She motioned to the sofa. “Would you like to sit down?” Pure habit, she supposed, prompted the offer. Her parents had worked diligently to instill good manners in her.
He followed her gaze. “Do you have an old towel or a sheet or something I can cover the cushions with so I won’t stain them?”
Heather amended her earlier thought: She was alone with a tall, dark, and dangerous vampire who was polite enough to want to avoid staining her furniture. “Sure. Do you . . . want to wash up first?”
He glanced at the curtains covering the nearest window. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”
“No.” She doubted theirs would be a short conversation. Once she jump-started her brain, she would have little trouble coming up with questions for him.
He opened the front door. “Excellent. I’ll be right back.”
Damn, the man could move fast. He flew out the door, then returned almost swifter than it took her to realize he’d left.
She eyed the small duffel bag he carried. “That had better not contain duct tape, rope, and a scalpel.”
He grinned. “I’m not a serial killer, Heather. This is just my first aid kit.”
“Oh.” His kit didn’t include blood, did it? Gross.
“Where’s your bathroom?”
She pointed to a hallway just off the living room. “First door on the right.”
“Thanks. I’ll just be a minute,” he promised and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Heather took two steps toward the kitchen, intending to wash her own hands, then halted. Was that her shower turning on?
When the telltale squeak of her shower faucets repeated, she looked toward the bathroom. She had thought he had just meant to wash the blood off his face and hands, not take a shower. That didn’t seem odd to him? Showering in a complete stranger’s home?
It sure as hell seemed odd to her.
The water turned off.
She frowned. Not even a full minute had passed, so he couldn’t have taken a shower. It must’ve been the sink. She hadn’t realized the sink’s faucet squeaked, too.
She started toward the kitchen once more.
The bathroom door opened.
Ethan strode out, carrying his duffel bag.
Heather’s mouth fell open. It had been the shower.
Ethan’s skin no longer bore ruby stains. His short, black hair was wet and slicked back from a face Heather found even more handsome than she had anticipated. Heavy stubble dusted a strong jaw. His straight nose fit his face perfectly. Dark brows hovered above pretty brown eyes that no longer glowed with that peculiar iridescence.
The clothing that adorned his large form was fresh and clean, if a little rumpled. A tight, black T-shirt clung to broad shoulders, a muscular chest, and biceps the size of freaking bowling balls. The man worked out. His black cargo pants hugged a narrow waist and thighs that also bulged with muscle.
When she finally managed to drag her gaze back up to his face, she felt her heart turn over at the boyish grin he sent her.
“Thank you. That feels much better.”
Heather couldn’t find her voice. Her heart began to pound erratically in her chest as images from those erotic dreams bombarded her. Damn it. They had been few and far between. Why had they affected her as much as the nearly nightly battle scene dreams?
Ethan’s smile slipped. “Heather?” Dropping his bag, he approached her with care. “Are you okay?”
She forced herself to nod. “Yes, it’s just . . . been a rough morning.”
“For both of us,” he agreed. Only a few feet away now, he drew in a deep breath and frowned. “You’re hurt.”
“What?”
“You’re hurt. I smell blood. And not vampire blood.” His gaze swept her form. Stepping closer, he took her hands in his and turned them palms-up so he could study them.
Heather dragged her gaze away from him and glanced down, surprised to see several scratches on her hands. She must have scraped them on rocks or sticks when Ethan and the vampire had knocked her down. Though the cuts weren’t deep, they had managed to birth a few beads of blood.
She looked up at Ethan.
A faint amber glow entered his eyes. Was he drawn by the blood?
She cleared her throat. “If you start licking my hands, I’m going to totally lose it.”
He laughed—a deep rumble that warmed her insides and demanded she smile in return. Then his grin twisted into a grimace of pain. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry.”
He raised her hands and pressed them back toward her shoulders so he could see the underside of her forearms. “Your elbows are scraped, too. Do you have any first aid stuff, or do you want to use some of mine?”
“They’ll be fine if I just wash them.”
“You should put some alcohol on them. I know it’ll burn like hell, but it will help keep the cuts from getting infected.”
She tried to protest again, but soon found herself squeezed into her bathroom with him. Ethan positioned her hands over the sink. Turning on the water, he soaped up his large hands, then shocked Heather by gently sliding them over her hands and up her arms to her elbows.
Her heart again pounded in her chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it stings.”
“I’m fine,” she whispered. How could he smell so good when he wasn’t wearing any cologne?
He rinsed the soap off them both, then patted her skin dry and bent to draw a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the bag she hadn’t realized he had brought with them. Opening the small closet behind him, he drew out a small, clean hand towel.
Heather secretly cringed at the huge box of tampons that sat front and center on the shelf above the towels.
Ethan didn’t seem to notice it, though.
Hell, he was a vampire. He might not even know what they were for.
Pouring some alcohol on the towel, he looked down at her and raised his eyebrows.
