I climbed back up on the tractor and slowly inched it closer to him, levering the bucket down. Stopping the tractor, I pushed him into position and carefully got him in without causing further injury. I looked him over under the spill of the tractor lights, but I could see no blood or wounds. He was covered in dust himself, and the light was bad, so my inspection went no further than determining there were no gaping holes. I used my shirt as a makeshift pillow, so his head wouldn’t bang on the metal when I drove went over bumps. Either he was going to thank me or think I was crazy.
I went as slow as possible down the access road and opened the door to the garage. Slowly lowering the bucket to the ground, I considered the second problem: how to get him to the basement guest bedroom, twenty feet away.
As much as he might thank me for getting him out of the coming rain, he was not going to thank me for strapping him to a dolly to wheel him to bed. Easier to bring the bed to him—at least, the part I could carry.
I laid a plastic tarp down and dragged the mattress out from the bedroom onto it. Draping a blanket over that, I climbed back onto the tractor. Positioning the bucket over the mattress, I slowly rolled him out onto it, then maneuvered him onto his back. I tried to be as gentle as possible, while also ignoring the thoughts in my mind that were telling me what I was doing was not only irresponsible, but potentially dangerous.
Satisfied that he was comfortable for the moment, I backed the tractor up and shut the garage door. I swung her around and headed back to the barn. The night was hardly over and I had to finish this up fast. It was after midnight by now, and I was losing steam and reasoning powers.
I left the tractor at the barn, still rumbling, though the thunder from above my head was so loud it nearly drowned out the tractor. Lightning flashed over the velvet black tree line, and I thought, shit, I’d better hurry, unless I wanted to be soaked! I walked quickly back to the quarry, praying the truck was an automatic. It was still idling with over half a tank of gas left. I checked the backseat but there was no one hiding in it. I got in, closed the door, and drove the truck down the access road, to my barn. After parking it on one side, I maneuvered the tractor in behind it.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what I was doing was irrational and probably dangerous. I had just taken a man I didn’t know into my house. He could be dying. I checked the glove box for a hint of his identity or a way to contact his loved ones. My reasoning told me to call 911, but something stopped me. Something told me not to call anyone.
There were a few things I knew for sure. First, he was unconscious. He might have a concussion, or worse. But I hadn’t found a mark on him. Secondly, the truck wasn’t damaged to explain his condition. Something or someone had driven him unconscious. Lastly, I had to get to bed. And before I left, I had to check the truck’s custom-built carrying box in the cargo space. It was unlikely but possible someone else might be hurt and laying unconscious in there, and if I found someone in there, I was calling 911.
I opened the truck box, hoping with sick humor there wouldn’t be a body there, now that I’d put the tractor away. A dead body was only marginally better than what I found. It was full of gear, some for camping and cooking outside, and bottled water, although I didn’t see any actual food. The rest were guns. A couple handguns—a .44 semiautomatic and a .38 revolver, like the one on my hip, and a Glock 9 millimeter. I’d never seen a silencer outside of the movies, but I thought I was looking at one now on the end of the Glock. There was a double-barrel sawed-off shotgun and a sniper rifle, complete with scope and tripod. And boxes of ammunition—a lot of boxes. I didn’t see any phone or personal gear, though there was a sleeping bag. Everything was broken in, though not worn out, and appeared to be top of the line. This guy must spend a good bit of time outside. There was no paperwork of any kind, not even a list of groceries or people to kill. I’d have to wait for answers until my guest recovered enough to tell me, if he was so inclined. But I wasn’t going to call the cops, or anyone, not yet. If I did, the poor guy would be arrested as soon as he woke up, just for having the guns and the ammo not separate in his truck. And he’d lose his handgun license for sure, too, permanently. Sure, he had guns, but I knew people who lived on my very street who had more. Most of all, I wanted to know who he was, beside an avid gun aficionado.
I grabbed the sleeping bag and left the rest. Everything would be safe enough, locked up here in the barn.
