Night Flight

by Margaret Carter

  "Gillian? What in the world are you doing here?"

  He wore only a pair of running shorts. The fragrance of his clean flesh with a residue of sexual musk and a trace of aftershave swept over her.

  After a quick glance toward the street, she said in a strained whisper, "Let me in. Please."

  Without waiting for an answer, she shoved past him into the living room. He closed and locked the door, turning toward her with a puzzled frown.

  Her courage dissolved. She dropped the overnight bag and purse, flung herself upon him, threw her arms around his neck, and shuddered with tearless sobs. After a second of astonishment, he wrapped her in a hug. Her fear melted in the warmth of his aura. His body heat and the smoothness of his back against her palms woke her hunger all over again. His heartbeat revved up, and his unguarded human emotions bombarded her with worry, affection, and lust. With the close fit between their heights, she felt his response physically, too. For a second she yielded to the impulse to press against the hard bulge.

  Shocked at her own behavior, she pulled back, panting like some ordinary human female with her pulse and respiration not even under conscious control. Paul's flush of embarrassment quickened her appetite. What's wrong with me? I fed on him just a few hours ago. To her relief, he pretended to ignore her lapse and his own excitement.

  "Gillian…shh, it's all right. You're safe." He led her to the couch and made her sit down. He sat beside her with an arm around her shoulders, a safe enough position as long as she remembered not to let her mouth stray too near his chest or neck. "Now tell me what's going on."

  Ashamed of her panic, she managed a calm tone. "Earlier, you invited me to your cabin."

  "Yeah? Does this mean you've changed your mind? I'm glad, but you could've told me tomorrow. It's not like the invitation was going to expire." The tenderness in his voice softened the teasing.

  Noticing her fists clenched in her lap, she uncurled them and drew a deep breath. "I have to go right now. Please." Though she could have short-circuited all argument by hypnotically overriding his will, her human part couldn't accept treating a friend that way. Using her power to feed on a man who desired her anyway was one thing, but she couldn't bring herself to force him something he might not want to do.

  The trace of humor vanished from his tone. "What's wrong, Gillian? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

  "Sort of. I need to hide." She realized she should have concocted a reason to give him.

  "From who?"

  "A man." She sensed a spark of anger in Paul's aura. "I'm not hurt, but I need to get away for a while. It's a—a guy who's interested in me and won't take no for an answer."

  "He's stalking you?" Paul squeezed her hand tightly enough to cause pain to a human female.

  "You could say that. I want to go someplace he doesn't know about. Your cabin sounds perfect."

  "Say no more—mi casa es su casa. But shouldn't you report this creep to the police?"

  "No! No police!" At his bewildered look, she said, "I can handle this myself. All I need is a temporary hideout."

  "Won't he just start harassing you again when you go home?"

  "There's a good reason why he won't." She stood up, sizzling with impatience. "I can't explain the rest of it. Please trust me." Her eagerness to get moving almost overcame her scruples about mesmerizing him.

  He got to his feet, took her hand, and lightly kissed it. "Of course I do. Maybe you can bring yourself to tell me later, but if not, that's your choice."

  The brush of his lips on the cilia in her palm made her teeth tingle. She forced herself to retrieve her hand. "Thanks…I'll never forget this."

  "Good thing I'm done with classes until September," he said over his shoulder as he headed for the bedroom. She heard him opening drawers and rummaging through clothes. A minute later, he reappeared with a small suitcase. "We can work on the books while we're up there."

  She followed him into his home office, where he grabbed his laptop computer and piled manuscripts and diskettes into a briefcase. "Oh…you're planning to stay there with me?"

  He turned to her with a look of faint surprise. "Did you think I was just going to abandon you in a strange place, with some jerk trying to hunt you down?" Snapping the briefcase shut, he walked over to her and cupped the back of her head, his thumb tracing absentminded circles behind one ear. "Don't worry, I won't try to take advantage of the situation. Separate rooms."

  She acknowledged the pledge with a nod and glided out of his reach. Whether she wanted him to keep that promise, she still wasn't sure.

