by Siobhan Muir
“I’m sorry to interrupt this fascinating discussion, but before I start sharing your delusion, might I have something to eat?” Bridget gestured for the tray.
Fredrick gave her a dry look, but the woman smiled brightly. “Yes, of course. I’m Cynthia Wolfwright, Fredrick’s head of security.”
“Oh?” Bridget blinked innocently. “Does he have problems with break-ins?”
“Not while I’m around,” Cynthia said easily. “He tends to sleep during the day, so he has a few of us to watch out for him.”
Bridget picked up the spoon. “Even when you turn furry?”
“Especially then.” Cynthia grinned widely, and Bridget counted far too many teeth to belong to a human. Bridget lost her smile as unease skittered up her spine again, but Cynthia turned her face toward their host. “I’m sure Fredrick will take care of anything you need tonight, but I’ll be around in the morning to check in on you. And if he threatens to bite you, just throw cilantro at him.”
“Cilantro?”
“Yes. He hates the smell of cilantro. Have a good night.” Cynthia trotted out the door with a knowing smile.
“Have a good night?” Bridget coughed through her soup. “What is she talking about? I have to get home! I can’t stay here.” She shoved the tray off her lap with a clatter of dishes and sloshing soup. Pain flickered in her side, but its intensity resembled overexertion rather than invasive injury.
“You are in need of rest.” Fredrick grabbed her arms and held her steady in the bed. His hands were gentle, but she felt as if she fought against iron bands. “You experienced a traumatic event, and while your body heals quickly, it is still healing. Rest is the necessary component of that.”
“‘Necessary component’?” she repeated with disbelief. “Are you hearing yourself? Look, buddy, I don’t know you.” Except when we danced. “You’ve kidnapped me to Gloucester, stripped me naked, and claim to be a vampire. My next thought, if your delusion keeps up, is you’re considering using me as a meal. In which case, I’m hoping there’s a lot of garlic in this soup.” She eyed him a moment. “Or cilantro.”
Fredrick smiled without showing his teeth, amused. The corners of his mouth curled upwards, and his eyes crinkled at their edges, making her heart flutter.
Damn, why is that so sexy?
“I did consider using you as a meal without your consent, but I find you far too intriguing to feast off of you without so much as a by-your-leave.” He lowered her back into the pillows and rescued the bread from the tray, offering it to her. “Here, keep eating. It will help you heal along with resting your body.”
Okay, that wasn’t so sexy. How am I going to get out of here?
She took the bread as she considered her next move. Maybe she didn’t need the sheet after all. Of course, once she got out of the house and down the road, she might have a tough time explaining her nakedness, but at least she’d be free. Better to be arrested for indecent exposure than to stay with a madman. There was the small problem of freezing in the cold autumn weather, but she’d worry about that later. She made a show of relaxing and pretended complacency, waiting for an opportunity to bolt.
He has to sleep sometime. She watched him covertly, her eyes roaming over the parts of his body she could see. What would it be like to sleep with him?
Shut up!
Something about him made him beautiful in a non-traditional way. She liked his eyes the most, with their warm chocolate depths full of secrets, but the dark brows and neatly trimmed black goatee defined his features in a striking way. Her hands ached to stroke the heavy drape of hair falling down his broad, muscular back, and they twitched, almost crushing the bread to crumbs. Attraction flared as she took in his rounded pectoral muscles that bunched when he crossed his arms over his chest. With him sitting so close, his natural scent filled her nose, and it reminded her of chocolate truffles with a hint of sea salt. The sweet saltiness had always appealed to her, and she found herself delighting in the scent even while she was held hostage.
At least he’s tall enough. It would suck if he was any shorter. Whoa! What the fuck? I’m not interested!
Admittedly, Bridget preferred men who stood taller than her own five-foot-eight inches because her personality tended to run roughshod over most of the men she’d met, and sent them fleeing for the hills. The exceptions to the rule had been the manipulative, abusive bastards her mother tended to favor, and this man. Of course, they weren’t dating, but he didn’t seem to be submissive at all. He might be manipulative, but the only thing he’d done wrong was take her to his house, rather than home or to the hospital.
