Vampire.
I closed my eyes, leaning into the shoulder that supported me, unable to keep from breathing in his scent. It was a heady mixture of the spicy tang of a healthy male and the faint, lingering scent of soap. Vampire or not, I couldn't help but be thankful he wasn't one of those men who liked to douse themselves in cologne and aftershave.
"Joy? Her eyes were open, weren't they?" Roxy asked. Reluctantly I started to pull away from the warm body behind me. An arm locked around my waist kept me from leaving him. The gesture warmed my heart in an odd fashion.
"Oh, good, she's awake. Arielle, you can put down that bucket of water; she's awake now."
The faces peering concernedly at me spun around until I thought I was going to throw up all over everyone. "Uh-oh, you're turning green. That's not good."
"She looks ill. Should I fetch her more water?"
"Heinrich, call the doctor. We don't want her to blame us for this accident."
"It's time to go, Dominic. Surely you can't want to stay?" The voices clamored loudly in my ears, spinning me in and out of the warm, cloying darkness that hovered over me, increasing the nausea until I was sure I was going to vomit. The arm holding me securely around my waist tightened as I clutched at it, clinging desperately to it in the hopes that the room—and my stomach—would settle down.
"I think perhaps we should give the lady some air." I turned toward the voice that cut through my nightmare. The faces around me pulled back until one came into focus. It was one of the bar patrons, a nice-looking man with high cheekbones, and dark, fathomless eyes. A wave of bile choked me as I struggled to keep it contained. I tightened my grip on the arm holding me up.
"You will feel better in a moment." The man smiled and brushed his hand across my forehead. His voice was beautiful, pitched low, but velvety in its smoothness. It wrapped around me like a soft warm cloak, comfortable and reassuring. Instantly the nausea receded and the room slowed its spinning. "You are not used to our beer. Strangers often find it too strong for their palates. I would advise you next time to try our wine."
I'd only had a sip of the beer, so I knew full well that it wasn't what was affecting me, but I found myself oddly reluctant to dispute anything the man said. I gingerly felt at the back of my head, locating a lump the size of a runty plum.
"You have a small swelling," the man reassured me, his fingers flicking lightly over the painful bump. Behind me, Raphael shifted slightly.
"Are you a doctor?" I asked the man with the silky voice.
His eyes grew black with sorrow for a moment. I wanted to reach out and take him in my arms, to comfort him and ease his pain. "I am not a doctor, although I've had some training in the healing arts. Your injury is not serious and should not trouble you beyond this night."
The pain that had been blossoming in the back of my head eased, fading with the nausea. I'd never been one to have much faith in alternative medical techniques, but I had to admit this man had an extremely soothing way about him.
"Who are you?" I couldn't help but ask. His eyes were intriguing, so expressive and full of emotion, I found myself wanting to draw closer to him, to look deeper into those eyes.
"My name is Christian," he answered, another smile teasing his lips as the voices around us rose in approbation.
Didn't anyone around here believe in using his or her surname?
"I believe it would be best if we got you off the floor and into bed," a voice rumbled in my ear. I stiffened in response. Where Christian's voice was as smooth as water sliding over sand, Raphael's was deep, slightly roughened, and set up a most amazing resonance deep within me. Weren't vampires supposed to be able to work magic with their voices and eyes? Before I could mull this over, I was hoisted up. Raphael released me, then grabbed me quickly when the room started spinning again.
"Well, at least she's not green anymore," Roxy muttered, wringing her hands. "I think you're right about getting her into bed. We're on the top floor, though, and she looks a bit shaky to me."
Raphael didn't answer, just put an arm behind my knees and scooped me up.
"Um," I said, turning my head and flinching just a bit as a hall light hit me square in the eyes. My nose brushed his cheek. I couldn't believe he was carrying me up three flights of awkwardly steep stairs, and he wasn't even breathing heavily. If it hadn't been likely he was a bloodthirsty member of the undead, I would have kissed the man.
