Trust Me

by Lori Devoti

  Harry brushed the ancient blade from the mattress, sending it skittering across the floor. His body tense, he stared down at Lindsey.

  She was perfectly still but unblemished; he could feel the life pulsing from her, could feel her spirit—the sheer humanness of her—pulling at his monster half.

  When Brett looked at her, he saw innocence. Harry guessed his own, lost by whatever horrific decision Brett’s parents had made three centuries earlier.

  But when Harry looked at Lindsey, he saw more than that. He saw everything he had never dreamed he could have—love and warmth, acceptance and caring. Lindsey had left everything she knew behind to find a cousin she had never met.

  And for what? To be laid out as a sacrifice, not just here on his bed but in his bar. Trotted out for the vampires to ogle, gossip over, and eventually try to destroy.

  Harry, at that moment, hated himself as much as he ever had—even when his hands had been coated with his father’s blood.

  He knelt on the bed next to Lindsey and ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. Her eyes opened, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

  Then she opened her mouth and screamed.

  o0o

  Suddenly awake, Lindsey’s eyes flew open. The world around her was dark, just like in every nightmare, every reliving of what she was quickly accepting as some real, long-ago event—except this time when she stirred herself from the dream, she wasn’t alone.

  Fear rushed over her like cascading water. Her throat opened, and a scream raced out. She scrambled backward, shoving herself away from whatever waited for her in the dark, using her hands and heels to move her body over the soft surface where she lay.

  Her heart pounded, and she flung her arms out, expecting, for some reason, to hit rough wood walls, but she found only air.

  In a room, open and with space to move, but where and with whom? She rolled to one side, throwing herself away from the touch she had felt.

  “Lindsey! Don’t.”

  A voice, familiar, but in her panic, she couldn’t place it. She couldn’t remember if it belonged to friend or threat, couldn’t remember anything except panic and pain.

  Her hand moved to her scar. No fresh wound. No pounding ache.

  She was alive and whole. Okay, for now.

  Unable to breathe, she fell on her knees and rested her head on the flat, soft surface in front of her. Then, eyes squeezed closed, she forced her lungs to take in air, forced her body to still and willed her heart to slow.

  Not in the box. Not this time.

  o0o

  Lindsey’s fear hit Harry hard and sudden, almost knocking him over. Her eyes wide, she’d scrambled backward, then flung herself to the side, onto the floor. Now she knelt there panting, as if fighting to take in each breath.

  He raced after her and pulled her to her feet. “Lindsey! Breathe.” Unsure whether to shake her or physically force air into her lungs, he held her at arm’s length.

  Her body shuddered, and slowly her breathing relaxed. When she looked up at him, he could smell her terror. He pulled her to his chest and ran his hand down her hair.

  “You’re all right. You’re in my apartment. No one can hurt you here—no one.” He bit out the last two words.

  “I—” She shook her head. “I thought I was somewhere else.”

  “Where?” He’d seen the nightmare in her face.

  “The box,” she whispered.

  “Box? Tell me.” His arms still wrapped around her, he sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling her with him.

  “No.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t real. I don’t… I overreacted.”

  “But it was real once.” He knew some of Lindsey’s history but had never considered what she had experienced as a child, what she might already know about her family without even realizing it.

  “I…I don’t know. It seems real.”

  She was shaking, quivering.

  Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Tell me,” he said, his lips brushing the top of her head.

  She started talking, her words coming so fast she almost seemed to stumble over them. “I never had a home, at least not one I remember. When I was five, or looked to be five, two cops found me wandering a backstreet in New Orleans. I was in good shape physically, except for this.” Her hand moved to her temple and the scar that ran across it, looping out from her hairline. “But I didn’t know my name or where I’d come from—nothing.”

  She bit her lip, and for a moment he thought she would quit talking. Then she continued. “They took me in and did some kind of search, but no one had reported me missing, and no one was looking for me.”

  There she was wrong. A number of people had looked for her, but until recently, none had found her.

  “I wound up in the foster system. It was…”

  “Rough?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  He could feel the tears she was holding inside; her body almost vibrated with the effort of keep them in. “So you were moved again.”

  “And again. I’ve always wanted a family, a real family.”

  And he’d given her Marie Jean.

  His shoulders tensed, and he turned his head, as if looking away would put a stop to the shame brought on by his part in her continued hell.

  “But since I’ve been here, I’ve been having…memories.” She quieted for a moment. “At least, I think they’re memories. They seem so real, and they’re getting more so.”

  “Tell me about them.” He didn’t really want to hear. He could guess well enough what she’d experienced as a child, and what she was remembering now. But, for what he’d done, he owed her that. He owed her more.

  “It was just flashes at first. Images and sounds, but it’s coming together.” She closed her eyes, and a shiver racked her small frame. “There was a man, but he wasn’t a man… His face wasn’t normal. It was twisted and ugly—like something out of a horror movie.” She looked at Harry as if wanting his assurance that what she was saying was impossible.

  But it wasn’t. It was very possible, and Harry guessed, very real—or had been. Whatever had happened to Lindsey was coming back to her—perhaps brought on by the blood Harry had been feeding her.