Bridget frowned, and Fredrick raised an eyebrow.
Come to think about that, why hadn’t he taken her to the hospital? Oh, right, he thought he was a vampire, and it wouldn’t look good if he flashed his fangs while bringing in a bleeding and unconscious woman.
But there’s no such thing as vampires.
She recalled how his hand had zipped itself closed, and doubt encroached on her certainty. Who healed like that in the real world? No one she knew of. Although apparently she’d joined the group if what he said proved to be true. Before she could think about what she was doing, she dropped the sheet from her chest and twisted to look at her side, completely forgetting her nakedness and the stranger sitting on the bed beside her.
Nothing, not even a scar.
Only a purple bruise marred her skin, but it didn’t hurt as much as it had a few minutes ago.
This is so weird.
She rolled onto her back and shook her head, staring into space. Granted, she’d never had a bad wound before, but all the scratches and scrapes she’d gotten as a kid had healed in the normal way, taking days. They never left any scars, but her mother had taught her to take care of her skin.
A stab wound was more than just a scratch or scrape, and she’d healed like it was nothing. Was she a mythical creature? She snorted with derision. She walked around in the sunshine all the time; she didn’t drink blood, and didn’t shift shape into a bat or wolf, full moon or no. About the only thing she did around the full moon was bleed. Every month, on the day of the full moon. Every time.
“You’ve stopped eating,” Fredrick said, his eyes glued to her chest again.
She hastily grabbed the green sheet and pulled it over her body with a disgusted grunt.
“It’s a pity you should cover those up now that I’ve had such a marvelous view for the last few minutes. Surely you’re no longer embarrassed. You have been sitting here naked from the waist up for all that time.”
Bridget’s eyes narrowed. “Just because you got a free look doesn’t mean it lasts forever, pal! Besides, I thought you were an anatomist. I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of breasts over the years.”
“Over the centuries.” His face creased with an irritating smile. “Yes, I have seen many breasts, but rarely have I seen breasts as well formed as yours.”
“Uh, thanks, I think.” She frowned. “So you think you’re a vampire—”
“No, I know I’m a vampire. You think I’m delusional.”
“No, I know you’re delusional. There’s no such thing as vampires.”
He started to take a breath to correct her, but she said, “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say there is. So tell me then, when were you born and where?”
“I was born in the autumn in Jamestown. My mother used to say the trees were the most beautiful at that time of year. I can remember the slaves we had singing in the fields around our house as they gathered the harvest at the end of summer.”
Bridget choked. “Slaves? Your family had slaves?”
“Of course, all landed families did at the time. After the war, it became more prevalent for the Southerners, but it wasn’t unheard of in the North.”
“War? Which war?”
“For America’s Independence. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It started around 1776 and ended in 1783 when Britain finally gave up trying to fight the Colonists on thei
r home turf.”
“Are you referring to the Revolutionary War?”
“That’s the one.” He grinned, but still kept his teeth hidden. “I was twenty-four when the war finally ended, and I remember my parents being relieved that I’d survived.”
“You fought in the Revolutionary War.”
“Yes, with Washington. I even met Paul Revere. Ghastly fellow. Always smelled like burnt silver.”
“Who the hell are you? Did you escape from a mental institution? Forget to take your meds today? I have got to get out of here!” Bridget shoved the tray toward him and tried to slide out of the bed, naked or no. She’d raid one of the closets for a coat and walk to the nearest place to get a taxi. Maybe I’ll just take his trench coat.
“Bridget, I can’t let you leave quite yet,” he said as he caught her right arm in a gentle but firm grip. “Not until you tell me what you are.”
“You can’t let me leave? Or won’t?” She pulled against his grip, but it was like she was handcuffed to a concrete post.