I locked the door and returned to the house, getting soaked in the process. My guest was still where I’d left him. I examined him again for any signs of injuries, but other than some dried blood on one arm and a scratch that looked a couple of days old, there wasn’t anything I could find without removing his clothes. As much as the idea suited me, getting dry and going to bed was even more seductive. I covered him up and left him a note telling him that he was safe and to please stay where he was until I was up; there were vicious dogs roaming upstairs. I also locked both the garage door, and the cellar door, engaging the deadbolt on the latter. Without his guns, even if he woke up angry, he wouldn’t be much of a threat. Any noise he made getting those doors open would wake the dogs, and they would wake me. And I was armed not only with my handgun, but also with a shotgun.
Deciding I’d done all I could to prepare for the Worst Case Scenario, I went to bed. My pajamas had never felt so good. The rain had arrived and the initial shower had turned to a drenching full-force rain that pounded on the roof. My last waking thought was: What had I done? And why?
Those concerns woke me to ponder a few more late-night thoughts, like why I hadn’t called the cops? While it was true that I’d been known to risk life and limb to save an animal from certain death on the local roads, I’d never been accused of this degree of kindness toward my fellow human beings. I liked animals better.
He might really need a doctor, but I kept coming back to the fact that he didn’t look injured other than being unconscious. How could he have been hit hard enough to knock him out and not have a bruise? He could have been on the edge of exhaustion when he’d pulled into the quarry to sleep. He might have fallen from the car if the door hadn’t been properly closed. Maybe the chain had already been down. I would check it in the morning.
I resolved to call the police in the morning if he didn’t regain consciousness. Rationally, I was feeling more and more like I should have contacted the police, or at least, one of my neighbors. But something, some inner knowledge, still told me not to call anyone. I’d trusted this intuition all my life. I would trust it at least for now and reevaluate the situation in the morning. By then, hopefully, my guest would be awake. If he found himself supremely grateful that I’d saved him from a mud nap, he might be persuaded to take me to a nice breakfast, or perhaps dinner. With that thought, I fell asleep.
My dreams were dark and confusing. I kept walking, knowing something was just out of sight, keeping pace with me; but I couldn’t see it, nor could I escape. I woke up in the night and brought one of the dogs into bed with me. My .38 hung in its holster within reach. Comforted that I’d be alerted to any danger, I went back to sleep.
It was late when I awoke, about ten or so, but I didn’t look at the clock. I remembered my guest downstairs and knew I had to check on him as soon as possible. But I also knew better than to go downstairs without waking up enough to handle what might be down there. So I showered, and took care of the animals. I was still groggy from lack of sleep, but I made myself hurry as fast as I could.
By the time I’d gotten everyone settled and dressed myself, I felt awake enough that I headed down to see him. He seemed the same. My hope of a nice breakfast vanished with a sinking feeling. I resolved to check him over more carefully, and if I couldn’t get him to wake, I would call 911. I was beginning to feel like I’d made a big mistake, and I kicked myself for not using better judgment last night. I mean, what had I been hoping for, some kind of fantasy? Idiot.
I headed back after breakfast with some soap and water, which I used to clean off his arm.
Under the blood, a scratch had healed. I worked the shirt off him but I wasn’t daring enough to take off his filthy jeans. I washed his face, which had been lying in the dirt, and revealed features that took my breath away. There was an elegant symmetry about him that made him look both younger that I originally thought and more vulnerable.
I heard myself saying, “What happened to you? Why would anyone want to hurt you?”
I stroked his smooth cheek. He moved suddenly, taking a breath, revealing incisors twice the length of my own. His eyes didn’t open, but he settled back with a sigh.
Holy Shit! I snatched my hand back, both excited and a little scared. It was time to face the facts, principally being that my guest was not what I’d talked myself into believing last night. This was no over-armed hunter or Mafia hit man. I was harboring a vampire.
Chapter Two
A vampire. A real, honest-to-God vampire.