  Not the vampire skill Harry had hoped his father’s blood would bring.

  When Harry didn’t comment, Lindsey edged out of his arms a bit and looked up at him. Her face was earnest. “I…I think I remember my mother too. She looked like me, not like—” She paused, and he could see her mind scrambling.

  She was thinking of Marie Jean, or Karin, as she thought of her. She hadn’t mentioned seeing her yet, but then she’d been so caught up in her dream, she’d seemed unable to think of anything else. But now, would she mention her?

  She pulled away a little more, and, her hands on his chest, she looked around the room. “I’m in your apartment? How’d I get here?”

  The fog of waking from the nightmare and the drugs he’d given her was gone. He settled back, adding another inch of distance between them.

  “Brett brought you. He found you on the street. You had passed out. Have you not been eating?” Perhaps it was unfair to test her like this, to see how truthful she would be, but Harry wanted to know.

  “I…” Her eyes darted around the room, and he could see her thinking, remembering. But remembering what? What had Marie Jean said to her before he approached?

  When she looked back at him, there was uncertainty and fear in her eyes.

  He knew then the bitch Marie Jean had told Lindsey something, convinced her of something.

  The realization that he’d lost Lindsey’s trust, undeserving as he’d been of having it, twisted in his gut like an ice pick.

  And he was stuck with the feeling for now. He couldn’t deny whatever Marie Jean had told Lindsey. To do so, he would have to admit that he’d seen Marie Jean too, that he had drugged Lindsey and tried to kill her cousin.

  He sincerely doubted that either of those would restore her fa
ith in him.

  No, the truth wasn’t Harry’s friend. The truth would send Lindsey running away from him.

  “I…I probably could eat more. It’s hard without a car. I’ve been going to the café…” She let the response trail off.

  He waited, still hoping she’d change her mind and share the questions and doubts he could see in her eyes.

  She dropped her gaze and stared at the floor.

  “I can get you something…” He rose, ready to continue the act, to go into the kitchen he seldom used and find her something to eat.

  “No.” She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back down on the mattress beside her.

  He breathed out, a bit of the tension he’d been holding releasing.

  “I’d rather keep talking.”

  He took her hand in his. “So you remember a man.”

  “The monster.”

  “Monster,” he repeated, the word barely audible.

  “And my mother.”

  Beauty and the beast, except Lindsey’s mother’s tale hadn’t ended fairy-tale happy.

  “He killed her.” She looked up, her face stricken. “I’m not sure how, but I know he did. I can feel it.” Her hand moved to her chest. She bunched the material of her shirt with her fist. “I think I saw it, and I think…I’m afraid…I’m going to remember more.”

  If he stopped feeding her the blood, would it stop the memories? Harry doubted it. The gate was already open, her brain already healing from whatever had been done to it to make it forget.

  Accepting that whatever harm he’d caused was past repairing, he asked, “And the box? You mentioned a box.”

  She shook her head slightly, more a tremor than gesture of affirmation. “I’ve always hated the dark and small places. Now I think I know why.”

  “You think you were put in one.” It was a harsh thing to imagine, but vampires lost something once they were turned. Putting Lindsey in the box would have meant nothing to her attacker. But then killing her wouldn’t have either.

  And that was the bigger question. Why had she been saved? Was it possible there was a vampire out there besides Brett with some bit of a conscious?

  Harry couldn’t imagine that was true, but Lindsey had been saved, and she’d been hidden well. It had taken all of Harry’s resources and a good bit of luck to locate her.

  “But your life, was it good?” She hadn’t had to live with the memories. That had to be a gift.

  “It was”—she licked her lips as if unsure she wanted to admit whatever she was about to say—“lonely. No one abused me, but no one cared about me either. I was the weird girl in the corner that no one really wanted to get to know.”

  Harry closed his eyes and pulled her against his chest. He knew her pain; he had lived her pain. “It’s hard to be different,” he replied. “I lost my parents too; my father in a way not all that different than how you think your mother died.”

  “He was murdered?”

  “Yes.” Still holding her, he turned his face away.

  “I’m sorry.” She placed a hand on his chest, tentative, as if she’d done something to warrant apologizing.

  He held back a laugh. She, the innocent, the pawn in this vampire-driven tale, was sorry.

  His arms tightened around her, and he lowered his face to hers. For a moment, neither moved. Her breath warmed his face, and her eyes were huge. He could feel his heart beating, could feel his body warm. Resemblance to Marie Jean or not, he wanted to be with this woman, wanted to be loved by this woman.

  A warning bell sounded in his head. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t love or be loved, and this woman was bait.

  Bait. Nothing but a means to the end of his lifelong mission of revenge.

  He laughed out loud, the sound rough and jarring. Lindsey pulled back, her lips parting and hurt showing on her face.

  “What?” she asked.

  And that moment of hurt was all it took. He knew the lie was dead, knew his plan was finished. He couldn’t sacrifice this woman, even to avenge his father and himself. He couldn’t risk any tiny amount of harm coming to her. He, God save him, loved her.

  He pulled her against his chest and captured her lips with his.