  Minutes later, she sat in the passenger seat of his car, speeding northeast on Interstate 15 toward Big Bear Lake. He didn't try to talk much on the long drive, for which she was grateful. The farther they got from the city, the more her mood lightened. Surely neither Volnar nor Luciano had any way of finding her at Paul's vacation cabin. All she had to do was ride out a few nights of estrus and keep him from noticing anything abnormal about her.

  Yeah, all! a sardonic voice in her head taunted her. She told it to shut up.

  They drove straight through except for a short break at a convenience store, where Paul filled a bag with miscellaneous groceries. By the time the car pulled into the driveway of the cabin, the sky was turning gray with a hint of dawn. The small house with a fake log facade stood in a clearing at the end of a narrow gravel road, surrounded by trees. Gillian stepped out and stretched her cramped legs, inhaling the clean scent of pine and the cool breeze from the lake. Good hunting here, I'll bet.

  Carrying the grocery bag, Paul led the way inside. The front of the cabin consisted of a living room and an eat-in kitchen. Down a short corridor to the rear of the building, he showed her to the guest room, with a bathroom sandwiched between its door and the one that led to his own bedroom.

  "I guess you'll want to get some sleep. I sure do." He paused in the hallway, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

  Not wanting to linger long enough for awkwardness to melt into temptation, she said, "Thanks for taking me in. It won't be for long."

  "Long as you need. I just hope you'll be safe here."

  "I will. Don't worry." Brushing aside her scruples, which became more insistent and inconvenient by the hour, she locked onto his gaze and said, "Don't worry about me. A few days from now, it will all be over, and I won't have to hide. Believe that."

  His eyelids drooped, and he leaned against the nearest wall. "I believe you."

  A problem she'd temporarily forgotten came to mind. "Listen carefully. I like to sleep most of the day. Don't let it bother you, and don't try to wake me. Don't disturb me at all. Okay?"

  "Okay," he mumbled. His drowsiness added to the effect of her hypnosis.

  "And don't worry about what I eat or don't eat, either. I'm fine. Understand?"

  He nodded.

  "Okay. Goodnight, Paul."

  After his answering "goodnight," she slipped into the guest room and closed and locked the door. She hardly trusted herself not to take advantage of his delicious pliability.

  Chapter Eight

  Gillian awoke disoriented. Weak rays from the setting sun filtered through Venetian blinds. Paul's scent permeated the air around her. It triggered the memory of driving up from San Diego the previous night. Extending her senses, she heard Paul rummaging in the kitchen. She stretched, shrugging the sheet and patchwork quilt away from her naked body. A bird chirped outside the window. Wind rustled pine needles against the glass.

  I'm safe here, really safe. Well, safe from everything but her own desire for her host. And surely she could control herself for a few days. Oh, yeah? Your record hasn't been great so far.

  She reminded the voice that she had satisfied her hunger, and therefore her curiosity. Now that the mystery was gone, self-restraint should become easier. Would her hypnotic commands of the night before hold firm? She would find out in a few minutes, when she faced Paul.

  At the last second she remembered to throw on a terrycloth beach wrap before ope
ning the bedroom door. She was so used to living alone that she had almost stepped into the hall naked. For another vampire, a glimpse of her in the nude wouldn't have much effect without the heat and aroma of her own arousal, but human males reacted strongly to that visual stimulus. She tended to forget how bare female flesh excited them.

  In the shower she scrutinized her body, wondering whether she needed to worry about a glance at it driving Paul mad with lust. She didn't conform to contemporary human standards of beauty, with her height and small breasts. For a bleak moment, she speculated that without her vampiric allure, he might not find her attractive at all.

  The aroma of broiling meat greeted her when she emerged from the bathroom and scrambled into jeans and a T-shirt. She didn't bother with a bra; with her breast size, she seldom did. In the kitchen she found Paul, dressed in a T-shirt and Bermuda shorts, scooping a couple of hamburgers out of the oven onto paper towels to drain. His aura brightened when he saw her. "Good, you're up. I hope I brought enough stuff you can eat. There's broth and vanilla ice cream and milk—"

  "Milk is plenty for now," she said, opening the refrigerator to pour herself a glass.