One glossy chocolate eyebrow rose as he glanced down at me. "Um?"
"You're carrying me," I said, feeling it necessary to say something intelligent, but lacking the wits to actually pull intelligent things out of my scrambled brains. First insanity, then drugging—now I was in the arms of a man who might be a vampire, and all I could think of was how nice he smelled and how warm he was.
Of course he's warm, he just fed.
I squashed that inner voice down flat and met his amber eyes without flinching. Much.
"Yes," he agreed, his voice thrumming inside me. He had an English accent, giving his voice a richness that reminded me of antique mahogany. It was very sexy. I liked it. A lot.
"Up the stairs."
"Your room's at the top," he replied.
"But you're not puffing or straining or breaking out into a sweat."
Both eyebrows went up at that. "Should I be?"
"I'm not an inconsiderable weight," I pointed out. "Most men would balk at hefting me across a room, not to mention up three flights of stairs."
"I am not most men," he stated, turning on the first landing.
You can say that again, trembled at the edge of my tongue, but I bit it back, saying instead, "Regardless of your obviously fit state, I'm too heavy. I'll give you a hernia. If you put me down, I'll be happy to walk the rest of the way."
"You're not too heavy."
I looked at him as if he had an extra toe growing out of his ear. "What planet are you from? In case it escaped your notice, I'm six feet tall and built like a brick oven, as my mother used to say."
"I happen to think a woman's shape looks better with curves," he said blithely, looking me up and down. "Yours look good on you."
Well, stap my vitals! A man who had enough muscles to haul me around and still managed to say nice things about my overabundance of curves? If only he wasn't the walking dead, I would have proposed marriage on the spot. But the probability was that if I wasn't insane, he was what he shouldn't be, so marriage was out. Which was a shame, really, because the closer I got to him, the better he looked. He was about four inches taller than me, was broad in all those areas that men look good being broad in, had a hard, angular face and dark curly hair, but it was those eyes that snagged and held my attention. Amber, deep amber, pure and clear and flecked with gold and brown. He started up the second flight of stairs.
Vampires can mesmerize with their eyes.
"Um."
"Are we back to that again?"
I tried to look down my nose at him, not an easy thing to do when you're being carried. "I apologize for the lamentable lack of scintillating conversation, sir, but I have recently been unconscious and I find some allowances are going to have to be made."
"I see."
"For example, we haven't been introduced."
He rounded the last landing, looking faintly startled by my words. "I thought introductions went the way of eight-track tapes and laser disks."
"They're not entirely extinct," I answered. "I'm Joy Randall."
He hauled me up the last few stairs, stopping at the top to look into my eyes. "Raphael."
"Just Raphael?"
He shrugged.
"Most people have two or more names."
"Do they?"
"Yes." I waited. He looked at me with those beautiful eyes as if he were memorizing my face. I got tired of waiting for him, and decided to give him a nudge in the right direction. You'd have thought someone who'd lived for centuries would have picked up a few social skills along the way. "My middle name is Martine. I was named for m
y grandmother. Joy Martine Randall."
Abruptly a smile quirked at the corner of his lips. "I was named for my great-grandfather."
"Great-grandpa Raphael?"
"Griffin. My name is Raphael Griffin St. John."
"Nice to meet you, Raphael." I hazarded a smile before I realized what I was doing. Flirting with a vampire! What was next for me—French kissing a werewolf? Dirty dancing with a zombie? "For the record, I think your parents did the right thing."
I loved his eyebrows. I loved the way they zoomed up and down and were so expressive without saying a word. "Your name," I told the eyebrow arched in question. "It's different. I've never known a Raphael before. It's very romantic. Dramatic, too. I like it."
I mentally groaned to myself as the words left my lips. I was babbling. I was clinging to a man who just possibly might be undead, and I was babbling about how much I liked his name.
"It is a family tradition. All the men in our family are named either Raphael or Griffin."
"And you got both."
"Yes."
"Fun tradition," I commented. He made a little moue of distaste.