That must have been why there was water in the truck, but no actual food. It was a good thing I hadn’t been able to lift him. I might have carried him in the front door, to the more comfortable extra bedroom upstairs, where the morning light would have reduced him to a nice pile of ash.
The guns hadn’t really bothered me last night, but they bothered me now plenty. I had no way of knowing if he was a good vampire hunting bad people, or a bad vampire killing for blood, or just sport. Maybe the only good vampires were the make-believe ones from the Buffy Universe.
If the legends were true, someone might have tried to kill him last night. That someone had involved me by dumping him so close to my house. I’d done the last thing expected; sheltered a total stranger in a basement with no windows. If I’d left him outside, he’d be a pile of wet ash by now. The truck would be empty, and I’d have called the police when I went out this morning to check the quarry. They would have come and hauled it away, and that would have been the end of it.
My thoughts were manic, but nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I’d involved myself in something I had no experience to handle, and I wasn’t used to the feeling. But I was confident that I’d work it out if I reasoned over it long enough. My more prevailing thought was curiosity. I wanted to know what was going on and why this guy had been dumped here, and who’d hurt him. His sexy appearance stirred things in me that hadn’t been stirred in a while. Many a woman had been swayed by either curiosity or lust before. Together, my rationale plans to call the police didn’t stand a chance.
So what if he was dangerous? I’d helped snapping turtles off the road that could have severed a few fingers. I’d risked my own to help them, despite that they would have hurt me if I’d given them half the chance. Of course, a vampire wasn’t a turtle.
I looked at him lying there and made my decision. I would try to help him. If he was a vampire, then I knew what he needed to regain consciousness. Blood. And I wasn’t going to offer up any of my animals for sacrifice, so that left only my own.
Ew. I wanted to help him, but I didn’t want to give him my blood. What if he took too much? What if he hurt me? Hell, what if he killed me?
I sat down beside him and put my hand on his. He was cooler than he’d been earlier this morning. I guessed he was getting weaker. He was motionless beneath my fingers.
“Give me a sign,” I said softly, almost whispering. “Give me something to show me you won’t hurt me; that I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life.”
I squeezed his hand gently. He squeezed back—almost imperceptibly—and I froze. I thought that was it, I was going to do it. It was probably a mistake, and I might very well die; but I knew if I didn’t do it, I’d always regret it, and I knew if I didn’t help, he’d surely die. I would always wonder what might have happened if I’d given him my blood; if I could have saved him.
I got up and went about preparing. I most likely was risking my life. I had no guarantee he wouldn’t hurt me once he was conscious. My hope was that saving him from being dust would count for something. Then again, it might not .
I checked in with my parents and made arrangements to call them back later that night. I told them nothing of what I was planning to do. If I failed to call when I said I would, they’d come over to investigate. In that event, I left them a note on the kitchen counter explaining what had happened and told them to call the police. I did all the chores that were absolutely necessary, ate a large protein-filled meal, and then about five p.m., I threw my courage about my shoulders, and descended the stairs.
On the last step, I stopped. Was I really going to do this?
Yes, I was.
I went to the vampire’s side and unwrapped my bandaged arm. I hadn’t wanted to cut myself, so it was fortunate that while cutting wood the previous day, I had gouged my arm on a spear-like poplar branch. The wound wasn’t large, but it was deep. With some quick courage and a healthy helping of pain, I reopened the wound with a sharp knife. A large drop of blood welled up... I said a quick prayer to God that I not die and traced some of the blood on his lips.
He stirred and moved his mouth, tasting the blood. I took a deep breath, and saying another quick prayer, put my arm to his lips. A few seconds passed, and I wondered if it was too late, maybe I’d waited too long.
Like a snake, he struck. Without sound or warning, an iron fist closed over my arm, while his other arm pulled me closer. He sucked at the wound, and though it was deep, it wasn’t deep enough. I felt his teeth tear into me, and I let out a shriek, trying to pull away. But he wouldn’t let me go. His arm was like a steel band, pulling me close, and I struggled in his grip. He seemed to like that and held me tighter. I couldn’t breathe, and I was losing consciousness. I wasn’t sure how much blood I lost, but my arm seared. I passed out with his arms still around me, his throat working, swallowing.
