by Tina Folsom
“But you don’t eat.”
Amaury motioned her to sit down at the kitchen island and opened the fridge.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t like the smell of food.”
While he took out various containers and spooned their contents onto a plate, she watched him and noticed how comfortable he seemed in the kitchen.
“Who eats the food if you don’t?”
Amaury placed the plate in the microwave and switched it on. “My neighbors or some of the homeless in the neighborhood.”
She stared at him. He had a charitable streak? “Oh.” Now that she was thinking of it, it had been a while since she’d seen him in his vampire form. Maybe her memory was failing her, and he wasn’t a vampire after all.
“Are you sure you’re a vampire?”
He put the warm plate in front of her and handed her some utensils. A smile spread over his entire face. “Would you like me to flash you my fangs?”
“Maybe later.”
“Chicken.” His insult was spoken in too soft a voice to carry any weight, and accompanied by his grin it almost turned into a caress. Warmth spread around her heart.
He took the barstool next to her as she ate.
“So, about your gift.” She needed to know more about his strange skill. She had wanted to ask him about it in the taxi, but once he’d started kissing her, there’d been no way of stopping him.
“What about it? I already told you, I can’t read your emotions. You believe me, don’t you?”
She nodded. For some reason she knew he wasn’t lying to her. “But can you block out other people, too, like you block me out? I mean, do you hear everybody all the time?”
She caught a sad look in his eyes.
“It’s not something I can block out. Whenever I’m physically close to people I sense their emotions. And I’m not blocking you out—God knows the only person’s feelings I would really want to sense are yours. But for some reason I can’t.”
Nina’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to know what she felt? What would he do with it? The thought was both scary and exciting.
“What does it feel like when you sense other people?” She couldn’t even begin to imagine how her head would feel if she would constantly receive excessive sensory input from outside. Was it as if somebody was constantly banging at a door to be let in?
Amaury shrugged his shoulders. “How’s the food?”
She’d never tasted anything better. “It’s excellent. You’re a great cook, and you’re changing the subject.”
“There’s nothing much to talk about.”
There would be a hell of a lot to talk about if this was happening to her head every day. His gaze collided with hers.
“Do you hear people’s thoughts?”
Amaury shook his head. “No, it’s not like that at all. I can’t read minds. I feel them: I feel the people and their emotions. They’re impressions, not words that come to me. My brain sort of translates it into words for me, but it’s not their words. It’s their feelings put into my own words. I can’t really explain it. It’s very intense.”
Nina took in a sharp breath, suddenly remembering the night she’d followed him, how he’d held his temples as if he had a migraine.
“It must be so painful. How do you keep your head from exploding?”
Surprise flashed in his eyes. “How do you know?”
“It can’t feel good to constantly have your mind invaded with all kinds of powerful feelings. How do you cope with that?”
He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Do you know that you’re the first person who’s ever asked me that?”
“But your friends—they know about it, right?”
He shook his head. “They don’t know about the pain. I’ve never told them what it feels like.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want their pity.”
“Tell me. I want to know.” She took his hand and held it against her cheek. His warm fingers instantly caressed her skin. Too soft for a vampire, too soft even for the hard man he portrayed. No, not the hard man, merely the hard shell. For inside, she suspected, was something different entirely. The softer the inside, the harder the shell had to be to provide protection. Was that true in Amaury’s case?
“You don’t want to know.”
“Please.” She turned her head and kissed his palm.
Amaury closed his eyes for a long moment. “It’s like somebody is sticking needles in my head. Continuously. Big ones, the kind you’d use on an elephant.” He opened his eyes. “It’s a constant noise in my head. Incessant pounding.”
It was worse than she’d imagined. “How do you get any relief from this?”
His eyes, when he met hers, seemed cautious, as if he’d revealed too much already. But she wanted to know all of it. She wanted to understand him.
“There must be some way to get a break from it.” How could a person function with this going on in his head all the time?
“There is. It’s sex.”
“Sex? You’re kidding me.”
He shook his head, but said nothing.
Then it sunk in. “How often?”
“Daily.”
Every day? He had sex every day? Nina stared at him, mouth gaping open, unable to say anything. She’d had sex with a man who was sleeping with other women on a daily basis—hundreds, thousands maybe.
“You wanted to know.” He gave her an apologetic look. “It’s not by choice. And it means nothing.”
It meant nothing to him?
Nina felt an uncomfortable twinge in her left side. He’d slept with her to alleviate his pain? That was it? He’d used her. And she’d been so stupid to let herself feel something. He wasn’t any better than any other man, if anything, he was worse, because he had lulled her into believing that he was on her side, that he wanted to help. What was she to him? A painkiller?
“You’re telling me that after you had sex with me? That it meant nothing to you? That’s just what a girl wants to hear. Thanks a lot!” With a loud thud she slammed the fork on the counter and pushed away her nearly empty plate. She had to get out of his presence before she broke down in front of him, before she would shed tears of disappointment.
