Stepping onto the porch, he opened the door and ushered the dogs inside. Closing the door with the push of his heel, he found the inside of the cabin was a studio-type with a kitchenette. He carried her into the bathroom and flipped on the light. Stripping her down to her white, lacy underwear, he saw she wore a silver medallion necklace. Taking it in his hand, he read the runes marking around the black cross.
A protection spell? Why would Mariah Jordan need a protection spell?
His questions would have to wait, feeling her skin ice cold. He wrapped a towel around her and sat on the closed toilet with her propped across his lap. Turning on the faucet, he took a washcloth, wetting it, and wiped the blood off her throat and mouth. When he finished cleaning her, he carried her back to the living room and tossed aside the quilts covering the bed.
Laying her on the bed, he drew away the towel and carefully arranged her long auburn hair over her shoulder. The softly curling mass nearly reached her waist. Thick, black lashes lay against her pale skin, and he wondered what color her eyes were. Against his better judgment, he removed her bra. Captivated by the sight of her soft, rounded breasts, pink nipples erect and tempting, made his mouth water to taste them. Shifting his gaze down to her narrow waist and curved hips, he slowly drew down her underwear, and his mouth went dry when his eyes fastened upon the curling nest of auburn hair at the crux between her shapely legs. All coherent thought fled him. Lust arose hard and sweet, a delicious feeling that had eluded him for the last thirty-odd years.
And it had to be a human female who made him feel again. The same one he could be put to death for. How ironic. Shaking his head at his bizarre situation, he reached for the quilts and tucked her in. Straightening, he saw on the kitchen table was a laptop and opened it. Words appeared on the screen, reading what was typed, the vivid and extremely erotic love scene she had written made his libido stir. Looking at Mariah, he grinned, having gotten a taste of the wild side of the romance writer. If given the opportunity, he would most willingly be a test subject for any ideas she wanted to experiment with.
Bloody and dirty, he decided to use her shower to clean up. He saw her dogs sitting beside the bed, watching Mariah sleep. Kneeling down, he petted the male, whose silk black fur was broken by a gold mask on his face that extended down his broad chest, under belly. Two white stockings on his front feet. Although the animal accepted his touch, the dog kept his gaze fixed upon Mariah. The wolf, on the other hand, must have decided to forgive him and pushed at him with her nose until he petted her.
Wearily, he rose to his feet and undressed. Setting his boots aside, he tossed his and Mariah's clothes into the fire, adding wood to destroy evidence of him and her involvement with him. Striding naked into the bathroom, he stood before the mirror, examining the damage done when he’d been shot. The bleeding had stopped, but there were ragged, puckered wounds of torn flesh scattered across his wide, hairless chest. Teeth clenched, he dug the bullets out and tossed the bloodied lumps of silver into the white porcelain sink.
His body began to heal when he stepped into the shower stall and turned on the hot water. Ducking under the spray, he took the bar of soap and scrubbed the blood off him. When he felt clean, he ended his bath and grabbed a towel, drying off on his way to check on Mariah.
Sleeping peacefully, she showed no signs of turning. His relief was short-lived. She was still in danger. To protect her, he had to make her forget about him, wipe out all memory of their meeting, in case the hunters found her cabin and questioned her about him.
Whispering in her ear, he ‘willed’ her to listen to him, “Nothing happened tonight, nothing out of the ordinary. Dogs didn’t even bark. Sleep, Mariah, sleep, and forget about me.”
Sighing, he stood and tossed the towel on the recliner. Retrieving his boots on his way outside, he locked the door and closed it behind him. He stood on the front porch, observing the beauty of the forest in the predawn hour. Drawing in a lungful of pine-scented air, the demon in him was quiet, something he’d not experienced in a long time. Whether it was her blood or his near demise, he did not know, but was grateful for the reprieve.
Exhausted and sore, he needed to go to ground and heal. Walking into the woods behind the cabin, the feeling he should stay close to her struck him. It persisted enough he gave in and stopped. Within sight of the cabin, he waved his hand and the dark, loamy soil parted, making a grave big enough for him to sleep in.