  "Okay," he said cheerfully. So far, her "don't worry" command was working.

  She sat at the table and watched him load up his hamburger buns with ketchup and mustard. "I'll just watch you eat," she said, sipping the milk.

  Conversation about the book project kept them going through dinner, after which Paul inserted a disk into his laptop and showed her outlines for future installments in the series. "I know we have to anthropomorphize the animals somewhat, to keep the kids interested," he said. "But I don't want to go too far and mislead them. It's too easy for people to fall into the trap of thinking animals' minds—if any—work the same as ours."

  "Such as?" She hovered over him, too restless to sit.

  "For instance, when a cat plays with a mouse, some people think she's being cruel. In fact, the releasing and recapturing behavior is just an instinctive response to the stimulus of the prey's movements."

  "Okay, maybe we should write a story about feral cats."

  "We've already made a good start on demonstrating that predators are a vital part of nature, with the coyote book."

  "I like a man who appreciates predators," she said, wishing she were free to explain why she felt that way. "How about bears next?"

  "Whoa, I don't even want to think about you trying to sneak up on a bear. I'd have too hard a time finding a new partner. Now, here's my raccoon plot—"

  His nearness, the rhythm of his heartbeat and breathing, the radiant heat of his flesh all conspired to distract her. She would have to hunt for animal prey soon, just to take the edge off her appetite. She was thankful that Paul, being only human, couldn't sense her craving.

  "I think we've done enough for one day," he finally said. After switching off the computer, he opened the curtain to reveal the fading light of a summer sunset. "How about a drink outside?" A thread of nervous anticipation underlay the simple words.

  He opened a bottle of white zinfandel, and they took their glasses onto the wide deck at the back of the cabin, facing toward the mountains. They sat in a pair of deck chairs with the bottle on the floor between them. At least, Gillian thought, they weren't sharing a bench, where physical contact would add to the temptation she had to resist.

  She quickly realized, though, that Paul had no intention of resisting. After a few minutes of silent companionship in the fading daylight, he carefully set his glass down on the other side of his chair, leaned toward her, and took her hand.

  She could already hear his heartbeat clearly, of course, yet the sensation of his pulse racing under her fingers sent electric shocks through her nerves. When she didn't retreat, he lightly brushed her hair away from her forehead and stroked down her cheek and jawline. Her teeth tingled. He had no way of guessing how provocative that gesture was.

  With her chin cupped in his palm, his fingers caressing her neck, he bent over to nibble the corners of her mouth. She could stop him anytime. She knew she ought to do that, should hypnotize him to forget any desire he felt for her. The command would work, if she really wanted it to, if she exerted her will firmly enough.

  Instead, her lips parted to welcome the probe of his tongue. Her gasp of surprised pleasure encouraged him. His arm slipped around her shoulders. He tasted like beef blood and vanilla ice cream. She wanted him for dessert…

  When his hand left her neck to explore the front of her shirt, a flimsy shield for the bare flesh underneath, Gillian recovered her senses. She pulled back. Taking the hint, Paul let go of her.

  "You must know how I feel about you," he said. His rapid breathing and pulse gratified her, despite her better judgment. "I want us to be a lot more than collaborators or even friends. Tell me honestly, what are my chances?"

  She gazed into his eyes. She wanted to answer rationally, but the hammering of his heart deafened her thoughts, and the pulsating glow of his aura fogged her vision. Here's the perfect time to mesmerize him, make him to stop wanting me. She couldn't bring herself to speak those orders. Instead, she stood up so abruptly she almost knocked the chair over.

  When he got up, too, she backed away from him. "I'm sorry, Paul. I can't talk about that now. I need to get some fresh air." Silly excuse, when they were already outside. She sensed his surprise and hurt but hardened herself against the silent appeal. "Exercise, I mean. I need to go for a walk, alone. Please." She hurried down the back steps and into the dark woods.