Gritting her teeth, she nodded.
Fire flashed through her hands and up her arms when he applied the towel to her scrapes.
Tossing the towel aside, he bent his head and blew on the throbbing cuts.
Even his warm breath on her skin made her pulse race.
“Better?” he asked, his face close to hers.
“Yes, thank you.”
Straightening, he took her hands in his own and held them. “How did I do?”
She raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“I only recently started learning first aid. You’re the first person I’ve tended. So . . . how did I do?”
What was it about him that kept making her want to smile? “You did well.”
He grinned that heart-stopping grin of his. “Excellent.” Raising her hands, he pressed a quick kiss to the back of each, then released them and grabbed his bag.
While she stood there, stunned, her skin tingling from the touch of his soft lips, he motioned for her to precede him out of the bathroom.
Heather led him back into the den.
“Shall we sit?” he asked.
The fact that he was so sweet and polite only made the situation seem more surreal. A kind vampire with exceptional manners who was learning to administer first aid to humans in need?
“This is so weird,” she repeated as she sat on the sofa.
Again he laughed, then grimaced. “I thought I told you not to make me laugh.” He seated himself beside her, a few feet away. Swiveling to face her, he propped an ankle on the opposite knee and draped his muscled arm across the back of the sofa.
Damn, he looked good.
He’s a vampire, Heather! Get a grip!
“Why were you fighting those vampires?” she asked. As that odd numbness finally wore off, question after question flooded her mind. “They looked like they were trying to kill you.”
“They were.”
“Why?” Was it a territorial thing? she wondered.
“Because I was hunting them.”
>
She stared at him. “You were hunting vampires?”
“Yes.” His face sobered. “Those vampires were insane, Heather. They preyed upon humans, torturing them and killing them at will. I couldn’t allow that.”
There were good vampires and bad vampires?
Not too surprising, she supposed. There were good humans and bad humans, after all.
“Why did they shrivel up like that?”
“That’s what happens to vampires when they die.”
She eyed him with disquiet. “So . . . that’s what would happen to you if you died?”
“Yes.”
“That’s messed up.”
He shrugged. “Every living thing decomposes when it dies. We just decompose a little faster.”
A lot faster. Too fast to even bury. “Will more vampires come looking for the ones we killed?”
A look of unease swept over his handsome features. “I can’t rule it out.” He glanced at the curtain-cloaked windows, then met her gaze. “It would be best if I stayed until sunrise. I’d like to be here to protect you in case more of their ilk should follow their friends to the clearing and trace our scents here.”
Crap. “Should I be worried?” she asked, fear resurfacing.
He shook his head. “Vampires can’t bear any level of sun exposure, so you’ll be safe during the day. And it’s supposed to rain this evening. That will wash away our scents. If you can stand having me around that long, I’ll stay until then to ensure your safety.”
She said nothing.
“Heather?”
“I’m sorry. This is just a lot to take in. I went from believing vampires only existed in my dreams, fiction, and folklore, to helping one vampire defeat seven others, and am now being asked if one can spend the day with me.”
He tilted his head to one side. “You mentioned something earlier about a dream. I thought you were just in shock at the time. Are you saying you dream about vampires?”
She studied him. “You’re on the up-and-up, right? I mean, fangs and glowing eyes aside, you seem like a nice guy.” He could have killed her several times over by now if he had been anything else.
“I am. You can trust me, Heather. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She hesitated, wanting to trust him, but . . .
“If I were like the ones we destroyed earlier, I would have already tortured and killed you by now,” he added, his words mirroring her thoughts.
He didn’t pull any punches, did he?
And both knew he spoke the truth. It was why she hadn’t fought his coming inside. She had seen his incredible speed and strength. Had known windows and doors would’ve proven no deterrent to someone that powerful. Yet he had suggested they speak inside.
And she had wanted to understand those dreams. What better way than by asking the star of them?
Heather drew in a deep breath. “I don’t dream about vampires in general. I dream about the vampires we fought together this morning.” She met his curious gaze. “I dream about you, Ethan.”
Ethan blinked. “You dream about me?”
How the hell was that possible? They hadn’t even met until half an hour ago.
“Yes.”
“So when you were ranting about wanting to wake up earlier . . .”
“I thought that what happened this morning was another dream.”
He frowned.
“I know it sounds crazy,” she said with a sigh, “but I’ve had the same vivid dream almost every night for a year now. I’m sitting in a clearing.” She pointed in the direction of the meadow in which the melee had taken place. “That clearing. I’m surrounded by lawn lights. I’m reading an eBook. I look at my watch. It says 5:43. I hear a rustling sound. A breeze stirs the fog that creeps across the ground. I hear distant voices, followed by what sounds like a large animal barreling through the forest toward me. I grab my gun. You and seven vampires—the same seven vampires you fought this morning—burst into the clearing. I freeze. You tell me to shoot them. I fire my weapon. Then the alarm wakes me up.”