"It's on par with the other family tradition."
"Really? What's that? It doesn't involve webbed toes, does it? 'Cause if it does, I don't want to know about it."
His eyebrow arched even higher. "No webbed toes, thank you for asking. The family tradition to which I am referring is much more disconcerting: A St. John man knows the woman he will marry the first time he meets her."
I blinked at him. "Oh. That's a bit different. Men don't usually fall in love at first sight. Still, Raphael is a cool name, so I guess your family traditions aren't all bad."
"I, on the other hand, dislike the name intensely and would much prefer it if everyone just called me Bob."
"Bob?" A vampire named Bob? Was that allowed? "Bob? Why Bob?"
His shoulders moved in an elegant shrug despite the fact that he was still holding me. "Why not Bob?"
He had me there. "But Raphael's a nice name. It's exotic. It's unusual. It—"
"Sounds like it belongs to a male prostitute," he interrupted.
"Well, I think it suits you," I said as he walked down the short hallway.
He looked at me out of the corner of one of those delicious eyes. "You think I look like a man who takes money to pleasure women?"
"I think a lot of women would pay you money to give them pleasure," I said. "I know I certainly would if I had some spare cash lying around."
He stopped before my door, giving me a curious look. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted. Are you saying you'd like to have sex with me?"
"Well, it's not written in stone, but I have to admit that right now, with you holding me and all, it's on my list, although I should warn you that I just discovered my mind is pretty much shot, so perhaps I'm not the best judge."
He carefully set me on my feet, holding on to my waist while I waited to see if the room would stop spinning. It did.
"I believe the best course will be for me to take that statement as a compliment." His hands were warm on my waist, his fingers doing a little caressing thing that had my knees melting.
"Now I've offended you. I'm sorry. It's just that the women in my family tend to call the shots as they see them. I forget that not everyone is thrilled to hear my opinions."
His eyes glittered brightly into mine. I wanted to dive into their amber depths and bask in the warmth contained within them. "On the contrary, I find myself strangely compelled to encourage you to share your opinions."
If he weren't so damned sexy I'd have been OK, but he stood there positively smoldering with sensuality. I fought the unseemly urge to throw myself into his arms, and stepped back. "I think you'd better go. I'm liable to launch myself at your head if you don't, and you don't look like the kind of a guy who likes to be rushed into a kiss."
His eyes deepened into a look so wicked it took my breath away. "You'd be surprised at what I like."
Oh man, oh man, oh man! I stared open-mouthed at him. Fortunately, he didn't wait for a reply and took pity on my scattered wits. "Do you have your room key?" he asked, holding out his hand.
"I have it," a cheerful voice piped up behind him. "Boy, these stairs are tough on the toes. Here I come, everyone hold tight. Joy, the hotel owner wants to know if you want him to call a doctor. At least, I think that's what he said. Jeezumcrow!" Roxy stopped on the other side of Raphael and gave me the eye. "You really have taken a beating today, haven't you? You look awful. Thanks a lot, Raphael, I'll tuck her into bed. You don't mind my calling you Raphael, do you? Will you be at the fair tomorrow?"
A surge of annoyance welled up at the sight of my best friend batting her eyelashes at what was probably the only person in existence who could carry me up three flights of stairs, and still tell me he liked my curves.
I smiled my best shark smile at him, and reached behind Roxy to pinch the back of her arm.
She yelped and jerked her arm away, glaring at me. "So it's like that, is it?"
"No."
"Hrmph." She rubbed her arm as she unlocked my door.
"Thank you, Bob," I said graciously to Raphael.
"My pleasure," he replied, his eyes glittering dangerously at me.
"Bob? I thought his name was Raphael?" I allowed Roxy to drag me into my room and fuss over me, putting an ice compress against the lump that no longer ached. I lay back on the bed and let her lecture me about being more careful when we were in a country where the health care might be dicey, not to mention my stupidity in literally falling head over heels for the first dishy guy I saw.
