by Trisha Telep
“Fond memories? That doesn’t describe it> I remember the way you moaned in my arms, the way you smiled when you woke up and smelled coffee. I remember the way you taste.”
Lowering his head, he buried his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder. She tensed and tried to jerk away. He breathed in the scent of her, let it flood his system and then he let her pull back.
“I remember the way you cried yourself to sleep while I held you. I remember you walking out on me.”
He blew out a breath and shifted his gaze away from her. This was hard, even harder than he’d thought it would be. How could those few nights have left such a mark on him?
He hadn’t been with another since her and the sexual frustration alone was murder. But he didn’t want any other woman. He couldn’t see a pretty brunette without remembering her, remembering the way he’d buried his hands in her silken hair as he kissed her. The way it had spread over them like a blanket as they slept.
“I’ve got fond memories of fishing with my dad. My first dog. My first woman.” He slid her a look and added gruffly, “But ‘fond’ doesn’t even scratch the surface when it comes to you.”
No ‘Fond’ was for barely recalled memories of his youth, memories of the life he’d planned to live until fate intervened. ‘Fond’ was something he might enjoy reminiscing about, but nothing he’d spend his life missing. He’d missed Sara every day. Woke up thinking of her. Dreamed of her. Thought about her. Ached for her.
Sara was one of those things ‘not meant to be’ that he usually was able to move past. Like the life he had once so carefully planned. The fiancée he’d been forced to leave behind. His job. His home. His parents. Things, people he’d loved. But he’d been able to move past them.
He couldn’t say the same about Sara and, as he studied her face, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to tuck her neatly away in some niche. She might be a ‘not meant to be’, but he couldn’t accept it.
She started to squirm, her gaze moving away, as though his attention made her uncomfortable.
When he took a step towards her, her eyes swung back in his direction and, although she kept her expression blank, he could feel the fear in her. He didn’t stop though and she didn’t back away from him. “You’re afraid of me.”
Her chin angled up. “I’d be stupid to not be afraid.”
Wyatt cocked a brow at her. “Why? When have I ever done anything to hurt you? To make you think that I might?”
Curling her lip at him, she gestured towards his face, her eyes lingering on his mouth. Although he knew there was nothing sexual in the look, his body responded as though she had pressed a kiss to his lips rather than sneered at his fangs. “Those aren’t there for ornamentation.”
With a shrug, Wyatt said, “No. They aren’t. They serve a purpose. But I decided what purpose they’ll serve, Sara. I didn’t lose my humanity when this happened – and I didn’t choose for it to happen.”
Her lashes flickered. He’d like to think he was actually reaching her but Wyatt hadn’t ever been much of an optimist.
“Leave me alone, Wyatt.”
She glanced towards her things, but she didn’t try to get them. Instead, she backed away until she reached the rickety fire escape, watching him as though she expected him to pounce on her. The idea had its appeal, although not for the reasons she seemed to think. But Wyatt just stood there and watched as she swung her legs over the edge of the roof and disappeared from view.
“That didn’t go well.”
The wind slammed into him as he stood there in the darkness debating his next move. For now, the vampire Sara had been targeting was safe, as were any others in the area (she’d left her weapons behind).
Wyatt tucked her gun into his waist, turned to look back at her other things. With a sigh, he started to pack them up only to stop and look back in the direction Sara had gone.
It was midnight and Sara was a woman alone. He’d follow her, make sure she got wherever she was staying unharmed. His train of thought slammed him to a halt as his body whispered a warning. An icy-cold touch slithered down his spine and every instinct he had went on red alert. His head flew up and he turned his head following a summons few could hear. Death. Blind hunger.
He hadn’t lost his humanity when he became a vampire. But some had.
There were monsters out there preying on humans and, right now, one of them was on the hunt.
Sara couldn’t hear the footsteps and, when she turned to look, she saw nobody behind her. But she knew she was being followed.
Hell. Screw followed.