Floating down into the grave, a thought struck him. What if she awakens as the Damned? Perhaps that was the reason for his reluctance to leave her. It grieved him to think of her turning into a demon vamp, especially after she had bravely saved his life.
There was another matter bothering him. “How did you know where to find me, Mariah Jordan?”
✝✝✝
Running.
She was running, but she could still feel those terrible eyes on her. Desperate, she summoned the darkness, hiding in the nothingness. Roaring his fury, the sound deafening, he cursed her, furious at being denied her flesh and blood — her soul!
Loud banging on the door tore Mariah free the clutches of the nightmare and sent Bear into a barking fit. Opening her eyes, the bright sunlight sent splinters of excruciating pain shooting through her skull. She ducked under the quilt.
The pounding persisted, and so did Bear’s barking.
Flipping back the quilts, she saw she was naked. Why did she undress before she went to bed?
The knocking continued.
“Bear, be quiet.” Wincing, her throat sore, she slipped on her green plaid robe and tied the belt secure around her waist as she unsteadily made her way to the door.
Opening it a crack, she saw a lanky, heavyset man, who had his back to her. He wore a white cowboy hat, beige work shirt, and blue jeans. Strapped at his right hip was a holstered gun. She stifled a groan.
A cop. Great.
“Can I help you?” she croaked out.
He turned around to face her. Tipping the brim of his hat in greeting, he casually rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, I’m Sheriff Orland Willard, and I need to ask you a few questions, if yer up to it.”
Opening the door wider, she tried to smile at him. “Sure, what’s going?”
“We’re conducting a door to door search, trying to find an escape felon,” Sheriff Willard replied grimly.
A gaunt, blond-haired man stood beside the sheriff. Clean cut and wearing a black polyester suit, there was a sickeningly sweet and sour odor emanating from him, reminding her of a landfill after a hot day baking garbage. When she met his cold, lifeless, blood-shot eyes, she couldn’t help comparing him to an animated corpse. He put his hand on the door and shoved, entering her cabin.
Salish growled and lunged at him, forcing him to stumble backward into Sheriff Willard. Seizing her collar, she was stunned at her wolf's uncharacteristic, aggressive reaction toward a human.
“Sheriff, what's going on here? What happened last night?”
What the hell happened last night, and why can’t I remember anything?
Sheriff Willard pushed the man aside and shot him a disgusted glare. “Sorry about Special Agent Murphy, here, he appears to lack manners. As to your question, last night Murphy called in and said he lost his prisoner, a convi—”
Furious, Murphy interrupted him. “I told you, Sheriff, the man jumped me and he escaped on foot. He’s around here. I just know it.”
“Calm down, Murphy, I meant no disrespect. Ma’am, did you see or hear anything last night?”
Bits and pieces of last night began to emerge. Fog and fear. Hunters. Hunting what or who? Forcing herself to act casual, she shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, I didn't hear a thing. Heck, my dogs didn't bark or even twitch an ear.” Where had she heard that same phrase before?
“What's your name and occupation?” Murphy demanded of her.
Wanting him to go away, she imagined he was standing on hot coals. Building the image in her head, she kept mak
ing the coals hotter. To her surprise, a heavy film of sweat beaded on his high forehead, dripping down his pasty-white face. Gritting his teeth, he started to shifted one foot to the other, as if he were standing on hot coals
“My name?” What’s wrong with him? “I, uh, well I’m....”
Sheriff Willard ordered, “Murphy, don’t get side-tracked. Mrs.—”
“Miss. Never been married.”
“Sorry. Miss Jordan, are you sure you didn’t hear anything last night?”
“Not a thing.” God, she was thirsty! Rubbing her sore throat, she tried to swallow, but it was too painful. Her tongue felt like it was swollen twice its size and kept trying to stick to the roof of her mouth.
“Here.” Sheriff Willard dug his wallet out of his rear pocket and withdrew a business card from it, handing it to her. “If you remember anything or if you see anyone acting suspiciously, give me a call.” Stepping off the porch, he opened the driver’s door of his patrol SUV. “Miss Jordan, how long do you plan to stay here?”