I awoke some time later. My watch said two hours had passed. I checked my surroundings and realized with dread that I was still locked in the vampire’s embrace, his mouth still pressed to my wrist. I tried to move away, but my blood began flowing again. His grip tightened, and he dug his fangs in, swallowing over and over again. His arms were like a vise, but they were warmer than before.
Wasn’t this supposed to be enjoyable? Where was the pleasure, the so-called sexual thrill my vampire novels had always spoken of? I could tell from his body that he was enjoying this, but I felt fainter by the minute. More worrisome was that the pain in my arm didn’t feel as bad as it had been. The wound had to be worse and should have hurt more, not less. Was this a sign that I was dying?
A burst of adrenaline rocked me. I put everything I had into pushing him away. I might as well have tried to throw a three-hundred pound boulder. He was partially on top of me, and the weight of him immobilized me. My struggling didn’t faze him, and despite my best efforts, I passed out again.
I awoke at nine p.m. I felt as if I could barely raise my head. I felt lightheaded, and sick. But I was free. The vampire had released me, and I lay by his side, within easy reach. In my fogged brain, I noticed he looked much better, and there was a faint blush to his skin. Odds were, he was a lot warmer than he’d been earlier in the day, but I wasn’t going to touch him to check. I knew I wouldn’t wake up from a third round of being bitten.
I checked myself out. Despite my arm being ragged, the wound was clean, and there was no blood on the sheets. Nor was there any on him or me. I was surprised, but I felt better not knowing how much blood I had lost.
I had to get away while I could. I moved slowly, inching off the bed, and painfully walked upstairs. I locked the basement door behind me, though I guessed he was strong enough to break it open if he wanted. I wanted to make it hard for him, just in case he wanted more of my blood. I regretted what I’d done in a big way. I’d acted like a character in a vampire romance novel, thinking he was going to wake up and shower me with love, tell me I’d be his forever. I felt tears in my eyes for being such a fool.
“Feel sorry for yourself later,” I hissed at myself. I needed to take care of things, before I
could rest, and I had to hurry, while I still got the strength to do it.
I called my parents to tell them I was fine. Next stop was the animals, who I made sure were all alive, cared for, and safe. I staggered to bed and tried to treat my wound. It looked angry, even being scabbed over. The rips his teeth had made resembled a bad dog bite. My stomach turned just looking at it. It wasn’t the two neat holes I’d been expecting. I put some Neosporin on it, and tried to wrap it, only to pass out again.
I woke up around nine in the morning, called in sick to work, and told them I’d be in the following day. I had a migraine headache and my arm ached. It looked much better, smaller, and scabbed over. There wasn’t any pain like there’d been the day before, but my bone felt as if it had been gnawed on. Not knowing how much blood I’d lost, I was afraid to take any painkillers. It had to be a significant amount, and I spent most of the day on the couch, sleeping on and off, and eating as much as possible. I had no appetite, which was unusual, but I made myself eat lunch at noon and felt a lot better for it.
My thoughts were disjointed and didn’t make a lot of sense. By what I remembered of the vampire’s appearance, ingesting my blood had saved him like I’d hoped. Now I had another problem. He was now stronger than me. If he wanted to finish me off, he could, as soon as night fell.
I’d be damned if I was going to wait for him to come and get me. I staggered to my feet and grabbed a decorative cross, then went downstairs to check on him, wishing for the comforting weight of my gun instead.
He hadn’t moved and his eyes were still closed. For all I knew, he hadn’t opened them through the whole episode. I resolved that tonight he would open them for me.
Dusk was at seven. At six forty-five, I went downstairs and positioned myself with a book so could watch him. I’d given a lot to find out what was going on with this man, and come hell or high water, I wanted to know the truth.
Promise Me Page 2