She was being stalked.
The skin on the back of her neck crawled, her gut knotted and blood roared in her ears. Her fingers itched and if she’d had her gun, she would have been holding it like a security blanket. She wanted to run. Desperately. But the calmer part knew that running was a bad, bad idea. Very bad. Things that ran got chased. Things that got chased too often got caught. No thanks.
Then there was another part of her that whispered she needed to get back to Wyatt. That voice, for some reason, was harder to ignore. She had no logical reason to think that anything about Wyatt promised safety – even if he had just let her walk away. Even if he hadn’t tried to hurt her.
“Where are you going, pretty girl?”
It was a low, amused voice – deep with a Southern accent, soft and quiet. Not at all threatening. But she felt the threat. Sending a glance over her shoulder, she looked for him, but saw nothing. Picking up her speed, she focused on the sidewalk in front of her. And ploughed right into him.
Instinct kicked in and she drove the hell of her palm upwards, but he moved away, evading her strike with pathetic ease. He grabbed both her arms. His fingers were hard, the chill of them seeping through her clothes and freezing her to the bone. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” he asked, smiling.
Sara said nothing.
The smile faded away and he cocked his head, studying her face. “You aren’t screaming. Why aren’t you screaming?”
Again, she said nothing.
His fingers tightened on her arms and he jerked her close. Sara craned her head away from him when he pressed his mouth to her cheek and he started to laugh.
“There, that’s more like it. It’s more fun when you fight.”
Then this is going to be a lot of fun for you.”
The sound of that voice was about the sweetest sound she’d ever heard, Sara decided. So what if she had all but run away from him a few minutes ago? Angling her head, she tried to follow the sound of his voice, but the man holding her moved, dragging her into an alley at their right.
He moved with a speed that left her head spinning. Fear had blood roaring in her ears. She thought she heard them talking but their words didn’t make a whole lot of sense. At least not until a hand fisted in her hair and jerked her head to the side. “Unless you want me to rip her throat out in front of you, you’ll stay the hell back.”
That she heard, even though she wished she hadn’t. The vampire lowered his mouth to her neck, running his teeth along the arch. “Come any closer, Hunter, she dies.”
She focused on Wyatt’s face. She could see him now, moving through the alley, a smirk on his lips. Light and shadow played across his face and those piercing, pale-amber eyes of his glowed. “You know how this ends, boy. Let her go and I might even give you a head start. But that’s your only chance.”
The man at her back tightened his hand, forcing her head into an unnatural angle which hurt. Shit, it felt like he was going to snap her neck before he could bite her. “I know what happens if I let her go.”
Wyatt smiled. It was a mean smile, full of threat and menace. “That’s going to happen anyway. You just get the choice – painfully slow or mercifully quick.”
Behind her, the vampire tensed. His arm came up, angling across her upper body and his hand spread across her neck gently, almost lover-like. “I got a better choice.”
“Like hell,” Sara snarled and
reared back with her head. He either wasn’t as quick as Wyatt or he’d been fooled by her silence, because he didn’t move out of the way in time. She hit him with a force that left her head spinning, but she heard bone crunch. At the same time, she lifted her foot and brought the hell of her booted foot down on his.
What happened next was too quick for her to process. One minute he had her, and then she was flying, careering through the air and hitting the wall with jarring force. Her head smashed into the brick and brilliant lights exploded behind her eyes.
Distantly, she heard her name. Wyatt. There was a roar. A rush of wind.
The pain in her head throbbed, blocking out anything, everything else. Hands touched her face. Gentle. Soothing. “Sara, look at me.”
Too hard. Opening her eyes just took too much effort. But he brushed his fingers down her cheek and she realized she had to see him. Lifting her lashes, she stared at his face, watching as it swam in and out of focus. His amber eyes were dark with worry, anger. Despite the pain radiating through her, she had to smile.
He actually looked like he cared.
But vampires couldn’t care.