Understanding dawned. “You thought your alarm had malfunctioned.”
“Yes. At least, I hoped it had.”
“You have the same dream every night?”
“Almost every night,” she corrected.
“Nothing in it ever changes?”
“Nothing.”
He smiled. “You must be a gifted one.”
Her brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. A what?”
“A gifted one. A human born with special abilities other humans don’t possess.”
She blanched. “W-why would you think I was different from other humans?”
“You clearly have precognitive abilities. Your dream foretold the future.”
She relaxed a little. “No. I’m not . . . I don’t have precognitive abilities.”
“Sure you do. The dream told you you’d meet me.”
“But that’s never happened before. If I were precognitive or whatever, wouldn’t I have been like that all my life? Wouldn’t I have had other dreams that predicted the future?”
He lost his smile. “This has never happened before?”
“No.”
Puzzled, he pondered that. Gifted ones were born with their abilities and began using them at a very early age. They didn’t just suddenly gain abilities in their twenties. “If you aren’t a precog, why did you look so uneasy when I suggested you were different from other humans?” He heard her heart begin to pound as a spark of fear entered her lovely brown eyes. “Do you possess other gifts or abilities?”
She remained silent.
“It’s okay, Heather,” he assured her. “You can tell me. I’m different, too.”
Her lips twitched. “The fangs, glowing eyes, and super speed kinda clued me in to that.”
Ethan laughed, ignoring the pain that shot through his back. He really liked this woman. “I was different before my transformation.”
Heather studied him. “Are you saying you are a—what was it—a gifted one?”
“Yes.”
“What are your abilities?”
“I just have one, which I’m afraid is pretty boring.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
He sent her a wry smile. “I have what you might call a photographic memory, raised to the nth power.”
She frowned. “You remember everything you read?”
“Everything I read, see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. I remember every detail of every minute I’ve ever lived.”
She stared, her expression saying, Really? That’s it?
Ethan grinned. “I told you. Boring as hell, right?”
“No,” she very kindly lied. “Not at all.”
“What’s the earliest memory you can dredge up?” he asked.
She thought about it for a moment. “My granddad giving me a puppy when I was three or four.”
“Where were you?”
“I think we were in the living room of my grandparents’ home.”
“What shirt was he wearing?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know. I think something light.”
“Was it day or night?”
“I don’t know that either.”
Ethan nodded. “Most peoples’ earliest memories are like that. Most start around the same age, too. Now ask me what my earliest memory is?”
“What’s your earliest memory?” she parroted.
“The day I was born.”
Heather regarded him with obvious disbelief.
“I remember the midwife who delivered me,” Ethan told her. “The floral pattern on the dress she wore. The sweat stains under her arms and between her breasts. It was hot as hell that day and the house had no air-conditioning.” He saw it all as clearly as a video. “A mix of gray and blond hairs had escaped her chignon and clung damply to the edges of her face. I remember my father bursting into the room, drawn by my crying. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he looked both scared and elated at the
same time. I remember my older brothers peeking into the room while my dad took me from the midwife and presented me to my mother. And I remember feeling an instant connection to my mother, remember the fear draining away when she took me in her arms and kissed the top of my head.”
Heather said nothing.
He smiled, accustomed to the response. “You don’t believe me.” He liked that she would rather say nothing than admit she thought he was full of crap and hurt his feelings.
She had a kind heart.
“When we were in the clearing,” he said, “you dumped the contents of your bag onto the ground when you were looking for your spare magazine.”
She nodded.
Ethan proceeded to list every single item in her backpack.
Her eyes widened.
He told her how many lawn lights she had used, told her how many speckles of blood adorned her shoes.
She looked down. Counted. Confirmed he was correct.
“I asked you where you were going when you left the clearing,” he went on. “You said, ‘I’m going home. I’m going home. I’m going to bed. And I’m going to wait for the damned alarm clock to wake me up. I don’t know why it didn’t wake me up this time. It always wakes me up at the same point in the dream. Every freaking time. Right after I look down and see that it’s 5:43. All hell breaks loose. I fire my gun. And the alarm wakes me up. Maybe there was a power outage. I can’t remember the last time I changed the backup batteries in that thing. Or maybe the damned thing just crapped out on me. I don’t know.’”
“Wow,” she said. “I really rambled on like that? I sound crazy.”
He shook his head. “Those vampires were crazy. You were just rattled.” He went on to tell her how many feet they had walked before they had entered her backyard. How many steps led up to her back deck. How many steps led up to her front porch. How many boards composed the floor of her porch. How many tiles made up her bathroom floor. “I’d recite everything you have in your bathroom closet, but I honestly don’t know what half of that stuff is.”
A moment of silence passed.
Rising, Heather crossed to the bathroom and disappeared inside it. Several minutes passed before she leaned out and stared at him with wide eyes.
“Was I right about the tiles in the floor?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Shadows Strike Page 3