She dropped from the barstool, but before she could stomp out of the kitchen, he’d already grabbed her arm and flung her around to face him.
“It meant nothing with any of those women. It means something with you.”
“Save your lies for somebody who’s a little more gullible than I am.” She wrenched her arm free and walked into the living room when she suddenly heard a loud noise. She turned and saw the steel blinds come down over the large floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Lockdown,” he explained behind her. “Sunrise is in thirty seconds. I’ve programmed them to close before sunrise. They’ll lift again after sunset.”
“Well, I don’t care, ‘cause I’m not staying. You can play your little games with somebody else.” The best way to shield herself from the pain she felt was to attack. She couldn’t let him see how hurt she was.
She made for the door and was surprised that he didn’t hold her back. Well, it just proved that their intimacy had meant nothing to him.
She jerked at the door, but it wouldn’t open. Her hands went to her hips as she spun back to face him. “Open the damn door.”
“I can’t.”
***
Amaury smirked as he watched Nina try to open the door. It was programmed to lock at the same time the blinds came down. A security measure he’d put in place so nobody could invade the place while he slept. Of course, he could override the system in an emergency. But he had no intention of doing so—this wasn’t an emergency, at least not for him. Nina was staying, whether she wanted to or not.
He should have never revealed to her what his gift did to him and how he was able to relieve the pain. Now he had a mutiny on his hands. The little wildcat didn’t like the fact that she was one of many women he’d slept with to s
oothe his pain. He’d have to somehow convince her of the truth—that she was different, that being with her affected him. He craved her company, not because he wanted sex, but because he wanted her. It was high time to admit it to himself.
“It won’t open, however long you try, until sundown. Nina, please, we need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you. Open the damn door!”
“No, I won’t. You belong here with me.”
“What for? Did you run out of aspirin?” she barked.
Amaury shook his head. “When I’m with you, I’m not in pain, whether we have sex or not. I don’t know why. I just know that I want to be with you.”
He stretched out his hand, but she crossed hers over her chest.
“But I don’t want to be with you. I’m not interested in being with some sexoholic who can’t keep his hands off other women. And I don’t need someone who’s using me. Been there, done that.”
He crossed the distance to her and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “I’m not using you, chérie. I’m with you because I want to be with you. If that wasn’t the case, I would have wiped your memory a long time ago and you wouldn’t even know who I was.”
Amaury wasn’t entirely sure whether he was telling the truth about the memory part—since she’d been unreceptive to his mind control, he suspected that trying to wipe her memory wouldn’t have worked. Not that it mattered, because he had no intention of wiping her memory—ever.
“Says the man who’s slept with millions of women.”
Millions? Not quite. Thousands was more like it. But if Nina was willing, he’d happily make that just one.
One?
Was he really willing to only have her? No others for variety’s sake? The mere thought that he was contemplating this should have sent him running for cover, as if the sun was about to rise. But he wasn’t inclined to do anything of the like.
“You’re exaggerating a little.”
“Am I? How old are you?”
He realized what she was getting at. She was trying to estimate how many women he’d had. “Old enough to know not to answer that question.”
“Ha, I knew it. You’re constantly hiding things. You can’t be trusted.”
Amaury had to suppress the urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her to convince her otherwise. It wouldn’t be the right way to do this. He needed her to believe him, not because he was kissing her senseless, but because he could reason with her.
Again he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I know it’s not easy to trust somebody you’ve just met, but you and I, we’ve been through a lot together. We’ve fought together. My life was in your hands, and yours in mine. Don’t you think you could at least try to give me a chance? Yes, my past isn’t exactly as squeaky clean as that of a choir boy, but I haven’t touched or even thought of another woman since I met you. That’s never happened to me.”
Nina’s eyes met his. “Never?”
“No. All I can think of is being with you.”
Finally he saw her soften. She dropped her arms to the sides. He inched closer.
“I’d like to kiss you,” he said, “but I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to do.” Amaury searched her eyes for consent.
“Amaury, I’m so confused. I don’t know whether I can trust anybody. I don’t understand what’s happening to me when I’m with you.” Her eyes grew moist. “You make me mad one minute and—” She swallowed hard. “—and weak another.”
“Weak?” He shook his head. “You’re not weak. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. And yet ...”
Nina raised her lashes and looked at him expectantly.
He sighed. “I can’t help myself, but I want to protect you even when I know you can take care of yourself. Crazy, huh?”
A faint smile stole around her lips. “Maybe we’re both a little crazy—or just a little tired.”
Amaury took her cue. “Come, you need to sleep. We both do. And I want to hold you in my arms. I promise you, you’ll be safe with me.”
Ten minutes later he had his wish: Nina was in his bed where he held her closely. He sighed contently. There was no wild sex, no passionate kissing, no frantic touching this time. Having her in his arms was enough tonight. Enough for him, the least likely vampire to cuddle? He shook his head in disbelief. Clearly, something strange was happening to him if he felt satisfied with merely having her in his arms. The only time he ever held a woman in his arms was when he was fucking her. This—this was different. And he couldn’t get enough of this newfound intimacy with her.