Wyatt sat in the chair by the window, brooding as he watched the sun sink below the horizon. As time passed, some of the stronger vamps could tolerate ever-increasing amounts of sunlight. Just a few seconds at first, but their tolerance improved slowly. Wyatt’s Change had been nearly 80 years ago and he could take enough sun to watch as the sun made its disappearance.
His skin itched and burned, just like it would from sunburn and it felt like there were blisters forming. But as the sun’s rays faded, his body started to repair the damage.
He knew when she woke, heard the subtle change in her breathing, in her heartbeat. Sill, he wasn’t prepared for the low, throaty sound of her voice. “I didn’t think vampires could handle sunlight.”
Closing his eyes, he steeled himself to see her face before turning to look at her. She was pale, but alive. The past 13-plus hours had been awful. He’d fought his body’s natural instincts, remaining awake throughout the day to watch her.
Watch.
Worry.
Brood.
And worry some more. It had been more than 80 years since he’d graduated from medical school and saying that things had changed was putting it mildly. Still, a concussion was fairly basic and that was all she had. One thing about being a vampire: if she had been bleeding internally, he would have scented it.
She was still staring at him wide-eyed. Wyatt sighed and glanced over his shoulder at the darkening sky. “Most of the mythology surrounding vampires is either pure nonsense or highly exaggerated.
“Like the sight or scent of blood turns you into a maniac?”
Wyatt shrugged. “Older vamps have better control than that. A new one? Possibly. But new vamps are supervised until they have some sense of control.”
“You make it sound like there are laws.”
“There are.” Wyatt didn’t bother elaborating. She wouldn’t care about their laws, about his purpose, about anything.
“Apparently the laws aren’t serving much purpose,” She said, her voice bitter.
Gently, Wyatt pointed out. “Humans have laws. But humans still kill, still steal, still rape. The law gives us a way to punish the guilty but as long as free will exists, there will be those who break the law. Mortals and vampires.”
She looked away from him but not before he glimpsed the pain, the anger in her gaze. “The law failed your brother and his wife, Sara. I’m sorry for that. But you can’t continue on this mission of yours. It’s going to get you killed.”
Her laugh was soft and bitter. “You think I don’t know that?” She paused and looked back at him. “These laws – somebody had to uphold them, right? Can somebody find justice for my brother? His wife?”
“Sara,” He waited until she looked at him and then he slid off the chair. There wasn’t anything he could say to take this pain from her, even if he shared all he knew, nothing would undo the pain. This much, though, he could give. He knelt in front of her and wished he could touch her, wished she could want his touch. “It’s already been done.”
She blinked. Her throat worked as she swallowed. Her tongue slid out to wet her lips and, even though it was an innocent gesture, Wyatt’s blood warmed and hunger flared to life. He had to focus to even understand her next words.
“Already done?”
He couldn’t not touch her. Wyatt realized. She’d pull away, he’d feel a fool, but he had to do it. Lightly, gently. All he did was brush her hair back from her face, a quick caress that lasted just a heartbeat. Her breath froze in her lungs and he braced himself. But she didn’t pull back. She didn’t flinch. Her eyes didn’t freeze over with disgust. Her eyes lifted and met his. Slowly, Wyatt reached out, cupped her cheek in his hand. “Done. They were dead before the sun set the next day.”
Sara slumped, dropping her head down. “Dead.” She was motionless for a minute and then she stood, brushing past him to pace the room. “Dead. You tell me they’ve been dead for a year. And you expect me to believe you. Just like that?”
Rising. Wyatt tucked his hands into his pockets, watched her long strides. “I don’t expect you to believe me, Sara, Not over this. Not over anything.”
She came to an abrupt halt and turned, facing him. “Then why do I? Why do I trust you? How come I look at you and I don’t have the urge to run when I know I should?” There was naked emotion in her eyes, confusion. Doubt.
And need.