“The result is the same regardless of semantics.”
“Why are you keeping me here? What am I to you? I was just minding my own business and told you I didn’t want or need your help getting home, and you kidnapped me! Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?” The last was shouted at him as she jerked her arm to get away. She kept pulling despite the pain in her shoulder as his grip tightened. “Let me go!”
She yanked the full weight of her body against his hold on her arm and felt the shoulder separate. His fingers bruised her arm, and his expression shifted into feral intensity that made her pull all the harder as she tried to breathe through the pain.
He’s a freak! I won’t be held like some animal for him to admire!
Fredrick squeezed her arm until it was numb from the elbow down, and she moaned in anguish. At the last second, she reversed her momentum and swung her free hand, balled into a fist, at his head. To her amazement, he caught it and held it fast, not crushing her fingers, but holding them tightly closed. She froze, absorbing the meaning of his strength, and realized she’d never get away from him. He was just too strong for her to fight. It infuriated her she was so easily defeated, and she directed all that impotent rage at him through her livid glare.
“Let. Me. Go.”
“You are tired and overwrought. You should rest.” He met her gaze unflinchingly. “We will speak more after you’ve slept.”
Fredrick didn’t release her until she relaxed her body back into the pillows on the bed. But her eyes burned with her wrath, and two tears slowly spilled over her lower lids to drip down her cheeks. She didn’t sob, nor did her lips tremble, but her anger seethed beneath her skin. She said nothing, and after a while he let go of her and stood.
“Don’t try to escape.” His voice crackled with cold fury. What did he have to be mad about? “I will tell Cynthia and the others to keep an eye and an ear out for you. One thing about werewolves and vampires you should be aware of: we are a hundred times faster and stronger than the average human male, so you won’t be a problem to catch. I don’t recommend trying to run.”
He picked up the tray and stepped back from the bed.
Bridget said nothing, just stared at him with recrimination. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of rubbing her numb arm where it began to tingle. It was badly bruised, she knew, maybe even dislocated, but she didn’t look at it. She glared as he nonchalantly turned his back on her and went to the door of the room.
Before Fredrick left, he reached out and grabbed the pocketknife, then switched off the light and shut the door behind him. She lay in the dark with nothing but the light from the crack beneath door to illuminate her tears. She waited until his shadow stepped away before she rolled over and allowed herself to cry.
Chapter Four
Fredrick stepped away and leaned against the wall, careful to keep his shadow from crossing the crack under the door. He closed his eyes and sighed, trying not to hear her sobs or think of the damage he must have done to her arm. He’d never intended to hurt her or even hold her hostage; but when she threatened to leave, he found he couldn’t let her go, and his hand just kept squeezing. He didn’t know why he held her here. Originally his intention was to keep her from harm in Boston, and failing that, to keep her from dying from her wounds.
But she didn’t die, and she healed herself without his help.
He’d briefly wondered if she was a vampire; but her skin was healthy, and she had no need for blood. He could analyze her plasma to find out if she was a carrier of the vampire gene, but he didn’t believe she was. Something else about her made her extraordinary, allowing her to heal as quickly as he did, and he wanted to know what it was. His attraction for her burned like a flame, and he’d started to believe she could be more than just someone he needed to protect.
The idea of her escaping him now that she rested safe in his home made his belly clench with fear for the first time since the War of Independence. He couldn’t let her go. She belonged to him, his treasure, and she was far too valuable to return to the ignorant humans. Her pulling away only excited him like a predator on the hunt with the prey struggling within his grasp, and he’d tightened his grip.
Her fury and frustration had smelled like exotic spices, and he’d had to keep his mind on what he was doing rather than what he wanted to do.
Fuck!
Having her naked in the bed had strained his usually iron-like control, and he clenched his hands into fists to keep from storming back into her room and taking her. He gritted his teeth and shook his head hard, trying to ignore the extension of his canines. Damn, he wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted a woman in decades.