  Chapter Eleven

  Heat ran through Lindsey’s veins. She had never wanted to touch or be touched as much as she did right now with Harry.

  His lips moved from her mouth to her cheek, then her ear and her neck. He nipped at her skin, and her back arched. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and a moan escaped her lips.

  “No one will ever hurt you again. I promise you that.”

  His words floated around her. No hurt. Without hurt, was there life? She’d never known the second without the first. The pain she carried with her was so deep and engrained, she didn’t know who she would be without it.

  His lips moved again, lower, until she felt her shirt part and his mouth nuzzle her breasts. She gasped and fell backward. He moved with her, his hands undoing her shorts and then moving to the curve of her hip.

  “Never again,” he whispered. His voice strummed with passion and determination. His body was taut as if ready to attack.

  He meant what he said. He wanted her safe. Karin was wrong. Harry wouldn’t betray her. She could trust him; she could love him too.

  She placed her hands on his chest, shoving his now open shirt aside. If anyone could save her from her nightmares and her past, it was this man.

  And what could she do for him? Could she save him too? He had yet to tell her his secrets, yet to share his pain, but she could sense it inside him. If she gave him her trust, would he do the same?

  She prayed he would.

  Blessedly, completely naked, he braced his hands on either side of her head and stared down at her. She could see him now, she realized. Her eyes had adjusted to the pitch-black surrounding them. His face was open, not the cold professional mask he wore while at the bar. She reached up and ran her cupped hand over his cheek. He turned his face to meet her touch and pressed a kiss against her palm.

  She smiled. He was hers. Without words, with that small simple brush of a kiss, he’d told her that. Hers. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

  Then he lowered his body onto hers, softly, so only part of his weight pressed against her, pushing her deeper into the mattress below them.

  “You’ve changed everything. Do you know that? Everything,” he murmured. He caught her nipple between his teeth, and electricity shot through her. All thoughts of belonging or not, being alone or not, were blown aside, and all she could do was feel.

  Her hands clutched at his back, and her body arched. He ran his hand down her side, tracing the curve of her body until he reached her hip. His thumb brushed over the thatch of hair that covered her sex, and she wiggled toward him, waiting and wanting. He smiled against her breast and then nipped again.

  Unable to wait any longer, she moved her hands to his erection and stroked his hard length. Her own sex was moist and hot, ready. She parted her legs and guided his erection toward her.

  He smiled again, then, bracing his weight above her, he drove his sex into hers—smooth and hard, stretching her until she gasped with pleasure and her head lolled to one side.

  He drove into her, pumping deeper and harder each time. Her spirit soared as her body cried out for more. He kissed her, and she kissed him back, desperate with need, for this moment and forever.

  The air smelled of musk and man, sex and belonging. She wrapped her hands around his back and her legs around his hips, allowing him to drive deeper still.

  His breathing grew fast, and hers did too, but she lost track of that, lost track of everything except the spiraling feeling of her orgasm coming. Then it hit, and her world exploded. She clutched at him again, every muscle inside her tightening in such exquisite pain that she knew she would never feel anything this divine again.

  A scream left her lips, and she grasped at him one last time, clung to him as the waves flowed over her, as he fell beside her and pu
lled her close, as he pressed his lips to the scar on her temple and whispered, “Never again.”

  She was safe, and she wasn’t alone.

  o0o

  Harry pulled Lindsey close, as close as he could get to her without being inside her again. And how he longed for that time to come soon.

  He angled his neck so his temple rested on the top of her head. Her hair tickled his nose, and he smiled, almost laughed.

  He was relaxed, totally and completely relaxed.

  Harry Bisson never relaxed; it wasn’t in his makeup. But now, maybe, with Lindsey in his life, it was.

  He liked the thought, liked the possibility that his life could be something more than it had been—that he could have the life his father and Marie Jean had taken from him.

  Marie Jean. He’d almost forgotten her and the looming deadline of May Day.

  He stared down at Lindsey, guilt squeezing around him like a closing fist. Brett was right; he hadn’t done enough to keep her safe, hadn’t, in truth, done much at all.

  He slipped from bed and padded barefoot into his kitchen. With only two days left, there was no time to waste.

  o0o

  Lindsey woke with a start. Her hands reached out, grasping at the sheets. She pulled in breaths, deep and ragged.

  The nightmare had come back, clearer. She’d been alone in the dark, the hard floor of the box causing her butt to go numb, her head aching.

  As sleep left, the headache dissipated, and she realized again that she’d been trapped only in her dreams. The room was dark, but the surface beneath her was soft. She was in a bed—Harry’s bed. And—her eyes fully adjusted now, she looked around—he was gone.

  Again.

  Her lips thinned as she tried to hold back hurt and disappointment. She’d thought she’d been wrong, thought Karin was too—

  “Are you awake?” Harry’s voice rolled over her like a warm breeze. Unconsciously, she moved forward as if soaking the sound into her body.

  He hadn’t left.

  “I made you a drink.”

  “A drink? It’s what?”

  “Eleven. Late enough for a Bloody Mary, don’t you think?” He held a glass between two fingers. Ice cube clinked.