  * * * * *

  From the deck, Paul watched Gillian rush into the shadows under the trees. What scared her so much about his question? She should know she didn't have to run away from him. All she had to do was say no, and he would respect her decision.

  No matter how much he ached for her. Hell, how was he supposed to understand the workings of a woman's mind? He was a zoologist, not a psychologist.

  Taking another sip of his wine, he grimaced. Suddenly it tasted sour. Dinner felt like a heavy lump in his midsection. Might as well admit to himself that he'd ridden along on this trip not just to protect her, but in hopes of seducing her.

  So does that make me a sleazeball? I don't think so. After that kiss, he knew she wanted him, too. For some reason she fled in panic from her own desire. Should he chase her or wait for her to return on her own? She was running around by herself in the woods—

  His frustration evaporated in a surge of fear for her. What if that guy who's stalking her somehow followed us? I can't let her wander out there alone. He dashed inside, grabbed a flashlight, and plunged into the forest in the direction Gillian had taken.

  He didn't have any trouble tracking her. She'd left a trail of broken branches and trampled undergrowth. After a few minutes, he noticed a crumpled ball of cloth on the ground. When he picked it up, he recognized Gillian's shirt.

  What the hell--?

  Paul increased his pace. Seconds later, he slammed to a halt at the edge of a clearing. The flashlight reflected off a pair of red eyes.

  The world tilted under his feet. I don't believe this!

  Chapter Nine

  Muscles twitched under her skin. Frustration made a knot in her stomach. She stormed through the undergrowth, heedless of the noise she made. Her peripheral vision caught glimpses of the auras of small animals that skittered out of her path. She growled aloud. Her nerves crawled like a swarm of ants. How many nights of this can I take?

  Panting like a panicked animal herself, she leaned against a tree and skimmed her hands down the front of her body. The friction made her nipples peak. The burning in her throat and the pit of her stomach sparked a similar fire between her legs. One hand, almost without conscious direction, plunged into the V and began rubbing. An unfamiliar wetness welled up. Wrapping the other arm across her chest to press on her taut nipples, she vigorously massaged the source of the moist heat. After several minutes, though, she still felt no relief. Snarling, she shoved herself away from the tree.

>   There was one thing she could do to work off these unwelcome urges. The need to change boiled up from deep within her. Fur sprouted on her arms, neck, and face even before she stripped off her shirt and tossed it aside. The wings burst from her back. Her teeth elongated into fangs, her nails into talons.

  Though she had no room to fly under the trees, she could run. Her feet skimmed the ground, hitting the mat of pine needles every couple of yards. Again, she made no attempt to glide silently or avoid the weeds and fallen branches in her path. When she blundered into a clearing and sighted the halo of a deer's life-essence, she was nearly as surprised as the animal.

  The doe, nibbling on the leaves of a sapling, whipped her head around to fix on Gillian. Gillian sprang too fast for the victim to flee. No subtlety; she just crashed into the doe and knocked her down, with a blow to the head to stun her. Straddling the unconscious prey, Gillian sank her fangs into the softness of the abdomen. The gush of blood granted momentary relief for the fire in her stomach.

  After a few swallows, she became aware of her surroundings again. That was when she heard human footsteps approaching. She raised her head and confronted the glare of a flashlight.

  Behind it, she saw Paul staring at her, as stunned as the deer had been a minute earlier.

  Gillian's body melted back into human shape. She was still young enough to have trouble holding the winged form, and stress always made it unstable. She rose from her crouch, automatically wiping her mouth with her forearm.

  The light beam shook from the tremor of Paul's hand. "You changed…you were biting—oh, my God!"

  She tried to pitch her voice to a calming tone. "Don't be afraid, Paul."

  "Afraid?" He sounded hoarse. "Good Lord, your eyes shine red. No way—I am not seeing this."

  She knew she had to erase his memory. But not here—back at the cabin, where he'd feel safer and she would have time to work on him. "I won't hurt you," she tried again. "Let's go back and…talk." The excuse for delay, she realized, meant she didn't want to make him forget. She enjoyed the idea of his knowing the truth.