Her feminine beauty flashed through his memory, and his cock hardened joyfully. Her softly rounded belly and those heavy, full breasts called to him like a siren’s song. Bridget had a voluptuous and full body, a body meant to be savored and loved. Most women in the country aspired to be skinny, but he wanted women with muscle and mass, rather than the skin-covered skeletons often photographed on fashion and porn magazines. Women should look like women with hips, tits, butts, and thighs, not to mention real calves. The gaunt models looked like they stood on swizzle sticks.
His cock started to deflate, and he sighed in relief.
He found Bridget incredibly attractive, but it wasn’t just her body that caught his attention. Like the colored lanterns he’d seen in Chinatown in San Francisco, her eyes sparked green and brown fire, and she smelled like a fresh stream running through pine covered mountains. Her scent shifted to the smell of a forest fire and rain on dry earth in her anger, an odd mixture certainly, but no less intoxicating.
His lower anatomy agreed and swelled once more.
Dammit! He almost slammed his fist into the wall, but restrained himself. She’d hear him and know he stood outside her room, listening to her cry. Shit. He hated it when women cried. He felt so damn helpless, and that was just wrong for a vampire.
An unearthly snarl escaped from Fredrick’s throat, and he clamped his lips together. He was supposed to save her, not hurt her.
When he’d first gone into Snickerdoodles, he didn’t know who he was looking for, and no one had screamed “hunted” like his vision had warned. But when Bridget had risen to her feet and he had caught the forest fire scent, he recognized her from his premonition and damn near stumbled from the energy rolling off her in waves. Even other vampires, some older than him by centuries, didn’t have her power. It was a heady mixture of strength and untapped potential, and some masochistic part of him wanted to push her into revealing her power. Given her reaction to her healing, he suspected she was unaware of her abilities. He wanted to know more about her, everything he could, but he’d handled her request to leave badly.
She didn’t request, a petulant voice whined.
Fredrick sighed. It didn’t matter. He’d hurt and infuriated Bridget in his fear of losing her, probably accelerating her departure.
The mere
thought gave him heartburn. He wanted her close to him, always. She was special. He just had to figure out how, and the best way to do that was to keep her close. Oh, he knew where she lived, and he knew her scent. He even knew her full name and date of birth. Shanahan, Bridget Erin Diana, born May 18th, 1980, the day Mount St. Helens had erupted in WashingtonState.
Her initials spelled BEDS, and that gave him all sorts of ideas.
Down, dammit! She wasn’t likely to let him anywhere near her now.
He should go back into her room and apologize for his actions, maybe even explain more why he’d brought her here. But how could he tell her she’d filled his visions for the last few days, always with an urgency he’d learned meant danger? Though he’d only just met her, he knew she was important to his life. The underlying emotional current in his visions had confirmed it. How could he explain he’d seen their lifelines woven together through time like Route 66 and Interstate 40 on a U. S. road map?
Frustration and fear bordering on despair flashed through him.
She’d never believe him. He suspected she was the practical sort from what little he knew of her. Love at first sight, first mugging, or first bite didn’t happen to her. She didn’t believe in magic or myths. She didn’t believe in vampires. He could always bite her to show the truth of it, but he’d already pissed her off enough by holding her here.
Fredrick ran a hand over his forehead and eyes, inhaling her scent from them. Goddess of all, she smelled great. At least he hadn’t tied her to the bed. The thought of her bound and willing to let him feed off her gave him a raging cockstand. He shoved himself off the wall and stalked downstairs to inform his staff Bridget now stayed under duress.
He grimaced when he thought of what Szilvia would say to that. The Hungarian woman wasn’t convinced of his psychic abilities, but tolerated them in hopes time would make him come to love her as much as she loved him. Szilvia needed Fredrick more than he needed her, but he’d known he’d spend many years with her for their mutual benefit before they parted ways. As his feet squeaked softly on the tile floor, his gut told him their association would soon come to an end.