“Chérie, why do you make me feel this way?” he whispered, but she didn’t hear him. She was already asleep.
Twenty-two
Lights were ablaze in the bare underground interrogation room at Scanguards. Gabriel stood back, Quinn by his side, as Zane took over the questioning of the suspect. He rarely allowed Zane to unleash his brutality on anybody, but this time even he felt it necessary. Paul Holland, the man who’d attacked Nina and who was somehow involved in the bodyguard murders, wasn’t talking.
Samson had ordered that nobody was to interfere when it came to Amaury’s relationship with the human woman. When he’d issued his directive, Gabriel had heard the grin in Samson’s voice, as if he was extraordinarily pleased with himself. He hadn’t questioned his boss, but he sure wanted to know what had brought on this turnaround, especially after everybody had been advised days earlier to minimize their contact with humans.
He shook his head in silence and turned his attention back to Zane and the suspect. The bald vampire was as much known for his utter lack of compassion as for his convincing torture techniques which bordered on medieval. Scanguards’ interrogation room wasn’t equipped for torture. Rather, it was a training room for bodyguards. But Zane didn’t need many tools.
While Zane would have probably enjoyed stretching the man on a rack, there were certainly more subtle ways to dig up information.
Rumor had it that Zane had extensively studied the interrogation techniques used by the Nazis during World War II and adopted some of their methods. Therefore, when he pulled out a simple pair of pliers from his long coat, Gabriel showed no surprise and only winced inwardly. He abhorred violence, but knew in this case it was necessary.
Paul’s eyes flickered briefly when he caught sight of the instrument, but a second later he had himself back under control. For a human he appeared extraordinarily fearless. Gabriel had yet to figure out what gave him this mental strength.
“Did I mention that I really don’t care if you survive this or not?” Zane’s voice was calm and expressionless.
A snort was the answer. Was the man mocking his tormentor?
Gabriel forced himself to watch his second in command as Zane gripped the suspect’s wrist and applied the pliers to his thumb.
The instrument tightened over the tip of the man’s digit. “Who’s behind this?”
No answer, but a huffed breath. Paul’s disobedience was greeted with an evil grin by Zane and an instant tightening over the suspect’s thumb. The sound of bones cracking and muscle being pulped into a bloody mess was drowned out by Paul’s scream.
“Who’s turning our guards into killers?” Zane’s voice was as calm as if he was asking the time.
The suspect’s mouth pressed together into a thin line, indicating his unwillingness to divulge any information. Gabriel sensed a short flicker of a memory appear in the man’s mind. But it was too brief for him to hone in on it. He nodded to Zane to continue. Even if Paul was unprepared to talk, he could be weakened enough to release information via his memories.
Gabriel was unclear how, as a human, Paul was able to shield his memories from him. Whoever his master was—and he knew there had to be a master—had to be either a vampire, a witch, or a demon. No other creatures had powers sufficient to block out his gift of unlocking memories.
Zane clamped the pliers onto Paul’s index finger, this time pulling on the fingernail and ripping it cl
ean off. Blood splattered as the suspect let out another scream. Paul’s eyes watered, the pain evident on his face.
“I can do this all day.” Zane was right. They had time. It was already daytime, and there wasn’t much else they could do anyway. Whether it took them five minutes or five hours to get him to talk didn’t matter much.
Defiantly, Paul looked up at Zane and spat. “I won’t tell you anything.” His voice was labored. The man was in undeniable agony, yet he showed tremendous strength.
Under other circumstances Gabriel would have admired him. After all, Paul was a Scanguards bodyguard, and they were known for their stamina, determination, and grit. They’d been trained to withstand torture. And this one had been trained well. Too well.
“You will. They all do when I’m through with them.” Zane was clearly enjoying himself too much at the man’s expense.
Thirty seconds later another bloody fingernail landed on the concrete floor. The room positively reeked of blood now. Zane’s fangs had lengthened, and Gabriel noticed the bulge under his associate’s jeans. He’d always assumed Zane got turned on by violence, but now he knew for certain. Gabriel shot him a warning look, which Zane ignored.
Another scream echoed in the small room as Zane crushed Paul’s ring finger with the pliers.
“Who are you working for?”
Paul slumped forward, breathing heavily. He mumbled something incoherent.
“What?” Zane pushed Paul’s shoulders back and jerked his face up to look at him.
“Luther.”
Gabriel’s heart sank. It was true then. Up until now he’d still hoped their suspicions were unfounded.
Zane continued his questioning. “Who’s Luther?” He set the pliers again, but Gabriel pried them from his hands before he could clamp down.
“That’s enough.”
Zane’s furious glare hit him. “We’re not done.”
“I know Luther.” Unfortunately, yes, he knew him, their former friend and partner. The man who’d turned against them after his blood-bonded wife had died.
Gabriel turned to Paul. “He was seen in town last night. What does he want?”