“I'll be on the road in a couple of days.” She glanced nervously at the interested FBI agent.
“Well, sorry to hear you leave so soon. Lock your doors and keep your dogs close while yer here. What Murphy says about his prisoner, he's a real mean bastard, so be careful,” he warned. “Let’s go, Murphy. We’ve a lot of other cabins to stop at.”
Not moving, Murphy appeared to be fixated on her neck. With a sneer on his thin lips, he asked, “Guess you had a late night, huh?”
“What do you mean?” She was struggling to hold onto Salish, whose hostility toward the man increased dangerously.
“You just appear to have lost some sleep, or maybe something more interesting happened to you?” His eyebrow raised suggestively, a knowing look in his cold eyes.
“I think the sheriff wants to leave. Oh, and a word of warning — don't come back around my cabin. If you think my wolf is unfriendly, my other dog will rip you to pieces. Good day!” She slammed the door shut and released Salish.
The SUV’s engine started, and she heard it drive away. Letting the dogs outside, she saw rays of reds and pink color the windows of her car. The sun was setting?
Checking the wall clock, it read forty past six. Astonished that she had slept the entire day away, she didn't have time to dwell on it, needing something to drink badly. Reaching into the fridge, she took out the orange juice and drank it down in gulps. Throwing the empty container in the garbage, she stumbled into the bathroom, her head pounding with a vicious headache. On the chance glance down into the sink, she saw the bloodied, misshapen lumps of what had to be bullets.
Silver bullets.
“What the—” Flashes of a dark-haired man and blood, lots of it, briefly blinded her. When her vision cleared, she saw herself in the mirror and gasped. Two puncture wounds were on her neck, the skin around the marks bruised and purpling.
A little voice in her head whispered, Vampire.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” She had to leave. Crap, she had to turn in her key for the cabin rental and sign out! Someone should be at the lodge and if not, she’d just push the key under the door!
Tossing her toiletries into the travelling bag, she hurried back into the main room and put it inside her suitcase. She realized her pajamas and the underwear she’d worn last night were missing. Where were they? Deciding it not worth trying to figure it out, she pulled out of her suitcase and put on a black bra and underwear, a pair of old, cutoff jeans, and a faded t-shirt, bearing her favorite rock band’s logo. She made to tuck her medallion inside her shirt, stopping when her thumb touched the runes, feeling they were flush with the cross now.
“How is this possible?”
Her dogs started barking.
Hurrying to open the door, she saw a long shadow crossed the porch. A man, dressed in a hip-length, black leather jacket, black t-shirt, faded jeans, and boots, blocked out everything except him.
God, he was tall!
Tipping her head back, so she could see his face better, she was astounded at how gorgeous he was. Not effeminate in any shape or form, he was pure male dominance, ruthless and strong. Eyes of the profoundest black accentuated thick lashes of the same hue. Silky black hair, disheveled in a sexy way, was shorn a finger’s length above his broad shoulders.
Strength and grace wrapped in one helluva stunning man!
“Good evening,” he paused, dropped his gaze to check her bare ring finger. When his gaze met hers, he said with considerable heat in his eyes, “Miss Jordan.”
Last night came crashing back when she recognized his voice. “Rathe Romulas, you bit me!”
Chapter Two
“You remember last night?”
“How the hell could I forget this?” She jabbed a finger at her neck where the bite marks were.
Wincing when he lightly touched the tender bruises, he lifted his eyes to hers. “Last night … I am ashamed to tell you I had briefly lost control. I am sorry you were injured. ”
“You really drank my blood, didn’t you?” When he dropped his hand to his side, she saw he wore a silver ring on his thumb, a wide one that had three black crosses etched into it. They looked like the one on her necklace.
“We struck a bargain, remember?”
