easing into it. All I can do is just come out and say it.” He leaned forward on the loveseat and placed his elbows on his knees. “What you’ve seen tonight, the speed at which my injuries have healed and what happened to you in the ER, is because”—he cleared his throat—“is because, I’m a vampire.”
“A vampire?” Emily pushed herself from her seat, making sure to hold on to the corner of her blanket with one hand. Her legs wobbled. Grabbing the arm of the chair, she leaned against it and regained her balance.
“C
ome on,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He nodded. “It’s true.”
“So, what you’re trying to shovel my way is that you bit me, drank my blood, and that’s the reason why I don’t remember coming here?”
He nodded again.
“And the reason why your injuries have healed within hours, of what would normally have taken weeks of recovery time, is because you’re a vampire?”
Another nod.
“Come on,” she scoffed. “You can do better than that. Vampires are a myth, a scary bedtime story for children.”
“We’re real, Emily.”
His demeanor was calm. His face a rock. He acted as if he really wanted her to believe what he was saying.
“Okay,” Emily began. “Here are my two theories on the crazy story you just threw at me. Maybe you’re covering up for some new genetic research that the government doesn’t want us to know about. Or, maybe the biting thing is just because you’re a pervert. Either of these I might have believed. They’re better than the vampire story.”
“Then why do you feel so tired?” He lifted one dark slash of a brow. “And why don’t you remember coming home with me? Why did you help me at the hospital?” He leaned back on the love seat and propped one leg over the other. “Your memories are there. Did it not seem odd to you how you were drawn to help me, and why you did the things you did?”
“You drugged me.” She shrugged. “Somehow, you drugged me.”
“I was sliced open and flat on my back in a hospital gown. How would I have drugged you?”
His blue gaze turned smoky, his intensity enveloping. Her skin tingled. Not out of fear. No, she didn’t sense intimidation. More like sensuality, radiating like a beacon, and she was a ship sailing into port.
Emily pushed away from the arm of the chair, tossed the blanket onto the seat, and turned her back to escape his lure. She ran her fingers through her bed-head, shaking off the need to allow him to draw her into his madness. And his seduction. She’d been down that route before, caving in to a man’s charms and going against her better judgment. Never again.