The last bit made me sit up. "What? Are you nuts? I fell over, Roxy, I didn't go throwing myself on the man. You make it sound like I was instantly enamored of him the minute he stepped into the room."
I ignored the voice inside me that said her accusation was closer to the truth than I was willing to admit, especially if the world as I knew it had turned upside down and he was a… I clapped a mental gag over my brain and wouldn't let it say the word.
"Well, you have to admit you were interested in him. And he certainly isn't bad looking, once you get past those weird eyes."
"They aren't weird, they're beautiful," I snapped, pulling off the ice bag. "No, I don't need any aspirin; my head feels much better now."
"Fine. You rest and you'll feel shipshape in the morning. You want something to eat?" Roxy tidied up my clothes and brought me a glass of water and the book I'd tucked away in my luggage.
"No, thanks. You'd better get something, though. You get manic if your blood sugar drops too low." I sank back into the down featherbed and gave myself up to the luxury of being pampered.
"Yes, Mom. Go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."
"About what?" I asked, frowning at her as she stood in the open doorway. "If you're going to harp at me about that guy—"
"His name is Raphael," she said with obnoxious coyness.
"—you can think again because there's nothing to discuss."
"Go to sleep," she repeated with a knowing smile. "You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow."
I decided to try out one of Raphael's eyebrow moves just to see how well it worked for me.
"The fair," she answered my silent question. "You want to look your best for the fair! You're going to meet your Dark One there!"
What if I already had? "Like hell I am!"
"The man whose soul you'll save!"
"You really take the cake, you know that?"
"He'll clasp you to his manly chest, and look deep into your eyes, and tell you that you are his and his alone, and not even you can want him to do that if you look like you do now!"
"I hereby declare you certifiable. I'll have the plaque made up in the morning."
"And then he'll complete the ritual of the Joining, and you will live happily ever after with your vampire lover, just like in Dante's books."
I took a deep breath. "THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A VAMPIRE!"
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She grinned. "Nighty-night, don't let the bedbugs bite. You'll want to save that treat for him."
The ice bag missed her, but it made a very satisfying bang as it hit the door.
Chapter Five
"It's just too bad Raphael isn't a Dark One," Roxy announced the following afternoon as we dragged ourselves up the three flights of stairs to our rooms. A day spent wandering the Macocha Abyss had left us both with tired legs and the need for a long soak in the tub. "If he were, then you'd know it was him Miranda was talking about."
I glared at her.
"Look at your watch," she answered my unspoken accusation. "It's after three. I waited a whole extra four minutes."
"How fast time flies when you're not talking about mythical, pretend, made-up, utterly fictional creatures," I muttered as I pulled out my room key and unlocked my door. Roxy followed me into my room since it was bigger than hers and had an extra chair.
"Don't think I'm going to let you put a moratorium on things I want to talk about every day. The only reason I agreed not to mention the Dark Ones until we got back was because you looked so awful this morning."
Strangely enough, I hadn't felt awful. My head was only slightly tender around the area I'd banged, and my mind was strangely calm. That was due wholly to the little pep talk I'd given myself during a quick morning bath. Although I'm not normally one for deep introspection, this, I felt, was necessary. It was that or sign myself up for electroshock therapy.
"The human mind is a strange and wondrous place," I had told my bath sponge as I lathered it up with my favorite jasmine soap. "It is highly susceptible to suggestion, and can easily be fooled into perceiving something that really is not present. Stress, in particular, can do weird things to the brain, causing it to defend itself by releasing tension in the form of vivid dreams and visions."
The sponge declined the opportunity to comment on my theory, so I put it to use as I reasoned out the rest of the argument. The episode with Miranda, brought on by the couple of gin and tonics I'd imbibed, had obviously burned itself into my then-impressionable mind. Once I arrived in an area purported to contain elements of fantasy that had been mentioned at Miranda's, my brain decided to relieve a bit of the tension of being halfway around the world in a foreign land by dredging up related images and presenting them as reality.
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