The kiss! Her lips tingled as she stared at his sculptured mouth as it relaxed into a knowing, half-smile. Remembering how she had thrown herself at him, her face went hot with embarrassment. “Uh, well, you look like you’ve fully recovered. Thank you for keeping your end of our bargain.” Frowning, she asked, “Why are you here? I thought for sure you would have left after what happened to you last night with the hunters.”
“I have unfinished business needs attending.”
“Unfinished business?”
He glanced away briefly. “I could not leave without making certain you suffered no ill effects from our exchange.” Rathe shifted uncomfortably as she narrowed her eyes, growing suspicious why he really was there.
“Exchange?” She gulped hard when he nervously stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “Oh, my God, did I drink your blood?” He reddened. “Am I a vampire, too?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “No, I can stand in the sunlight. Are you here to finish turning me? Oh, Hell no! You can just turn around, buddy, and leave. I will not become one of those gaudy-looking sluts, who go about doing her master’s bidding and finding other victims to suck on!” She glared at him, trying her damnedest not to flinch when he fixed a savage scowl right back at her.
“Woman,” he demanded, “how could you think me so evil? Have I given cause for you to fear me?” Giving him an arched glare, he growled, “I already apologized for hurting you. And I have no interest in turning you. In fact, I’m here to make sure you haven’t suffered any complications!
“How am I supposed to know? I’ve never met a vampire before and quite honestly, I’m not enjoying the experience!” Trembling, it sunk in what he said. “Complications? What kind of complications?”
“Giving a human our blood has been known to have gone … wrong.” He stepped closer to her, stopping short of crossing the door’s threshold. “I’m glad you have not turned. It pained me to think I would have had to kill you.”
“Kill me? You kill your own kind?”
“If you had turned wrong, you would feed and murder, destroying what you love most to appease the demon arisen inside you. You would be Damned.”
Damned? Why did that sound familiar? Mariah noticed his skin had an olive tint. Weren't vampires supposed to have white skin with blue veins sticking out and look well, uh … dead?
“You are a vampire, right?”
“I am, but not in the way legends and myths told throughout the centuries. Yes, I need blood to survive and cannot withstand sunlight, but I am different from those who are Damned.”
“How can I tell the difference between you and the Damned?”
“Most humans can’t, not without the standard tests. The Damned can glamor themselves into beautiful creatures,
but their bodies cannot sustain the demon and slowly dies. It is why they continuously hunger and must feed often. For me and my kind, we can smell their dying flesh because our sense of smell is more sensitive than yours.”
Her stomach heaved, and she felt faint. Could the man in my dreams be one of the Damned?
“Have you ever made someone into a … a monster? Damned as you called it? Is that why you are concerned about me?”
Tensing, he averted his gaze. “It’s forbidden to exchange blood with humans. You are my first and unquestionably my last.”
“If it's forbidden, why did you save me?”
He relaxed as he smiled at her. “I could not allow you to die. Not after you had risked so much to save me.”
“Are you okay now?”
Perfect white teeth flashed as he grinned. “Thanks to your generous gift, I am.”
Rathe glanced over his shoulder before he asked her, “May I come inside?”
Crossing her arms, she shook her head. “No way! If memory serves, a vampire cannot enter a home without invitation by the owner. Sorry, can’t risk it, not after you said you might have to kill me.”
His eyes narrowed. “How do you think I was able to enter your cabin when I put you in your bed earlier?”
“How did you enter my cabin?”
“Because I am not Damned, that’s why!”
“Oh, crap, you’d better come in before you burst into flames.”
“What?” He looked confused.
“You’re smoldering there.” She indicated to the back of his head, where the faint rays of the setting sun touched him. Smoke was rising off him.
She moved aside so he could enter her cabin. Rathe smoothed a hand over his hair, and the smoke vanished. Her dogs ran in, and she closed the door behind them.
“So, how can you enter my cabin and the Damned can’t without my invitation?”
“I had no evil intent toward you. The Damned do.” He added, “Houses, apartments are safe, but public places like motels and vacation rentals are not since the owner cannot withhold invitation to the demon vamp.”
Whisper to Me (Borne Vampires Book 1) Page 2