The need hit him square in the gut, because it seemed to echo the emotion inside him. His voice was rusty, hoarse as he said. “It’s your brain telling you to run, Sara. But some other part of you realizes I’m no danger to you.”
“How can you not be?”
A fist closed around his heart. Wyatt took one slow step in her direction. Followed by another. Another. He was close enough to reach out and touch her, but he wouldn’t let himself. “How could I? How could I possibly hurt you?” Instead of touching her, he reached behind him and pulled the Glock from his waistband. Then he allowed himself to touch her, but gently. Only her wrist. Wrapping his fingers around it, he pushed the gun into her hand and then lifted it, pressed the muzzle to his chest. “Can you hurt me, Sara? It’s still loaded. If you really believe I’m a soulless monster, then you should pull the trigger. I’ve faced my share of monsters and believe me, I don’t hesitate.”
She jerked against his hold, but he wouldn’t let go. “You’re crazy,” she whispered. “You think I won’t? Think I can’t?”
Wyatt smiled sadly. “Oh no. I know you can pull the trigger. I know you have. And if you really believe I’m nothing but a monster, then you need to pull the trigger.”
Her breath hitched in her chest. Her gaze lowered to the gun pressing into his chest. At this close range, there was no way the bullet could miss his heart. He’d be dead before he even hit the ground, just like a mortal.
“No.” Her voice came in a harsh, broken whisper.
She pulled against his hold and this time he let her go, watched as she put the safety back on, carefully . . . oh, so carefully. Then she laid the gun on the bedside table and rubbed her hands down the front of her pants. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t.” She shook her head and turned to face him. “I can’t.”
There was a look in her eyes that might have made him do something that would have totally humiliated him – like reach for her; like tell her that he’d spent the past year wishing things could have been different, wishing that he could have spent it with her. That he had thought about spending the rest of his life with her, after just one week together – and what a fantasy that was.
She was mortal. She’d die in a handful of short decades. He was vampire. He could die and, sooner or later, he would. But the odds were that he’d be walking the earth long after Sara went to meet her Maker.
Yet even that ugly fact wasn’t enough to keep him from tou
ching her. No. What stopped him was the slow, careful way she backed away from him. What stopped him was the blank, expressionless mask that crept across her face with each step she took away from him. By the time she was at the door, the look on her face was smooth and blank as a doll’s. She reached behind to open the door without looking away from him.
He was tempted to just let her leave.
He’d known this was an exercise in futility, but he couldn’t just let her walk away. And it had nothing to do with orders from the damned council, either.
As she eased the door open, he moved quickly, crossing the floor. Her eyes went wide and his ears picked up the telltale skip of her heart as he reached over and pressed a hand to the door, keeping her from opening it. “You can’t leave just yet, Sara.”
Her chin angled up. “Why the hell not?”
“Because what you are doing has to stop.”
The fear he sensed inside her had already, faded and she shoved past him. Her elbow dug into his side and, automatically, he rubbed it. Mean little brat. “We have laws, Sara. Laws to protect innocent people – and innocent vampires. They do exist.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Because bloodsucking doesn’t actually hurt people, right?”
Reaching out he stroked a hand down her neck and said, “Actually, you’re quite right. It doesn’t have to hurt, and there’s no reason to kill.”
She smacked at his hand. “Don’t touch me.”
The ice in her voice stabbed at him, cutting into more than just his pride. He eased a little closer, but whether he was trying to soothe wounded pride or something deeper he didn’t know. Advancing on her, he followed her as she backed away until she bumped into a narrow table.
“I remember when you begged me to touch you,” he whispered. He pressed his finger to her lips and remembered her taste.
“Don’t remind me.”
“Do you need a reminder?” Wyatt asked. “I don’t. I remember all of it. Every . . . last . . . detail.”
Her sea-green eyes darkened to jade and her breathing hitched. He heard the acceleration of her pulse, scented the change in the air around her. “You remember too, don’t you?”
